#we get glimpses of it but the show's so humorous that it's easy to forget how messed up her entire childhood was | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rafescoke · 3 years

Text

Need To Know (Part 2) ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

#Part 2

#Part 1

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Reader confronts Rafe about his past

Warnings: More angst, more flashback smut, substance, swearing, Rafe being a dick again

A/N: Thank you so much for the overwhelming love from my last post! I love you to the moon and back <3

p.s, my request box is always open for you to drop in any ideas!

“My god, you both look great.”

Rafe chuckled, too drunk to say anything, and wrapped his arms around his girlfriend of 4 months. The night breeze flew past everyone on the yacht as they strolled down the stream, moving their hips along to ‘Summer’ by Calvin Harris and trying to hear each other’s conversations over the loud music.

“Thanks, Tops,” (Y/N) smiled, feeling her body moving to the beat. She thought about the amount of drinks she had, but giggled when she had to recount again, and then frowned when she kept forgetting the number she ended on.

“What are you thinking?” Rafe whined, pulling her away from Topper who had his arms around another girl, trying to move on from his failed relationship with Sarah Cameron. He had told Rafe and (Y/N) that he have never felt better, but they both know the truth. He was completely wrecked after the breakup; when Topper found out about Sarah and a certain boy from the other side of the island, Rafe had to be there for him every single night until recently. He was too afraid of the things that Topper would do to himself.

“I can’t remember how many drinks I’ve had tonight,” she cried, tugging on his shirt as she placed her chin on his shoulder. Rafe laughed, patting her back before pulling her to face him.

“You had 8 shots. I had more.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, raising her brows. When she saw a smile slowly creeping onto his face, she groaned loudly.

“You always do this to me!” She grunted, but a tone of humor laced in her face. “God, I hate you.” She made a move to talk away, crossing her arms.

“No-” he shook his head, pulling her arm so that she will end right back into his arms again. He grinned when his tactic worked, “You don’t hate me. You love me too much.”

“Disgusting,” (Y/N) made a face, and stood on her toes to whisper into his ear. “Wanna do something?”

Rafe looked at her, and when he saw the sly smile etched onto her face, he kissed her fully on her lips, always admiring this side of her that she rarely shows to other people.

When he first found out about this opposite side of his girlfriend, Rafe couldn’t believe his eyes. He tried to convince himself that when she had asked to do coke with him for the first time that night, it was merely his imagination and not reality, but when she woke up next to him the next morning, the sun highlighting her hair and eyes, smiling shyly at him, he knew that it had, indeed, happened.

“You want to do coke?” he asked, forcing himself to keep his grin concealed. “Right now? In the middle of the party?”

(Y/N) hummed in response, and kissed his cheeks. “Please?”

Rafe didn’t answer her as he pulled her through the many dancing bodies to one of the back rooms in the yacht, trying to contain his excitement. The last time they had done this together ended up being one of the best nights of Rafe’s life, and he hoped to relive it again.

Rafe poured the intoxicating powder on the cold table, licking his pink lips as he separated them into four lines using his driver’s license. (Y/N) saw a glimpse of his handsome ID photo on the card, and tried to stop herself from kissing him.

How could someone look so handsome in their driver’s license? It’s impossible.

(Y/N) licked the side of his face as he tried to balance the lines evenly, not able to contain her feelings anymore. She felt like having him for the rest of her life, and she can’t imagine spending her future with anyone else.

“What was that for?” Rafe groaned, but he was smiling. (Y/N) wiped the already- drying wet mark on the side of his face with her sleeve, only to be stopped by Rafe’s fingers around her wrist.

“I didn’t say you could wipe it.”

(Y/N) giggled, kissing his cheeks as he returned back to his previous work. She wondered again on the never ending questions of why would Rafe choose her amongst the many girls who have tried to get his attention since forever, but her thought was disturbed by the sudden swift of Rafe’s lips against hers.

“Ladies first,” he whispered, handing her a rolled up hundred dollars bill. (Y/N) smiled, putting a light pressure on her left nostril using her pointer before dipping her head to inhale the substance.

She threw her head back, laughing when she could feel Rafe’s soft lips peppering wet kisses along her exposed neck. She closed her eyes against the warm feeling, her fingers running through his messy hair.

“Your turn, baby,” she giggled, stopping her boyfriend before they could provide a free show for everyone else. Rafe sighed, clearly unsatisfied, but he took the rolled up bill from her fingers and dipped his head.

Before he could inhale the white powder, he turned to look at her, a glinting mischief in his eyes. (Y/N) groaned, wanting to spend her hazy trip with her boyfriend instead of going ahead of him.

“What is it?”

“Lay on your back,” he said, not looking at her as he took out the extra mini ziplock bags. (Y/N) looked at him with a frustrated expression. “I swear to god, (Y/N), just fucking do it.”

(Y/N) sighed and laid her back against the sofa, trying to hold her skirt from lifting up and exposing her black thong she had bought beforehand. She widened her eyes when she felt Rafe’s cold rings grazing her skin, closing her eyes when she felt his hands slowly creeping towards her aching core.

“What are you doing?” She hissed, closing her legs quickly. “Rafe, we can’t do anything here.”

“Relax,” he whispered, pulling her legs apart again, and (Y/N) almost moaned from the sudden cold breeze nipping on her skin. She gripped on his wrist again, trying to remind and warn him about his next move at the same time.

Just by the glare that Rafe had given her, signaling that he wasn’t playing and he hadn’t got the time to joke around, she let go of his wrist, looking up to her boyfriend who was unlocking the mini bag.

She hissed when Rafe poured a perfect amount of cocaine on her lap, enough for him to get on by the night. She watched as he separated them into lines using his driver’s license again. She gulped, her heartbeat getting quicker.

“Stop moving so much,” Rafe grunted, focusing on perfecting the lines against her soft skin. After a few seconds of trying his best, he looked back to admire his work, licking his teeth.

“Oh my god, Rafe, you can’t be-”

“Shut up,” he said, taking the rolled up bill and dipping his head until he was on the same level as her head. She bit her lips, nervous. She threw her head back when Rafe inhaled a line, her heartbeat beating quicker than that time she tried to hide herself in Rafe’s closet from Rose.

She could feel his fingers gripping her thighs, and she couldn’t deny the growing feeling inside her. Rafe chuckled, wiping his nose, and dipped his head back to the previous position.

“Rafe. . .” she whined, trying her best not to move around so much. The grip around her legs tightened, and she gritted her teeth as he placed wet kisses along her leg, ending directly before her desperate core.

“Oh my god,” she groaned, closing her eyes.

(Y/N) has experienced nothing of that sort, and the farthest thing they have done was fucking each other in Rafe’s hot tub that one drunken night. The last time she did coke with her boyfriend, no body parts were involved and it was only the two of them and her grandmother’s glass table.

Rafe chuckled, rubbing his nose as he resurfaced from his second last line, holding the rolled up bill between his fingers like a cigarette. “You like that, huh?”

“I’ve never wanted you to fuck me so bad before,” she said, groaning as she tried to keep her legs still for Rafe to inhale that one last line, but she knew he wouldn’t make her life that easy.

She watched as he kissed the inner of her thighs, going upwards, placing more kisses on her hips and again, directly halting before her core. Rafe could see the wet mark on her thongs, and could feel himself getting harder.

“Please,” she begged, looking at him with her innocent eyes, her fingers wrapping around his wrist. “Please, Rafe, baby, please.”

“As you wish, princess.”

She went into another unexplainable feeling as he did his final line, and then giving her more wet kisses along her thighs and lastly, that resulted her into jerking her body upwards towards his chest; he placed a strong kiss on her clothed core.

Rafe laughed, watching her pressed herself against him, trying to find any kind of friction. “Relax, baby. I thought you wanted me to stop?”

“Fuck you,” she whispered, before climbing onto his lap and attacking him with kisses.

“Okay-” he said in between kisses, “Fine-” more kisses, “Fuck me.”

(Y/N) groaned, feeling his hard member all pushed up against her as she kept on attacking him with kisses. This is exactly the problem; he would tease her and she would just not stop.

“People are watching, baby,” he whispered, stopping her fingers from unzipping his jeans. They were both breathing really hard, and (Y/N) leaned closer to his ear.

“Let them.”

He groaned as she finally unzipped his pants, exposing his throbbing penis against the night air of North Carolina. He tried to pull his and (Y/N)’s body downwards by an inch to hide their ungodly behaviour behind the table, but was caught off guard when (Y/N) gripped his fingers, halting his movement.

“I said let them watch.”

Rafe wasn’t sure if it was the drugs that took over her or it was just another side of her that she was finally exposing to him, but he couldn’t deny the excitement coursing through his veins. This was every teenage boy’s wet dreams, and Rafe couldn’t believe the fact that he was finally experiencing it.

Before he could prepare himself, he felt her sink into him as she wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her forehead against his as she panted to reach her end. Rafe held her waist, not putting any pressure and letting her take control completely. He watched as she bit her lips, placing quick kisses against his neck.

“I love you, oh my god,” she said as she pushed herself down onto him, closing her eyes to concentrate on the familiar feeling growing in her stomach. “My perfect boy.”

“I’m close,” he shuddered, this time thrusting his hips against her to quicken the pace, feeling his end reaching. He didn’t care about the crowd that was starting to form near them; he was happy and content with the girl who was a moaning mess on top of him.

“Fuck-” she screamed as he released himself into her, falling against his chest to catch her breath. Rafe placed a lazy kiss against the top of her head as she grunted, too tired to even remove herself.

“I wanna do coke with you every single night,” she whispered involuntarily as Rafe pulled her up, finally finding the strength to do so. He fixed her dress for her as she rested her head against the sofa, feeling so close to doze off for the night. Rafe smiled, tucking a strand of her hair before buttoning his jeans back again. He kissed her cheeks as she sighed, intertwining their fingers.

“I’ll always love you, okay?” he said, but she was too tired to say anything back. She whispered something back, and Rafe laughed in return, and the night continued with her head against his chest as they snuggled up close on the sunbathing area. When the clock struck 12, they watched the fireworks decorating the night sky, and Rafe swore he had never seen anything more beautiful than (Y/N) under that glowing sky that particular night.

“Happy birthday, my love,” Rafe whispered, before placing a longing kiss on her lips.

(Y/N) woke up with a start.

She heard noises coming from her window, and she groaned before making her way towards the light. Her feet tapped lightly against her carpeted floor, feeling the cold temperature coming from outside.

Great. Just the person she wanted to see.

“Let me in, baby, please,” Rafe said against her window, fogging her glass. “Please? Let me explain myself.”

(Y/N) held her middle finger up to him before returning to her bed, watching the panicking boy from the corners of her eyes.

How could he climb up to her room after all the things he did to her?

“Oh my god-” she heard him speak, “It’s cold out here. Please? Let me in.”

(Y/N) tried to block out his voice as she placed her pillows against her ears, but when she kept hearing his pleads, she couldn’t shake the bad feeling in her heart. She stood up from her bed, watching Rafe struggling to hold on to a branch, and opened the window, all while silently cursing to herself.

Rafe quickly shut the windows and sighed as he got used to the warm atmosphere, his eyes following the girl as she returned back towards her bed. Rafe stayed shut, following her actions, and sat beside her limp body.

“I’m-”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she cut him off, and Rafe watched as she shifted to get comfortable. She wasn’t looking at him, and Rafe felt a pang of pain across his heart.

“Please, baby, you deserve an explanation.”

(Y/N) stayed quiet, and Rafe took the silence as an agreement. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times, trying to find his voice; because this is exactly the problem -

He didn’t know how much more (Y/N) had heard from his ex’s mouth, but based on the quick summary that she had given him through the phone call an hour ago, everything that she told him was true.

Because he was stupid. He was selfish, and he didn’t believe in the idea of falling in love with some and making great memories with them. Life simply wasn’t that way to him -

All he cared about was sex and drugs, and his ex filled that exact cravings in him. He grew attached, but (Y/N) had taught him love. She taught him all the things that he didn’t know existed in him before.

“It’s true,” was all he said.

He grimaced as (Y/N) let out a shrill laugh, and stayed shut right after. He felt the need to caress her but decided against it, knowing that she will probably push him off.

“And I’m sorry. I was stupid, okay? I didn’t mean any of that. God, I wish I can turn back time and did everything differently because god, I was so fucking stupid and I hate seeing you cry because of me.”

Rafe could feel his own tears crashing down. The last time he had cried this hard was when Ward yelled at him, saying how useless he is and that he will never be proud of him, but (Y/N) was there for him during that time to calm him down.

Now he’s alone.

“God, (Y/N), you give me love and you’ve taught me how to love and- and, I can’t let you go now, oh my god, I can’t-” he took a deep breath, “Not when I love you too much.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered, and Rafe felt like killing himself at the sound of her voice in pain. “Why didn’t you fucking tell me?” She repeated, louder this time.

“I was scared,” he whispered back. “I wish I can take your pain away.”

“Rafe-” she sat up, her eyes puffy and red from the never ending tears since she fled the party. She looked at the boy she loves, and felt a sudden wave of emotion for the thing she was about to say.

“Can we stop seeing each other for a while? Can we take a break?”

“What?” Rafe shook his head, his fingers trembling. “No. No. You are not hearing yourself. No.”

“Rafe, please,” she cried, gripping onto her bedsheet. “Give me time to think. I can’t think about all this, just let me breathe!”

“You can’t let me go, (Y/N),” he whispered, trying to connect their fingers like always. When he saw her slipping her hand into her covers, he let out a breath.

“It’s too cold for you to go home. You can sleep in here, with me.”

“Don’t do this to me,” he said again, getting closer. When she flinched, he used all of his energy not to let out a yell, knowing that it would cause her to leave him for good.

“Just give me time. To think. Okay?”

“I love you,” he whispered, “I’ll wait. However long it’s going to take, I’ll wait.”

She didn’t return his affection and Rafe waited a few more seconds for her to mutter the words back. He took a deep breath before standing up, limping towards her window again.

“Rafe, you can stay here. Don’t make this any harder for me.”

But he left anyway, and (Y/N) was frozen in her position as she stared at his previous space on her bed, his scent slowly evaporating into the air. She couldn’t believe it; she lost him. She lost every inch of him, the only boy she truly loves.

She cried again against her pillows, missing her boy.

#Part 3

add yourself to the taglist!

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron once shot #rafe cameron smuts #rafe cameron one shot #outer banks #outerbanks #outerbanks imagines #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagines #rafe cameron smut

638 notes · View notes

that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick · 3 years

Text

Stray Kids traits that get slept on way too much:

Bang Chan: man swerves those hate comments like an expert stunt driver and no that is not a song reference. but he does it at lightning speed, with a straight face and even good humor, and even makes it clever. #skillz but seriously take it from your resident retail worker, it's impressive

Lee Know: derpiness. please this man is such a derp and yeah he'll murder you with a single sentence but then he'll kill you twice with his brainrot Instagram filters and thrice with that freaking smile

Changbin: vocal range. okay, yeah, sure, Felix is the vocal range king, but Changbin actually does a lot of the same stuff. consider: aegyo voice compared to like any Changbin rap line ever. also? did anybody forget he's actually a really good singer too? Surfin' literally made me go "wait hold up, that was Changbin singing??"

Hyunjin: s o f t boi. don't get me wrong, he's dramatic as all heck and serves sass as a main dish, but some of my favorite underrated Hyunjin moments are when we get a glimpse of his big heart and his soft smile 😊

Jisung: his English pronunciation? Is so good?? How do people forget this??? I'm pretty sure I couldn't figure out which two were the Australian members on the first skz video I watched (before I became a Stay) because his pronunciation was so good

Felix: vast amount of growth in a short time. hear me out. learning a language is no easy feat. like, really and truly hard, and I'm a language nerd. and he learned so much in so little time. FURTHERMORE as much as it's funny to look at the predebut pics, it really shows how much he's grown into himself as a person and realized he doesn't have to put on a macho act to be loved for who he is 😌

Seungmin: okay, maybe not underrated, maybe just a personal opinion, but the way his voice and general vibe exude peace and safety. could he kill you and not leave a trace of evidence? sure. but if the last words you hear are from that voice, who's complaining? not me.

Jeongin: next in line for danceracha, I swear. like, did y'all see him killing it in the Back Door part switch ver. when the actual danceracha was floundering?

#skz #stray kids #skz stay #hi chris how ya doin #bang chan #lee know #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #welcome to my love letter i mean rant i mean dump of the night #i gave my thoughts and now im forcing you to see them too now deal with it

54 notes · View notes

court-of-forever-undone · 3 years

Text

My Sister’s Love | Taryn POV

Chapter Three

Summary: Taryn pieces together her memories of Cardan and Jude’s early interactions as she reflects on how their relationship came to be and the events of the last year. As happy as she is for them, she can’t help but feel jealous of the moments they share.

Tags: Taryn’s POV of Jude x Cardan, Final Part

Read on AO3

After that dinner, we found Jude awake in her old rooms sitting with Tatterfell and Oak. For a moment, it was easy to pretend nothing had happened. She wore one of the black gowns she favored since becoming seneschal and was eating from a tray in front of her. But as she turned to face us, the wince she failed to hide and the paleness of her skin were reminders that she had nearly died just days ago. Her hair had been braided to mimic a crown, which was another reminder that my sister was not the same twin I had known.

Before we had a chance to talk, Cardan appeared. He likely came straight from his rooms, after finding them empty. Every fiber of my being wanted to grab Jude’s arm when Cardan asked her to join him, but I saw the dusting of pink spread across her cheeks as she saw him in the doorway, so I stood there silently. Jude would have probably ignored any word of caution coming from me anyways. We still had yet to fully come to terms with everything that happened between us.

When it had been hours and Jude had yet to return, I went to the royal chambers to see if she had gone straight there, but instead, I found Garrett.

While Jude had at least recovered some from her near-death experience, Garrett looked like the ghost of the beautiful sandy-haired boy I had met before. It might have been a funny observation given his code name, but all humor was lost in the moment. He had lost weight and his face had sunken in. When our eyes met, I saw the plea in them before he opened his mouth.

The next few hours were a blur. When Jude finally arrived at Hollow Hall, I was surprised to see she had allowed Cardan to come along. Cardan had proved he would follow my sister into the heart of an enemy war camp, despite better judgment, but this time Jude had chosen to invite him along with her.

After I commanded Garrett to stop, cursing myself for not thinking to do it earlier, we moved to a parlor room and I explained how we had come to know each other through Locke’s carelessness.

We discussed the events of what Garrett had done at Locke and Madoc’s command. It turned out that Garrett had been the one to shoot Queen Orglah. Even if he had been commanded to do it, Nicasia and the seafolk would see him as a traitor and demand that he be punished, which meant his life was entirely at the mercy of Jude and Cardan. I couldn’t help but see the resemblance to my own situation.

When Cardan made a comment about me lurking around the palace, I revealed that I had no intention of going anywhere until I knew that Jude would be safe. Our relationship may be strained, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make up for my actions.

Cardan wore an expression that showed he was tired of this conversation. “Jude and I had a misunderstanding. But we’re not enemies. And I am not your enemy, either, Taryn.”

As a faerie, I knew he couldn’t lie, but that didn’t matter. Maybe he didn’t think of us as enemies, he could still think of us as toys.

“But you think everything’s a game. You and Locke.” His name tasted like ash in my mouth.

“Unlike Locke, I never thought love was a game. You may accuse me of much, but not that.” Cardan shared softly.

The air in the room shifted as Cardan's gaze fell upon Jude, who refused to even look in his direction before quickly changing the subject.

For the first time, it was not just me who was drawing a comparison between our loves. While Cardan’s words came out more as a confession to Jude than a taunt at me, the words still stung. Locke had thought love to be a game. But Cardan, the cruel, spoiled prince did not think love was a game.

How had I believed Locke was my future?

In the carriage back to the palace, Cardan broke the silence by asking about some of the things he had seen on his way to Vivi’s apartment. Most of his questions were about the dishwasher which had been running in the apartment, how mortal mailboxes worked, how secure they were in protecting incoming mail, and what slushies tasted like.

By the end of the ride, I couldn’t help but laugh at his questions which seemed so trivial given the circumstances we all found ourselves in. When we were alone I turned to Jude, who was barely awake on her feet.

“Do you trust him?” I asked. It was the question that had been gnawing at me since our return.

Jude thought for a moment before sighing. “Sometimes,” she responded.

It was enough to make me warn her. Did I think Cardan loved her? Yes. But was Cardan trustworthy? It was hard to forget the years of our childhood together that suggested otherwise and if Jude who had gotten to know him closer than any of the rest of us questioned it, then it was probably best not to.

I had been blinded by my love for Locke that I trusted him to take care of me. I didn’t want the same to happen to Jude, even if seeing them care for each other made my heart ache with envy.

____________________________________________________________

In the days leading up to Madoc’s arrival, all of Elfhame seemed to be on alert; waiting for something to happen. Whispers that bordered on treason could be heard on the grounds and it seemed that everyone had begun placing bets on the outcome of the meeting. It seemed that many of the Folk had questions around the legitimacy of a human queen and the chance the High King’s army stood against a Redcap led army.

Madoc would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Vivi, Jude, and I all knew that. I did not have to attend strategy meetings to know they were facing a serious threat.

