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h2obased · 1 year

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Another Word For Surveillance - Part 10

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You asked Bucky out. He said no. Cool. How do you move on? You don't.

Notes & Warnings:

DNI if under 18 | Fluff, swearing, canon typical violence, some angst, lotsa pining, sexual content

I don’t give permission for my work to be copied/reposted/translated anywhere.

Word Count: 3,599

Series Chapters || Masterlist

Another Word For Surveillance - Part Ten

All pizzerias were the same to Bucky. Not that the opinion of a guy who was on a strict boiled root crop diet for decades bore much weight.

He parked his bike right in front of a corner restaurant. A green canopy hung over the tall window pane. You caught your reflection - perched behind Bucky on the motorcycle, arms still wrapped around his waist.

“I look at the sign and go, ‘Who’s Sally?’ and he says ‘the lovely missus’ and he’s got a picture of her by the counter and all,” Bucky said. He punctuated the statement with a half smile and a shrug, and that concluded the tale of Why This Pizza Joint Is Unlike The Rest.

He glanced at your hands. “Ready?”

You released him and blood rushed into your palms. You might have been hugging him a little too hard on the way here. He didn’t say anything about it though.

Bucky tucked stray hair behind his ears and pointed to the door. Through the narrow entry hall, with his hushed voice bouncing off the tiled walls, Vibranium hand not quite touching your elbow, he escorted you.

This was nice , you thought to yourself. The search for a tomato-based meal with a doe-eyed man and his contagious smirk. The dreamy haze vanished as the hall led to the empty main dining area, but the fluttering inside you persisted. Probably your stomach reminding you it was past dinner time.

Bucky pointed to a table by the window. “Only table that doesn’t wobble in this place.”

“Right, and you’ve tried all the tables - oh you have,” you replied, seeing Bucky’s indignation. Of course the man’s tested all the seating options here. “That’s a lot of bread sticks, Bucky.”

You rubbed your mid-section nonchalantly as the two of you sat across each other. It’s only hunger pangs. You should have had chicken wings when you were knocking back those beer bottles at the bar earlier.

When you looked up, curious round eyes peered at you over the menu. Bucky said something about pizzas, to which you agreed without much consideration. You were a little preoccupied with keeping your leg still and your wits with you.

A door from the back swung open, prompting Bucky to set the menu aside. A lean gentleman with slicked back white hair and an immaculate apron appeared behind the counter. He didn’t waste a second before accusing Bucky of cruelty and unfaithfulness.

“Haven’t been here in a while. What with being shot and well, you know the rest,” Bucky muttered as the man bemoaned Bucky’s broken promises. “I’ll be right back.” With quick, long strides, Bucky approached the proprietor, prepared to win back the elderly man’s favor. They spoke in hushed voices and with bluesy jazz coming through the speakers, you couldn’t follow the conversation.

After a couple of minutes, the man stepped aside and promptly introduced himself. Armand - French by lineage and Italian by way of New Jersey - apologized for his outburst and said you and Bucky were welcome to stay as long as you wanted. He offered you a bottle of wine, on the house.

“Oh, um, thank you, that’s so generous but I have to work in the morning.” You spoke quickly, keeping your eyes on Armand. The beer from this afternoon barely registered, so a couple of glasses of wine should be manageable.

It’s just that the image of a candle-lit dinner and wine glasses made the butterflies in your stomach even more restless.

Fine. You were more than a little nervous.

Did Armand think you guys were on a date?

Sweet holy Skittles.

Was this a date?

You and Bucky only sat together for working lunches and a handful of group dinners - these were the only activities to compare this evening to. The data felt lacking, to put it mildly. You acknowledged the stretch of imagination it took to come up with the theory that maybe, going on a date with him would be like this.

Not perfect or well-planned or devoid of butterflies. Just Bucky squinting when he’s trying not to laugh at your unauthorized “Tony Stark doing house chores” impressions. Bucky bumping into you on the sidewalk one too many times for a human with exceedingly excellent litheness. Bucky’s voice swinging deliciously low when he sought your attention. Sweets .

After Armand returned into the kitchen, Bucky ignored your amused brows and launched into a tale about the time he worked at a kitchen in Bucharest for a few months. He hauled crates of produce delivered at the crack of dawn and washed dishes until closing. Staff liked him because he was a quick learner. Bucky never complained about the hours or took a sick day.

This wasn’t the first time he mentioned the odd jobs he held when he was hiding from his captors, from multiple governments, from Steve. You had a feeling he might have actually liked working in the kitchen from the laughter in his eyes or his exaggerated groan when he described crawling into bed at the end of a long shift smelling like fish. Someone in the kitchen eventually discovered how proficient he was with a knife. That also explained how Bucky learned to debone a tuna roughly the size of a small farm animal in seconds.

“It was owned by the mob too.” He was practically beaming.

“Aren’t you a fascinating guy?”

His ears turned pink, like the soft flush on his cheeks.

The pizza arrived and Bucky immediately fixed a plate for you. He nudged the dish toward you with a knuckle, not meeting your eyes. There was no way he did not see you watching him and wondering what exactly was going on, but he pretended not to notice.

“This is good. This is good,” he said with a boyish, eager grin. He folded a slice in half, firm fingers cradling delicate pizza, and he bit off a generous portion with gusto. Bucky’s eyes widened as he chewed, nodding in appreciation.

There has to be a way to bottle this moment.

His satisfied humming interrupted your thoughts. Without saying a word, he gestured for you to keep eating, to match him bite for bite. Bucky chuckled at your attempt to chomp through a mouthful.

You never worked for the mafia, not to your knowledge anyway, but you told Bucky about the string of jobs you had as a student, focusing on the HR-friendly roles no one really cared to hear about.

Bucky, special little bean, wanted to know what a retail associate did, and he wasn’t even mocking when he asked why you had that job for three consecutive summers if you didn’t think it was any fun.

You worked fun gigs. Lucrative jobs. During your last two years in college, you charged a fortune writing school reports and essays. You just opted to skip that story this evening. It’s not that you were embarrassed by your university hustle. It’s more because you actually enjoyed going to the library for research. Willingly. During your free time. When people attended social events, you sneaked into the east wing, where you could snack on generic cheese puffs while drafting an argument for increasing healthcare coverage subsidized by the private sector or looking up Brazilian top exports for the last 20 years for someone’s Econ midterm paper. It’s the kind of thing Sam Wilson would hold over your head in perpetuity if he ever found out.

“And college? Let me guess.” He narrowed his eyes. “Retail associate,” Bucky smirked as if he knew anything about customer service in the retail industry.

You confessed to having a wildly successful career making money off lazy rich students. It was easy. They didn’t need top marks. They just didn’t want to be caught.

“You’re the mafia.” He looked at you with admiration.

“We need to talk about this fascination with criminal organizations.”

“That’s not what fascinates me,” Bucky corrected you before taking another hungry bite.

That quip had your ears burning.

After finishing the meal, you cleared the table while Bucky helped the owner close up. He stacked seats and flipped a series of switches like he’s done it a million times.

“Try the rigatoni next time,” Armand told you. He turned to Bucky before you could reply. “Pizza’s ok, Mr. Barnes but Armand’s rigatoni, remember, it is the key.” The man waved a finger at Bucky with a conspiratorial smile.

Bucky thanked him with a handshake, which the chef converted into a hearty hug in one swift motion. As the men stood by the door, Bucky gave you a helpless grin, nodding at you to stand by the bike.

You assumed it was Steve’s at one point. Bucky was already in a committed relationship with a shiny red lawn mower, but maybe things have changed.

Seconds later, Bucky appeared next to you, producing a helmet he insisted you wear, while he’d go gearless. Like clockwork, you started the same argument from the bar.

“This is not safe. And I don’t want to hear about super serums please.”

He exhaled. “I heal fast. You know that.”

“When you say it like that it sounds very obnoxious.” You frowned because he’d won the debate. “At least keep an extra one in the back.”

He scoffed. “Why would - you think I offer rides to people?”

“Well, you asked me.”

“Yes. Only you.” The earnestness - sprinkled with exasperation - stopped your smart mouth.

Bucky shook a stray lock off his cheek. As you were ruminating on the list of people he might have invited to get on the bike with him at one point, he took the opportunity to plop the helmet over your head. It muffled the noise of the city but amplified the sound of your pulse in your ear.

After giving you a once over, Bucky nodded without saying anything else. It was barely a nod really, and more of a jut of his chin. Curt, to the point of impatient. Abrupt. Too quick. In fact, the only reason you noticed the nod was because it came with the most intense nano-second stare, gone before you could even process that Bucky just locked eyes with you.

Everyone knew Bucky didn’t speak often. Steve got eye rolls and crude hand gestures from his childhood best friend. Sam received Bucky’s dramatic tired looks.

That nod was all yours.

You clung to that thought a little harder than you did to Bucky’s sturdy frame as his motorcycle weaved in and out of traffic effortlessly.

It’s impossible to carry a conversation during the drive but you didn’t mind the shared silence. You watched the city lights from a distance, gripping Bucky’s waist when he took a sharp corner, and Bucky made a lot of those. You didn’t say a word about the number of wrong turns either. The 15-minute drive turned into a 25-minute tour of the surrounding neighborhood. If Bucky wanted to take the scenic route, you went along with it.

When Bucky finally pulled up into your street, it almost felt like stirring from a meditative state. You slowed to a still. Bucky steadied the bike using his legs.

You shook your head out of the helmet, certain of hat hair but there was nothing to be done about that now. “Thanks.” You handed the matte black head gear to him before disembarking. “For everything.”

You remembered being upset earlier today, livid enough to slap a person, and for someone who worked behind a screen for a living that was saying something. You felt embarrassed for wanting to physically hurt someone, because that wasn’t you. Point was - you were past anger now. You knew why you should be furious but you just didn’t feel so vengeful anymore.