Amidst the preparations for possible battle, the whole castle seemed to note the change in the High King and Queen’s dynamic. For one, their marriage was now common knowledge, but more than that there was a closeness between them that had never been there before.

At first, it was not-so-secret handholding and shared looks at mealtimes. Once at dinner, Cardan made a joke about the dangers of in-laws and Jude rolled her eyes before letting a real smile show.

Then, rumors began to spread that a servant had walked into the royal chambers to replace the bedding and apparently caught the two in a compromising position even though they were supposed to be in a war meeting.

I was doubtful when I first heard, but I even overheard some council members complaining about how they missed when the two bickered all meetings instead of ditching meetings to sneak off together.

The new development had only lasted a matter of days, so I hadn’t figured out if it stemmed from a need for distraction given the impending situation or if the two had formed a more intimate relationship since Jude’s return to health.

The look of devastation on Jude’s face after Cardan transformed suggested that whatever their relationship entailed, Jude had begun to share feelings for him that went beyond hate or tolerance.

When Cardan snapped the blood crown, the air turned stale and the ground hardened. I couldn’t tear my eyes off of Cardan, as his body seemed to melt and twist into the monstrous snake.

The ground shook as the snake moved through the room headed straight for the sword maker. By the time Grimsen was swallowed, I was being pushed deeper into the castle by the flow of the crowd desperate to get to safety. I only got a glimpse of the horror on Jude’s face before she was completely out of sight.

By the time I finally saw her later, I saw the tear stains on her cheeks and the exhaustion behind her eyes. I wondered if she was mourning Cardan or perhaps she was coming to terms with her own future. If Cardan could not be saved, Jude would likely not last long on the throne. The lower courts might seize the chance or the undersea would. That is if our father didn’t dethrone her first.

For the first time in months, I thought I might be able to understand her again. Like me, her husband gave her a level of security that was uncommon for a human in Faerie. While Jude may try to say her motivations for marrying Cardan were different from me marrying Locke, I don’t think they were. They were both motivated by power and protection.

I married Locke for protection in Elfhame. My position as his wife also gave me a degree of power I never had before. Jude married Cardan to become High Queen. She could have become the most powerful knight alive and still not have been afforded the same level of protection she has as Cardan’s queen. While we may have had different expectations for our marriages, both were strategic.

Madoc taught us that it is harder to hold onto power than it is to gain it. It is even harder to hold on when it is just you. Together, she and Cardan had a chance at maintaining the throne, but alone the chances were slim.

I may have lost almost every privilege I had as Locke’s wife, but Jude had a lot more to lose without Cardan; including her life.

In his absence, the happiness that Jude showed disappeared entirely. When she wasn’t in meetings, she could be found in the destroyed throne room and truly seemed to mourn him.

I recognized some of her pain, though her situation was different of course. I knew what it was like to feel the suffocating sense of loneliness. After all, I had gone months without hearing from my sisters or my parents, all while stuck in a relationship that was on tilted ground from the start.

I knew the pain of losing a partner. Locke died by my hand, but it did not stop the mixed emotions that came after. In the instant I decided to act, I lost any promise of a safe future in Elfhame.

We both knew what it was like to be humans in Faerieland; powerless to watch as the monsters closed in from all sides. In a land where the food, wine, a dance, and a simple conversation could be disastrous, only she and I could truly understand the deep fear that every day brought.

When the day came to bridle the snake, my sister looked magnificent, powerful even. She looked every bit the part of High Queen. But behind her cold, fierce look, I noted the inner turmoil that plagued her.

No one had any ideas on how to save the High King. Therefore, her future came down to if she would decide to wield the snake as a weapon or not. With the serpent, Jude would have had a chance to hold her position on the throne. Without Cardan, she would likely lose everything.

If power was the only thing she wanted, it would have been a simple choice. Jude would have found the snake and ruled as the murderous queen that some fae refer to her as, for as long as she could. She hesitated though. After she dressed in Mab’s armor, she paced back and forth while she chewed her bottom lip, as she does when she is nervous or thinking. She didn’t know what she was going to do.

It was that morning that it became obvious that my sister had loved Cardan back. It was more than lust or a political arrangement. They both could claim their marriage had been strategic, and it might have started that way, but there was love between them. A love that kept her from using Cardan as a weapon.

They played their games and hurt one another, but when the other was in danger they shared the same look of desperate determination to save them. The look on Jude’s face was the same as Cardan’s when he came to Vivi’s apartment; desperate, sad, and determined.

____________________________________________________________

When Jude returned with a naked, bloody, Cardan I could not believe it. The impossible had happened.

Within a matter of hours, the palace managed to throw a feast in honor of the High King returning. I dressed quickly and made my way to join in the celebration with my siblings and Heather. Tatterfell told us that Jude would join us shortly.

At the height of the party, I spotted a familiar face trying to keep out of sight near the edge of the room. I left my spot near the musicians table and made my way towards him.

“Hello Garrett,” I said as I stopped next to him, taking in the room from his angle. Vivi, Heather, and Oak were still eating at one of the long tables. The crowd parted suddenly, so it was easy to spot Jude and Cardan as they made their way to the dancefloor.

“Taryn,” he replied with a smile.

Neither of us spoke for a moment as the kitchen servants brought out more desserts with a level of fanfare that matched the king that was being celebrated.

“Are you on king and queen duty this evening?” I asked with a nod to the direction of the dance floor.

Garrett shook his head and laughed, “Technically, I am always responsible for their safety, but I sense that the king and queen don’t wish to be followed.”

I looked back only to notice Cardan leading Jude behind the dais and out of sight.

“Then, perhaps you would like to dance?” The words slipped out before I could reason why it was a silly idea. Before I could regret my words, he offered a soft smile before extending his hand.

I let him sweep me onto the dance floor, trusting him to stop me before my feet wear out. I don’t know if it was the way his face lit up when he laughed, or because he is a member of my sister’s court of spies, or because I could command him at any time (not that I ever intend on using his name), but as we twirled and laughed together, I felt safe.

The feeling was a bit ridiculous. My future was still entirely unknown. I had a baby growing inside me, still needed to stand trial, and had no way to support myself.

Technically, both Garrett and I had committed crimes punishable by death, but at least for the evening, I was happy to share the space with him.

We stayed on the dance floor together until the sun streaked in through the windows.

____________________________________________________________

On the day of the tribunal, I could not help but tremble slightly. Cardan’s promise floated in my head, but I would never fully believe it until I was officially declared innocent. I could not believe that Jude would punish me too harshly. After all, she hated Locke for what he did, so I couldn’t imagine she was upset by my actions. At the same time, she also hated me for what I did, so it was hard to guess her thoughts.

I took my time getting ready until it was finally time to make my way to the throne room. I quietly entered and found my spot in the crowd before glancing up at the dais.

Together they sat. Two enemies who had somehow fallen in love. They had risen together through everything that had happened.

Jude made Cardan into a respectable king and Cardan made Jude queen so no one could overlook her power again.

Cardan invited me forward and in a clear voice, he granted me everything he promised. I was innocent and my child and I would inherit Locke’s titles.

I walked back to my seat and felt the weight of the last few months fall off of my shoulders.

With the ruling, I let myself imagine my future; something I had not done since the night I drove the letter opener plunge into Locke’s neck.

I had made regrettable choices in the past, but I had been given a fresh start.

I had hated the way my sisters had loving relationships, but now it was what I hope to find for myself.

I want a love that is more than security or protection or fun. I want to be with someone who encourages me to be more.

I am not in a rush to find love again. I have my child to raise, my relationships to repair, but if my sister’s love taught me anything, it is that love can happen in the most unlikely of places with the most unlikely of people.

#taryn pov #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jurdan #jude x cardan #cardan x jude #the folk of the air #tfota fanfic #jurdan fanfic #taryn duarte #the queen of nothing #the wicked king #the cruel prince #taryn and jude duarte #the duarte sisters #the cruel prince fanfiction #taryn x ghost

91 notes · View notes

thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Finally, You’re Back

Part 1: ‘There You Are’

Karl Heisenberg (Resident Evil 8: Village) x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Mentions of Injury and Human Experimentation, Insecurity, Swearing, Spoilers for RE8

Genre: Angst, Romance, Some Humor and Fluff too

Summary: And there they are, back in that village half a decade later to retrieve what’s theirs but unaware of what they’ll find in place of what they remember.

Requested by one Anon and the idea was modified by another Anon, so thank you both so much for sharing your creativity with me, it’s really been a huge honor to write a fic inspired by such a beautiful idea. Love you both! 💕

If again is what he hoped and prayed for, why is he damning it now Why does he resent himself for having hope When he previously wished nothing but to have it Why does their presence hurt When it used to heal him Why do they remind him of how much of a monster he is When previously they were the only one making him human Why is he worthy of their presence When he’s only become worse They upheld their promise But the person they are coming back to is no longer alive He’s taken his place and he hates himself for it He’d kill himself to get him back He’d do just about anything Just to prevent those eyes from seeing them differently Just so he can greet them with open arms and say:

“Finally, you’re back“

But as of now all he can say is:

“You’re back, but the one you’re searching for will never return“

He was made aware of their presence the day of their arrival in the village. He knew all about their venture, going around the village asking for him to be looked at with terror by the villagers they came across. He watched as all the people refused to tell them his whereabouts, claiming they didn’t know or they couldn’t tell. No matter what bribery or convincing method Y/N tried to use, the villagers refused to stand down from their determined ground.

They refused to give up though, going against his prayers that they would. They might have felt discouraged but they never, not even for a second, thought to give it up. Never did they even consider forgetting him as an option. It’s been half a decade and they still remember him, they still have the will to look for him despite all the time that has passed, despite the odds that aren’t in their favor, despite the lack of help from anyone.

They keep going, keep trying. They keep driving the sword deeper into his chest, piercing his heart.

If only they could accept me like this. If only they could look at a monster the same way they looked at that boy they met five years ago...

His mistake, although blatantly obvious even to him, is not something he’s willing to correct. He doesn’t want to give them a chance. And the answer to the question many - even he himself - would ask ‘why’, that answer he doesn’t want revealed.

Because he knows it and would do anything in his power to keep it from swimming to the surface.

The answer? - It’s because he’s afraid. Terrified really.

What of? That’s the part he’s not sure about. Is he afraid of them being scared, disgusted and repulsed by him? Or is he afraid of the complete opposite - that they won’t bat an eye at the change he’s undergone. That latter option leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth, his stomach turning. He doesn’t believe he deserves that reaction, after all he’s done, after becoming the monster he is now, he’s done his best to not even think about them - attempts that have failed miserably. Not a day has gone by that they haven’t been on his mind. He thought getting rid of the dog tag necklace - the promise - would cleanse his system of their memory that’s etched itself so deeply within his mind and soul but his hands refused to cooperate when his brain kept telling them to lift that necklace off his neck. He couldn’t do it, and he hated himself because of it for a while, but if he’s being honest he felt more relieved than anything else. He doesn’t want the only real memory, the only pleasant memory of his human days gone. He doesn’t want to wipe Y/N from his mind, they’re the only thought that still sends his heartbeat speeding in a positive way. He knows he’s a coward for what he does, hiding in the shadows and watching them waste their time with the villagers who think they are downright insane for going around looking for Karl Heisenberg whom the entire village knows as Lord Heisenberg. Not using his title each time they ask never fails to bring a smile to his face. It’s a relief that they at least have a nice picture of him that has stuck with them. And if it’s up to him, that’s the picture that will remain, they won’t see him like this, this new him won’t replace the old him in their mind. He’d do anything to make sure of it.

That being said, you can imagine the massive shock and mini heart attack he experienced one day when his motion detectors picked up on someone entering the factory in broad daylight. Rushing to the camera display, the briefest glimpse was enough to make out who this foolish person looking for their death was.

Goddammit, Y/N!

It was no longer a danger to his sanity, their presence at the factory was an even worse danger for them. His creations wouldn’t think twice about slicing their tiny frame in half with their implemented chainsaws, designed to do exactly what he’s hoping they won’t get the chance to do this time. Running to the elevator, all he can do is silently pray he reaches them before they come across one of his minions.

What he’s going to say to them? How he’s gonna greet them? He hasn’t got the slightest clue, all he knows is that he has to get to them asap.

Running out of the elevator once it settles on the ground floor, he almost crashes directly into them, eyes wide with shock as the adrenaline is still pumping throughout his body despite the immense amount of relief he feels wash over him. He doesn’t notice at first, but when he does his heart sinks: their gaze is empty and their face unreadable. He can’t bear to have them looking at him like that, it hurts more than physically hitting him. Hell, it hurts more than the experiments Miranda did to him.

“How’d you find me?“ He decides to end the silence for his sanity’s sake, his heart heavy and aching in his chest.

They shrug, “Wasn’t easy, I’ll have to admit, you’ve trained the villagers well, none of em wanted to give me even a clue.“ They give him a small smile before looking around at the factory walls and everything lining them, “And then I put it together on my own. It was a bit of a stretch...“ they trail off, their eyes scanning him from head to toe, “...but I see it was a lucky one.“

He can’t help but huff, more out of disgust for himself than anything else, “If you call this lucky you’ve gotta have a few screws loose.”

Much to his surprise, this remark earns him a genuine, wholehearted laugh from Y/N, “Oh Karl, didn’t you pick up on my loose screws back when we first met? That’s odd, people usually take one look and can already tell.”

He scoffs, letting a small smile slip onto his face before he chases it away, forcing himself to maintain the seriousness, “I can’t believe how foolish you are. Didn’t you, even for a second, think there was maybe a good reason why people didn’t want to give you my whereabouts?”

“Oh I didn’t need to think about it!“ They say, lifting a pointer finger in the air as if to emphasize their point, “They were pretty clear when they were calling you stuff like ‘monster’ and ‘cruel Lord’ or whatever.“

Heisenberg’s eyes widen in an instant, “So you knew? You knew I was...I wouldn’t be the same as you remember me?” He asks, his jaw almost reaching the floor.

They nod nonchalantly, “I mean, I was sure of that part, it’s been half a decade, after all. Of course, I didn’t expect such a drastic change but it changes nothing. The villagers made it all sound super scary and dramatic...”

Karl doesn’t get confused often. However, right now, they’ve got him completely flabbergasted. “You were told about me...about me being what I am and you still showed up and walked into this place everyone fears like you own it? Where the fuck is your self-preservation instinct?!”

With an eye-roll, Y/N pushes past him, entering the elevator and walks over to the buttons to choose a floor, “Up your ass, Heisenberg. Right next to the stick that’s got you in such a foul mood. Is this how you welcome back an old friend?” Though the words themselves were harsh, they spoke them in such a way and with a sincere look in their eyes that they had the complete opposite effect of what they’d usually have. Hell, he wants to laugh at the vocabulary on its own, it’s so refreshing to hear someone use those terms and speak so freely around him, unfazed by his powers. To be fair, they’re probably not even aware he has any.

Looking at them now, their intense gaze telling him loud and clear that they’re completely unfazed, has him going soft. They’re still his connection to the humanity he’s lost, he’s still clinging onto it thanks to them. And while he still believes he doesn’t deserve to preserve any last piece of it, he’s glad that he’s not the judge of that. The punishment is not his to decide. It’s theirs. And who knows, allowing him to keep a tiny fragment of his humanity may be the ultimate punishment but he doesn’t know it yet. Regardless, he’s happy with it as long as it means he has them by his side to carry said punishment out.

When all they get in response to their words is a laugh they too let a smile lighten up their features, “There you go, knock some humor into you.” They turn to look at the buttons briefly before locking their gaze onto him once again, “I like what you did with the place. Care to show me around?”

He shakes his head as his laughter dies down, “You won’t like it.”

Y/N rolls their eyes yet again, “Leave that up for me to decide, old man.”

A frown comes across Heisenberg’s face, “Old man? How dare you?”

The sound of their laughter almost manages to wipe the frown off his face. Almost. “Old man who can pull off even a century old dog tag necklace.” They say, sizing up the necklace resting over his chest which he automatically reaches out to touch as a result of her remark. “You can keep it, by the way. I don’t need it back. I’ll be sticking around for some time after all.”

Before he can even process what they said, they’ve pulled him into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, looking out of the open side of it to be able to see the inside of the factory as the metal box keeps climbing, carrying them with it. Their back is turned to him so he can’t see the look on their face but he can only hope it’s not one of horror or disgust. If he were to receive that look from them his heart would shatter on the spot. So he’d rather they don’t turn around - both for him not to be able to see them grimacing and so they can’t see him staring at them with that look in his eyes.

Look of adoration he’s never given anyone before nor will he ever give to anyone else. And so, all the pieces of his soul have found their proper spots.

Thanks to Y/N.

Finally, you’re back.

84 notes · View notes

iamanartichoke · 3 years

Text

All right - I’m serious, I don’t fucking know what to say. There is so much analysis to be done and I’ve got FEELS and my brain short-circuited. But, some reactions under the cut. Spoilers, obviously.

[please blacklist spoiler tags: #loki tv series spoilers, #loki series spoilers, #loki spoilers]

*flailing*

Well my first reaction is that -

Okay. There was some cringe - mostly stuff that we already saw in the trailers. (Loki doesn’t say “crap,” btw. I think he says “bunk.” Which, okay.) I’m just kinda ignoring it.

There were some genuinely funny lines and moments. Toward the latter half of the episode, there was a more subtle balance between serious and humorous and it flowed together well.

Re: Loki’s powers - I actually really like how they handled it here. The narrative made fun of him when he tried to use his powers, but idk, I didn’t find anything wrong with it. It was amusing and the joke was not “har har Loki is weakling,” it was “har har Loki thinks he can use his powers here,” which was more funny and ic for me. Also, Loki slamming his fists down and saying DAMN IT WHY WON’T IT WORK sent me.

That said, they did a good job showing that even a “declawed” Loki, powers-wise, was still formidable in the sense that he fell back on his wits and gave them a run for their money. Plus him getting one over on Jailer Time Lady was *chef’s kiss*

I’m intrigued by the storyline and general plot.

Okay, what broke my brain (and my heart) was everything between Loki and Mobius. Mobius kept dragging Loki in all the most hurtful ways we’ve all meta’ed about endlessly, and I couldn’t figure out if he was trying to goad Loki or if he actually believed what he was saying. Idk, I can’t get a firm read on Mobius at this point, although I kinda hate him a little. He preyed on all of Loki’s most vulnerable doubts and insecurities - rude.

Most importantly -

LOKI CRYING. Loki cried a lot. My emotional whumpy needs were met. Mobius fucking showed him Frigga’s death, and then Loki watched his own death (which they showed somewhat graphically but I really liked how we got to see Loki’s reaction as the snap of his neck occurred off-screen, like, well done and also fuck my life), and the way he stood there, laughing and crying as the realization of his wasted life - and how it ends - sunk in was just, god, my heart.

Mobius’s interrogation revolving around forcing Loki to admit whether or not he likes hurting people and causing death and destruction was good. I also liked how, when Loki was threatening Casey, you could tell that he didn’t intend to kill Casey at all but it wasn’t done in a mocking, like, “pfft okay Loki” way, it was more like a “okay, we all know you have no intention of actually gutting Casey like a fish bc you clearly don’t enjoy hurting people and we’re establishing that right off the bat” and, yknow, that works for me.

I’m probably forgetting things. I will have to rewatch and analyze much more closely. I anticipate many metas (sorry in advance). But, I mean, my overall reaction? There wasn’t really anything that I disliked enough to make an impression. Just the cringey humor parts and the times where Loki’s reactions felt exaggerated but, I mean, it was easy enough to overlook. I certainly didn’t get the impression that Loki was being portrayed as “clownish” or too zany, despite the trailers. Loki had a ton of really good lines; I feel like we got a solid glimpse into what’s going on in Loki’s head but there’s obviously so much more going on beneath the surface.

And also, Loki’s mannerisms deserve mentioning! Nothing special but just, he had so many facial expressions and gestures and things that, thus far, have only existed in my imagination when reading/writing fic. He pushed his hands through his hair at one point, even. I realize I’m probably the only one lame enough to care about things like that, but I just loved watching the way Loki spoke and moved and reacted. It all felt very natural.

ALSO. LOKI BEING D.B. COOPER BC HE LOST A BET TO THOR. LMAO. I CANNOT.

... Imma just leave it there for now. I give this episode, upon first viewing and first reactions, a B-. More meta to follow, etc.

#loki tv series spoilers #loki series spoilers #loki spoilers #loki pokey artichokey #loki series: just drink what's in the glass

75 notes · View notes

whosjunglejim4322 · 4 years

Text

Cobra Hybrid! Yukhei/ fighter AU

Warnings: pussy eating, breeding kink, competitive fighting, bl**d, mentions of open wounds, eagle hybrid Xiaojun, scorpion hybrid Hendery, minor mentions of getting high, angst, mentions of near death experiences, fluff bc Xuxi loves u an unhealthy amount

The sky outside of your bedrooms hopper window is scattered with rich hues of deep violet and burgundy, a sight that is too captivating to not sit and admire for at least a moment while your food cools off on your beside table.

You've always been particular about the temperature, needing it hot enough to burn your palms but not the surface of your tongue.

You smile warmly to yourself as you think of Yukhei, the way he can practically scarf anything down no matter the heat. You've had to physically stop him from inhaling piping hot ramen quite a few times, though he never listens. "Its okay, promise!I like when it's hot!"

Stubborn boy.

The colors above seem to dissipate by the second into shades that better suit the nighttime hour, not even a quarter of the sun peeking from below the horizon as the city below continues to buzz with work commutes, or perhaps lovers that are eager to be in the same space their partners occupy.

You sigh ruefully, knowing that it's just your suboncious missing a certain doe eyed, raven haired boy.

It hasn't even been two days since you last saw eachother, the navy blue sweatshirt that he wore over still hanging off the corner of your dresser, the scent of patchouli and cedarwood clinging to the fabric.

Your fingers reach out to undo the latch that keeps your window closed, the cool, dusk air gentle against your cheeks.

You know you shouldn't worry about him, he's with Hendery and Xiaojun and the others and they're all celebrating YangYang's birthday in his uncles house near Shenzhen.

At least that's what his last message said, and truly, you're not one to be overly nosey or obsessive. But the thought of Yukhei, your Yukhei, back in that poisonous red ring with barbarous eyes latched onto his body, eager for his blood to spill across the white floor-

You feel your throat tighten at the thought, eyes closing as you inhale through your nose, the air not as thick with smog this time of year and allowing for at least somewhat of a peace of mind.

You find the juxtaposition to the outside world, and the world that lies below the boutiques and indie music shops and niche cafes, to be sardonically humorous.

It makes sense, strangely, that the evil and greed that people possess would no doubt be thrumming with a life of its own in the hybrid world, even more so than that of the human world, sometimes.

And for hybrids like Yukhei, the ones with a little more strength, a little more aggression once the animal that coexists with their dna is provoked, for a king cobra; merchants practically frothed at the mouth when your boyfriend put himself up for rivalry.

It was the last thing he ever wanted to do, and not just because the clubs usually smelled of dry blood and spit among other noxious substances, or because of the fact that his body felt as if it had been hit by a train every morning when he awoke.

It's because of how you sobbed when you found out. Your eyes and nose raw with the fury in which you had rubbed them, your body shaking. It hurt more than anything, more than a fierce kick to the jaw or a pair of canines ripping into the flesh of his shoulder.

It was agoninzing, almost more so than the fact that he had to do it in order to pay off some stupid, futile debt that he owed.

It was a nefarious fox hybrid who helped him out of an almost brawl at a club downtown during the time he worked there, fixing drinks sometimes, or lending a hand in securing the canvas and apron that was needed for the fighting ring.

It was easy work for him, and he needed the money if he wanted to get through school by even a little, but the people who occupy spaces like that, they weren't too keen on a snake hybrid being allowed in during daytime hours; helping or not.

It was just a bigheaded bull, a new bartender who caught a glimpse of the few iridescent scales that gleamed acrosss the expanse of his shoulder blade, and before he could even smell the unprompted vexation wafting off of the hulking man- he was thrown across the room.

He was nearly impaled on the bar top, nearly. Though the fox jumped in almost too eagerly after the bull busted your boyfriend's top lip open, introducing himself as the owner and kicking the aggressor off of Yukhei after professing his status.

As far as the story goes, the owner was still quite upset at the fact that two bottles of expensive liquor had been busted and wasted in the whole debacle, news to Yukhei since he had been, well, fearing for the safety of his face due to the close proximity of six inch horns.

So, it was lose a decent job and have no other options left as such a reclusive breed, or use his strengths to his advantage.

You shudder everytime you think of the ladder. Nothing prepared you for hearing that from Xiaojun's mouth, for seeing him look so weak, so close to the brink of deterioration. He looked broken.

Your noodles are cold now, and you curse yourself for allowing your thoughts to wander off to a place so unnecessary to revisit.

You're too tired to heat them back up, moving from your window sill to your quaint, welcoming bed. You peel the thick comforter back and nestle yourself into the warmth, grabbing your old (but still functioning) laptop in hopes of finding something new to watch on netflix. You have too much of a habitual personality to start a new t.v. show, but a movie might suffice.

It's hard to focus your attention elsewhere, to not to think of him. He's the type of person that you can't ever get used to seeing upclose, so effortlessly beautiful it's almost painful, an ache in the pit of your chest.

Maybe that's silly to say, but it's not jusy because you're sickeningly in love with him. It's this force that he carries with him, like he's made of pure, raw sunlight.

You close your eyes for a moment, picturing the way his plush lips feel against yours when he smiles into a kiss, noses touching and giggles resonating in his throat as you play with the wild strands of his perpetually fluffy hair.

You think of all the things that make him inherently him. His hands, the way they always seem to be steady and gentle, elegant, despite their size. Even when he caresses your cheek with the back of his knuckles, it's featherlight.

It's in his nature to be so agile, so stealthy in his movements. You sometimes forget he's a snake hybrid at all, his outside appearance similar to a lion shifter, or a wolf.

It's probably the most unobvious thing about him, unless he were to take his clothes off and reveal the miscellaneous littering of scales across his broad back and shoulders.

They're similar to his eyes in the way that they're usually onyx until they glimmer under light, ranging from shades of dazzling silver to veridian. You think of the way he hums in satisfaction everytime you run your fingertips along the surface, eyes captivated with wonder.

You jolt in surprise as your phone rings obnoxiously loud, your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance at the prospect of your pleasant thoughts being so rudely interrupted. Your indignation vanishes when you see the caller ID.

Hendery 🦂 is calling...

"Hello?" Your voice is neutral for the most part, the rational side of your mind trying not to panick so suddenly.

That doesn't last long once you hear the troubled pang in the hybrids voice, the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight up.

"Hey, uh- I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry to have to- look Yukhei is hurt-" You're sure all the blood in your body has suddenly been drained, stomach twisting as the words fly from Hendery's mouth. "We can't go to the hospital, Yangyang isn't with us and-"

This can't be happening. Not again. Who lied? Did they all lie?

"Is it the same club?" The stillness in your voice is unsettling, though you're pretty sure you might be going into shock at this point. You can't feel your limbs properly.

"Yes." He replies bleakly, and your fingers tremble as they end the call.

It's like you knew, you always know. There's something about being with Yukhei that has given you a sort of second sense, it's like knowing when a step is missing and you're about to trip.

You know you're going well over the speed limit, skin pulled fiercly over your knuckles with the force in which you're gripping the steering wheel. You're only aware you're crying when streaks of warmth cascade down your cheeks and soak into Yukhei's sweatshirt that you threw on before leaving.

You never wanted to be back here, navigating the slim dark streets to find that familiar, seemingly abandoned building with a simple red logo spray painted on the side. It can only be understood by hybrids, humans not able to translate.

The building is tucked so far back behind the city, it makes for an incredibly unpleasant journey, along with an already unpleasant destination. It's a dark corner in a place full of light. It's the door to a shadow world, to the creatures that find comfort in malice and anguish.

You're surprised you've arrived so fast, not even aware of the strange, curious glances you've been getting by passerbys. No doubt wondering what a little human girl is doing in one of the most dangerous, underground parts of the city.

But they can't touch you, not legally anyways. It's forbidden for hybrids to harm humans, and none of them would dare risk exposing their little side show for a taste of a mundane.

It's Xiaojun you spot first, his conspicuous head of nearly white hair sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the darkness of the alleyway. It's only as you approach that you can see he's slumped under the weight of Yukhei, who's figure is akin to a wilting flower.

You feel your stomach lurch, though adrenaline is what drives you to throw yourself out of the car like a madman, leaving the door open and all to run to his side. You share a brief glance with a wide eyed Hendery, gesturing towards the car as your knees scrape fiercly against the pavement.

You almost don't want to look at him completely, gaze set on Xiaojun as you round to the other side and slip yourself underneath Yukhei's heavy arm. You can't, however, ignore the blood that sticks to your skin, nor the scent of it clinging to him. He murmurs your name with a strained cry, your knees wobbling.

It's a complete blur, happening in what you guess is only about two to three minutes. Yukhei slurs his words as you and the blonde haired hybrid hoist him up with all your strength, agonized groans bellowing from his throat while you move him to the back seat.

You help to manuever his long legs into the car, every bruised, wounded, and bloody part of him visible now underneath the light above your heads. It's even worse than before. How can it be worse?

You throw yourself in beside him, Xiaojun slamming the door shut before he sprints to the passengers seat, Hendery hitting the throttle as soon as everyone is secure inside the vehicle.

You turn to your boyfriend, your love. You have to resist the urge to reach out and touch him, terrified to accidentally skim past a laceration. You whisper his name into the darkness, hoping that he'll answer and that he won't disappear before your very eyes.

Getting him inside of their apartment complex isn't easy. And not just because it takes two of you to carry him, his body too weak to do much of anything; it's mostly because carrying a half dead looking hybrid to an elevator isn't really the most optimal option.

Luckily Hendery knows how to pick the lock to the fire escape hatch in the back of the complex, allowing the four of you to somewhat subliminally carry him up two flights of stairs before finally arriving at apartment 236.

Not the essiest thing you've ever done. But none of that matters, nothing matters right now except for him.

"Couch!" Xiaojun yells, Hendery two steps ahead of him, pushing the old coffee table in the center of the livingroom to the far right corner.

Yukhei stammers before you both set him onto the piece of furniture as gently as you can, a choked whimper being the only sound he can make. It's even worse in this light, all the shared meals and nights binge watching movies suddenly lightyears away. Now this room is tainted with the sight of him falling apart.

"What do we do? Oh god, what do we do?" You speak through a broken sob, on your knees next to your boyfriends limp figure, his long limbs hanging off the side of the couch while his head struggles to stay upright.

You don't even realize Hendery has ran off until he is jogging back with a first aid kit that probably won't do any good, not in this situation. He reads the uncertainty and disbelief in your expression, quickly rebuttling.

"Venom, we need his venom," He and Xiaojun share a look that you don't quite understand, but you're too overwhemled to question it right now. "We just need to clean him up first, as best as we can."

He hands you a warm, damp washcloth and you are quick to bring it to Yukhei's face, the only place that isn't too damaged to touch and somewhat tamper with. His swollen eyes struggle to stay open, but once your hand caresses his sweltering cheek, he uses all of the strength he has to mutter your name.

"I'm so- sorry, you don't...you don't under..understand."

You place a gentle finger to his busted lips, pulling back immediately as his eyebrows furrow and he winces, not yet aware of the two others pouring some sort of unfamiliar disinfectant onto the open wounds.

"Shh, not right now. We gotta get you fixed up, okay? It's gonna be alright."

The words are probably more comforting to yourself, though nothing is comfortable at a time like this. Everything is happening so fast, Hendery gently pushing you to the side and whispering something to Yukhei that is inaudible to your human ears.

He nods weakly, and you can't hide your horror nor contain the frightening gasp that escapes your throat when Xiaojun approaches and bares his claws, shoving them into your boyfriends side.

You're frozen in place, time stopping for a an infinite moment as you sit and watch what's unfolding. Hendery muffles Yukhei's agonized shout initially, removing his hand when he realizes that the cobras fangs have been ejected.

He holds a vile up to his mouth, puncturing the top open with the sharp edge of his tooth, allowing the sticky clear venom to drip down into the glass container. You've never seen Yukhei's fangs before, mostly because snake hybrids and cobras alike aren't one to use them unless absolutely necessary.

Life or death.

It happens quick, Xiaojun with a needle inbetween his deft fingers, likely from the inconspicuous looking first aid kit, pulling the venom through the syringe before handing it to Hendery to inject into your boyfriends carotid artery.

His body stiffens as if he's gone into shock, veins protruding from his skin and pulsing like his heart beat has gone past the safe amount of BPM.

And then, he's still, so still it feels like you're getting a glimpse of what it's like to lose him, and you still can't find the strength of the willpower to move.

"He'll be okay, I promise,"

Hendery is by your side in an instant, panting as perspiration drips from his forehead. "He just needs to rest, he's the only type of hybrid who can use his own venom as a healing agent."

It feels like you've stepped into a different dimension, like somehow now is the time that your brain finally begins to over process the fact that none of these boys are human and that monsters really do exist.

They're not the monsters. You're not bothered by their otherworldy state of being in the slightest, but there's something in the way that they speak that makes it seem as though you're missing a vital detail, like a page ripped straight from the spine of a book. A page that could very well determine the entire stories fate.

"Where's Yangyang? And the birthday?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, incredulity in your tone.

He and the blonde haired eagle look guilty beyond belief, hesitancy in their eyes. The anger that boils inside of you, starting from your toes and rising to your ears, pushes you to stand to your feet and move past them to where Yukhei lies.

Theur admittance to whatever the fuck is going on, can come later. You don't trust yourself right now anyways, too angry, too overcome with grief to yell or shout or throw things in the way you wish to.

You sit by his side, and reach out to brush his tousled hair out from in front of his scraped forehead, examining the violet and burgundy hues that blooms from underneath his honey colored skin.

"I love you, I'll always be here."

You whisper, lying your head against the cushion next to his, exhaustion suddenly clouding your brain and allowing you to forget, just for a second, that you almost lost him.

The sunlight burns red from behind your eyelids, last nights events not yet in the forefront of your brain until you hear the low timbre of voices from the other room, haunting images forcing you awake.

You sit up too fast, head pounding from the restless sleep you've endured. You realize you're in someones bed when you kick off a familiar pair of black sheets from your feet, the setting around you like a second home. Yukhei's room. Someone must have carried you here during the night.

You're quicker and more eager than you've ever been in the morning, feet carrying you towsrds the half open door as you practically sprint into the livingroom, expecting to see him lying there as immobile as he was last night; preparing yourself for the worst.

But you don't see anyone on the couch, in fact. It takes you a moment to register that everyone is in the kitchen, huddled around the island. You're too beside yourself to realize that the broad, tan back that's facing you belongs to him, until he turns around.

You don't get a good look at his face, already smashing yourself against his chest with a force that doesn't even budge him. You gasp suddenly, recoiling in fear as you step away, terrified that you've hurt him.

His long arms are still open expectantly, doe eyes glossy as he stares back at you in confusion, your expression as shocked as it is dubious. He's healed. Well, not completely. Your fingers trace over the scabs that have formed where gashes and lacerations once were just hours before.

He pulls you to him again by your elbows, and you look up at him through wet lashes to see that the bruises are no longer a severe shade of purple and blue, only slightly yellow.

It doesn't take many more glances before you're forcing yourself up onto your tippytoes, grasping his cheeks in your palms and pressing your mouth against his.

His arms enclasp you fiercly, nearly making it hard to breathe but you don't care, not at all. Not when he's whole and alive and smells like himself again, not when he's kissing you like it's been years since you've last seen eachother.

When you part you realize that Yangyang and Kun are here, and the confusion that you harbored last night for their actions and secret glances, has you reluctantly pulling away from the embrace of your lover.

You see it now, the fear and worry that colors his expression. All of their expressions. Your eyes are suddenly fierce, fists clenching by your sides as your nails form crescents into the flesh of your palms.

"Someone better tell me what the everliving fuck is going on and why this happened again," You've never been so furious, have never lashed out as anyone as angrily as you are right now.

"A birthday party? Really? That's the excuse you came up with?!" Yukhei hangs his head in shame, knowing that it's in all of their best interest to let you finish. It's only fair.

"And you all knew, every single one of you let him walk into that ring again, every single one of you were okay with letting him die!" Your voice rises an octave, fresh tears now springing from your tired eyes.

"And I know there's something more, you're all shit liars. I just don't know what's going on and I dont know why, I just need to know why?" You sound defeated this time, covering your face in your hands as the cobra cradles your head against his chest.

You're too weak to pull away, too run dry to sob any longer.

Kun is the first to speak.

"His venom, it's-" You can only guess that someone glares at him, Hendery murmuring to his elder to let Yukhei tell you himself.

You finally glance up, meeting the teary eyed gaze of the man you love, who looks as terrified as he does stricken with unidentifiable emotions. He's silent as he deliberates with himself mentally, looking over his shoulder and nodding to the group in a silent understanding, before gently guiding you towards his room.

Venom, money, high.

These words echo in your brain as you sit across from Yukhei on his bed, his eyes too scared to meet yours as he finally finishes his explanation.

It's the whole hearted truth, as painful as it is to admit to the one person in this world who he so desperately wants to protect. But it had to be done, for your sake and for his.

"So the drinks you were making, they were filled with your venom...and people drank it willingly?"

You're still struggling to understand, no anger or shame laced in your voice as he expected, though it still doesn't lighten the indescribable weight that sits on his chest. He swallows.

"It's like...it's like a high for some people, or like being drunk but to an extreme, euphoric level," He anxiously picks at the skin beside his nail beds.

"The fox knew he could profit off of it, but it's still taboo. He was my employer and could easily pass me off as a crooked cobra hybrid who was sneaking my venom into drinks for secret cash. So he told me if I wanted to stop, for good, I had the chance to get my get out of jail free card during the upcoming fight,"

Your heart feels as if it might rip through your shirt, the pain and obvious regret in his voice tangible. It all makes since bow, though, in hindsight. Though you still don't understand why the others were so involved.

As if he read your mind, he continues.

"And Hendery, Xiaojun...they were just protecting me. They'd wait and make sure that I left the club everynight unharmed, and they knew the cost of confronting the fox. Hendery's venom as a scorpion is lethal, so he couldn't get involved for obvious reasons. They weren't happy or okay with any of it, I just didn't have a choice."

You suddenly feel like the guilty one now, chest heavy as the pieces of the gigantic, horrifying, and confusing puzzle finally come together.

It's alot to take it, more than you were prepared for. And your anger isn't directed at them anymore, in fact wvery ounce of fire that had been raging inside of you burns at the idea of that stupid fucking fox doing all of this for cash.

Sensing that he's still worried you're upset, you reach out to grab his fidgeting hands, his chin lifting only slightly as to peer at you through his dark lashes.

When you crawl over to him and on his lap, he looks dumbfounded. Even more so as you kiss him gently, softer than a rose petal as your thumb caresses the apple of his cheek.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that, I'm so so sorry." Tears slip past your waterline before you can contain them and he kisses them away just as quickly, voice incredulous.

"Baby no, don't apologize, ever," He lifts your face to his, eyes wide and full of reverie. "I'm okay, I'm okay because you were there and I promise with my entire heart and soul to never get wrapped up in that shit ever again, ever."

You kiss him again, the taste of tears not bothering either of you. You just need to feel him, to remind yourself that he's not going anywhere. You can't shake the thought of how he looked last night.

"I almost lost you, Yukhei you...I thought I'd wake up and you'd be gone and I'd never get to kiss you again or hear your laugh," He's crying now, too, silently as he closes his eyes and you bury your face against his neck. His hands cradle you as if he has the entire world in his grasp.

"Shh I'm here, m'not going anywhere baby. I'll stay forever with you."

And he means it to his very core, feels it in his bones, solidifed as you kiss him again and again like he suplies the air in your lungs. You're both so in love with every fiber of your being, so enraptured in the feeling of one another.

When you push at his chest to silently ask him to lie down, he's quick to assert who's taking care of who, eagerly gripping your soft waist and letting your back fall against his mattress.

"My sweet angel," You arch into his touch as his plush mouth nibbles the soft skin underneath your jaw, traveling across the expanse of your throat and to the sides of your neck. "Let me make you feel good, been so patient with me."

It dawns om him that you're wearing his hoodie and he swears his heart throbs in his chest, quick fingers pulling the garment over your head and tossing it to the side with your shirt underneath, before continuing his descent.

He's shamless in the way he cups your breasts in his wide palms, gazing up at you through slitted eyes as his pink tongue flicks over one of the hardening buds. You reach out to touch any part of him you can, whining as he repeats the action on the opposite breast.

He wanders even further down, across every inch of your tummy, humming all the while in satisfaction at how sweet you smell between your legs, at how needily you whine for him.

He's all too excited now, pulling the shorts from your body with a force that should've ripped them in half, kissing your inner thighs sweetly but not as earnestly as he'd like. He's just too focused on the enticing sight of your glistening sex, mouth practically watering.

He doesn't wait for you to prepare yourself, digging in immediately. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling themselves in the strands as his mouth encloses around your throbbing clit, suckling before he licks a broad stripe over your folds.

"Yu-yukhei...oh!" Your thighs threaten to close around his head but he holds them open with an inescapable grip, endulging himself wholeheartedly as he slurps and licks at every drop of juice that flows from you.

It's a maddening sort of pleasure, your toes curling and belly tightening. His nose is pressed against your pubic mound as he keeps his mouth over your center, wriggling his head back and forth as his tongue flicks over your clit at an inhuman pace.

"Ah, I can't- oh fuck." You're blabbering incoherently, though it only drives him further. He relishes in the way you're writhing underneath him, the way you're so wet just for him and him only.

"Want you to cum on my tongue, can you do that for me?"

All you can do is cry out in response, bucking your hips against his mouth as he prods at your entrance with the tip of his tongue. You're so close it's humiliating, but he's elated, already sensing your orgasm in the way your walls throb and pulse with every lick to your bud.

The sounds are so nasty, so lewd in the way your wetness combined with his saliva is so audible in the small room.

You cum without a warning, not being able to speak or do much of anything except jerk and twitch as he keeps his mouth on you, unrelenting in his determination to taste your release.

You whimper.

"Fuck me, please Xuxi p-please."

You beg softly, with half lidded eyes and he reluctantly lifts himself from your center with dark yet gentle eyes, mouth saturated in your juices. He can't resist you.