“Pizza’s hardly everything,” he replied quietly.

You braved a direct look at his eyes. Bucky had no clue about the paper napkin with Sally’s logo stashed in your back pocket. You took a clean one as you returned plates and cutlery to the kitchen earlier. Maybe you’ll tack it next to the coffee-stained map of Bucharest in your room. Maybe you’ll keep it folded in your wallet. Maybe you’ll keep it between the pages of a hardbound copy of Isaac Asimov short stories you promised to return to Bucky over five months ago.

“I meant - for keeping an eye on me today.”

He killed the engine and turned to you with cautious eyes. His lips parted but no words came out. He did that sometimes.

With another sigh, his brows furrowed. He looked like he wanted to kick himself for stepping out of the house today. Like he’d rather be somewhere else. Anywhere but here, on the receiving end of your gratitude.

You decided not to push and glanced at your building instead. Before you could take a step however, he reached out, his hand grabbing yours quickly. He got off the bike in one fluid motion, moving so fast you thought the bike would fall over, but it didn’t.

It was surprising, not because it was unwanted but because his fingers were featherlight on your skin. With equal gentleness and intention, Bucky turned your arm, exposing your wrist to him. Part of you wanted to offset the intimacy with a remark about the spring chill - Can you believe the weather we’re having? - but when his thumb grazed your pulse, all your words melted.

Your pulse raced. Far too fast to deny how much Bucky affected you in the most fundamental way.

He surprised you again when he moved your palm to rest over his bare wrist. Your eyes widened when the rapid beat registered through your thumb. Far too fast, like yours.

When he finally spoke, there was a faint crack in his voice. “You’re right. About being under surveillance.” He cleared his throat. “By me,” he added with a nervous chuckle.

Now would be a terrific time to launch into clever commentary about how you were right all along. You weren’t just fantasizing that a sweet, smoking hot man with a bit of a temper had been keeping tabs on you, the same way you had been keeping track of his habits and these little factoids about him. Ones you couldn’t forget, even if you tried.

All you could manage was a stunned look at Bucky as your tongue failed to catch up with the multitude of thoughts and emotions washing over you.

He shook his head, knowing he couldn’t take those words back. So he doubled down. “You heard me Sweets.”

Both of you stood in silence, Bucky’s pulse keeping a steady albeit inhumanly fast beat under your finger, you letting his roundabout admission sink in.

“So to be clear, uh, it’s not just about getting in your pants,” he spoke slowly, nose wrinkling because he 100% knew how that sounded.

If there was anything more paralyzing than his angry stare or the sharp grind of metal when he swung it too quickly, it was a bashful smile from a guy who just admitted he cared about you so much that he didn’t know what to do about it.

It’s the universal key to all your mental and emotional locks.

“Gardner offered me a job today,” you blurted. How you went from being swept by Bucky’s declaration to thinking of your former colleague and current nemesis was unclear.

Apparently you were just as terrible as Bucky when it came to talking about feelings.

Then you charged ahead for some reason.

“The offer was good. Really good. Obscene, actually, god and I said no thanks, because fuck him, it’s Gardner right, I’m not getting stabbed in the back twice. No sir.” The hair on your arms rose at the memory of Gardner’s self-assured voice. “And then he’s like ‘I hope your brother’s well.’ I didn’t think much about it until he said ‘recovery is tough’ and then… I realized there’s no way he could have known. He was flexing. Guess he can hack medical records now because he’s working for the Agency.”

You didn’t want to be angry, but Gardner was a little shit, and bringing up your brother was a low blow. You felt exposed and vulnerable when he mentioned your family.

Bucky released your hands, depositing them by your sides. The laser focused stare he fixed upon you next made you hold your breath. There would be no hiding from him.

Ordinarily, you’d look away but Bucky’s grave expression, the etched frown between his eyes, the way his lips tensed as he listened to your story, held your absolute attention. Bucky seemed bigger or maybe Gardner’s antics made you feel small, even when you didn’t want to admit it.

“You ok?” When he finally spoke, his voice was as gentle as his glare was consuming.

You nodded.

He continued to stare at you. After a beat, Bucky sighed. “I know you wouldn’t hack his emails and ruin his life.” He struggled to contain a grin after insinuating that you could do worse to Gardner than Bucky could. “So don’t.”

“I would never.” You feigned resentment and began to blink rapidly, like you were… trying not to cry?

Oh boy.

If he’d just look elsewhere for a moment, maybe you could take a breath and get a grip because you just realized Bucky understood you weren’t looking for his protection. Not from that low life anyway. You just needed him to know what happened. That’s it.

Bucky knew you.

Bucky saw you.

“You ok?” He asked a second time, recognizing you were seconds away from bursting into tears.

You looked at your feet and took a long, deep breath, counting to five before looking at him again. “I’m fine Bucky.”

Just falling apart because you get me.

He studied you for a few more seconds and then checked his watch. “Ok.” He nodded to himself. “Good.”

If he came up to the apartment, you’d invite him in and you’d want him to stay. Tonight and all other nights in the foreseeable future.

The hammering in your chest intensified and it was not because his feelings scared you. Rather, it was the clarity of yours and its resolute nature that gave you pause.

The street light that accentuated his cheekbones flickered, momentarily taking you back to that night at the bar. This time though, Bucky beat you to the punch, speaking up before you gathered confidence to ask him to stay.

He squared his shoulders. “Let me walk you up.” Bucky led the way to your building, moving through the entry door and hallways like he’s been there dozens of times before. He knew to punch the elevator button twice because the first one never takes and he held the door with his metal arm because it has been known to catch leashes and coats, or the occasional slow foot or dangling arm

He stepped aside as you opened the door to your apartment. You tossed your bag inside and turned to him.

“Did you…” He crossed his arms. “Did you have a nice evening?”

“I had a great evening.”

He was pleased to hear that. “Me too.” He shoved his hands to his pockets. When he cleared his throat, he sounded casual, like you had this conversation daily. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work right?”

“Of course,” you replied slowly.

The night ended here - Bucky made that decision for both of you - but to be honest you were more intrigued than disappointed. Your operations analyst mind kicked into high gear as you pored through observations from that evening. You and Bucky had drinks, followed by dinner, and then a very roundabout way back home. He essentially just admitted to liking you - granted it was in Bucky-speak but the margin of error couldn’t be that high. His beautiful palm remained steady in your hands yet his pulse raced, and he wanted you to feel it.

You already knew the answer, but for the sake of character development, you’d ask anyway. “Can I offer you a drink? Bowl of M&Ms?”

He scratched the back of his head. “No, I’m good.” Bucky looked at you carefully, begging with his eyes for you to not hate him. “Thank you.”

“Good night Bucky Barnes.” You stole one more glance right before you closed the door. As expected, his gaze remained on you the entire time.

He’d wait outside your door until he heard the lock and bolt.

Your cheeks instantly warmed as you made your way inside and it was quick to spread throughout your body. You’ve come to associate this feeling with Bucky, the tiny fire in you that becomes a blaze when he left you feeling worried and anxious about his safety, and it’s the same flames that danced in your core when he stood within three feet of you and suddenly he’s all you can sense - his breathing, the low chuckle, the creases around his eyes that meant he smiled and laughed more than he let on. It’s the same warmth when he crosses the three foot margin to serve as your personal space heater.

There was an extra bounce in your step as you reached your bedroom, a lightness in your feet, not because you were in a rush to get to bed, but because you were weightless. Not from the lack of problems, God knows Gardner was due an ass kicking, and even with a mountain of case work waiting for you tomorrow morning and Bucky being characteristically a man of mystery, you were happy.

Now that you thought about it, you’ve been quite happy for a while actually.

Part Eleven

Find the other parts here.

Masterlist

#BUCKY BARNES X READER #BUCKY BARNES X YOU #BUCKY BARNES IMAGINE #BUCKY BARNES X Y/N #H2OBASEDFICS #BUCKY BARNES FANFICTION #ANOTHER WORD FOR SURVEILLANCE #BUCKY BARNES #BUCKY BARNES FIC #MARVEL FIC #MCU FIC

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neutron-stars-collision · 3 years

Text

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 8 - Parisian Nightmares

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Summary: With Neil MIA you have some time to think about everything that happened. But you are not allowed peace at all..

Warnings: Swearing.

Author’s Notes: The longest chapter yet, so sorry for that. It’s a little bit of a filler slower one so hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think!

Supposedly the idea of having lunch with TP would have scared you more if it was not for the way he guided you through the experience. He ordered food from the dining hall and made sure you had your coffee before starting any serious topics. Your tired and confused self really appreciated the efforts.

“So what do you want to talk about?” you asked after finally feeling more like a functioning human being.

“I thought we could discuss the things to come…” he briefly searched for the right words “Parts of it is what Neil already knows, but some details are not meant for him” he looked at you with a serious gaze “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course” you nodded, feeling both intrigued and nervous.

Ever since the topic of The Algorithm has been first breached, you hoped to learn more. Probably Neil’s presence would have helped at the moment, but if that was not possible then you just had to face the truth calmly. If not now, then when?

“Can I ask something first?”

“Go ahead”

“My recruitment… it wasn’t just because I was recommended by my professor, was it?” you felt like you already knew the answer but had to ask anyway.

“No” TP smiled “I knew from a good source that we had to recruit you”

You stared at him, desperately trying to comprehend what he meant. Suddenly you understood Neil and his despise of half-truths.

“Can I ask who’s that source?”

TP just smiled apologetically, and you groaned.

“Right. Did Neil know?”

“No, I only told him that you have to be enlisted” at your questioning stare, he added “It’s safer that way” he shrugged as though it explained everything.

It did not, but you began to understand that it was not meant to make sense. A sentence said during one of your early lectures rung out in your head: Don’t try to understand it. Feel it. Maybe that was the whole point.