He kisses you like this, and you don't complain one bit. Not when he's got his pants down faster than you can blink, gripping his thick shaft and rubbing the ruby hued tip of his cock against your sensitive clit.

"Want me to fill you up, huh? Want me to make you mine forever and ever."

You're unable to verbally respond when he pushes himself in, not even an ounce of friction due to a mixture of your cum and his spit coating your walls as well as the inside of your thighs. He buries himself to the hilt, your hands on his broad back.

His pace is determined but not frantic, body held up by his forearms so he can continue to kiss you while his dick spears into you. Your lips are one of his favorite parts about you, so soft, the perfect size to slot right against his.

"Yes Xuxi, want you to give me all your cum, pretty p-please."

He supresses a hiss, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you wrap your thighs around his middle, heels pressing into his lower back.

"Mm, gonna give you my babies," He doesn't miss the way your walls flutter around him, as he pulls himself almost all the way out before sheathing himself inside of you once more. "Want you to be leaking with my cum for a w-whole week."

You whimper, and it drives him mad. His hips are agile and precise as he fucks into you now, controlled and skilled. He knows exactly where your sweet spot is, exactly what has you clinging onto him for dear life.

"You're s-so big, missed your dick, missed you."

He's the one whining now, scattering wet kisses under your jaw, nibbling your earlobe. It's like no other sensation, being together like this. You can't tell where he ends and you begin, all you can do is feel.

"You like my big dick, hmm? Want me to stuff that pretty pussy full." His words are filthy, but his candence is sweet like honey, earnest in the way his voice trembles. He's just as high on pleasure as you are.

"Please, please, yes."

His thrusts become harsher in the way he fucks back into you, reaching past your cervix. Your fingers bury themselves into the dark strands of his hair as quiet whimpers bubble from your throat, senses overwhelmed with Yukhei Yukhei Yukhei.

It doesn't help that he's so vocal in your ear, the deep timber of his groans sending chills down your spine and causing your belly to fill with heat, spreading throughout your limbs like wildfire.

It's not just fucking, this feels like what making love really is. It's a reunion in more ways than one, a solidification of your bond. You wish it could last forever, the scent of his skin, the softness of it. You can feel every muscle in his body strained with the strength he uses to please you, to reach depths that have your toes curling.

When you turn your head to kiss the skin just below his ear, his hips falter.

"Oooooh, shit baby m'gonna cum, fuck."

You pull his face from your shoulder to smash his lips against yours, cradling his face as he cups the back of your neck. His tongue slips inside your mouth, and you purposely squeeze your walls around his length.

He mewls, cursing under his breath. "Cum for me, please Yukhei," He's looking right into your eyes, lips kiss bitten, skin flushed. "Make sure you give me every last drop."

He's done for, hair sticking to his forehead, a broken groan straining to leave his throat as he pushes himself as deep as possible, both of you watching each others expression in the process.

"I love you I love you I love you." He chants, while spurts of his cum paint your walls white. You unravel when you look down between your bodies for a fleeting moment, catching a glimpse of the amount he's released as he disappears inside of you over and over again.

He kisses your face as you struggle to grasp onto him, the pleasure too much to handle, physically and emotionally. It has tears springing from your eyes, nails digging into his biceps as he continues to fuck you through it.

"I love you too, I love you so much." You finally reply, finding the strength to speak no matter how slurred and sleepy it might sound.

He smiles warmly with irrevocable adoration, eyes crinkling at the corners. He strokes your cheek with the soft pad of his thumb, leaning down to peck your nose, and then your forehead, and then your eyelids.

"You have my entire heart," He professes. "I'll always be here."

"Guess I saw that cumming."

Xiajun glares at Hendery.

239 notes · View notes

redpandaramblings · 3 years

Text

Sweet Treats Sero Hanta x F!Reader Birthday fic.

Happy birthday, @reinawritesbnha!!! Wanted to write you a silly little fic that I hope you enjoy.

Content Warnings:- Not SFW situations, cake destruction, nudity, crude humor, Mineta mention, awkward situations, mentions of food, mentions of drinking, probably incorrect Spanish, aged up characters.

Spanish translations are provided at the very bottom of the fic. I suggest waiting to look them up to avoid spoilers.

Y/n protested playfully as her friend dragged her towards the well known restaurant. “Come on, this place is too fancy. Pro heroes eat here! There’s no way we’re getting in without a reservation.”

Her friend laughed, continuing to lead her towards the door. “One, it’s not too fancy for your birthday. Two, we do have a reservation! It’s a weekday, so it actually wasn’t too difficult to get in. Sucks a little that we can’t party as hard, but we get to celebrate on your actual birthday, so it all works out! Now come on! Everyone else is inside already getting everything set up.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but followed along without further protest. She really had wanted to go here. They served some of her favorite foods, and had fabulous service by all reports. The place was really popular with the pro hero set because of their discretion and their private rooms. Y/n hoped to maybe catch a glimpse of one of her favorites, but honestly, chances were slim.

Without any fuss, a waiter took their names and escorted them to their reserved private room. A cheer greeted them as they walked in.

“Happy Birthday, Y/N!!!!”

“Let’s get this party started!”

And get started they did. Drinks were served and food orders were placed. Laughter and conversation bubbled around. Someone pulled out Cards Against Humanity and everyone was cackling and cracking jokes, trying to find the most inappropriate answers to all the prompts. The fun is briefly interrupted as someone knocks on the door. A few waitstaff wheel in a covered table holding a rather large cake. They place it in a good position before bowing and hurrying out.

One of y/n’s friends stands and walks over to it, brows furrowed in confusion. “This doesn’t look like what we ordered… It’s way too big.” They murmured. “What we wanted shouldn’t need it’s own table…” They rapped their knuckles on the table a few times to emphasize their point.

Suddenly it was like the cake exploded upward. Flecks of frosting scattered about the room as first a brunet head, then a muscular torso came into view. Shapely arms pose into a flexing position. A masculine voice booms “Congrats on making the top… fifty….” His voice trailed off as he took in the shocked expressions of everyone in the room. “Youuuu are not Denki.”

Y/n shook her head as she tried very hard to keep her gaze above his waist level. A man had just jumped out of her cake. A naked man had just jumped out of her cake. A naked pro hero that she happened to have a massive crush on had just jumped out of her cake. Y/n discretely pinched herself on the thigh. Yep, it hurt. Which means Sero Hanta was currently naked in the same room as her, his very nice looking cock covered in cake and cream. She snapped her gaze back upward as the blushing hero began muttering to himself, clearly on the verge of a panic attack.

“That was… The knocks were the cue… I mean…”

The hero sank to his knees, the messy remains of the box and cake giving him a little bit of privacy.

“Mi vida se acabó. Me acurrucaré en este pastel y moriré ahora. Puedo ver los titulares. El héroe profesional Cellophane encontrado desnudo y muerto en un pastel.”

Y/n quickly stood up, hurrying over to where the leftover party supplies were. Luckily, there was a leftover tablecloth, since the restaurant had supplied their own. She cautiously walked back over to Sero, holding out the tablecloth.

“Hey, it’s alright. Promise. Want to cover up with this?”

Sero blinked a few times, taking several deep breaths before he nodded, reaching out and taking the tablecloth. He hurriedly wrapped it around himself, recovering some of his modesty. “Gracias. Lo siento. I must have been wheeled into the wrong room.”

Y/n nodded as one of her friends brought Sero a drink to help calm him down. “Want us to get some staff or find your friends? I don’t think you want to wear a tablecloth the rest of the night, though it is a rather bold fashion statement.”

Sero closed his eyes, taking a gulp of his drink as he thought for a moment. “Flag down some staff, but ask them to bring Kirishima here? He should have my clothes.”

“No need to get dressed on our account!” One of y/n’s friends chirped.

“In fact we could strip if you want. Make it all an equal playing field.” Another friend said as they headed out the door in search of someone to help them.

Y/n buried her face in her hands and groaned. “I’m going to murder you all. No court would convict me. Murder is legal on your birthday, right?”

“Wait, it’s your birthday?” For the first time since he popped out of the cake, Hanta took his time to actually look around the room. Black, white, and yellow balloons hung in the corners. Crepe paper twisted around the edges of the room. Some presents were piled in one corner. “Oh Dios Mio, it’s your birthday. My naked ass ruined your birthday.”

“Not ruined.” Y/n chuckled, dropping her hands so she could look Sero in the eyes. “Unexpected for sure. You’ve definitely made this the most exciting birthday I’ve had. Will be telling the story for years. The time I accidentally got a naked man for my birthday.”

Sero raised his eyebrows. “Not gonna mention the pro hero part? Some people would pay good money for that, I’m sure.”

Y/n vigorously shook her head. “No way! I wouldn’t want to hurt your career like that! You’ve got lots more important stuff to do than to do damage control on your public image. I promise it doesn’t leave this room.”

The others in the room nodded and spoke up in agreement. “Yeah dude. Honest mistake. We’ll laugh about it amongst ourselves, then forget about it.”

About this time, the door burst open.

“Dude!”

A blond rushed into the room. Denki, took a moment to take in the scene in front of him before he doubled over, howling with laughter. Kirishima, Bakugou, and Mina followed shortly behind.

“Sorry,” Kirishima rubbed his head, slightly embarrassed. “Once Denks figured out what was going on, we couldn’t stop him.”

“This is better than if it had gone right!” Denki wheezed, flopping over onto the floor. “Happy birthday, nice to meet you! Here’s my dick, give it a lick, it tastes like vanilla!” Kaminari dissolved into nearly hysterical laughter as both Sero and y/n flushed scarlet. Bakugou gave Denki a less than gentle boot to the ribs. “It’s not that funny you fucking overgrown phone charger. You really need to quit hanging out with Mineta.”

“I don’t know, guys, I think it’s pretty funny.” Mina grinned as leaned against the doorframe. “And I must say, the tablecloth toga is on point. Should consider it for your next costume redesign.”

“Hardy har. Didn’t realize this was comedy hour. Now, did any of you payasos bring me my clothing?”

Kirishima held up a bag and gave it a shake. “Clothes and wipes to get the gunk off ya.”

“Gracias, Eijiro. You’re the only good man here.”

“Hey!” Bakugou objected.

“You’ll make the buen amigo list again if you manage to get services comped for these lovely folks.”

“Already did that as soon as we figured out what happened, soy sauce face.”

“Excellent. Thank you.” Sero sighed. “Now can you please help me out of this table so that I can get dressed and quit intruding on the party of this encantadora dama?”

“Nope!” Mina laughed. “Or at least not right away. First, pictures!”

“¿Imágenes? ¿Seriamente?” Sero groaned.

“Absolutely! We need to capture this moment forever!”

“Agreed! I’ll take the pics so everyone else can crowd in and hand me your cameras if you want!” y/n’s friend piped up.

“If any of these pictures get out…” Bakugou growled.

“We’ve already been over that. Personal mementos only! Scout’s honour!” y/n’s friend placed a hand over their heart and tried to tame their grin into something more serious.

And so that’s how y/n found herself perched next to her favorite hero, as flash after flash went off, taking group shots. And it seemed that also just as quickly, Kirishima was helping to haul his friend out of the cake and cardboard remains. They took over a corner, Denki and Kirishima holding up the tablecloth like a privacy curtain while Sero got himself cleaned up and dressed. It was around this time that a very apologetic staff member showed up with a large angel food cake, placing it on the table while assuring everyone that their bills had been taken care of. They wheeled out the other cake as they left. After Sero was fully dressed, y/n cleared her throat and said, “Would you like to stay for cake since yours is gone now? Or have you had enough cake for the night?”

“Well,” Sero drawled, a mischievous grin on his face. “I’m not rude enough to refuse a lady her wish on her birthday.”

“You had me at cake!” Denki exclaimed, already sliding into a chair.

Everyone gathered around the table. Happy Birthday was sung, candles were blown out, cake was cut and distributed. Conversation flowed surprisingly easy, talking about jobs, and pets, and birthdays past. Y/n shared about the birthday they’d almost accidentally set their nan on fire due to an unfortunate silly string incident. Sero told about the birthday that was the day his quirk fully activated and he had accidentally taped himself to the ceiling. It had taken his family half an hour to find him. Bakugou claimed to have never had an embarrassing birthday, and threatened to explode his friends' faces when the rest of the Bakusquad started listing one thing after another. And so several hours flew by with everyone enjoying themselves. Bakugou finally looked at the clock and stretched, standing up.

“Hey nerds, place if going to close soon. We need to go grab our shit.”

The others glanced at the clock before also scrambling up. “Shit, yeah, completely lost track of time!” Denki headed to the door. “Later, gators! Had an awesome night! Should do it again sometime. And happy birthday, Y/n!”

“Thanks, was a great night! And congrats on cracking the top fifty!” Y/n called.

Denki waved as he walked out the door. Mina, Kirishima, and Bakugou also said their goodbyes and headed out. Sero, however, lingered for a bit.

“It did turn out to be a good night. But I am still sorry for interrupting your party like that.”

“For the last time, it’s fine” Y/n laughed.

Sero cast his eyes down, bashfully, mumbling protests. But then, he noticed something attached to your bag. He interrupted his own rambling apology to ask “Is that a Cellophane tape dispenser key chain?”

Really, he didn’t have to ask. He knew all his own merch. That particular key chain was one of his first products. It hadn’t sold very well, and had only lasted one small run. They were really hard to find anymore.

Before y/n had a chance to reply, her friend clapped her on the shoulder and said “Yep! She has three of them. One on her purse, a spare in case this one breaks, and one to keep in pristine condition.”

“Shut! Up!” Y/n hissed.

Grinning, her friend continued. “Pretty sure she has at least one of everything of the official merch. She’s been a mega fan for years. Total simp. That’s why the party colors were black, white, and yellow. Low key Cellophane themed.”

Y/n closed her eyes, resigned. “If the floor doesn’t swallow me up right now, I’m burning your Dynamite body pillow next chance I get.”

Sero blushed as he grinned, one long arm raising to scratch the back of his head. “Well now I don’t feel quite so bad about what happened. One of a kind birthday show for my partidaria número uno.”

Y/n could feel their blush creeping down their neck. “Really, it was just an honest mistake! No big deal!” She squeaked.

“Regardless, I do want to make it up to you, hermosa. So, how about we exchange numbers?”

“What?!” Y/n’s squeak reached an abnormally high pitch.

“Well this way we can get in touch, and I can make it up to you somehow. Some exclusive merch. Tickets to an event… A date perhaps?” Hanta’s grin spread wider.

Y/n’s brain stalled. Her friends were quick to jump in. “Yes!”

“She’d love to.”

“She’s free next Friday and Sunday!”

Y/n’s brain started to kick back in “Guys, what? No!”

“So you wouldn’t like to go out with me next Sunday?” Hanta whined with an exaggerated pout.

“No! I mean…” Y/n drew a deep shaking breath. “I’d… I’d like that. If you actually mean it, that is.”

Hanta pulled out his phone and handed it to y/n. “Absolutely. Just put in your number and I’ll text you. No voy a dejar pasar esta oportunidad. Tendríamos la mejor historia para contarles a nuestros hijos cómo nos conocimos.”

Y/n furrowed their eyebrows, only managing to catch a few words of the Spanish as they entered their number in. “I didn’t quite catch all that…”

One of y/n’s friends called from across the room. “Hey slick! Es mejor que al menos haya una propuesta antes de planificar los hijos.”

Hanta blushed bright red while laughing. “Noted.”

Y/n handed Sero his phone back. “Neither of you are going to tell me what you said, are you?”

“Nope! I’ll be texting you soon, hermosa. But for now, hasta luego.” Sero waved before jogging out the door and down the hallway, heading back to his friends. Y/n waved, before going to help clean up, ignoring the giggles and teasing of her friends. Soon enough, everything was taken care of. Y/n said her goodbyes and headed out. She hadn’t even made it to the car before her phone buzzed in her pocket. When she pulled it out, there was a text from an unknown number that read “I can’t wait to see what the future brings. Happy Birthday, Princesa.”

My life is over.

I'll curl up in this cake and die now.

I can see the headlines. Professional hero Cellophane found naked and dead in a cake.

Thank you. I’m sorry.

My God.

Clowns

Thanks

Good friend.

Lovely lady.

Pictures? Seriously?”

Number one fan.

Beautiful.

I will not miss this opportunity. We would have the best story to tell our children how we met.

There better at least be a proposal before you plan of children.

Princess

Taglist- @kat-unzel

#reinawritesbnha #happy birthday #i'm blessed to have you as a friend #birthday fic #sero x reader #hanta x reader #sero hanta x reader #hanta sero x reader #cellophane x reader #sero reader insert #hanta reader insert #reader insert #bnha reader insert #misuse of cake #aged up characters

155 notes · View notes

hopeswriting · 3 years

Text

I meant to do a post about my thoughts on the Daily Life Arc now that I finished rereading it, but I can't seem to find the time and it's been a while now, and if I keep it up I'll forget what my thoughts are to begin with lol, so here's the long story short:

I know it's a long arc, as in it starts being boring and more or less unbearable past some point, because the "gag of the chapter" format only takes you so far, and not actually very far if Amano's humor doesn't work on you much, if at all. I don't think it's an arc you can reread right away/soon either, lest you feel that one flaw even faster.

And I felt it too, starting with the fourty-something chapters I felt like it was dragging on too much, though to be fair that probably had to do too with the fact I knew things much more interesting were coming after that.

Still, all that said, like, it's an enjoyable arc. Amano's humor happens to work on me, and she does it really well, and I liked reading the arc. There are some chapters where you're really asking yourself why they were written for lol, but even then you read it for the characters, and it somehow keeps you going.

And like, even though I think Amano could have seen the fact the comedy was going to turn repetitive and thus boring at some point, and try to diversify it or something, it's just how comedy/humor/gags works? Some jokes land and some doesn't, but for me at least a lot more of them worked than not.

The DLA is a good enough arc is what I'm saying.

------

On than note and on the contrary, of course it's fine if you think it's a bad arc, to each their opinion, but personally I really don't agree it's an unnecessary one.

I'm saying this because apparently it's not uncommon to advice new fans to skip the arc and directly start with the Kokuyo one? (Or so I learned on TV Tropes anyway, this might or might not be still relevent/accurate.)

Now don't get me wrong, the DLA does fail to hook the readers to the story for the reasons stated above, I agree with that, but it literally introduces the main character? And all the other characters, and gets us to know them, and establishes the dynamics between them and why they're the way they are, and, though only in a more or less superficial manner (and more than less) by design of the arc's purpose (not being deep in any way lol), it still gives us an insight into the characters and why they're the way they are. A glimpse into the core of their personality, the "stakes" of their characters, the flaws they have to overcome.

And all that in the context of their daily life, so if you skip it to go directly to the arc that challenges them, you can't appreciate fully how they rise to the challenge, how it shows their growth or reasserts their core values. You can't know how much or what it means, for example, off the top of my head, to have Yamamoto sacrifice his arm to beat Ken, when only a year ago he tried to kill himself over his broken arm. Or Hibari losing against Mukuro, thus telling us how much of a real threat he was. Or Tsuna screaming at Lancia for having hurt his friends, anger on his face, clearly despite himself, that Dame-Tsuna.

All these just wouldn't hit you the same, and it'd be such a shame? I mean I guess the ones who start with the Kokuyo arc go back to read the DLA, or you could compromise like the anime did by splitting the DLA between more serious arcs, but like I said I personally don't find the DLA that bad, so I still wouldn't advice it lol.

Even if, I suppose, it'd mean they might give up on the manga somewhere through the DLA, but like? Some mangas just don't speak to you, and that's fine, and it'd be a little of a shame from my POV as a KHR fan, but still, no big deal.

------

I'm still very impressed with how smoothly Amano went from a gag manga to a shonen one, and how she made it so the DLA still fits with the rest. I mean the sudden change in tone/stakes/etc is jarring, sure, but it's all based on stuff she introduced in the DLA, which she presumably came up with with no intention to ever make it something deeper/more meaningful.

It's easy to believe the foreshadowing, and generally speaking the worldbuilding was planned all along, which, again, probably not, and like? Super impressive.

(Though once more don't get me wrong, there are inconsistencies/plot holes in Amano's plotlines and worldbuilding, but not, like, at their seams, if I can say it like that? It's more often in the details, and it's fairly easy to fill in the blanks ourselves.)

------

Finally it was a lot of fun to rediscover the characters in a new light, and a bit of a disbelieving surprise tbh.

For context before I started my reread of the manga, all this time I was going with the time I read/watched it years ago plus the times I skimmed it, but mostly by all the fanon I was consuming. And it's not to say fanon is wrong per se, but it latched on one to three character's traits, or slapped an easy character archetype on them easy to "relate" to within, and apparently never looked back lol. And also often dialed up those traits (good or bad) in a very noticeable manner.

What I'm saying is, fanon is, in fact, wrong sometimes zldnslsz, and the characters are much more nuanced even in the DLA! (Which still leaves us at a more or less superficial level, because, you know lol, but still!)

------

To name the ones that stood out to me the most:

Nana isn't abused by Iemitsu, nor is she unhappy in her marriage despite Iemitsu being an absent husband (which is not relevent in the context of the DLA, but still, you can tell). She isn't an abusive mother to Tsuna either, and she is literally never an airhead. She literally just isn't, she actually does react very normally to the crazy Reborn brings with him, but much like Yamamoto as long as no one gets hurt (or walks it off), she just brushes it off.