“So that’s how you know that I’ll be needed during the plan? From the source?”

“Kind of” he grinned again “It’s a very reliable source, I must add” he looked at you pointedly and laughed at your confused face “I swear this will get clearer with time”

The reassuring smile made you feel somewhat better. Taking a sip of the coffee, you considered what was being said.

“When does it all begin?”

“With action in Kiev Opera in a month, more or less. But in reality, it already began years ago”

You frowned, feeling your head go blank. TP was smiling, clearly enjoying your utter confusion.

“It’s okay, you’ll catch up eventually”

“Thanks, that’s encouraging” you lightly smacked him in the shoulder.

“I’ll give you more information leading up to Kiev and then after” he explained after a short silence “But you can’t know the whole progression of events. I’m the only one who is cursed with that”

The sudden change in the tone made you stare at him curiously. But his face was like a mask.

“For now though, you don’t need to worry about it” he smiled again “I’m sending you out on a quiet mission to Paris with one of our agents”

That was surprising. But you could do with a distraction.

“Okay… what’s the deal?” you leaned onto the table and flashed him a brilliant smile.

“You have to research one shady guy in Paris. It’s just observation so no need for engagement. The only trick is that you have to pose as a newlywed couple” he looked at you expectantly.

Oh…

“How long will this take?” you tried to focus on the details, not to think too much about the implications of the cover.

“Three weeks” he smiled at your glare “What? It’s gonna be nice! Three weeks in Paris and all you have to do is observe our target, Pierre or whatshisname, and cosy up with Jasper” the overly enthusiastic tone made you laugh.

“You made it sound almost fun” you admitted after calming down a little.

“Well, it’s always a break from spending time with Neil” TP looked at you with an amused expression “I’m sure you could use some of that” he winked.

You shot daggers in his direction, all the while feeling your face grow warm. Admittingly, time without Neil could be useful. You just were not sure it would do much at this point. You were beyond saving.

“When do I begin?”

“You’ll have a mission briefing tomorrow, and that’s also when you’ll meet Jasper” you nodded “And now I think you should rest a little” he eyed you carefully.

“You’re probably right” you both got up “Thanks for the lunch and the chat… It helped” you smiled lightly.

“My pleasure” he ignored your outstretched hand and gave you a quick hug.

After a small hesitation, you returned the gesture. It felt familiar, and you had no clue why.

“If you ever need anything, you know where to find me” TP smiled at you warmly.

“I’ll remember that” you grinned back and moved to open the door.

“Oh and don’t worry about Neil” you stopped in your tracks and turned to stare at him “I know that he can be extremely annoying, but he really cares about you”

You were speechless and could only nod in response. The Protagonist laughed at your expression before shooing you out of the room with a gesture. You gladly did just that.

*** One thing was for certain, life without Neil could be boring. You found out that much from the moment you came back to your room. After making sure the main casualty of the mission – your dress – was in the washing, you spent most of that afternoon staring at the ceiling. You were mostly thinking about how much your life has changed in the last weeks. And trying to avoid thinking about him because that could never end well. But of course, the universe had other plans.

Just as you were dealing with the fact that the dress was utterly ruined, your phone buzzed. It was late, and the number was used solely for personal reasons, so the sound made you frown. You looked at the screen to find a text message from an unknown number:

“How’s the dress?”

There was no signature, but you knew.

“How did you get my number?” you replied and quickly saved his contact details.

It didn’t take him longer than a minute to respond.

“Used the charm you’re so quick to ignore”

Ah, Anna’s help then.

“Why?”

“Couldn’t imagine not bothering you for too long”

You covered your face with your hands for a few seconds before typing back.

“The dress is ruined, so thanks for nothing”

The speed with which he responded took you aback. Surely he’d have better things to do...? It did not seem so.

“It’s hardly my fault, is it? That wasn’t my idea” you could almost imagine the self-satisfied grin.

“Point taken” you hit the sent button and then took a deep breath.

It’s not too early for double texting, is it?

“Where are you?” you typed another message before throwing the phone on the other side of the bed.

When it buzzed again, you regretted the decision. Pretending that you would be able to resist reading the message immediately was pointless. You reached for the phone and read his answer:

“On the way to Boston airport”

Great. At least now you knew that he is not around, and you can have time to think. But with those texts, it might be harder to do. Before you could overthink the response, another one came through.

“Be honest, how bored are you without me?” you wondered how someone could be so annoying via text message.

“I’ve been assigned a little mission in Paris, actually. With Jasper. So not that bored, thank you very much”

This time it took him longer to respond. Approximately 6 minutes. Not that you were counting.

“You’ll be bored soon enough if you’ll be stuck somewhere with Jasper. What’s the cover?”

You did not like the assumption, but who were you to argue.

“Newlyweds enjoying honeymoon” you typed back and closed your eyes.

Somehow his response to that information mattered a lot.

“I guarantee you’ll wish it was me soon enough” Fucking hell.

“That’s a bit narcissistic, don’t you think?”

“Maybe a little. But once you meet him, you’ll know I’m right”

“Well then I won’t hesitate to report back after the meeting” you replied and made sure to prepare yourself for the mission brief.

After you were done with planning the outfit and packing your folder, you glanced at the phone.

“Please do. I need to know what dear Jasper is up to these days”

“If you’re so curious about him, maybe ask Anna for his number ;) Sure she’d never deny you anything”

You weren’t sure where that came from, but sure enough, you were not going to take it back.

“Wow… Is that jealousy I’m sensing?”

“You wish” you glanced at the clock and realised how late it was.

“Goodnight, Neil” you sent him another text and went to the bathroom.

When you were back there was a message waiting for you.

“Sweet dreams, darling”

You groaned. In the end, it seemed like you will not be able to get a break from Neil. What a shame.

*** From the moment you stepped into the conference hall in the morning, you knew that Neil was right. Jasper was not one of the most entertaining people you have ever met. When you were introduced to each other he barely glanced up from the folder to look at you and half-heartedly shook your outstretched hand. You took a long look at him and his short brown hair and hazel eyes. He did look decent, to be fair. But he was not Neil. And you hated that your brain made that comparison straightaway.

“So what’s the task, boss?” the first time you heard his voice was when he addressed the Protagonist.

“You have to observe the target, Pierre Armand, who’s an inverted weapons dealer. You’re supposed to watch his every move and send daily updates but don’t engage. That will be the job for another team” TP looked at you both intently “Your cover is a newlywed couple going by the surname Morgan and who have just moved into their lovely suite next door to Armand” you’d swear he winked at you.

You glared back while your newly assigned partner studied the folder attentively. You wondered if he ever did anything else.

“When do we leave?” you decided to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Your plane is tomorrow afternoon” you nodded “Any other questions?” when neither of you spoke, he added “So I’ll leave you two to get acquittanced”

You stared at TP panicked, but he only flashed you one cheeky smile and left the room. That did explain why he and Neil got along so well. Grudgingly you turned towards Jasper, who was still pre-occupied with the damn folder. You cleared your throat, and he glanced up.

“So… have you been working here for a while?” you were shit at small talk.

“For three years now” he eyed you up sceptically “You’re the new recruit from London, aren’t you?” you could almost hear the condescension.

“Yes” it was not looking promising “Neil recruited me, and we’ve just been on a mission together in New York” you added.

It was a mistake. At the mention of Neil, Jasper’s eyes flared up, and he looked at you sharply.

“I heard that mission was a major fuck up” the vicious smirk took you aback “And poor Neil got shot”

You could only stare in confusion at the man in front of you. Boring and clearly having issues with Neil. Just bloody perfect.

“Anyway, I got to prepare” he got up “But mind you, Paris won’t be at all like an operation with that idiot” he glared at you.

“And what’s an operation with him like?” you were genuinely curious at this point.

“Overly dramatic” he made a grand gesture with his hands before slamming the doors in the wake of his exit.

He did have a point there. You sighed, grabbed your documents, and exited the hall. On the way to your room, you decided to give in to the temptation and typed a message to Neil.

“With grief, I have to admit you were right about Jasper”

You were not expecting a response instantly, so the buzz when you were pouring coffee into the cup made you jump up. Neil could make your life harder, even remotely.

“Told you. How is he doing?” you read the reply and grinned at the casual tone.

“He’s grumpy and hates you for some reason. Can’t wait to be stuck with him for three weeks” you sighed and accepted the grim fate.

“Sounds like him then. You never know, you might bond over your shared hatred for me”

You nearly choked on your coffee then. A fellow agent passing by on the corridor stared at you. This could only get worse.

“Think my hatred towards you has nothing compared to his. Any ideas why he’s like that?”

“Nothing concrete, but I’ve got a few vague theories. I’ll tell you when I’m back”

“Hope so. What time is it there?” closing the door to your room, you could finally behave like an idiot.

“Past 11 pm. Excited for your outing with Jasper?”

Asia then… You tried to think about any possible places he could be but came up with too many options.

“Not at all. Fully expecting my days will be spent wandering around Paris alone or watching French HGTV”

You decided to look through the folder to distract yourself from the increasing stress. This time you were supposed to be Amelia Morgan, wife to Nicholas Morgan. Amelia’s occupation was being an accountant, which sounded extremely boring, but at least you would get to experience the city. Your study was then interrupted by another text.

“You can always message me if you’re bored”

Tempting.

“Careful because I might”

“You better” To that, you did not know what to say,. so you just got lost in the preparations for the mission. This one was not looking good but there was no other choice. So you just focused on learning about your target. At least this time, there was no one to distract you.

Until another text came, a solid hour later.

“One clue about Jasper: Anna”

Oh not her again.

“Don’t tell me he’s hopelessly in love with her”

“Perhaps… And well, she has eyes for someone else so” and then “Not to be smug naturally”

You grinned at the screen.

“You do sound smug”

You had to admit that if Neil’s theory was true, it was rather heart-breaking for both Anna and Jasper. Not that you felt sorry for either of them.

“He might decide to take revenge upon me by breaking your heart”

You stared at the text and the many implications he could have meant it by it. And it was too much to figure out right now. Instead, you just typed back:

��Good luck to him” and then, with heart thumping wildly “Would you care if he did?”

You tried to ignore the phone when the answer came. But after an agonising minute spent reading the same two words over and over, you gave in.

“Maybe”

Right… You just had to add that question to the long list for when he’s back. You closed the folder with a flourish. All mental coherence was gone.

*** It turned out that Neil was not right about everything. If Jasper ever intended to claim and then break your heart, he was utterly shit at it. Since the day you moved into your cosy Parisian flat, he barely spoke a word to you. Most of the time, he was buried nose deep in the mission briefs or books related to strategies and secrets of arms dealing. If you had tasks to complete, he would often sideline you before doing the job himself while ignoring any help you offered. To put it straightforwardly, he pissed you off.

And yet, his eagerness to be entirely self-dependent meant that you had time to discover Paris and relax while still completing the mission in any way you could. You also had more than enough time to text Neil, who always responded to your messages promptly. You sometimes wondered if he ever slept or did anything but talk to you. Not that you did mind, of course.

Your patience towards Jasper, his silence and superiority complex snapped for the first time after a week and a half. You have both been sitting in the living room of your condo, just after finishing quiet dinner. You were bored, extremely so. You have reached for the television remote with the intent to put on some background noise to ease the tension. But the moment you have switched the tv on, Jasper spoke:

“Don’t turn this shit on, it’s distracting” he has not even lifted his head from the folder he was studying.

You glared at him sharply and decided that you have had enough.

“Distracting from what? It’s not like you’ve not read this at least five times today already”

That made him look up. And he was not happy.

“I’m working. You should try that sometimes” he eyed you pointedly.

“I would if you ever gave me a chance to do anything” you shrugged, already not liking the conversation.

“I gave you a few opportunities, but you were just lazy” he placed his documents aside and went back to glaring at you “All you do is knock around Paris and stay on your phone for hours” a vicious smile appeared on his face “You’re texting Neil, aren’t you?”

You were taken aback by the whole situation and unable to deny the truth. “Even if I am, that’s none of your business” you were desperately hoping he would shut up.

But it was too late, and Jasper has clearly been triggered.

“That’s quite pathetic. You should know he never actually cares about all those girls he flirts with” he seemed to judge you “And I don’t see why you could be different” the smug smile was cruel.

Now you knew why it was better when he stayed quiet. You scrambled for any words of defence, but he managed to hit the mark. Swallowing hard, you schooled your face and replied in the most neutral tone you could muster at the moment.

“I think you’re just pissed Anna prefers Neil over you”

That worked. You watched with satisfaction as his eyes widened, and you silently thanked Neil for the information.

“Anna has nothing to do with this” it was his turn to stumble over the words “You’re just unwilling to face the truth” this time his harsh words lacked the sureness.

You were winning.

“So are you” you shrugged “I’ve had enough of this. You can go back to your precious mission briefs” you got up and left the room without a further glance.

You had to admit that his words did upset you. Even when you almost certainly knew he was wrong your brain had its own doubts. Because what if he was right? That would hurt, more than you could acknowledge.

But before you could begin the overthinking, the phone you threw onto the bed buzzed. He always knew when to message.

“How’s married life with Jasper going?”

And naturally, he always asked the right questions too. You did hate him for that.

“Now I know why it’s better he reads his documents instead of talking” you replied and debated what to do next.

“What did he do?” Neil quickly texted back even though you were pretty sure it was early morning hours for him.

You did not want to get into a serious conversation over the texts.

“He got a bit riled up and said some bullshit that wasn’t fun to listen to” that seemed like an easy way out for now.

“Do you want me to send a team to eliminate him? It would look like an accident”

You laughed at the tempting proposition.

“I’ll think about it”

“Are you alright?” you stared at the new message.

You were not exactly alright.

“I will be”

Why did lying feel so bad?

You switched off the lights in the room and lied on the bed. Just a week and a half to go. You’ve got this… right?

*** The last week in Paris passed in relative peace. Mostly because you and Jasper stopped speaking to each other entirely. Occasionally you would notice his cruel smirk appear when he caught you texting, and you did your best to ignore it. However, it did hurt, and you had to admit that one argument has managed to uproot all the confidence you have had.

Peace ended abruptly on the penultimate day when it became clear that you were being followed. Jasper caught on to the fact after he noticed someone shadow you on your walk through the city. You hid in one of the cafes as soon as he has signalled the fact to you. You knew he was right the moment a random man peered into the darkened premises and then went on to loiter nearby.

“Right, what do we do?” you looked around, trying to stay calm.

It seemed like no one else was onto you. Jasper already looked pissed off, and you wondered if it meant that more pleasant things would be said.

“I suspect they’ve got doubts about the authenticity of our story” he was intensely scanning the horizon, looking for any threats “He’s still there, waiting for us to blow the cover or prove him wrong” he turned to you with the most unhappy face you have ever seen.

“What is it?”

You were not sure you wanted to know the answer.

“We made it this far. I’m not letting them fuck it up” he leaned towards you and closed the gap.

You were frozen in horror before your brain caught up with the fact that Jasper was kissing you. Then you closed your eyes and tried to reciprocate with the minimum effort needed for it to look believable. It was pretty horrible, to put it simply. He was kissing you sloppily with a tempo that you could not match. You felt his hand clumsily entangle in your hair only to make you flinch when he ripped out a few hairs. After a solid 30 seconds long snog, you decided that had enough. You leaned back, ignoring the overwhelming urge to wipe your lips with the napkin. He stared at you briefly with that same disgusted face before discretely looking for your trail. The man was gone. You could only hope it worked as you exited the café, holding hands.

On the way back to the apartment, you refused to look at him, somehow hoping that would get rid of the awful way you felt. Naturally, being a spy did involve doing things like that but for some reason, it was not easy. You hated the fact that your brain kept on rewinding memories from New York and, in the process, making you feel worse. Once you made it back, you locked yourself in the room, leaving Jasper to fill in the report. You were tempted to message Neil just for the sake of knowing his thoughts on what happened.

“Today was my lucky day, and I got to experience PDA with Jasper. Send help”

That would do nicely, right?

“Must say I didn’t expect that”

As you were desperately looking for something to text back, your phone did something you did not expect it to do. It rang. You stared in shock as Neil’s number flashed as the caller ID. With a shaking hand, you picked up the phone and pressed the green button.

“Neil?” your voice sounded incredibly awkward.

Great start.

“What happened?” hearing his voice after those three weeks felt surreal.

Was it your imagination, or did he sound slightly tense?

“Um… we were being followed outside, so we entered a café. The tail was observing us and…” you took a deep breath, suddenly extremely nervous “And Jasper decided to kiss me to authenticate the cover”

Neil was silent, and that did not help with the irrational anxiety, so you rambled on, losing control of what you were saying.

“Well, it was more of a snog judging by how it lasted for thirty seconds, but I think they bought…”

“Okay, stop” he interrupted you abruptly “I’m not sure I want to know the details”

“Why not?” somehow out of the mixture of anxiety and insecurity, annoyance emerged “Are you jealous?”

You regretted the question as soon as it left your mouth. And did not want to know the answer. Luckily he did not respond. Instead, he did what Neil does best:

“Who’s a better kisser?”

You could not believe the nerve of this man.

“You can’t be for real” you muttered and heard him chuckle on the other side.

“It’s a legitimate question” you could picture the shrug and a cheeky smile.

It seemed like the initial awkwardness was gone. At least for him.

“I…” you huffed, unable to express the mess of emotions you felt.

“Oh, I know it’s you, but I’m asking about me and dear Jasper”

If he were in front of you, you would have punched him. But instead could only let out a frustrated groan and attempt to answer the question. There was only one way to do it.

“You” you mumbled, making sure your voice was barely coherent.

But of course, he heard you.

“I’m flattered” he had the smug tone nailed to the t.

“Fantastic” you sighed “Why did you call me?”

“I just wanted to hear your voice”

“Right”

“And to get you to answer the question”

“Of course” you sighed again “Now I should finish before Jasper barges in” That was partially an excuse, partially a real concern as you glanced nervously at the thin doors separating the rooms.

“Sure, don’t want you upsetting your husband. However, I’d love to see his face when he hears that I kiss better than him” Neil mused, and you gave yourself the liberty to just listen to his voice.

“Well, I’m not telling him that so feel free to do so when you meet up”

Your ears perked up at the sound of footsteps in the hall. Surely Jasper would not eavesdrop on you…?

“I’ve got to go, bye Neil” you hoped your tone sounded at least half as urgent as you felt.

“Goodbye, love. Don’t let that idiot get to you”

“I’ll try”

You hung up just as the doors to the bedroom opened. Sure enough, Jasper was stood there, with a scowl on his face.

“What were you doing?”

“Just being pathetic, I guess” you shrugged and walked past him without a glance.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

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saemi-the-writer · 3 years

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MT EPISODE REWRITING: DARK BLADE

Okay, this one is longer than the previous because I introduce some of my OCs and because the setting is different/takes longer than in canon. For continuity and character’s depvelopment’s sake, there will be more episodes like that, I hope you will enjoy them too. Btw, it’s one of my fav episode of the first season (mainly the akuma, I still find it very fun!)

Dark Blade, Miraculous team version!

(Takes place after Reflekta, early/mid-September)

Ms. Bustier announce to her class that the class rep election will be held in a week; she quickly reminds her students what the class rep role is, and their duties, before asking who would be interested in the job and/or the deputy. Chloé, Rose and Kim raise their hands for the class rep while Sabrina precises she goes for the deputy position. Ms. Bustier writes everything down and tell them they still have a whole week before the election and the bell rings. As the students get out, Alya notices that Marinette looks a bit down -jaded even- and asks her what’s wrong.