And she has friends she goes listen to piano recitals with, and tries to save on money by eating rests, and gets in two-way arguments with Tsuna, and raises his allowance if he gets better grades to push him to work harder, and all around is just your average mom that really didn't read as just The Mom, if you know what I mean.

She has her flaws, definitely, she's not a great mom, namely is apparently used to call Tsuna Dame-Tsuna, but she's not just that.

She takes care of him, worries over him, and seems to be the only one who hasn't given up on him yet when the story starts. She supports him (though sometimes in a tactless to hurtful way), praises him when he does well, and trusts him to watch over the kids.

She's not that bad is what I'm saying, and 100% redeemable (that is, if you think she needs to be redeemed to begin with, which I actually do think she does, calling Tsuna Dame of all things is just a really shitty thing to do.)

(Though it's interesting to note that she doesn't do it again after what happened with Kyoko iirc, even if she might very well still talk to him in a belittling way at times. I just wish Amano would have commit fully to acknowledge it and resolve it, what with already having made it Kyoko's Dying Will Regret.)

(Edit: I had forgotten but she literally forgets his birthday while preparing someone else's birthday, so I take back that she is 100% redeemable because it's being too nice. But my point still stands.)

------

Haru is literally such a fun character, it makes me even more sad now to know what Amano did with her (nothing ansknslq 😭😂).

She's unhinged, has zero impulse control, does not reflect on the consequences of her lack of impulse control as Tsuna points it out, is ready and willing to throw hands at any given moment and is unapologetic of it, and is the one Amano actually calls an airhead.

The only problem she had with the mafia is that she thought Tsuna was forcing it on Reborn, and when she confirmed it was all true she literally didn't even blink at it, and immediately called herself the future Decimo's wife djosdkkd.

On that note she is literally mafia right from her first appearance, is more or less involved in almost all the mafia shenanigans, was right there with Tsuna & Co when they went to destroy the Tomaso's headquarters.

And like?? Amano could just have left it at that if she wasn't going to do anything else/more with it. Haru had so much potential, and not only Amano did nothing with it, she actually watered her down and took away all her distinct character's traits 😭.

------

Hibari is so much more feral and playful than his fanon cool, overpowered, quiet badass counterpart. Which I love too, don't get me wrong, but these two sides of him don't have to be exclusive!

He talks and smiles and jokes often, and shows off and casually insults you, and licks the blood away from his lips after having beaten bloody other middle schoolers who dared to defy him (I know this happens in the Kokuyo arc, but it illustrates my point the best).

Not much more to add than that, we should just acknowledge that and put it in our works more often.

------

Gokudera is a compelling character from the get go, and as far as the DLA goes, he's the most compelling character second to Tsuna. He's the only one to actually have flashbacks and a backstory. And what stood out to me the most that I don't see often in fanon, is that he's really a good friend.

Yes he has a short fuse and snaps easily and is easy to anger, but he's not always angry. And is seen having and being capable of positive exchanges outside of Tsuna (I'm thinking Yamamoto namely, who's made with Ryohei to be the one he gets angry with the most).

And yes he holds Tsuna on a pedestal and sees him through heavily tinted pink glasses, but even through that he's earnestly a good friend. And tries his best, and is hardworking and overachieving, so much so he messes up without meaning to, but he only ever has honest, straight-forward good intentions behind it all (well, maybe not always lol).

I love him a lot more now is what I'm saying.

------

And Tsuna. I'm not sure I'll be able to articulate my thoughts properly, but like... he's just your average teenager. Which of course is his whole thing, and I'm saying it in a very not judgy way whatsoever, but he's often made to be at least a little more than that, namely about his bullying.

Like, it's kind of dramatised in fics? And I'm not going to elaborate on that more because it might come out wrong and I don't want that, but it's just, like—canonically he is just bullied, simple as that. Like many other teenagers are.

And it's all in a "chill" way (for unfortunate lack of a better word, I don't mean to trivialize bullying at all, it's wrong and unfair and never deserved or okay, just so we're clear), and by the time the story starts Tsuna is used to it and has given up fighting against it, and actually finds refuge and a twisted comfort in embracing his Dame-Tsuna's monicker, because at least he's not gonna hit rock bottom deeper than that if he does.

And I'm not actually going anywhere with this, it's just? It hit me how differently canon and fanon portray his bullying.

Back on the note of him being a (below) average teenager, Tsuna is not an uwu pure cinnamon roll too good for this world.

He's literally so quick to judge and criticise, whether in his head or out loud when he knows more the person (namely Haru lol, poor girl), it was actually a bit of a shock tbh lol. He snaps easily, and is lazy, does not want to try even one bit, and is happy to run away from his responsibilities whenever he can.

And not only I'm not saying that in a judgy way this time either, but I'm actually saying it in a good way. He really felt like your average middle schooler, and it was so refreshing to see. That, plus the fact the narrative never holds it against him, let alone punishes him for it even if he's made to grow out of these traits, and it's literally part of his character arc, is kind of unique for the shonen genre (maybe, I'm not exactly a specialist of shonen mangas lol).

And I can see why you'd want to change it in fics, but personally I think it really makes his character's arc even more meaningful.

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #khr text post #daily life arc #i said long story short but this is actually the long story 😭#lile a lot of things i just really need to start to keep going uh sbdlsnks #if the read more doesn't work i'll add it on desktop as soon as i get my hands on a computer #in the meantime sorry about that #khr reread

27 notes · View notes

novelconcepts · 4 years

Note

I'm up way too late but may I submit two brief proposals vis-á-vis the postcards(?) on Jamie and Dani's fridge: 1) Once they've settled into ife in Vermont, they go through a phase where they decide they're going to see as much of the USA as they can (while they still can) and the postcards are the result of that adventure. 2) For a while, Miles and Flora send them postcards somewhat regularly, and they always go straight on the fridge. Eventually, the cards stop coming, but the old ones stay up

For the first few months, Dani can’t sit still. It’s the strangest damn thing, because she’s never been that kind of person. Dani is patient. Dani is patient to a fault, even. She can sit for an hour or more, waiting for a child’s stubborn facade to crack away and let her in. She’s trained herself to draw up lesson plans at night over a glass of wine, moving through the subjects with comfortable ease. She’s lost hours staring into the fire, mulling over old mistakes and older fears. Dani is genuinely good at sitting still, thinking things out, making a decision only when the pot has boiled over at last.

But these days, after leaving Bly, it’s like that pot never runs dry. It’s just burbling there on an indefinite loop, and no matter how she tries to calm it, she always seems to turn around to find boiling water splashing around her feet. Sooner or later, she thinks, it’s going to burn her.

It’s better, she finds quickly, if she’s in motion. If her brain isn’t so occupied with that inward gaze that has done her such harm over the years, if she won’t let herself just lay on her back and stare at a dark ceiling, searching for patterns that Jamie insists, insists are not there, it doesn’t feel so...so...

So much like being watched.

She moves. She moves, and Jamie moves with her. Jamie has gotten so good so fast at reading her moods: at looking up over a morning cup of tea and seeing something behind Dani’s eyes that wasn’t there last night. She’s afraid to ask what that something might be, but Jamie only ever raises her eyebrows, raises her cup in a salute, and says, “Where to, then, Poppins?”

Jamie, as always, giving her permission. So, they move. From England to Vermont, for starters, and it’s so much more than Dani remembered America being. Bigger. Colder. She feels like she’s always looking over her shoulder, and maybe that isn’t so new. Maybe that’s why she came out to Bly in the first place. But now, now it’s different. Now she peeks into reflections with the hopeful terror of a child who almost wants to catch a glimpse of the monster beneath the bed, because at least seeing it would mean the damn thing is there. Waiting. Watching. Breathing down the back of her neck like the soft brush of otherworldly fingers, ready to clamp tight.

They hit Vermont, and Jamie doesn’t seem to mind that Dani sometimes leaps out of bed at sunrise and spends the next eighteen hours doing laps around their life. The grocery store. The bank. The apartment. She pings from one to the next like an out-of-control meteor on its way to an extinction event, and Jamie just watches. Just raises her eyebrows. Lays a hand gently around her wrist. Says, “All right, there, Poppins?”

And, no. No, it isn’t all right. But it’s better. Better than sitting alone in a room in that big, sprawling house where the walls are lined with memories of Hannah’s smile and Owen’s terrible sense of humor and those perfect, glorious, sad children she loves so much, even now.

They’re in Vermont for a month when the itch gets too big to sit on any longer. When she physically can’t calm herself with the now-familiar route of errand and takeout pizza and trying to figure out how adults put together a home they actually want to live in. One night, with rain playing havoc on the apartment windows, with gusts slamming the panes so hard, she thinks they might shatter, she turns her eyes to Jamie.

“Texas?”

It’s a million miles away from their home, which is growing rapidly warm and cozy and green under their care, and she thinks Jamie’s going to say something. About how maybe they could just start small. Maybe they could just take it easy. But Jamie just takes her hand, raises it to her lips, presses a kiss to the smooth skin just below her palm.

“Texas, then. Why not?”

Texas is huge and rambling and a kind of wicked dry-hot England has never so much as joked about, and they spend a week just...walking. Poking into dive bars, where Jamie proves herself unaccountably good at pool, and little cafes, where Dani makes weak jokes about strong coffee. Holding hands under the table in restaurants mostly laid bare by late evening. Jamie smiles at her, and Dani feels the thing inside curl up a little tighter. Sink a little lower in her chest.

The states spiral out like a summer sky after that, one after another. In Louisiana, they fall into good food and better music, dancing beneath the stars until Jamie is spinning her so fast, their laughter rings breathless through the night air. In Georgia, they pick fresh fruit and explore bookstores that smell like childhood ought to, and Jamie presses her into a kiss so warm and inviting that Dani almost forgets time exists outside of their lips. In Illinois, they explore a big city; in New York, a bigger one. The world sprawls, rolls, lands with all the care of heaped-up leaves on an October morning, and Dani lets herself fall. Into Michigan’s northern beauty, into California’s almost too-hip chatter, into the history of Washington and the quiet of Montana. Everywhere they go, the world feels a little more solid beneath her feet. Everywhere they go, Jamie’s hand is so steady in her own.

They’re laying together in a hotel room in Boston when Jamie presses her to the bed and buries her face in her neck and Dani, for the first time in months, actually forgets. The world vibrates to a standstill around them, the music of other bodies through the walls fading to a distant tempo, and Jamie’s hands are confident, and Jamie’s kiss is searing, and Dani hasn’t felt this solid since--since--

She gasps, and for a minute, cold fear grips her from the inside: that Jamie’s going to raise her eyes and see that terrified girl again, the one who couldn’t be touched for longer than a second without doubling back on her own guilt. Maybe she’s still that girl, she thinks. Maybe she’s still back there, in some way, folding around her own secrets so tight, it’s astonishing she never shattered like one of her mother’s porcelain dolls.

And then Jamie is raising her head, looking her in the eyes, and she’s smiling. The same smile from the night she first laid all the cards out on the table, inviting Dani to hold her, inviting Dani to know her for real. The world swims, and Dani wraps her arms around Jamie’s neck, and there is nothing watching this time. Nothing lurking. Nothing dark, or hungry, or wild. The desperation is the right kind, her own kind, the kind she and Jamie make together in these moments that never seem to last long enough. She exhales, and she feels like Dani Clayton in every atom.

The postcards are Jamie’s idea. The steadiness so often is, Dani will note in later years, Jamie’s idea. Maybe because Jamie didn’t know what steadiness felt like until she was in her twenties. Maybe because Jamie is still waiting for it to skid out from under her boots. One day, in a little Midwestern town Dani’s already forgotten the name of, Jamie says, “We should send them a card.”

She doesn’t have to explain who. They both know how much they miss those kids. Both can feel it in the empty spaces at the table where there should be creaking chairs, shrieking sugar-laughter, the soft chuckle of adults learning how to laugh again at a child’s jokes. Jamie reaches out to a counter display, plucks a card plastered with a mountain so majestic, it might as well be made-up. She hands it and a pen to Dani, and nods.

“They’ll like it.”

And they do. The postcard, and so many like it, go out--and, when they find their way back home at last, when Dani feels as though the adrenaline has cooled enough to let her breathe, to let the world rest like it did in that room back in Boston, the cards come back in. Fresh ones, painted with Disney characters and cherry blossoms and silly phrases about wishing they were there. Flora’s handwriting is getting better; Miles’, somehow, worse. They tack each one on the fridge as they come, leaning against the kitchen counter, remembering how it felt to breathe the air in Oregon, how the ocean licked around their ankles in Florida.

The memories help. They’re grounding, somehow. To look at these tiny cards, the edges turning up from the handling of small fingers, and say, We did this. This was real. We were real there, and so are they.

It makes her feel a little less like vibrating out of her skin with every card on that fridge. With every afternoon helping Jamie arrange flowers at the shop. With every evening bottle of wine, every stolen cigarette in bed, every shower Jamie pretends to be grumpy about her sliding into, the world resolves itself into a little more clarity. We’re doing this. This is real. We are here, even if they’re not.

Slowly, slowly, as paper months burn and reveal bound-up yearbooks in their place, Dani finds she’s breathing through the panic. That the panic is, in fact, coming less and less frequently. That she’s sleeping through the night, turned toward Jamie always, the beam of light in the darkness she never has to question. The shop is flourishing. The apartment shows no sign of monsters in its corners. She’s thinking of Christmas again, but this time, the word she lands on isn’t if.

The postcards are slowing. More and more of them turn up, when they turn up at all, in the neat, fidgety hand of Henry Wingrave. The words have far less heart, far more reality behind them. The kids are doing fine, just fine. They’re settling out quite nicely in California. You really should visit someday, you’d be quite welcome.

She holds this invitation, elbows propped on the counter, and sighs. Jamie, who has been performing her nightly ritual of burning whatever she happens to put on the stove and inventing swear words so righteous, Dani can’t help but laugh, glances over her shoulder.

“Something wrong?”

“They’re growing up,” Dani says, and there’s a tightness in her voice she doesn’t expect. A sharp needle behind her eyes. She raises a hand, drags her fingers across her face before the tears can fall and spoil the blue ink on the card.

Arms slide around her waist, Jamie coming to rest against her body with all the familiarity of falling asleep. Her lips press to the thin cotton of Dani’s shirt, warm, understanding.

“I hear that’s the idea. Of kids and all.”

She knows. Of course she knows. And what’s the alternative, but something built of horror and trauma? They’re growing up, and they’re growing up happy, and that’s...incredible, really. After all of it.

“Hey.” Jamie tilts her body until Dani tilts with her, coming away from the counter enough for Jamie to close the distance. Her hands are soft on the back of Dani’s head. So steady. So present. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh no,” Dani says, unable to help herself. Jamie’s brow wrinkles, her tongue poking out, and Dani kisses her before the joke has time to sting.

“Serious, Poppins. This is serious.”

“Right. Sorry.” She arranges her own face in a parody of solemn contemplation. Jamie rolls her eyes. “No, go ahead. I’m listening.”

She slides her hands under the flannel of Jamie’s shirt, letting her fingers splay across Jamie’s ribs. She’s always liked this, right here, the sense that Jamie is more real than anything in the world. More real than night terrors. More real than the heartbeat she sometimes hears in the back of her head when she’s been standing still too long.

“You’re distracting, is what you are,” Jamie says, sounding the least upset about it she possibly could. Dani hums.

“Stalling.”

“I was thinking,” Jamie repeats, eyes rolling toward the ceiling in a show of great restraint when Dani presses her hips forward. “We’ve seen an awful lot of this barbaric country you call home.”

“We call home,” Dani points out, grinning. Jamie nods.

“But. S’been a minute, hasn’t it? Since we’ve seen what they’re up to across the pond. I was thinking, maybe--if you’re up for it, mind--we could...ring up Owen? See if he’s willing to bear a couple of grungy wanderers on his doorstep for a couple of days...”

It’s a distraction, Dani knows. Just something to get her mind off of the kids, of the truly palpable sense that something huge and important is beginning to drift too far out to catch. And yet...

The months roll into years. The years are quiet. They’ve been quiet so much longer than she thought she’d have. But somewhere deep down, somewhere beneath miles and miles of long kisses and meandering car rides and Jamie burning every other dinner they scrounge together...there’s something still down there, she knows. Waiting. Watching.

“Lot more postcards out there,” Jamie says, with the light and airy tone of someone who knows Dani is looking over the edge of something too dark and too deep to climb back out of. “Could send an awful lot more, is all I’m saying.”

Sure. Sure, they could. There’s so much world out there, so much to see. She’d like to see it all, if only she had the time. She’d like to see every last inch.

And maybe...maybe it’ll be enough. To keep moving. To keep their world spinning too long, too fast, for the beast to catch up with. She can’t know for sure. Jamie says it often enough, and she’s not wrong: Dani will never be able to say how much longer the running can last.

But for now? While the beast holds still, and those kids still hold her name, and Jamie holds her like nothing else in the world matters?

“I think I’d like that,” she says, and feels steadier than she has in years.

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #fanfiction #dani clayton #dani x jamie #yeah this was bound to happen #it's slightly less likely that people will yell at me over this one #which is frankly both delightful and disappointing

89 notes · View notes

omniswords · 4 years

Text

la vie en rose [félix graham de vanily/marinette dupain-cheng]

“What in the world are you doing?”

Her arm was still extended. “Giving you an out. Because it’s New Year’s Eve, and we’re lonely-together people, and you want a party, and I want to change my mind.” She looked at him meaningfully, then nodded toward her hand. “So are you going to take it or not?”

Two years pass, and Félix finds himself stuck and bored out of his mind at a New Year's party. Fortunately, he finds someone who can get him out. And give him more than he bargained for.

Félix wasn’t exactly a man of science beyond school necessities, but he was pretty sure—he could hypothesize, even—that mankind was capable of dying of boredom, and he’d be the first to go.

It wasn’t as though he found it difficult to interact with people at gatherings like these. He’d been to enough of these stuffy parties and black-tie galas that he could at least pretend at being a socialite. He knew how to manipulate words and punch up cheap party tricks enough for that special class of adults who looked down their noses at everyone to laugh behind their hands and call him a master magician. And he knew how to feign laughter at comments like those, because he wasn’t a magician, really. He was an illusionist. He just didn’t have the time to play at semantics with these people when the only point was to get on their good sides.

(Even if he wasn’t entirely sure that any of those Rossis had a good side.)

The problem was that events like these were so monotonously dull, whether they were here in France or back in London. He didn’t know how much longer he could deal with the Paris elite telling him how much he’d grown. How talented he was and how excited he must be to inherit his family’s line of work. How he must love the city his aunt once came to call home, and how very tragic it still was to think of her sudden disappearance. Worst of all, how interested he must be in the Agreste’s fashion lines, and—to his chagrin and disdain—how very much he resembled his cousin.

The only relief he got from the last was how, whenever she overheard it, Chloé Bourgeois would fix him with a brief disgusted expression. No matter to him; the feeling was mutual, always had been. And she was the fool besides, for trying so maddeningly hard to possess Adrien in the first place, even after all these years. Even after he tied himself down to that fencing girl. Tsurugi, he thought her name was?

Well. He did it for his mother, after all. She was, and perhaps would always be, the only the reason he managed to endure these things.

But no matter how much he thought of her, no matter how many hugs she gave him, or how much of the car ride back to the hotel she spent thanking him and stroking his hair, he still needed a moment to breathe. That moment found him on one of the balconies of the Grand Paris, the double doors behind him closing off the music and the gossip and leaving him only with the night lights and the strangely temperate winter weather. The city was just as he remembered it, or wanted to: buzzing with life where he couldn’t quite see it, baring its teeth in a smile or bitten-out words. Inviting him to play, or scolding him for all the stiffness in his clothes and his bones and his attitude. But what did Paris know about him? And what did he care to know about it?

And, most baffling of all—why did he want to disappear into it so badly?

Before Félix could humor himself with any more questions or sink his teeth into the night air any further, a figure caught his sight of the corner of his eye. A person, strolling down the street with an irritating bounce in her step. It wasn’t until she came into the streetlight that he recognized her—the dark hair, those curious eyes.

That… that girl from Adrien’s video message. I-Love-You Girl. What was her name again? Marie? Madeleine? How easy it was to forget… He only hoped she’d developed some taste since he’d seen her last.

But what if he…?

Once she was close enough to the balcony, just under the streetlight, he cleared his throat to get her attention. When that didn’t work, he called out, “Hey.” Loud enough that she’d hear him, but not so loud that anyone else would think he was crazy.

I-Love-You Girl stopped, startled, looked around. Was she always so scatterbrained?

“Up here,” he said with an exasperated sigh, leaning over the balcony and digging his chin in his hand so she could get a better look at him. When she had the sense to look, of course.

Finally she did—and as soon as they met eyes, she stared at him sideways. Which… he supposed he deserved, all things considered. At least it was refreshing not to be mistaken for Adrien at first glance. Even though she was, or hopefully had been, so sickeningly invested in him that it was more a dichotomy of Adrien and Not Adrien. “Félix,” she said, by way of greeting, colder than the evening. He didn’t even know she was capable of a tone like that. He didn’t even know she remembered his name. “What do you want?”