“Chloé is going to be class rep no matter what. She’s always been since 6th (first year of middle school) and it won’t change anytime soon.”

“Wait, you really think others want that blonde bully as a class rep?! She certainly doesn’t get my vote; Kim seems a better option even if he’s a bit dumb!”

“Yeah, if Kim maintains his candidacy. But the past two years, each time, all Chloé’s opponents gave up before the election, leaving her the only option. We didn’t have a choice.”

Alya is both shocked and annoyed to learn that, and the two discuss about it more before they split up to go home. They didn’t notice their teacher heard some of it. Once Marinette is home, she rushes to do her homework and finish her secret box, in case an akuma would appear in the evening or night. Tikki is a bit anxious that she writes all her secrets in her diary until she gets trapped in the box (like in canon). Marinette also assured her she wrote the part about her life as Ladybug in Chinese, so only her mom (or family on her mother side) could read it but they were little chance they’d get their hand on the diary or even want to read it. Before going dinnertime, Marinette confides in Tikki that she would have liked running for class rep, but she’s afraid she won’t have the time to do properly. Tikki tells her it will not hurt to try and that it would be a shame to leave the position to Chloé of all people, especially because she thinks that Marinette would be a great CP. Marinette feels a bit flattered but doesn’t change her mind (yet).

At dinnertime, she hears her parents talking about the incoming elections. They’re not really happy with either candidate, but they’d rather have Mr Bourgeois again as the mayor than Mr D’Argencourt. She listens with a distracted ear, choosing not to talk about the class rep elections.

Meanwhile, at the Agreste mansion, Gabriel and Nathalie have a similar conversation. Adrien listens carefully, curious about it since D’Argencourt is his fencing teacher. When Nathalie points out that D’Argencourt is too backward-looking (among other things) for her taste, it amuses Adrien who tells them that, indeed, his teacher has an old-fashioned way of speech and is sometimes too pompous. He imitates D’Argencourt shortly, making the two laugh a bit, then Gabriel reveals him that he had been seriously considering Adrien to change fencing lessons for a while because D’Argencourt tends to speak of politics too much in front of the children, imposing his point of view on them. “I am not paying him to spread his own propaganda.” While Adrien respects his teacher for his skills and enjoys fencing, he admits that he wouldn’t mind having a new -friendlier and more open-minded- teacher. Nathalie takes her tablet so they can show him the options they found.

As the week goes by, both Rose and Kim go to Ms. Bustier to tell her they withdraw their candidacy in turn. The teacher tries to change their mind, but when she realizes the two are really scared and were threatened/blackmailed, she stops. Ms Bustier is very upset, she speaks about it to some of her colleagues and the vice-principal (Damocles) only to hear that they can’t do much about it. The principal eats out of the mayor’s palm hand and so, he lets Chloé do whatever she wants. She goes to some of her students, asking them if they would be interested but they are either not interested at all or don’t want to confront Chloé. Only Adrien, Alya and Marinette answered “I am too busy, I won’t have the time to do it”. Marinette feels kinda sorry for her teacher who seems quite glum because of that, she starts having second thoughts. Tikki gives her a pep talk, then Marinette remembers that compared to Miss Tigri and the two giant snakes, Chloé seems ridiculous, which is why she manages to hold her ground and keep her seat, so she decides to go for it. Ms Bustier and her classmates are thrilled by her decision, whereas Chloé fumes and is already on the war path.

The following events are quite the same as canon then, all Marinette’s classmate congratulates her for her courage and have some requests for her. All of them are already planning to vote for her, Adrien too: he sees that Marinette will take her duty seriously. Then Chloé tries bribing them with albums and autographs of Jagged Stones. While Marinette rushes to the hotel, Sabrina goes to the bakery and uses the geometry book excuse; Sabine hesitates a bit because she doesn’t recognize Sabrina and cannot go and look for the book herself. Then, a young woman Sabrina doesn’t know speaks up:

“I can go and look for it with her, auntie!”

Sabrina is confused and wonders who that girl is, but Sabine, relieved at the sight of her niece, allows them to go. The girl introduce herself as Ryma -Marinette’s cousin- and the two climb to Marinette’s room. Sabrina is bothered by Ryma’s presence; she cannot search the room as she wishes nor talk to Chloé (who is hopping mad since Sabrina hung up on her in panic). However, she notices the diary in the box, and the moment Ryma turns her back on her, she rushes to take it. The two girls jump at the loud snap.

D’Argencourt is still bitter because he lost the elections and takes it out on his students, being harder and more demanding than usual. After showing off his move to Adrien, he makes his speech about his ancestor during his class (like canon). Adrien only listens out of politeness, eager for him to stop so he can go – plus, he (deep down) thinks D’Argencourt is a jerk, just like his ancestor. Gabriel comes to pick him up with his bodyguard, and while Adrien goes to change, Gabriel argues with D’Argencourt. The latter doesn’t take well that Gabriel wants his son to leave his “school”, nor how he cannot counter any argument Gabriel throws at him.

The fencer leaves only to be approached by Nadja Chamack and the sight of André Bourgeois’ picture is too much, he gets akumatized. Nadja and her cameraman are changed into knights, Gabriel and Adrien’s bodyguard see it and they both try to get Adrien to safety. They are changed as Adrien transforms and rushes out as Chat Noir.

Back at the hotel, Marinette feels a bit offended that her classmates (seem to) accept to be bribed; but when she asks them, most of them put it bluntly that they don’t intend on voting for Chloé.

“She will never keep her promises if she becomes class rep, so why should we keep ours?”

Marinette is left speechless, but she cannot blame them for making a false promise to her bully. Her phone rings, and she’s surprised to see it’s her cousin Ryma calling her. She gets more and more confused until Ryma arrives, pulling Sabrina behind her by her wrist.

“That girl was literally caught left-handed!” she tells Marinette, holding out Sabrina’s trapped hand for her to see.

Chloé runs to pull them all asides and is shocked as Ryma grabs her too then terrified by the older girl’s expression. Marinette tries to calm her cousin down, but they are interrupted by the akuma’s arrival. Like in canon, Marinette takes the lead, and they barricade the doors while Chat Noir and Pandora fight the knights outside, then she sneaks away when she can. Pandora is quite irritated as she fights off the knights and takes jabs at Dark Blade whenever she can, to both LB and CN’s surprise and amusement.

When the knights catapult themselves up, Chat Noir is the one who cries out “The flag! They are aiming for the flag!” and the three quickly climb up to prevent them from taking it. Pandora stations herself near the flag, fending them off (some Les Misérables references? Maybe!) while Ladybug uses her Lucky Charm. She gets a little bag full of itching powder and she throws it at Dark Blade after he tries to pull his move on Chat Noir (“Not twice!” yes, a Saint Seiya reference too sorry not sorry), CN uses his cataclysm on the sword and LB can capture the akuma and uses her miraculous healing.

The younger heroes have only a few minutes left, so after a group “pound it”, they leave. Pandora turns to D’Argencourt and offers to help him down the roof, but he is so rude and condescending to her that turns away. “Suit yourself, Messire. Good luck!” D’Argencourt stays stunned and huffs, trying clumsily to go down. A shadow appears behind him and reaches out:

“I think you would have been an amazing ruler, sir.” A smile. “We can help you restore your family’s former greatness, let us help you and together, we will lead the people of Paris to glory.”

D’Argencourt remains silent a moment, then takes the hand in his.

“Welcome among us, Armand D’Argencourt.”

The hands shake firmly.

Marinette sneaks back among her classmates, claiming she had been changed into a knight. Adrien does the same (and no one questions how and when he arrived at the hotel) before Chloé tries to make a scene, calling Marinette a quitter. It doesn’t last as Ryma butts in, still dragging a tearful Sabrina behind her; Marinette frees Sabrina’s hand and expose Chloé (well, she betrays herself but still). When Chloé tries to shift the blame on Sabrina, everyone rolls their eyes “yeah right, we know Sabrina is more your minion than friend.”. Although her victory is obvious, Marinette still makes a nice speech, showing them all that she does deserve to be class rep and gets a round of applause.

The following day, Marinette is officially the class president and Alya her deputy. She sees Ryma at the bakery later, who congratulates her. They both hug and Marinette thanks her again for defending her.

Adrien then joins his new fencing class and meets his new teacher, Laura Fleuret.

AN: Adrien’s new teacher is inspired by a real fencer Laura Flessel ; and if you wonder what Ryma looks like, here’s a reference)

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ofwolfandmuse · 3 years

Text

INTRODUCING

( nico tortorella, genderfluid, they/he ⋇ expensive tailored suits, notes stained by coffee rings, elegant cursive handwriting only one person could possibly read, aged whiskey, and a book with a broken spine filled with annotations) ⋯ well if it ain’t 『 GIOVANNI “GI” RUSSO 』from 『 SOUTH CRYSTAL 』! they’re a beloved member of crystal grove, been here for about 『 GREW UP HERE, LEFT TOWN AT 18, BUT JUST ARRIVED BACK 』now. that『 31 』year old works here as an 『 PROPERTY MANAGER / LAWYER 』when they’re not busy 『 READING 』. and it’s clear from their 『 NUTMEG WITH A HINT OF WHISKEY 』 scent they’re an『 OMEGA 』. they’re known to be 『 INTELLIGENT 』, but『 UNAPOLOGETIC 』as well, but you didn’t hear that from me. why don’t you go on over and introduce yourself ?

GET TO KNOW THE MUSE

Name: Giovanni Adrian Russo

Nickname(s): Gi, GiGi, Van, Vanni, Gio

Age: 31

Date of Birth: January 31st

Zodiac: Aquarius

Place of Birth: Crystal Grove, Washington

Race / Ethnicity: White (Predominately Italian)

Gender: Genderfluid

Secondary Gender: Omega

Pronouns: Prefers They/Them, but will accept He/Him

Sexual Orientation: Sapiosexual

Romantic Orientation: Panromantic

FAMILY

Siblings: Countless - notably Vincent Russo (Alpha) & Conner Russo (Beta)

Mate: N/A

Children: None - and he doesn’t plan on having any

Pets: A Rottweiler by the name of Claudia and a yellow lab named Armand

APPEARANCE

Height: 6′1

Build: Lean, Fit

Hair Color: Brown

Eye Color: Gray

Tattoos: Two arm sleeves - 1 and 2

Piercings: None

Distinguishing Features: N/A

WOLF FORM

Fur Color: Chocolate Brown with patches of darker brown on muzzle and ears and lighter brown on chest

Wolf Build: Slightly larger than average, lean

NSFW

Preference: Dominant, Top

Kinks: Bondage (giving), Spanking (giving), Humiliation (giving), Degrading (giving), Dominating (giving), Orgasm Denial (giving), Orgasm Control (giving), Open To Many Others

Anti-Kinks: Blood-Play, Age-Play, Little-Play, Waste-Play

BIOGRAPHY

The black sheep of the Russo family, one thing that everyone knows about Gi is that they march to the beat of their own drum. While older brothers had presented as alpha, Gi was the first of their generation of Russo children to present as Omega and almost as soon as they finished with their first heat, their parents were already trying to tell Gi that he needed to present himself in a way that would look suitable to Alphas. Now, they had already been quite the catch - a wolf that was at the top of their class and a prominent member of the baseball team in his middle school (prior to presenting - afterwards their parents kept telling them it was too dangerous for an Omega to be in an Alpha-heavy sport) - but now they were expected to clean up and act proper in the hopes to find a suitable Alpha to bear pups.

And that was not something Gi was having.

Quickly they let their parents and more traditional siblings know that just because Gi was an Omega, it didn’t mean they were going to just bend over and bear pups for any smooth-talking Alpha. No, they had ambition, and they wanted to make more of themselves than just some homemaker. And with the grades that they had, they were able to secure a scholarship to an Ivy League college, enough for them to be able to say sayonara to the family so that they can get started living the life that they wanted - not the life that their parents wanted for them.

And getting away from small town Crystal Grove and small-town minds was great for the Omega. At their college, everyone judged everyone based on their intelligence, not on their gender and that, frankly, is how Gi thought it should be. And once they managed to get their degree, a double major in Business and in Political Science, they continued their education by going to law school. And it was in law school, while listening to a guest lecturer, that they knew what they wanted to do - they wanted to use their degree to fight for Omega Rights. And that’s exactly what they did.

Of course, with the money that they managed to make, they knew that it would be wise to invest - and what better thing to invest in than property? Owning various apartment buildings across the west coast, Gi has made quite the name for themselves despite being only in their early thirties. And after nearly fourteen years of being away from home, Gi is ready to come back and face the family and show them what an Omega is really capable of.

#crystalgrove: intro

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chnat0wn · 5 years

Text

Black Irises

Relationship: Alfie Solomons/Original Female Character

05. Son of My Right Hand

The weather was good at the beginning of the morning – the sun rays were peering into individual rooms, breaking through the windows and stroking the faces of the household members. Outside, more and more birds appeared, and the trees and shrubs stood calmly, unmoved by the slightest breeze. Deborah couldn't sit still at home in this state of affairs. She didn't plan a trip to the city, a long walk neither. The garden at the back of the house was enough for her.

Deborah loved to spend her time in the garden. She had lived near the street since she was a child, so her parents couldn't afford to have their own backyard. Besides, they loved the city, so they didn't feel the need to live close to the greenery. Gray buildings, sad streets – they were what Margaret and Robert Rouby felt best about. But Deborah always wanted something more. And although she wasn't related to Polly through blood, she claimed that Deborah had a gypsy need to feel freedom, otherwise she would suffocate.

Deborah loved flowers. She not only admired their beauty, which undoubtedly brought satisfaction. First of all, she liked to care of them – to dig in the soil, replant them from place to place, watch it grow, irrigate properly, and also get rid of pests.

Immediately after breakfast, she decided to go to the part of the garden where fruits and vegetables were usually found. Plants were just about to come to life, for the time being only bare, slightly frozen ground was visible. Then Deborah went to her own refuge – in late spring, summer, and early autumn it was really greeny here. Deborah preferred to be among all those colorful flowers and plants, than inside the house. In general, her house seemed too gloomy, not only in winter or autumn.

“Mum!” she heard Benjamin's voice behind her. She looked back at the boy and raised her eyebrows questioningly. Imperceptibly, she breathed a sigh of relief when it turned out that Benjamin was safe and sound. He came closer, and because Deborah was already kneeling, getting rid of weed remnants, Benjamin lowered his hands.

“What do you have there?” she asked, pulling off the dirt-stained gloves. She looked at the boy's hands. Inside, there was a bird. It wasn't anything extraordinary – not too big, black with yellow beak. A blackbird probably. And although Deborah had always considered all kinds of animals as friends and allies, she couldn't convince herself to birds. It wasn't that she did not like them. She was simply afraid of them. “A bird. Did you just catch... a bird?”

“I found it.” Benjamin said in a calm but defensive tone. “He was sitting on the grass. Uhm, over there!” he turned and nodded to the lawn a few meters away. “He cannot fly. Can I take him home? We have to do something!”

Deborah raised an eyebrow and looked closely at her son.

“You sure you only ‘found’ it?” she asked.

“Of course I only found him!” he nodded hastily. “What do you suspect me about? You think I stole him from the nest? Why the hell do I need a fucking bird?”

“What did you just say?!” Deborah opened her eyes wider.

“A bird?”

“No. Before a bird.”

She watched her child's face for a moment. And she was completely shocked. Her little, sweet boy has started using words that came to her completely naturally. But Deborah was a grown woman. She was sure, however, that she would never say anything similar in the presence of Benjamin.

“It was John, wasn't it? Or maybe Arthur? Oh my God, Tommy? No, it is not possible.” she shook her head slowly. Benjamin laughed loudly, making sounds that rewarded all curses, and then went towards the entrance to the house. He was only a child and already playing with her, testing the limits of her patience. “Fucking John Shelby.” Deborah breathed helplessly, pursing her lips.

The smells from the kitchen indicated that the dinner was coming up. Deborah told Armand that their guest was eating according to different rules. Armand preferred to experiment, so unfamiliar smells scattered all over the house. It even reached the bathroom, where Deborah currently was. She was sitting in the bathtub, holding a glass of whiskey. Only a few days ago, she promised herself that she would not touch alcohol in the near future. However, she needed to relax before the next meeting with Alfie.

Before entering the bedroom, Deborah brought the edge of the glass to her lips and tilted it, pouring the remains of the drink into her throat. She met Biagio in the room. He was standing in front of her dresser, looking at the cosmetics Deborah was usually using.

“Clever.” he said, lifting the packet of powdered pigment. He turned and looked at her. “It will be useful for you today. I really care about cooperation with Solomons. So you have to be a good girl.” he said, approaching Deborah slowly. “Because recently you really disappointed me with your unexpected trip.” he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. Deborah held her breath, but she couldn't look away from Biagio's brown, magnetizing eyes.

“I was at Ada's.” she finally gave up. She shrugged indifferently and lowered her eyes for a moment. When she lifted them again on her husband's face, he smiled in a way that caused an unpleasant shudder on Deborah's body.

“You're always at Ada's, aren't you?” he raised his eyebrows. Deborah swallowed hard, and Biagio shook his head in disappointment. “Next time, I will not be so gracious. Don't forget about it, okay?”

Deborah nodded. Biagio widened his smile and leaned forward to kiss Deborah's forehead. There was nothing sensitive about it. The kiss was only the sealing of the promise that was made.

“Tell Ben he should be ready in an hour.” Biagio said after a moment.

“Ben?” Deborah frowned. “I thought Ben would stay in his room. That he should lay low, I-...” she said, confused. Biagio raised his finger, which effectively silenced Deborah.

“I decided that Ben will sit with us. I want Solomons to get acquainted with my family. Who knows, maybe someday Benjamin will be doing business with him?” he said jokingly, but Deborah watched him with increasing panic.

“Who knows? I know. He won’t.” she folded her hands. “Biagio, for God's sake. Alfie Solomons is dangerous, you know that well. Dinner with... with a gangster is not an event for a little boy.” she said cautiously, stepping closer. Biagio tightened his jaw.

“I made a decision, understand? Whether you like it or not, Benjamin will have dinner with us tonight. In the company of Solomons. He will not be eternally a ‘little boy’. One day he will grow up and I won't support him for the rest of my life!”

Biagio breathed heavily, clenching his hands into fists. Deborah looked away and bit her trembling lips, not to say a few words too much. If Biagio ever wanted to involve Benjamin in his clan, Deborah had to think about the right steps to save her son from such a future.

“Adjust yourself.” he added. “Otherwise you will regret that I haven't killed you yet.”

Deborah watched Biagio leave the room. He slammed the door, and Deborah shuddered under the sudden, loud sound.

She didn't mind Alfie, but she wasn't sure how he would behave in the company of any child. After the last meeting with him she felt badly. She did not want Benjamin to know this side of Alfie. And she had the feeling that a man who could become a role model for her son will never come back. She wasn't ready to introduce Alfie to Benjamin.

“Debbie!” Biagio's loud calling reached the upstairs without any problem. Deborah extinguished the cigarette in the crystal ashtray in her husband's office and let out a last cloud of smoke. She stood up and involuntarily smoothed down the navy blue dress she wore. She went to Benjamin's room and took him floor below. As they were going down the stairs, Benjamin took her hand and clenched tightly. Biagio had never insisted that Ben accompanied them in any business-related dinner. It was clear, then, that Benjamin was nervous.