“Get me out of here,” Félix said with no hesitation and a backwards glimpse at the gala going on behind him. He could make out a muffled piano rendition of O Holy Night or Auld Lang Syne, one of those two—probably Adrien’s doing—and a chorus of voices at various levels of inebriation. So much for distinction. “You’re my out.”

The girl narrowed her eyes, and she jammed her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “Why should I?”

“Because it’s New Year’s Eve,” he pointed out airily, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And aren’t you supposed to be nice to people on New Year’s Eve? Good will toward men? Any of it ring a bell?”

She was unmoved. “You’re supposed to be nice to people year-round. And Christmas,” she added pointedly, “was six days ago.”

He sighed again. “Then at least do it for Adrien, would you? Aren’t you friends?”

“Right.” She laughed, but not because she was amused; still, he didn’t miss the split second that her face fell and her body tensed. “Adrien, whose phone you hijacked to try and make me think he hated me. I’m so irrevocably convinced.” She took a step forward, as if to leave. “Besides. You aren’t Adrien.”

Not that that seemed to matter anyway, apparently.

And yet he’d never heard such beautiful words. You aren’t Adrien. Damn right he wasn’t. He’d play them over and over if he could.

“Look, I understand,” he blurted out, hoping at least that would stop her. “I shouldn’t have said that. And I hurt your feelings before and never apologized to you for it. I should have. We were just in such a hurry to catch our train back and I never got the chance to meet you in person. Let me… make it up to you now. You know. While fate’s brought us together.” The words tasted tight and bitter in his mouth, like black licorice, but maybe she would believe them. “Tis the season, no?”

She hesitated.

He cocked an eyebrow, inclined his head. He was getting to her. “Besides,” he added. “That Lila girl won’t get off my back about some film deal or other. You must know how annoyingly persistent she can be sometimes. She even puts Bourgeois to shame.”

Félix knew more than his fair share about risk assessment in situations like these, and it seemed as though keeping in touch with Adrien through text, even minimally, paid off. I-Love-You Girl’s expression softened in sympathy—no, empathy—but then she went stiff again, put up the very walls he thought he’d opened up. Oh, he liked this. Finally, someone with a little give.

“Be down in five minutes,” she said, “or you’ll have to find your own way out.”

He grinned, and pushed off the balcony, and slipped back inside.

It wasn’t hard to navigate the hordes of guests, some still singing, some still taking yet another champagne flute from a server with a tray. All he had to do was wait for that Rossi girl to be properly occupied with his mother—which he silently apologized for, and swore to make up to her with a proper Christmas gift—to grab his coat and head downstairs. Even he needed a little air, he said; he wouldn’t be gone long. The only thing that paused him, even briefly, was a conversation he overheard between Adrien and his fencing girl.

“You know, I thought Marinette might show up and help her parents,” he said.

To which the fencing girl replied, “They must have relieved her for the night. Wherever she is, I hope she’s enjoying herself.”

“You mean like we are?” Adrien mumbled, and the two of them laughed, and he took her off to some other corner to chat.

Perfect.

When Félix made it down to the lobby, I-Love-You Girl was still waiting for him, still with her hands in her pockets. Now that he was closer, he could make out the dark pink of her peacoat, the pattern of her sweater dress that peeked out underneath, the wool tights and lace-up boots. At least she had more fashion sense than anyone upstairs, with their sequined gowns and straitlaced satin lapels.

She looked up, and he took a step forward, smiling cordially. “Marinette. So good to see you.”

———

For someone as sweet and mild-mannered as Marinette Dupain-Cheng, she certainly knew her way around Paris’s narrow streets and alleys, all the perfect ways of never getting caught. It almost bordered on suspicion, but Félix was already on thin ice as it was. He resigned himself to the universal truth that it was always the quiet ones who got caught up in affairs like these.

“You know,” he said all the same, “it would be nice to know where you’re taking me.”

“Away from that party,” she said, keeping up a pace so oddly brisk that he might have found it hard to keep up if he weren’t so much taller than she was. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He laughed, a bit in disbelief. He really was going to enjoy this, wasn’t he? “What were you doing out, anyway? Almost everything is closed this time of night.”

Marinette only gave him another sideways glance—more of a glare—and seemed somehow to walk even faster, taking sharp turns every so often. She must have practice with this.

“Must you move so quickly?” he said. “Any faster and we’ll be running.”

“Do you always talk like this?” she shot back.

“I’d rather it didn’t look like I’m trying to pursue you. Or, you know, like you’re trying to get away from me.” He paused. “Are you trying to get away from me?”

Marinette stopped just at the end of one of these alleyways, so suddenly that he stumbled and almost bumped into her. She didn’t turn around to face him, but she spoke anyway. “Did you mean what you said up there?” she asked.

Félix paused. “I don’t follow.”

She scoffed through her nose, as if to say, that’s a first. “Because if you didn’t mean what you said, and you were just trying to get me to get you out of there, then yes, I am trying to get away from you, and you can handle with getting exactly what you wanted—and finding your way back—all by yourself.” Whatever stiffness still lingered in her body started to fade, just a bit. “But if you meant it… if you really do want to make it up to me, if you really have changed for the better, then…”

Marinette trailed off, and turned her head just so, and the rest of her words hung in the balance. I’ll stay with you.

He wasn’t used to this. People like this. Girls like this. They either avoided him like the plague under the impression that his money made him consider them beneath him, or they fell all over him because they wanted something out of him. But Marinette wasn’t quite either one. She was hesitant, sure. Resistant, even. But there, in the hairline cracks of her resolve, were the pieces of her personality poking out. The vulnerability. The want, the need to be known, really known. All the little things that Adrien might have loved about her, if he had been smart enough to look.

It fascinated him.

“Do you really think I haven’t changed?” he asked. “It’s been two years. A lot can happen in two years.”

Marinette folded her arms tight. “So can nothing at all.”

Félix sighed. “Fine, I’ll concede it. I made a… less-than-stellar first impression. We were fourteen. And I was foolish.”

“You also understand,” she quipped, “that being fourteen isn’t an excuse for anything. And that I have this thing called a gut feeling. And that I almost always trust it.”

“And did your gut feeling tell you to leave me on that balcony?” He stepped back. “Did you, perhaps for the first time in your life, decide to go against it?”

Marinette didn’t say anything.

“If you really want me to leave,” he said after a while, once it was clear that she wasn’t going to say anything, “I’ll leave, and you can be on your merry way to celebrate… however it is someone like you celebrates.” His eyes traced the outline of her, head to foot, and he flexed his hands in his pockets, thumb rubbing against the silver band on his finger. “You seem to have been hurt by many people, many times. Let one of them actually do something about it.”

The tension in the moment that followed was near-tangible, and when Marinette stepped onto the street, into the glow of the next streetlight, Félix was half-convinced she really was going to leave. But then she turned on her heel, the slowest she’d been all evening, and looked him up and down, and she was more than that too-soft, simpering I-Love-You Girl he’d first seen. Her cheeks were rosy, likely from the night wind but perhaps from his own words, and she’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail that actually suited her age, and the swimming glint in her eyes and the way she carried herself told him that he was right. That she had been hurt and that, quite frankly, she didn’t need anyone to do anything about it.

And yet she pulled her hand out, extended it to him. “You have tonight,” she finally said. “Let’s hope your second impression is better than your first.”

Félix raised an eyebrow, and took that next step forward. “I think you’ll find,” he said, grasping her hand, “that I’m very good at meeting others’ expectations.”

He bent to kiss the back of it out of polite habit, and it tensed and slipped out of his grip almost instantly. When he looked up, she was staring at him in shock and… shame? Embarrassment? It was hard to read between her lines.

“Sorry,” she stammered, and looked away. “For a moment you reminded me of… someone else.”

“Well, I suppose we can’t have that.” He managed to save himself with a gallant bow—both hands showing, none of his fingers crossed, nothing in his palms. “Miss Dupain-Cheng, I’m in your charge.”

———

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so surprised that there was very little still open on New Year’s Eve in Paris. Back home, as he was sure was the case literally everyone where, most festivities and fireworks went on well into the night; in fact, it had sort of been an unofficial family tradition to visit the Natural History Museum, go skating at the ice rink just in front, turn in for some time, return to the streets late at night for some fireworks. He had plenty of pictures from all the years they’d gone before. But that was before his father had passed away, and they hadn’t been back since. Something in his mother’s eyes had changed the first time he asked about the museum, and the sight made his gut twist so unpleasantly that he retracted the question and didn’t dream of ever asking again.

Paris, it seemed, was no different. Sure all the shops and cafés and bakeries were closed for the night and the next day, but there was no shortage of people in the streets and bars and restaurants that were still open. In every building they passed that dared to have its lights on, there were food and drink and excited, almost deafening and certainly drunken chatter.

He swore he’d seen a movie like this, once.

But the whole walk—which was, thank God, actually a walk and no longer practically a run—Marinette was quiet. Occasionally, she checked for phone, sometimes looked it for a couple of minutes at a time. It wasn’t until he pointed out that she still hadn’t told him just where they were going that she shot him a look, phone in hand, and said, “That’s what I’m trying to decide.”

Whatever she could dish out, Félix could give right back. “Have you considered the very novel concept of asking me?”

“Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of that?” Marinette made a show of rolling her eyes as they cut through a nearby park, but at least it seemed playful. “Let me ask the London native what to do on New Year’s Eve in Paris.”

“You know well and good what I meant by that,” he began to say, but stopped short as soon as Marinette did. He squinted at the building in front of him, the dim display cases just inside, the black and gold embellishments, the writing on the windows and front door. Tom and Sabine’s Boulangerie Patisserie, the signs read. Open every day.

Félix looked at her blankly, putting two and two together. “Is this your house?”

“Very perceptive of you,” Marinette said, taking out her keys and fumbling with the lock. And then, as she opened the door and turned on the lights for both of them, “Wait here. No, not outside, it’s cold.”

“You know,” he tried to joke as he stepped in, “I don’t usually go home with a girl on the first date.”

“Have you even been on a first date?”

Félix paused, and for a brilliant moment Marinette glanced back at him, apologetic, as though afraid that she’d actually hurt his feelings. “That is,” he said as he gathered his words, “far beyond the point.”

She gave him one of those up-and-down looks again. “Then should I be honored to be the first?” she asked dryly, slipping behind the counters toward a room in the back.

“That depends.” He leaned forward on the counter, took in the brick backsplash and the empty shelves and cases. “Do you consider this one?”

Marinette’s answer was little more than a scoff as she disappeared behind the door, and within a few minutes returned with two small white paper bags and two paper cups in a tray. If he looked close enough, he could see steam rising through the holes in each of the lids.

“Let’s go,” she said, thrusting the bags into his hands before he—or either of them, really—could do or say anything else. And if he looked close enough again, in the time that she allowed him to add a splash of milk, he could have sworn there was a dusting of light pink on the tops of her cheeks.

In spite of that earlier quip, Marinette was probably right about not entrusting an itinerary to him. He barely knew the first thing about these arrondissements, or why anyone would ever refer to them by only their numbers, and he certainly didn’t know what the bus system was like. But then, he barely knew what any bus system was like. He’d even only been on the tube a couple of times, and he’d been so young then, and his father had been the one to take him…

His father…

His expression must have gone sour as they waited at the bus station, because Marinette sighed and sipped her coffee and said, “I get it. It’s not exactly glamorous. But it’s running, so that’s what we’re going to use.”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” he replied simply, and when the bus pulled in she did him the courtesy of giving him a window seat in the back. Sure, the fact that they were seated backwards made him a bit nauseous at first, and sure, the cushion design was absolutely hideous, but seeing the city like this… all this electric contrasted against the dark, the brightly colored signs… well. It did beat staying at that stuffy hotel and that stuffy party. At least, for a blessed half-hour or so, it was quiet here.

“Still haven’t told me where we’re going,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’m aware.” There was a pause, and under the roar of the bus, Marinette let out a breathless laugh. “You’re just going to have to trust me, huh?”

Félix rested his chin in his hand, smiled grimly into his palm. “How tragic.”

———

“Well, what do you think?”

“It’s…” Félix began, except the only way he knew how to end his sentence was, “empty.”

Well, it wasn’t terribly empty. There were a few people scattered here and there across what Marinette had called the Trocadéro, but not nearly enough to warrant a celebration. Most of them were talking in small clusters or taking pictures together over some festive music booming in the distance, and still more of them were, more frequently, walking away from the plaza and trying to get somewhere else. At least the place was well-lit for a nighttime spot, and the black-and-white pattern on the ground was pleasantly geometric. But Marinette seemed to be getting comfortable here, on a set of nearby steps, and Félix, having nowhere else to go, could do nothing but follow her.

“You know,” he said, “this wasn’t exactly how I expected my year to end. If you understand what I’m getting at.”

“Do I understand?” she replied. Her words were surprisingly soft, and she hugged her knees to her chest, cradling her cup in both hands and staring out at the park below, and the Eiffel Tower just beyond.

Félix took a seat beside her. In spite of how cold and rigid the steps were, he had to admit, the view from where they were sitting was stunning; it gave them an almost-perfect display of whatever light-show the tower had on, and he was sure that if it were daytime, he might spend more than his fair share walking about the park and the fountains in sight. “When you agreed to get me out of the hotel,” he said, “I assumed you were going to take me to some… some… uncouth party, with flashing lights and earsplitting music.” He set aside his own coffee, thankfully still warm, and the paper bags she’d left in his charge. “Isn’t that how people like you end the year?”

Marinette turned to him; if she was offended, it was difficult to tell. “You don’t know very much about people like me, do you? You don’t know me at all.”

“Then why get me out of there in the first place? Was it really because you hold so much disdain for that Rossi girl? Or because you thought I owed you something?”

“Because you needed kindness,” she said sharply, as if she’d be better off never hearing that name again, and as if that should have been just as obvious. “And because it seemed like you thought I did, too. And, if you weren’t aware, people like me think almost everyone deserves kindness. And everyone deserves to have their mind changed.”

Félix stopped, held his breath, took a moment to realize he was even doing it. Almost everyone deserved kindness. Of course he’d heard that before, countless times. From his mother, who took him in her arms and set him on her lap after he’d been teased and rejected one too many times on the playground. From his father, who always made it a point to dig around in his pocket for spare change for any homeless person they might see. Everyone deserved kindness, his father said, because everyone was fighting some kind of battle. Everyone deserved kindness, his mother said, because eventually kindness came around to give you the things you deserve, and—best of all—it came at no cost.

“Well?” Marinette said, resting her chin on her knees. “Was I wrong?”

“No.” He shook his head. It was easier to say when he wasn’t looking at her. When he was looking at the lights instead. “No, you weren’t wrong.”

Out of the corner of his eye, she shrugged, but something in the air about her told him she might be smiling, even if to herself. “I just figured you’d spent so much time around people that you might want to get away from them without getting caught. And I figured you wouldn’t want to do dumb tourist-y stuff like go on the Seine or ride one of those nighttime tour buses.” She nodded toward the tower, then pointed in another direction. “But if a party’s what you want, then there’s one over on the Champ de Mars, and there’s one by the Arc de Triomphe. Just say the word and we’ll get walking.”

Félix chewed his lip, basked in the temperate silence between them, and finally decided to busy himself with poking through the paper bags. Inside were them two croissants—one almond, one chocolate. He looked up from the back, and found Marinette hugging herself even tighter, as though she were trying to make herself even smaller than she already was. “I suppose,” he said, getting comfortable and offering her the bag with the chocolate croissant, “that I could do with knowing you.”

Marinette sighed and scooted a little closer to take it, and Félix counted that as a win. “For what it’s worth,” she added, “You do still owe me, and I wouldn’t wish Lila on anyone. So I guess i’m not totally opposed to you using her as a bargaining chip.”

“She wouldn’t be the first.”

She rolled her eyes. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“So.” Delicately, he tore open his own bag at the crease, making a temporary placemat as he unwrapped the almond croissant. “What was a girl like you doing strolling the streets of Paris so late at night?”

“I’m electing not to take a girl like me as an insult.” Marinette was bouncing one knee far too fast for her own good, and only stopped to tear her pastry into smaller pieces, to lick the chocolate from her thumb. “I was with some friends. A couple of them were holding a party on their houseboat.”

“Hm.” Félix paused to sip his coffee. “Now who’s fancy?”

Marinette snorted. “More like chaotic. Their mom partied harder than any of us. Said you have to end the year with a proper bang.” She paused, smiled faintly as if remembering the scene. “She’s fun. They’re fun.”

“Then… why did you leave?”

As soon as he asked, the air around her seemed to depress itself. Her lashes lowered, and she focused entirely too much on eating, and she went pigeon-toed, sitting there. Eventually, she said, “Low social battery, I guess you could say. And…”

Félix tilted his head, and when he spoke, he didn’t think his voice could ever go so… soft. “And?”

Marinette sighed deeply, finally turned to look at him. “I know I’m risking something by asking you about, you know, human emotion,” she said, just barely joking before she sobered up again. “But do you ever feel like… like you’re in a room full of everyone you know, and you’re still lonely? And suffocating? And you need to get out just to be you, for a little bit?”

By now, he’d finished his food, and he gestured for her to give him her empty bag and cup. “And just why do you think I asked you to get me out of that party?”

She looked taken aback for a moment, scanning him up and down with her eyes, and she was staring at him even as he came back to sit with her again. “So I guess we’re just… lonely together. On New Year’s Eve.”

“I suppose we are.” Félix stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I suppose I can’t say I mind.”

Under the light of the Trocadéro plaza, it looked like, perhaps, Marinette didn’t mind, either. And under that same light, if only for a moment or two, Félix suspended his belief in shallow niceties.

———

“This is the way the year ends,” Félix said, more to the gardens and the tower and the festivities than to Marinette. “Not with a bang, but a whimper.”

“Who said that?” Marinette asked, smiled faintly. “Those words are too pretty to be yours.”

So she could warm up even to someone like him after all. “T.S. Eliot,” he said. “I just changed the words a bit. You should read him sometime.”

He didn’t know how long they’d been sitting out here. Long enough for his hands and the tip of his nose to catch a chill, but not so long that he’d be any kind of missed. Briefly, he wondered how long that would take—if anyone would miss him at all.

He checked his phone. 11:00, and the plaza was entirely empty.

So this really was the way the year ended. Not with choruses and flashing lights and a single glass of champagne form a popped bottle, but with the quiet and the cold and, surprisingly even to himself, a girl to keep him company.

“Can I ask you something strange?” he asked to break the silence.

Marinette looked at him sideways. She was incredibly good at that, it appeared. “You’re on thin ice,” she murmured over the distant music. “But go on.”

He couldn’t believe he was even asking this. “You’re not so—” No, he wouldn’t say it that way. She wasn’t foolish. She’d proved that enough times tonight. Perhaps a bit naïve, and golden-hearted enough to confuse him still, but not foolish. He cleared his throat, tried again. “You don’t still carry those feelings for my cousin, do you? After all this time?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but not without stiffening just a touch. She was probably hoping it wasn’t noticeable, but she couldn’t have known he had the eyes of an illusionist. The kind that saw everything and unraveled everyone else’s tricks on sight while still hiding his own. “Félix,” she cooed, and this time she really was joking, but the pit of his stomach warmed anyway, and he wished, for just a few seconds, that she might say his name like that again. “I’m flattered, but not interested.”

“Oh, come off it,” he shot back. “That’s hardly why I’m asking.”

“Well,” she said, “To answer your question, that depends. You’re not still a jackass, are you? After all this time?”

He folded his arms. “I’d like to think that sort of characteristic is subjective and employable only when necessary. And I wouldn’t consider this to be one of the times it is.”

Marinette was quiet for a moment, tapping her fingers against her knees in a rhythm he couldn’t quite place. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she said, “but no. Not anymore.”

“I see.” He gave her a faint nod. “Good for you. No point in wasting your time on endeavors bound to go nowhere, is there?”

She didn’t answer, and for a moment he was, to his own surprise, afraid that he’d been the one to hurt her feelings this time. But it seemed that Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng was nothing if not resilient, and she got to her feet, pacing the plaza just behind him. “Well,” she said, “now it’s my turn to ask you something strange.”

Félix flinched and braced himself, tuned into her every step. “Go on.”

“Why…” Her steps paused, and she brushed back some hair that the wind blew across her face when she turned on her heel. “Why did you do that thing? With Adrien’s phone, I mean. I know it was two years ago, but…”

“That depends.” His legs were starting to get sore, and he stretched them out over the stairs. Had she really been thinking about that all this time? “Which answer would you like to hear?”

Marinette scoffed again, though it was barely audible, and began to pace again. “You got an honest one in there?”

He hummed, the businessman in his blood running warm. “Intending to use it against me somehow?”

“No,” she said simply, another smile lingering somewhere in her voice. “That’s reserved for people like you.”

She wasn’t wrong; in fact, he was sure his mother secretly prided herself on raising him that way. He just had no reason to admit to it. He followed suit, stood and nodded his head, and they began to walk the perimeter of the plaza together. “I suppose you could say I was… jealous. That we had come from such similar circumstances, and yet he was happier for it. That he had friends at all. That in spite of my uncle he opened up and went out into the world, and in spite of my mother I receded and stayed shut in.” Marinette looked at him in a manner he could only describe as incredulous, but he wasn’t fazed. “I didn’t say it was a very good reason. Only that it was one.”

She scuffed her heel against the ground, refused to look at him, and her voice went soft and small. “I didn’t know you lost your mother.”

“My father,” he corrected her. The thought of him ever losing his mother put a twinge in his heart, but he didn’t dare let his expression betray it. “He married into our family, you know. Took my mother’s last name. You could say he was the first to teach me about common folk so I wouldn’t be so out of touch, locked away all the time. Once he passed, I… started failing him.” And then, when Marinette didn’t say anything else, “What? Did you expect something more?”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, paused at the set of stairs once they reached it. “Did you expect that to excuse you?”

“No,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Forgive me for trying to do that human thing they call forging a connection.”

Whatever festivities going on in the park nearby seemed to double, and some admittedly catchy American jazz song began to play, so loud that he could actually make out some of the lyrics. Marinette seemed to perk up at the sound, and she shot him a glance. “You want to forge a connection?” she asked. “You want your chance to prove you’ve changed?”

“That is why I’m here, isn’t it?”

When he looked to Marinette, she was smiling, walking backward toward the center of the plaza, and she held her hand out to him. “Dance with me.”

His brow furrowed. Had she lost her mind? “I beg your pardon?”

“Dance with me,” she said again, more emphatically this time. She was rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet now. “You wouldn’t leave a lady alone on the floor, would you? You still owe me, don’t you?”

Perhaps they weren’t cut from such distant cloths after all. “I thought you said tactics like these were only reserved for people like me.”

“Well,” she said, “maybe I think something like this is employable only when necessary.”

“I don’t dance, you know.”

“Great.” Her smile shifted into a grin worthy even of the Cheshire Cat himself. “Neither do I.”

“Marinette,” he said, shaking his head. She’d definitely lost her mind. “What in the world are you doing?”

Félix didn’t exactly consider himself one to hesitate—it was quite possibly the only other thing he and Adrien’s fencing girl had in common. And he’d never really considered Marinette to be the business type. Tonight, for these few long-lasting seconds, he did. He took her hand before he could double back or regret it, and he tugged her all the way to the center of the Trocadéro. It wasn’t until he had both of her hands in his that he really felt how cold they were, and how soft, and how he wouldn’t be opposed to holding them a while longer. “Seems we both could do with some warming up,” he said.

Marinette’s eyes softened in the light, sparkled bright blue. Strange, how it made his stomach turn so. “Lead the way.”

He’d admit the dancing was clumsy at first; nothing like the ballroom lessons he’d been put up to so many times before. At best, they were two fools doing some simple two-step, back and forth, side to side, and she was leading far more where he should have been. But there were no rules here, no witnesses to look like a fool for, nothing to manipulate and no one to trick. And when he held Marinette at arm’s length and twirled her over and over, she wasn’t just tolerating him. She was enjoying him. She was smiling, glowing, and her cheeks were as pink as her peacoat, and whatever dark cloud had imposed itself on her presence was starting to disappear, little by little. And he was doing this human, infinite thing. And he was human, infinite, too.

He saw her as the music was dying, as she stumbled and he caught her. Not Marinette. I-Love-You Girl. Wherever she had gone before, she was back now, and that breathless smile was his to remember. And he’d never delete it.

“Looks like two years did you some good after all.” she said, letting go of his hands. And then, “What? What are you looking at me like that for?”

Félix shook his head. “Nobody misses me,” he said, entirely unshaken, “and my cousin is a complete idiot, and I couldn’t care less.”

———

He did her the courtesy of dancing to two more songs after that, until she was flushed in the face and out of breath, and at ten minutes to the New Year, they took the steps down from the plaza and cut through the gardens. They’d probably be stranded here until well after midnight, with every bar and street party starting to clear out. But Marinette had said the buses would be running until 2:00, and from the way she kept bumping into him even with intermittent apologies, he came to mind the prospect of taking one less and less.

“I have one more thing I wanna ask you,” she said. The further they got into the gardens, the louder the music became, and she tugged him away by the sleeve of his coat, where they could walk and talk more quietly. Where he could measure words and ineffable feeling by the slow click of her boots.

He spared her a look, and only that, despite the twitch in his fingers that told him to brush her hair out of her eyes, despite the tension in his arm that told him to pull her out of the way, just in case. He did neither, and said, “I’m listening.”

“Why did you ask me about Adrien?” For some reason, the question rang out louder than anything else he’d heard that night, but Marinette didn’t stop. He had to wonder if she was even capable of it; she only paused when he did, and even then she was a few paces ahead. “I mean, you probably know about Kagami, so. I’m not so sure why whatever I feel—”

“Forgive me,” he said, unmoving, watching her from a distance. “I merely thought that someone who thinks everyone deserves kindness should deserve some of it returned.”

Marinette opened her mouth. Closed it. Open and closed, again. She tucked back those flyaway hairs he’d been tempted to touch. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Only…” She looked softer in the streetlight, more than she had in the alleyway, more than she had on the bus, even more than she had under the light of the Trocadéro plaza. A part of him wanted to savor it, carry it into the new year; another part of him was mortified to have felt so, and determined to cover it up. He found the middle ground and steeled himself, his hands in his pockets, clenching out the softness of her fingers that still lingered there. “Only that it would be foolish to let that kindness go to waste. Those feelings.” He pressed his lips together, caution bleeding into his stare. “You’ve proven that you’re far too smart for that.”

Perhaps this was, aside from the dancing, aside from that video, the most vulnerable he had ever seen her: standing on the sides of her feet, looking away with a blush that was as demure as it was flattered. Something about her, so still and listening for the countdown, told him that she must have been telling herself this for ages. “That’s how I know you never really knew me,” she joked hollowly. “Just saying things to butter people up, huh.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Félix took one step forward, and then another. “Well,” he said, “if that’s really how you feel, then… I did say I could do with knowing you. I don’t intend to take that back now.” He flicked his gaze up toward her as they stood toe-to-toe, close enough for them to hold each other’s breaths, far enough for him to back off. “What do you say?”

Marinette looked at him like she was expecting him to hold out his hand again. Skeptical. She folded her arms. “Is this some kind of deal?”

“I’d like to think,” he said, “that by now we’ve moved past transactions.”

Before she could respond, a resounding cheer from down the way caught their attention, a chorus of people beginning to count down from sixty. Félix wondered if it must have sounded the same back at the Grand Paris, or if they were simply waiting for the clock to turn over, waiting to applaud the new year by way of greeting.

She turned back to him. “One minute left,” she said, and if he strained his ear it might sound like she was… regretting it. “Well? Did I waste my kindness on you, too?”

“You’re the one with the ‘gut feeling,’” he replied with a shrug and a set of air quotes. “Did you waste the honor of a first date on me, too?”

“This wasn’t a date.” Thirty seconds. She rolled her eyes. “This was a second impression.”

“Not a bad second impression.”

“How would you know?”

“You’re smiling,” he said. “Your eyes are smiling.”

Marinette held her breath, watched him cautiously. She wasn’t quite the girl from the alleyway, wasn’t quite I-Love-You Girl. She hung somewhere in the balance, eyes soft, stance open, even as the hint of an actual smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

He took his hand out of his pocket, let it hover at the small of her back without actually touching her. “Would it be a date if I kissed you?” he asked. He didn’t know why he was breathing the words. He only knew why he was asking. “Or would it just be tradition?”

She snorted. “And waste a New Year’s kiss on you?”

He raised an eyebrow and both hands, took a couple of steps back. “You thought you wasted a lot of things on me. Why would I stop you now?”

Marinette moved forward, reached for him by the front of his coat and tugged him in with a force that made him stumble. “Oh, get over here,” she murmured over the roar of the street party, standing up on her toes and pressing her mouth to his just as the countdown hit one.

Sure, Félix had admitted to never having been on a first date, but he’d never admit that he hadn’t ever been kissed either. He stumbled again, his hand finding purchase at her back—for real this time—and in the sudden deafening quiet of the park his body went stiff and his stomach began to turn. He felt every sharp thing he’d ever seen in her, warm and searing—the biting comments, the limits, every little thing that put him in his place—and he fully expected her to rip herself away from him and ask if he was happy now. Instead, all that edge began to fade, and gradually she went lax under his touch. She stood back on her feet, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him with her, let him find and follow the rhythm of her lips. Let him feel the dancing again. And when she finally moved back, she didn’t stray too far. In fact, she was still holding onto him. Like she was considering giving him another.

“Oh,” she rasped. He couldn’t even tell if her eyes were open or closed. If they were still smiling. If I-Love-You Girl was standing in front of him instead.

He didn’t dare move. “What?”

“You have changed. You’re real.”

He wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. But before he could say anything, she gingerly tapped his chest, stepped out of his grasp, brushed her fingers against her lips before jamming her hands in her pockets.

“How long before you go back to London?” she asked.

“That depends,” he said, all breathy words again. He could still feel the kiss on him. Kicked himself for wanting to feel it again. “If you wanted to see me again, would it a first date, or a second?”

“Let’s go,” Marinette said with a joking shove and a tug toward the bus station. And as they pushed through the crowds she grabbed his hand, and as they rode the bus back she leaned on his shoulder and watched the city die down with him, and before he made it to the lobby of the Grand Paris she pulled him into the dark for one more kiss goodnight. It was well past midnight, and the kiss was quicker than the last, but he returned it anyway, lonely-together with her for those last few seconds.

“If they don’t chew you out in there,” she said, “meet me at the Trocadéro tomorrow at 11.”

Félix raised a brow. “For what? Another second impression?”

Marinette smiled. There wasn't very much I-Love-You Girl lingering there, but he supposed he liked her better that way. “For a second date.”

#miraculous ladybug #felinette #marinette dupain cheng #felix graham de vanily #FELINETTE FANDOM COME AND GET Y'ALL JUICE #these two deserve the slowest of slow burns i'mma keep it real with you chief

934 notes · View notes

labyrinth-runner · 4 years

Text

Trust in Me

Part of the A Garden in Gotham Series, Roman Sionis x Reader

Read the rest here.

@misselsbells06

Not my gif

Every week was a new adventure with Roman as the two of you got closer. After two months of dating, you felt like you were truly getting to know each other. You were comfortable together. It was easy almost, and that thought was enough to give you pause. Surely your doubts from when you’d first started dating couldn’t have been that unfounded? You’d caught dangerous glimpses of temper every now and then underneath the shifting mask of his face. They were quickly squelched, but that didn’t make you notice them any less. Those instances usually were whenever he was around Zsasz, though. When it was just the two of you... he seemed more at ease. A different Roman emerged then. A softer Roman, like a flower that only bloomed under a perfect storm of conditions. His delicate temperament had come as a bit of a shock, especially in contrast to the hard persona he projected with his business. Yet, things were progressing smoothly between the two of you.

That was... until you were offered a lucrative opportunity courtesy of Bruce Wayne. He had been so impressed with your work at his charity ball that he wanted to see what your vision would be with a new community garden that he wanted to build in the heart of Gotham. You’d jumped at the chance to work with some of the city’s best architects to design what would truly be your version of an Eden in such a hell as Gotham. A place where people could escape to the beauty of a world of your design when the world outside had gotten too dark. You were thrilled. The only downside to the project was how much time it consumed. You found yourself working longer days and nights between running the shop and working on the garden. This meant less time that you had to spend with Roman.

Roman had taken to spending time in his apartment, surrounded by his various vases of drying flowers when he missed you. That worked well enough to placate him for the first week that you were too busy to see him outside of the shop. After all, he still stopped by every morning. But, then you were given the permit to start planting and then you were at the shop less and less. He’d sent you text messages when you were on lunch, and sometimes he’d have someone bring you dinner if he knew you were working late.

Zsasz was pleased at this development.

“Boss, if she can’t make time for you, then maybe she’s seeing someone else?” he said one day, leaning over the edge of the booth that Roman was sitting in.

“Nonsense, Zsasz. If she had lost interest, she would have told me. She’s very straightforward in that regard. Besides... we have a connection,” Roman murmured.

“Connections fade, boss,” Zsasz sighed, patting him on the shoulder.

“Maybe.... maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make sure?” Roman asked.

Zsasz grinned. “No, I think that’s what I would do if my girl stopped spending time with me. I’d have to make sure that there wasn’t some other dude.”

Roman sighed, resolve settling in. Maybe Zsasz was right. Besides, he didn’t think he’d find anything, so what could the harm be? He nodded to Zsasz. “Tomorrow we’ll tail her.”

“I’ll let the driver know.”

The next day, you were meeting with Bruce Wayne for lunch. It felt surreal, but he wanted to know how the garden was progressing, and to go over some changes to the budget. He invited you to a swanky restaurant uptown that you felt very underdressed for, but he didn’t seem to mind. What you didn’t see, was Roman’s car parked across the street. He was watching you intently, hands tightening when your hands brushed over Mr. Wayne’s as you went to take the budget sheet. When lunch was over, Mr. Wayne escorted you to the car, driving with you to the garden.

Once at the site, you walked him through your vision, showing the little progress that you and Piero, your architect, had made. Mr. Wayne was impressed, and that made you smile. Your dreams were all coming true. You couldn’t wait to tell Roman about your day when you saw him later. You had worked out your schedule to take the night off since you were so far ahead of the game. It was going to be a surprise. Just a quiet night in, the two of you, his favorite pizza, and a movie. The thought was the only thing that had gotten you through the week.

When Mr. Wayne left, Piero picked you up in excitement and spun you around.

“We did it, ma chérie!” he grinned, placing you back down. “I’ll finish installing the fairy lights tonight so that you can show your love all the progress you’ve made next week when the roses come in.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you smiled, wrapping your arm around his waist as the two of you looked out over the space. You could see it in your head, and it was magnificent. You saw something weird, though. Roman’s car. He was parked across the street, and he was watching you through the window of the car.

“Excuse me,” you murmured, the smile dripping from your face. You made your way across the street, sneaking up behind the car and knocking on the window.

Roman jumped, eyes flicking up to yours. “O-oh! Hello, darling.”

“Roman, what are you doing here?” you asked in confusion.

“Oh, I was just in the area...” he trailed off.

“You could’ve come to say hi,” you replied.

“You seemed busy,” he said in disgust.

It clicked for you in that moment. Roman Sionis was jealous.

“There’s nothing between me and Piero,” you said adamantly.

“Oh, so that’s his name? What about Wayne? The two of you seemed fairly chummy at lunch,” he shot back.

Lunch? How did he know about lunch? Your eyes widened in shock. “You followed me?” you gasped. You were hurt.

“Well, of course I followed you. I haven’t seen you in so long. I had to know,” he replied, not seeing the problem.

“You’re unbelievable, Roman!” You shouted. “I bet you’re not even sorry about it,” you replied in disgust. You shook your head and started to walk away.

“Of course I’m not sorry!” he shouted back. “Why would I be? I was making sure you weren’t doing anything behind my back.”

You stiffened in the middle of the sidewalk and turned back to him. “ ‘Why would I be?’” you repeated in anger. “Roman, you betrayed my trust! If you trusted me, then you would know that i would never do anything behind your back that would hurt you.”

“I do trust you,” Roman replied, getting out of the car to walk towards you.

“No, Roman, you don’t. If you trusted me, then you wouldn’t have followed me around,” you replied sadly.

He reached out for you. “Darling...”

“No,” you murmured, stepping back from him. “Roman, I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me.”

“What are you saying?” he asked.

“I’m saying... I think we should take a break,” you said, trying to keep your voice from wavering.

“Darling, you can’t really mean that.”

“Good bye, Roman,” you replied, returning back to work. You had a garden to build.

Roman watched dumbfounded as you left. No one ever walked away from Roman Sionis. He got in the car and drove back home. He looked at all the vases in his apartment. He wanted to smash them, but they were works of art. He couldn’t do that.

“Who does she think she is, Zsasz?” he asked angrily. “No one walks away from Roman Sionis! No one!”

His words were angry, but in truth he was just masking the hurt.

“No one does if they want to live,” Zsasz grinned.

He looked at Zsasz in horror. “I’m not going to kill her, Zsasz.”

“R-right, boss,” he replied. “Forget I said it.”

“I just... I don’t understand it. I do trust her. I wouldn’t date her if I didn’t. Yet, she threw the relationship back in my face,” he groaned in frustration. “I’m so tired of being rejected, Zsasz! I’m sick of it. She wants to know why I followed her? It’s because of this. It’s because when you let someone in, they can ruin you, so you have to make sure they don’t ruin you!”

He was in a rage now, throwing the pillows off his sofa. He wanted to destroy something like you had destroyed your relationship. But... no, you hadn’t destroyed anything. He had, and that thought was enough to drive him mad.

“Boss,” Zsasz sighed, trying to calm him.

“Leave me, Zsasz. I want to be alone,” he muttered.

“Alright,” he replied through gritted teeth before leaving.

Roman looked around at all the flowers surrounding him. He thought back to when shrunken heads stood in their place. A smirk crossed his face as he thought about how much nicer the flowers were. Colorful. His smirk quickly slipped off his face as he realized that he wouldn’t have any more bouquets by you. He’d lose those colors.

“Fuck. I’ve really fucking fucked up this time,” he groaned, throwing a pillow across the room. It knocked into the vase on the desk with your first bouquet in it. A pit of anxiety rose in him as he watched it teeter, but relief flooded him when it stabilized. He’d have to win you back somehow.

He devised a plan. If he stopped by every day, you’d see how much he missed you. Except... he didn’t see you there. He’d see your assistants, and they’d tell him that they’d tell you that he’d stopped by. When that didn’t work, he tried to take his mind off things and move on, he threw himself into work at the club, but whenever he glimpsed someone that looked vaguely like you, he’d kick everyone out so that he could mope in his solitude.

Nothing was getting done. If anything, it was somehow worse than when he dated you. Zsasz was growing frustrated with him. He didn’t like you, but he wanted Roman to dump you, not for you to dump Roman. If Roman dumped you, then he wouldn’t be acting like this. He’d be acting like Roman Sionis, on top of his world, and not at the mercy of some bitch. Zsasz couldn’t believe what he was about to do.

“Boss, you have to get your shit together,” Zsasz sighed one morning.

“I have my shit together, Zsasz,” he replied absentmindedly.

“No, boss, ya don’t. If anything, you have your shits scattered in the wind and blowing around being pushed by a fan.”

“Ew.”

“Exactly.”

“Fine. What do you propose I do then?” he asked, humoring him.

“Win her back.”

“I tried that,” Roman sighed in frustration.

“You didn’t try hard enough.”

“I went to the shop, I tried to buy flowers,” Roman said in exasperation.

“You talked your language, boss. Maybe... you should try talking hers?”

“You mean... flowers?”

Zsasz nodded.

“Zsasz, that’s not... that’s not a bad idea,” Roman murmured. He ran over to the computer and started to type in some searches. “Zsasz, order me some Freesias and an arbutus flower.”

“What the hell is an arbutus flower?”

“Just order them,” he barked. “I’m going to go clean myself up.”

Roman looked down at the pajamas he’d been wearing for two days in disgust. Shit scattered in the wind, indeed. He went to take a shower and get dressed while Zsasz picked up the flowers that Roman wanted. When he finished, he played around with the flowers to make them look pretty. Then, he tied them with a ribbon and went out the door.

“Do you want me to bring the car around?”

“No, Zsasz, I think I’m going to walk.”

Roman practiced his speech in his head on his way to the park.

You were standing in the middle of the garden, leaning on your shovel. Since you didn’t need to see Roman, you spent your nights gardening in the dark, illuminated by the fairy lights. It was to your liking, though, because you were able to see how the night blooming flowers were looking in the garden. Everyone else had gone home by now, and it was just you. You admired your work, listening to the soft bubbling of the water fountain that recycled water to water the plants. That was how he found you.

Roman’s heart leapt as he watched you bathed in the warm glow of the fairy lights. His eyes took in the garden and all the work you had put into the space. It was beautiful in his eyes. Almost as beautiful as you. He tucked the flowers behind his back.

“Darling, this looks incredible,” he replied.

You jumped, turning towards him. “Roman, I thought-”

“Please... let me say my piece?”

You nodded, holding your hand up to gesture for him to continue.

“I was wrong to follow you,” he stated. “I should have trusted you, and I’m sorry. I’m just... I’m not used to you. You’re so different than anyone else I’ve met. You’re honest, loyal... Quite frankly, you’re so much more than I deserve and that fact isn’t lost on me. In fact, it makes me so terrified of losing you that I went to great lengths to hold onto you, and by doing that I pushed you away. I should have believed in you, and in us. Darling, I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me and take me back?”

Your shaky resolve started to crumble as you watched him there. He was vulnerable, showing up in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. You’d never seen him like this. Then, you noticed something hiding behind his back.

“Roman, what’s behind your back?” you asked curiously.

“A peace offering,” he said with a sheepish smile. He brandished the flowers shyly. The stems were all different lengths, but the colors were beautiful. You took them gently, running your hands over the soft petals.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” you asked hopefully as you looked down at the flowers.

“Perhaps,” he smiled, “Unless they say something bad, in which case I just thought they were pretty. I did have to use the internet.”

A smile grew on your face as you looked down at the bundle. “You trust me,” you smiled, touching the freesias. Then, your brow furrowed as you looked at the other, scanning through your memory. “Arbutus?” you asked him, a funny look on your face as you looked up at him.