“Hey, what happened to that bold boy from the garden, hmm?” Deborah raised an eyebrow. Benjamin looked at her. “Everything will be fine. Mr Solomons has to deal with your father, not with you.” she winked at him. She led Benjamin to the dining room, where Biagio's voice has been coming from. In the room, however, there were two of them – Biagio sat at the top of the table, Alfie took the seat next to him.

“Mr Solomons.” Deborah spoke, entering the dining room. “Good evening.”

“Yeah, it ‘s.” he replied and he noticed her after a moment. “It ‘s.”

Biagio got up and walked over to Deborah quickly. He wrapped his fingers around her forearm, pulling her closer.

“Take care of our guest.” he ordered, and without any explanation he left the dining room.

Alfie was staring only at Deborah, as if they were in the room only by themselves. His face expressed nothing but boredom. Or something very similar. Deborah watched him too. He looked a bit different than when she saw him in the bakery. His hair wasn't such a mess, and instead of a crumpled shirt, a snow-white collar jutted out from under his neat vest. Deborah also noticed the glasses stuck in the vest pocket. Practices in his father's jewelry store had to affect Alfie's eyesight.

Solomons glanced at Benjamin as he moved behind Deborah. Alfie looked at the boy, and his face took on a grimace of disgust, irritation and disorientation. Deborah has never seen so many conflicting feelings accumulate in one place like a human face. But Alfie perfectly combined it into a quite coherent whole. Because these emotions didn't pass successively, one after the other – they suddenly appeared, all at once.

“What ‘s that, eh?” he asked, looking up at Deborah.

“It’s a human.” she replied calmly. “But smaller than you. We call that a ‘child’.”

“I can see that, ya frisky fing.” Alfie rose from his seat and grabbed a cane, which was leaning against a chair. Deborah didn't remember Alfie having it with him when she last saw him. “Me back ‘s killing me, mate.” he referred, no problem seeing Deborah's interest. He stood next to her and once again looked at Benjamin. The boy hid behind Deborah. “What ‘s yer name, lad?”

“Benjamin.” he said barely audibly. Alfie nodded. He stared at the boy for a moment until he finally looked up at Deborah again.

“Benjamin.” he repeated. He pursed his lips in a way that Deborah could barely see among the beard and mustache. “Son of my right hand. But he does not have swarthy skin or ‘is daddy’s brown eyes, does he?” he clacked. “My dear Deborah.” he pursed his lips again, and a grimace of anger crossed his face. “What right hand we talking about, eh?”

Alfie was close enough for Deborah to feel the warmth of his breath on her cheeks. He didn't look directly at her, rather at some nearby point, and if he decided to raise his eyes to her face, Deborah would probably faint once again.

“And ‘ow old ‘s yer child as ya called ‘im?”

“He’s ten.”

“Ten?” Alfie raised his eyebrows. “He ‘s fucking ten.” he smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. “So you telling me, right? You telling me this ‘s the reason” he pointed to Benjamin. “why you left.”

Deborah looked away. She took a shivering, deep breath and finally lowered her eyelids. She was convinced that Alfie's close presence was making her dizzy.

“Yeah.” he said after a moment. He nodded, pursing his lips. “Just as I thought.”

Alfie pulled back and returned to his seat, and Deborah felt she could breathe again. Alfie overwhelmed her by his power, ruthlessness and coldness. And he smelled amazing.

“We can begin.” Biagio announced. Deborah looked at him. He appeared faster than she thought.

Deborah adjusted the quilt, wrapping Benjamin. The boy was staring empty into space in front of him, so Deborah sat on the edge of his bed. For quite certain reasons, she looked at him with concern. She brushed Benjamin's hair from his forehead.

“What is it, Benny?” she asked, smiling warmly.

“Mr Solomons...” he hesitated. Deborah's expression changed diametrically in a fraction of a second. She was worried by the fact that Benjamin even mentioned him. They both deserved mutual contact. Alfie should get to know Benjamin, and Benjamin should get used to Alfie. The problem is that Alfie wasn't expressing any willingness for it. Although Biagio was still the biggest obstacle.

“What about him?” Deborah raised her eyebrows. She tried to encourage the boy to continue the conversation. Without specific intentions. Maybe some time ago, Deborah would be interested in what her son thinks about Alfie Solomons. Now – when she knew what kind of person he was – she did not care less about him.

“He is terrifying.” Benjamin admitted. “Really terrifying.”

Deborah smiled a little wider, then nodded.

“You’re right.” she agreed. “Mr Solomons is a bit scary. But you don't have to be afraid of him. He won't hurt you. You have my word.” she added and touched the tip of Benjamin's nose.

“I'm not afraid of him.” he protested immediately, shaking his head. Deborah's brow furrowed slightly, but she didn't say a word, noticing Benjamin's need to justify his position. “Mr Solomons is a very sad man. He did not smile even once, and daddy told him so many funny stories!” he said with absolute seriousness. “That's why he looks scary. Because he is very sad.”

Deborah was silent. Not because she wanted to. She couldn't speak a word. Emptiness filled her head. Benjamin surprised her many times, but never in this way. She even had the feeling that the boy might be right. Not that she would consider it as justification for Alfie's behavior. But thanks to that she could try to understand it.

“I wish I was as smart as you.” she sighed theatrically.

“You don’t need to.” Benjamin shook his head again. “You are very pretty, mummy. That's enough.”

Deborah bursted out laughing. Benjamin seemed to believe in his own words, but he couldn't keep a serious expression when Deborah's lips formed a wide, bright smile.

“Owh, what?”

“Owh, nothing.” she imitated the same tone, wrinkling her nose. “I'm just wondering, which Shelby I should cut off of you.”

“Oh, no!” Benjamin wailed in displeasure. “Anything, but not this!”

Deborah saw no sense in continuing to accompany Biagio. He was sitting with Alfie in the dining room when she left the room to put Benjamin to bed. The only thing she wondering about in all this was whether Alfie spoke a little more than at the beginning.

Leaving the bathroom upstairs – a thin nightgown, a satin robe, no make-up, and her hair falling down loosely – she heard Biagio's voice coming from his office. She was wondering, what she should do. On the one hand, she wanted to know what was so secret that it forced Biagio to change the dining room to a more secluded place. Still, she guessed what would happen to her if he caught her eavesdropping. In the end, she went silently to the ajar door.

“You have good information, Mr Solomons. I worked in New York for a while, so I can do what you asking for.”

“Ya fuckin’ what? Asking you? You?” Alfie's voice was full of disbelief and artificial admiration. “This ‘s fucking agreement, mate. I’m asking you, right? ‘Cause what we have ‘s a fucking agreement.”

Biagio was silent. Deborah smiled under her breath. She had never witnessed anything like it before. It has always been Biagio – the dominant one. This time Alfie crushed him like a worthless cockroach.

“And I want some proof, yeah? Proof of yer loyalty.” Alfie continued. “Somfing very precious for ya, my friend.”

Biagio didn't say a word for several minutes. Deborah couldn't tell what was the reason – the power Alfie emanated or the simple lack of the right words to express his dissatisfaction. Because Deborah knew well that her husband didn't like being treated that way. Nor was he stupid enough to oppose such a powerful man as Alfie Solomons.

“I have no idea what you're aiming for-...”

“Let me enlighten ya.” he interrupted. Deborah recognized the annoyance in Alfie's voice. He was impatient when he had to explain his intentions in-depth. “I need more bakers. Actual bakers. I have a few intrusive, stubborn coppers on me back.”

“I can give you as many men as you like.” Biagio said without hesitation. Once again, there was a silence, in which only Alfie's deep, heavy breath could be heard. He seemed to be even more annoyed than had just been.

“Tell me, Biagio” he replied only after a short time. Deborah could imagine Alfie burning the hole in her husband only with his eyes. “Can yer boys bake?”

Biagio was silent. Again. Standing at the door, Deborah once more stretched her lips in a malicious smile of triumph, even if it wasn't her that made Biagio feel trodden and powerless.

“But yer wife...” Alfie added after a moment. Deborah became serious in the blink of an eye. “Yeah. I need yer wife.”

“Forgive me, Mr Solomons, but...”

“Ah, forgiveness.” Alfie interrupted him, and there was a false enthusiasm in his voice. “‘ow many of us, right, ‘ow many of us are able to forgive? Forgiveness ‘s very valuable virtue, innit?”

Biagio was quiet anew, so Deborah had some time to dig into her own thoughts. What exactly did Alfie mean? He wanted her to work in his bakery? She was aware that Alfie knew about her acquired skills, but she thought it was not enough to work in a bakery. Besides, she was overcome by the feeling that it was not entirely honest and legitimate work. Because Alfie Solomons was not an ordinary baker. Alfie Solomons was above all a gangster.

Regardless of Deborah's own considerations, Biagio was still quiet. She held her breath, listening for answers.

#Alfie Solomons #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x oc #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine

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sangcreole-archived · 6 years

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(omg i had no idea it was your birthday HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!) ok so i listen to the coven podcast and knowing that Louis is your favorite vc character, could you tell me why? what made you fall in love with him? what do you like about him, what do you not like? (ps i love louis too so if you ever need to just wanna rant abt him i am here. pps, I will probably come back with some deep ass question abt Louis at some point)

//Hey thanks so much for the birthday wishes and such a great question!

GOD I love Louis for so many different reasons and could really go on for days lmao but I think the main reason I love Louis so much is that he reminds me why humanity and life is so precious. I’ve always found his character interesting because as one of the first “reluctant vampire” tropes, he was vampire I was introduced to who had a moral compass.