“Yes,” he murmured.

Arbutus was a rare flower to find in a bouquet these days, which is why you wanted to make sure that it was deliberate. When he confirmed that it was, your resolve disappeared. You let go of the shovel and went over to him, taking his face in your hand to kiss him. His arms circled your waist, bringing you flush against him as he kissed you harder. After pulling back for air, you rested your foreheads together.

“Roman, I’ve missed you,” you murmured.

“I’ve missed you, too, darling. I promise you, I will never make the mistake of not trusting you again,” he said sincerely. “I’m so sorry that my own actions hurt you.”

“I forgive you, Roman,” you replied.

“You’re my star, darling. I should have know better than this,” he murmured.

“What do you mean?” you asked in amusement.

“You can’t always see the stars, but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t there,” he clarified.

“Like a blossom in the night,” you smirked. “You can’t always see when they bloom, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t bloom.”

He kissed your forehead and held you tightly. “You’ll always be my blossom in the night.”

“Do you really like my garden?” you asked, resting your head against his chest.

“I do. A garden in Gotham. I think its wonderful,” he smiled.

#roman sionis x reader #Roman Sionis #roman x reader #A Garden in Gotham

75 notes · View notes

destinyesque · 3 years

Text

Might Not Make it Home

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32632597/chapters/80949649

North Imaria has been under the merciless rule of the crown for over two decades and it seems the people have finally had enough. Unrest stirs among even the tiniest towns in the frozen mountains. Main streets grow silent as the noble guard rallies. There's enough fuel for the revolutionary fire; someone just needs to light the fuse.

Vizara is a bard, and a damn good one at that. She's played at taverns all across the north, seen the fight grow in her people. Her whole life has been for this. All the sleeping around, the ale and food and coin-all of it is secondary (not that she doesn't enjoy it). She's going to rouse her people into glorious rebellion against the unjust monarchy, and she's going to win. She just doesn't know how difficult it is going to be.

___________________

A young woman in vibrant violet clothes strummed on her lute, tapping her toe in time to the beat of the lively tavern tune. She directed a wink at a bargoer close to her before leaping up onto his table. Carefully avoiding the empty plates, her purple slippers stomped down on the wood with a soft, but audible thump. She sucked in a deep breath and began to sing. The song, “The Pickpocket's Lover”, was well known here, and soon the tavern patrons were singing and clapping along with the music. The woman weaved gracefully between the tables, spinning and dancing as the tune picked up speed. The whip-quick braid in her hair followed her eagerly, drawing curves in the air behind her head when she whirled around to play for the crowd behind her. Cheeks flushed dark with exertion and sweat dripping down her brow, she drew the song to its end. At the far side of the room, she struck the final chord, took a beer from one of the waitresses, and downed half of it in one gulp. The crowd at the tavern, now some forty or fifty people, cheered. The woman raised her mug in the air triumphantly.

"Here's to th' North!" she cried, to even more applause, and then made as if to throw the mug to the ground. The waitress she'd taken the beer from quickly stilled her hand, as if she was expecting it. If she said anything to the bard, nobody could hear it for all the noise. The bard shrugged and took another swig. "'right y'all, I just gotta wet my throat a moment, then I'll be right back with ya." She fired another wink into the crowd as she made towards the kitchen, and if she kicked her lute case (already harboring quite a bit of coin) a little further towards the crowd, none of them seemed to care.

The woman slipped through the door to the kitchen, soon followed by the waitress. At the last glimpse of her violet tunic and teal beads, the crowd turned back to their food and drink. The kitchen door swung shut, and that was the last any of them saw of the bard that night.

~~~~~

Past that kitchen door, the bard nabbed a piece of fresh bread from the cook's hands, to an indignant "hey!" with no real malice behind it. She turned to the waitress with the smile of one who knows she has done something quite wrong, but who does not care. Appropriately, the waitress had a rather unimpressed expression across her face.

"Good show, eh?" The bard said through a mouthful of warm bread. The waitress huffed.

"Quite." The bard went on eating, as if oblivious to the other woman's annoyance.

"I'm thinking about addin’ a few more new songs to my repertoire." she said, "I've been writin’ some pretty songs as of late. 'Specially the ones about the coming revolution." She eyed the waitress at the last sentence with a hint of humor in her voice.

"Give me that!" The waitress ripped the hunk of bread from the bard's hands to another surprised "hey!" from the offended party. "You need to keep quiet about that revolution of yours. The only reason anyone here tolerates your ridiculous ideas is that you bring in good business. Step too far out of line, and we'll all get in more trouble than any of us can deal with."

"The crowd seemed to like me," the bard supplied. "It's strange, how the northerners seem to like the North. Can I please have my bread back?"

"Take this seriously! I know you couldn't care less about the rest of us, but if you get arrested, you won't get any work either!"

"I ain't planning on gettin' arrested, my friend. I'm only planning on gettin' the damn army outta here. And you can plan on gettin' business so long as there's any folk left here. Nobody's gonna care that I think the guard should get fucked. Hell, that's what they all think too."

"I hate you," the waitress growled, wild-eyed.

"Should'a said that 'fore you slept with me," the bard retorted, plucking her bread back from the waitress and promptly turning to walk further into the kitchen.

"Also, stop trying to smash my damned mugs!" the waitress yelled before slamming open the kitchen door open and walking back out into the tavern.

"I think you sang real well t'night, Vizara." the cook put in after a moment.

"Thank you!" Vizara, the bard, answered. "I can always count on you t' give a girl the credit she deserves."

The cook sighed deeply. "I do think you should cut back on the whole--well--the things that Melya was talkin’ about." She leaned over to inspect a simmering pot of stew in lieu of meeting the gaze of the bard.

It was a while before Vizara answered her. "I know. I don't want t' hurt y'all's business, really. I'm just damn tired of the damn monarchy and their damned games. So is everybody else. All they need is a push, and then we can get rid of the guard. Don't you wanna be free of kings? I sure as hell do.

Plus, I'm only here a handful'a times a year. I surely can't bring any real suspicion down here. Hell, Melya was just about the only waitress I recognized when I got here. Not that y'all have many other waitresses."

"Sometimes I think you talk just to hear your own voice," the cook commented. She ladled some of the stew into a bowl and handed it to Vizara. "Take one of the cloaks on the wall by the door and head outside for a bit, ‘kay? I'll talk to Melya,"

"Don't want me 'round anymore, huh?" she joked, pulling a cloak over her thin tunic and bare shoulders. "Really, you're the best, Eviah. The only one around here with any manners,"

Eviah made no reply, simply shooing the bard out the door with a roll of her eyes.

The wind outside was biting cold. It was easy to forget near the fires and warm food of the tavern, but it worked its way through the fabric of the cloak in a matter of moments. Vizara huddled on one of the stairs leading down from the back door, watching for a few moments as her breath turned to mist.

"'bit like a dragon, ain't it?" she murmured to herself. "If only I had a horde of gold to go along with it."

She drew the cloak in closer. "Warm fire'd be good too." She absently cast her gaze around the small, dark alley. There was a bit of snow on the ground, but not enough to cause any trouble to pedestrians and carts, not that the carts could fit into the alley in any case. The overhanging roofs of the tavern and another nearby shop blocked most of the light from the moon, which was probably good, since nobody would've wanted to see the sundry food waste tossed back there. Vizara could hear the quiet rustling of what she presumed was a few rats digging about in the garbage, but far be it from her to take a look. She wrapped her hands around the hot bowl to bring some feeling back into her fingers, a bit numb from both the lute and the cold.

So she sat, eating her stew as the night went on and the comforting bustle of the tavern carried on behind her. After a short while, she set the empty bowl down beside her and took the lute off her back. Soft music began to drift up amongst the scuttling of the rats as she strummed the first few notes to a love song.

“Maybe I’ll play this one next,” she whispered. She leaned back against the door and hummed along to the quiet tune.

Her fingers stilled only a moment later as she heard some odd noise out in the street, past the entrance to the alleyway. The shriek of an animal (or perhaps a child? she couldn't say) echoed off the close walls.

“The hell was that?” She got to her feet, turning her head toward the noise. Again, the same shriek. Certainly the sound of a person now.

Vizara fumbled in the waistband of her pants for a small knife, not much more than a toothpick. She dropped the cloak from her shoulders and slung her lute across her back once more.

With a deep breath, she crept out onto the street, tiny blade in hand. It was dark; few lanterns were ever out at night. The town was small, its people poor. Still, with a cursory glance, she saw the silhouettes of three or four people cast in the light of the brothel across the street. The screams hadn't stopped—they'd just gotten quieter. They'd become yelps, and then wordless protests, and now, just pained whimpering.

She could see now—as she snuck ever closer—the small body of a child held down by the much bigger guards. The blade in her hand felt insufficient, useless. She faltered, slowed almost to a stop. The guards hadn't noticed her. She was quiet and they were occupied with the protesting figure in the dirt beneath them. She could back away into the alley just as easily as she had left it, and nobody would be the wiser. The crowd awaited her back in the tavern. She was much better suited to that kind of work—the rustling up, the inspiring, not the fighting itself. But, hell, who was she if she didn’t practice what she preached? And who was getting hurt in her place if she did nothing?

The glint of silver mail in the low light caught her eye once more. The crest of the royal family glowed gold on the guards' tunics, splashed with mud and blood and violence. Another strangled cry slipped from the child's lips as he was jabbed with the butt end of a spear. She was only a few lengths away from the closest guard. A full body shiver struck Vizara's body, shaking the little knife in her hand.

She started into a run, the movement catching the attention of one of the guards. They shouted to their companions, but the warning came too late. Vizara, much shorter than the guard nearest her, jabbed her knife into his armpit, where she knew was an opening in his armor. He stumbled back with a heavy huff, and the knife was yanked from Vizara's hands. She reached for it again, her left hand up to defend herself from the other two guards. Her fingers brushed the handle, but she couldn't get a good grip on it—she'd sunk the whole blade into his arm. Plus, he and his two companions were getting his wits about him once more. He was going for his spear amongst a slew of curses. It didn't come to that. Vizara heard a monstrous Crack! and then a moment later, her left arm flared up in pain. She fully lost hold of the knife. It didn't matter anymore. Her arm—what happened to her arm? She looked up to the flash of silver as she was struck in the chest with the blunt end of a spear.

She went down with a heavy huff. Her arm throbbed and maybe she couldn’t use her fingers? And her face was in the dirt and her chest ached and she couldn’t see anything for the dark and the terror.

She looked out over her injured arm, bleary and gasping. The child—a young elf, no older than fifteen—still lay prone on the ground, one of the three guards standing above him. Vizara's vision swam as dread descended.

One of the guards kicked her over onto her back and she rolled painfully over her lute. She winced, tried to sit up, but was immediately pushed right back down, slamming her head into the dirt.

"Fuck." she sucked in a breath. "Can—can I at least move the lute? Don't want to break the lute."

The guard who'd kicked her—a woman who Vizara would find attractive in any other situation—grabbed her collar and none-too-gently yanked her into a sitting position. Another guard maneuvered the lute from her back, jostling her hurt arm and eliciting a rather embarrassing whimper from her. She gathered up her wits and forced the stars out of her eyes.

"Ah, thank you." Vizara babbled, forcing a smile. "As a good bard once said 'you can break my bones but not my banjo'."

"You fucking stabbed me!" bellowed the guard she'd stabbed, and swung the body of the lute into her head.

~~~~~~

Vizara awoke with what she at first thought was a bad hangover. She felt groggy, confused, and her head pounded—a situation she'd found herself in many a time before. She moaned in pain and closed her eyes once more, but she found no comfort in sleep, for she had neither pillow nor bed to sleep on. Instead, the surface beneath her was hard, rough, and cold.

Her eyelids were heavy, and as her conscious awareness grew, she forced them open. Bewilderment abounded for a few moments. Where the hell was she?

The room was dark and small. A barred window above her head cast a square of light on the stone floor and glinted off the edge of a tarnished metal bucket. She recognized the trappings of the room—a prison cell for sure, she’d been in more than enough to know—but it took her a few moments to recall the circumstances that had landed her here. She had been all set to perform at the bar the night before; she'd make a bit of coin, flirt with some strangers, and sleep with even more of them. Clearly, something had gone wrong. Such a waste of a good night!

She racked her brain, piecing together all that had happened after her performance: the conversation with Melya and Eviah, the cold alley, and then the sight of the guards kicking a child that had spurred her to action. A grim satisfaction came over her as she remembered stabbing one of the guards in the armpit. At least she'd done some good damage before she'd gone down. Nothing after that came back to her. She must have gotten her ass kicked pretty quick after the stabbing; the pain in her head and her arm could attest to that.

She touched her injured arm, and it didn’t hurt terribly. The ambient light described an ugly bruise. Nothing that wouldn’t heal. And her head ached, but she could deal with that. After all, it wasn’t much worse than her usual hangover. Vizara felt across her chest for any more injuries. There was a pain in her left side when she pressed down on it, but it didn't seem to be too serious. She huffed a sigh of relief and immediately winced when her chest took issue with it. All things considered, she’d gotten off pretty easy.

With a grunt, she stood up. She could make out the shape of a wooden door in the dim. There was a slit under it through which a bit of light trickled. Probably how food was delivered to the prisoners. The thought of other prisoners stuck in Vizara's mind for a second—what had happened to the child? She prayed to any god that would pay her mind that he had gotten away. Although… if there were other prisoners, maybe she could orchestrate an escape. She'd been learning to rouse the masses for years now; surely, she could incite some kind of prison riot or revolution if she had to. But where was her lute? She didn't need that to inspire crowds, but it sure helped.

"If you bastards stole my lute," she murmured to no one. "I'm gonna fuckin' lose it."

She looked around the room, but there were only stone walls and one window and a dingy chamber pot. Nothing practical to help her, and no lute in sight.

Without anything to do and no chance of getting back to sleep, Vizara spent what seemed to be an interminable amount of time pacing about the cell. She found herself shivering in the cold air, but the movement helped. If she didn't find a way to get out of here soon, she could very well be stuck in this hellhole forever. The law of the kingdom wasn't known for its charity.

The light from the small window had significantly brightened and then dimmed again by the time Vizara saw any company. She reckoned it was around sunset when there came the clamor of heavy footsteps outside her cell door. She moved to the back corner of the cell to give herself a bit of space once the guards came in; for they were coming in—the rustle of keys and the sound of voices reached her, dampened by the thick door but still clear enough. There was a soft click, and the door swung open, light from the hallway beyond cascading in. Vizara squinted at the loss of comfortable darkness.

There were three guards, dark in the doorway, just like the night before. She couldn't tell if they were all the same ones, but she vaguely recognized one of the female guards. They were dressed in the customary mail, with the sign of the monarchy across their chests. The longswords at their hip drew Vizara's eyes—she couldn't brute force her way past them, even if she had a weapon of her own.

She allowed two of the guards to approach her and none-too-gently shackle her right arm, hooking the other end of a long chain to a bar in the window. They backed away, now out of her reach, as if she posed any kind of danger to them.

"Vizara Whitecrest," the female guard started.

"Hello, yes, that's me," Vizara said, a fake smile on her lips. "It seems my reputation precedes me."

"I don't care much for pleasantries." she glowered. "I am only here to assess your account and determine an appropriate punishment."

"That's just great." Vizara sat down and put her hands in her lap. "I'm sure you know, I was rather very drunk last night, and quite out of my right mind. Now, I had no intention of attackin' anyone yesterday, but you must understand, certain things are bound to happen when one is that inebriated."

"I didn’t come here for idle chat and excuses." she said. "No proper bard drinks during her performance.”

“Now there’s your problem, sweetheart. I ain’t any kind’a proper bard.”

“You sure as hell didn’t seem drunk when you stabbed Oliver.” The woman harrumphed. “I’ve never seen a drunkard harm a trained guard, let alone one your size.”

Vizara shrugged. “’Spose I got lucky.”

“See, I don’t think you did. You knew just where to aim, and I’m damned if your aim wasn’t perfect.” She considered. “You’ve done this before.”

“I ain’t done nothin’ of the sort.” Vizara insisted, and she could only blame her pounding head when she added “Only time I’ve laid a hand on a guardsman is in bed, and he damn near begged me to hit him.”

The guard’s face screwed up in something halfway between annoyance and fury. Vizara winced, her smile falling. “I don’t mean any offense or nothin’, course! I’m just—"

Patience run out, the guard strode into her space and slammed her into the wall, cutting her off with a sharp gasp. Her left arm pinned Vizara's shoulders to the wall, her right pressing into Vizara’s wounded chest. The bard wheezed in pain, and her mask of nonchalance faded into visible distress.

“We both know you weren’t drunk, you stupid fucking half-elf.” She ground Vizara’s shoulders into the wall. “I’m not here to play games, and I don’t tolerate lies. If you’d like to keep your head, you’ll tell me everything. I want to know if you’ve attacked guardsmen before, and what I can do to make you never attack us again. I want to know about every Northerner who so much as fucking thought about going after the guard. Lie to me once more, and I will make sure you never sing again.”

"I—" Vizara pushed against the guard's adamant armor before she could think better of it. "Fucking—get off me!"

The woman moved in an instant, grasping Vizara's left hand in her armored gauntlet and pinning it against the wall. Vizara couldn’t even tell what was happening until the guard’s dagger was flashing against her throat and she was screaming into it. Her head slammed against the stone wall and she almost didn't feel it when the guard let her drop to the floor.

She took in gasping breaths as her vision returned. She clapped her hand to her neck, now pulsing with blood. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling. Her throat worked painfully, as if trying to swallow back down the lost blood.

“It’s not hard,” the woman said, "all you need to do is sit there and tell the truth.” Then, to someone else, she ordered, “go make sure the windows are boarded for the storm. I can handle her.”

She knelt in front of Vizara and grasped her chin in one metal hand. The bard moaned and tried to turn away, but to no avail. She was weak and reeling from the pain.

The guard turned Vizara's face toward her own. Vizara saw the other two guards had left them, and the door to the cell was closed. She and the guard were alone now and there was no one there to save her from her suffering.

“I’m not afraid to carve out your vocal cords and let you choke on blood until I’m kind enough to let our healer seal you shut. And right now, I’m really considering it for the insolence alone.” Her voice was quiet now. Soft. Almost saccharine sweet with the way she breathed into Vizara’s ear. “You’re lucky I’m nice. This doesn’t have to get any more difficult than you've already made it."

Even bleeding her brain dizzy, Vizara wasn't fooled. She would suffer more tortures before any of these people had finished with her. Not much of anything could save her now from that. But she was hurt. And she was alone. And she was afraid. And she wanted it to be over.

"I'm don't know anyone else," Vizara rasped, tasting copper on her tongue. "I'm on my own. The tavern—they don't pay me or anythin' like that. I'm just there to make some coin and they want more business. 's that simple. 'm not from here, either. Don't know anyone here, 'cept a few folks I'm a bit familiar to. Nobody from my hometown's seen me in months. They're innocent in all this."

All of the sudden, it was very hard to breathe. There was a roaring in her ears.

"Please, I'm beggin' you. Don't hurt them," Vizara felt pinprick tears in the corners of her eyes. "Don't hurt me, neither, please. 'm just a fool of a bard. Wanted t' fight against the kingdom, someway, somehow. And I was stupid. I can’t do anythin’ all on my own. I can hardly defend myself. I ain’t a threat to anyone, ‘specially not the guard. I promise, I didn't want nobody to get hurt, 'least, nobody I cared much about. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’a done that. I’m so sorry."

The cell and the woman before her became watery, submerged in her own tears. The guard straightened up and Vizara waited for a blow to fall upon her. She waited for a reply. Waited for something. Waiting for anything better than waiting.

Damn near an eternity passed between them in silence, and Vizara finally peeked out of the shelter of her arms. The guard was looking at her, but not. She had cocked her head to one side to listen to something outside of the room. Vizara listened as best she could between the heaving of her chest and the tiny gasps hiccupping from her throat. There was a roar, she thought, like a great waterfall or a stampede of animals. She heard it faint, but even as she listened it came closer as if to suffocate her in the noise. She futilely clapped her free hand to a sensitive half-elf ear. A sense of dread came over her, but also a desperate hope. If this loud, horrible noise was as powerful as it seemed, maybe it could tear her away from here. Maybe it could drag the guard away. Hell, she’d be glad if this thing killed her if it meant escaping the grasp of this merciless woman. A woman who was now standing in the middle of the cell, paying no more attention to Vizara.

Vizara removed her hand from her ear, wincing at the booming, cacophonous sound. She pushed herself to her feet, but as the ground trembled, she fell back upon the floor. She pressed her left ear to the ground and her hand to her right, and she tried to keep the blood from slipping through her fingers. She pulled her legs to her chest and huddled close into herself. The noise was now right on top of her. This is the end of the world, rang clear in Vizara's tangled thoughts.

There was a tremendous crash, and everything shook, and small stones fell on Vizara's prone form.

And after a time, the noise receded into the distance.

And it was deafeningly quiet.

Vizara's ears rang and everything that she was hurt. She curled ever closer as wracking cries filled her chest.

But at the very least, she was alive.

#my writing #ayy first time posting my writing here i think #maybe give it a try owo #its original fiction but i promise the main character doesn't suck #like i will maintain that this isnt my best work by a long shot but i still think its pretty good

2 notes · View notes