This is going to sound a little weird and maybe a bit narcissistic, but for my job training, I had to take this personality test called the Clifton Strengths Analysis test, which will tell you what your strongest personal and leaderships skills are. My number one “strength” was empathy. And while I wasn’t thrilled to have empathy as my strongest quality, I’ve actually learned to love it, through learning how Louis utilizes this quality throughout the series.

When we first meet Louis, he is the personification of guilt because of what happened with his brother, but that guilt sticks with him throughout his transformation, and it becomes incredibly important as he attempts to navigate the new world as a transcended being. He is conflicted as hell, and insists on punishing himself via starvation because he is so heartsick and guilty and full of grief both for his brother, and for his humanity. When he is first turned, the empathy that he possesses doesn’t exactly work in his favor. He is overly empathetic, and refuses to take life because he empathizes too much with everyone (this is doubly hard considering that he does not have the mind gift, so he cannot weed out the bad seeds from the good ones; he tends to assume most people are innocent, or at least undeserving of death). But as he grows older and begins to figure stuff out, I think he is finally able to sympathize and empathize with humans in a gentler way, and I really admire that. He eventually learns to exist in the world and admire the human beings that he walks amongst, and I love that about him. In fact, one of my favorite moments in the series is when he stands up to Akasha and says:

“Then kill me! I wish that you would. But don’t kill human beings! Don’t interfere with them. Even if they kill each other! Give them time to see this new vision realized; give the cities of the West, corrupt as they may be, time to take their ideals to a suffering and blighted world.”

He is fiercely attached to the human race, even though he is no longer a part of it, and he’s even willing to risk his life for them.

Another of my favorite things about Louis is that he’s ridiculously complex and dichotomous as a character, which makes him super interesting in my eyes. You know that phrase: “I’m lover, not a fighter, but I’ll still kick your ass”? Yeah, that’s Louis. Like I said earlier, he’s very empathetic and intuitive and emotional, and he purposefully remains the weakest vampire and rejects the vampiric gifts because he wants to remain as close to being human as possible. Yet his determination in fighting the vampiric gifts makes him incredibly strong in a different way, and I really admire that. Louis, unlike Lestat, Armand, Marius, and most of the main characters of the series, has never went under ground. He has stayed alive and sentient for two and a half centuries without needing a break. His stamina and stubbornness are incredible, and yet when people think of Louis, these usually aren’t the first qualities that come to mind. Louis is a Romantic, melancholic beauty, sure, but he’s also like a great oak tree: strong and solid and unyielding.

And at the end of the day, he’s a straight up ruthless killer. We see this in his treatment of not only Lestat, but Armand’s entire coven. And while these were killings of passion, it is also evident that he is a meticulous and heartless killer when it comes to his hunting methods. In fact, one of my favorite moments in the series is when the Queen of the Damned herself calls him out and says: “Yet you yourself are the most predatory of all the immortals here. You kill without regard for age or sex or will to live.” So how can someone so full of emotion and empathy kill so carelessly? I think the answer lies in the fact that he does not have the mind gift, and has never willingly accepted or used it, so he cannot pick out the “evildoers” like the others, and therefore must kill indiscriminately. But one thing that I also headcanon is that because Louis is so constantly tormented by guilt and overwhelmed by emotions, he could never sustain himself if he didn’t have some way to switch the emotions off; he’d be too drained to do anything (in fact, we even see this scenario play out in his first few years when he’s feeding on chickens and rats). So he eventually learns how to switch those emotions off when he hunts. It’s a defense mechanism. And while it ensures his survival, it also makes him dangerous as fuck, because that means he can switch of his empathy and love for mankind like a fucking light switch.

ANYWAY, I think my main love for Louis can be summed up in this description of him by Marius:

“Just a little blood, and Louis might be stronger, true, but then he might lose the human tenderness, the human wisdom … the gift of knowing others’ suffering with which Louis had probably been born”

TL;DR: I love Louis because he is so complex and though he is the most human-like vampire who possesses an aching tenderness and erudite nature that speaks to my very soul, he is also a dangerous badass whose moral stance is highly debatable. I love all sides of him!!

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

#//definitely send me more deep questions in the future!#//I'm always down to analyze this guy #;answered #;out of blood #;headcanon #Louis de Pointe du Lac #Vampire Chronicles #Interview with the Vampire #Anne Rice #mntyaggrssn

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becumsh · 7 years

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“allies”, richelieu&milady, modern au

I live for their relationship because richelieu adopting milady is my fave concept in any modern au, i want 193958201 fics about them. also i wrote it at like 5.30am so it’s probably meh.

Her bed creaks.

It doesn’t really bother her – she’s used to sleeping in much rougher conditions, honestly, but the sound is so crisp in the night silence, uninterrupted by anyone’s breathing or snoring, that it disconcerts her.

It’s not that she’s too hot or too cold, or that the bedsheets don’t smell of being boiled within the inch of their life, or that she can’t find a comfortable position and keeps turning. She doesn’t care that the mattress is too sturdy and flat with no dips to accommodate the curves of human body.

She just can’t sleep. The bed creaks and the sound makes her skin crawl. It’s not because it’s the first night here and it’s strange and unfamiliar. It’s not.

Finally, Milady gives up and swings her legs from the bed. The parquet is warm under her feet but she slides her feet in the slippers anyway, just in case.

The cold tiles under the soles of her feet, cracked and chipped, the dirt getting stuck between her toes.

She tip toed to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of cold milk. She was told that she’s allowed to do so if she wants.

On her way back, Milady noticed a line of yellow light coming from behind the door. When she left, the neon blue digits of the stove clock informed her that it’s well past three a.m.

‘May be the cats are afraid of the dark,’ she thinks. ‘Or he forgot to switch the lamp off.’

She leaves and doesn’t hear the rustle of papers, a mug being lifted and drunk from.

Three days later she needs to pee, and again, the light is pouring from the room that’s next to the kitchen.

‘Definitely the cats,’ Milady decides and returns to the room she is allowed to call her own.

Before she goes back to sleep, she checks the contents of a small suitcase under her bed. Clothes, two books she stole from the orphanage library and three chocolate bars nicked from the pantry. There are also two stale biscuits wrapped in a toilet paper and hidden in the pocket of her dress but it’s an emergency stash for the time when she’ll be really desperate because they taste of card box when they are fresh and Milady doesn’t dare to think about how they taste now.

Two weeks in, and Milady sleeps much better.

“Anne, be more civil to your roommates. It’s your fault that you are getting picked at; I’m sure that if you’ll try to be nicer they’ll stop.”

“Your parents abandoned because you are horrible. My mummy will find me and you will rot here until they kick you out, you monster.”

It’s four in the morning. The bedsheets smell faintly of lavender and detergent. Also, when her feet touch the floor, it’s warm and feels wooden and also there’s cat hair. There are no cats in the orphanage. She’s exactly one hundred and forty five miles away from the orphanage, she checked.

At quarter past five, Milady finishes gulping cold water from the tap in the kitchen.

Four twenty five and she comes to conclusion that she won’t be able to sleep any time soon.

Milady pads into the study. She is allowed to take a book if she wants to. She was warned that the majority of them are boring. She thinks that while she’s at it, she might as well turn the lamp off.

She walks in and slightly jumps at the sight.

“Bad dream?” he turns and raises his thick eyebrows.

He introduced himself as Armand Richelieu. He said that he’s her new father. She replied that she never had one.

“No.” Milady replies.

“Right.” Richelieu blinks a few times. “Um. Are you hungry? Or do you want another blanket?”

“May I take a book?” she asks as civilly as she can.

Richelieu shrugs and points at the shelves. Milady comes closer and picks the slimmest and the one that looks the least boring.

Her new parent watches her carefully, a pile of papers lying forgotten in front of him.

“You can stay here, if you want,” he suddenly offers.

Milady feels her skin prickling, her palms sweaty, breath ragged. May be the offer isn’t so sudden.

“Okay,” she agrees and sits on the sofa.

Five pages in and the book proves to be as boring as the rest of its peers on the shelf.

“Are you always here every night?” she asks.

Richelieu hums.

“Don’t you work during the day?”

He’s up before her every morning, already cooking hot breakfast when she brushes her teeth. Occasionally, there are some burnt or undercooked bits. But the food is better than in orphanage’s canteen and she’s not picky anyway. He drinks his coffee black and sickly sweet judging by the amount of sugar he loads in the mug.

Richelieu quietly chuckles.

“I do. It’s just people whom I work with do nothing so I have to do their job.”

Milady quirks the corner of her mouth at that.

“Do you sleep?”

“Of course. Adults don’t need as much sleep as children do.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Richelieu replies. “It’s twenty to five.”

The silence in the study is softer than in her room. Gentler.

Richelieu rubs his eyes and lets out a long breath.

It’s a very big apartment and there are far more rooms than one man needs.

“Why?” Milady asks out of curiosity. “Could’ve gotten a cat if you were lonely. Getting a child is a bit extreme.”

“I have three,” Richelieu points out. “Besides, I’m a politician. Looks good in the media.”

“There were dozens of other children. They are nicer. More suitable for your purposes.”

Cherubic and angelic, ready to rip your throat out if they see that some parents look at you longer than a split of a second.

Be nice, or they will send you back. You monster, he will kick you out as soon as he finds out who you really are. Miss, she kicked me. Miss, I swear, I never touched her plate.

“Why don’t we have a cup of tea,” tired voice rips her away from the memory lane. “And then we’ll go to sleep.”

Milady reluctantly follows him into the kitchen. Richelieu stops in his tracks.

“You don’t have to drink from the tap,” he finally says. “There’s decanter with filtered water on the table.”

She shrugs and climbs on the seat at the far corner. He starts the kettle and rummages in the pantry. He offers her a chocolate bar. She takes it.

The tea tastes faintly floral and lemony. Richelieu brings her a hoodie because apparently she’s got goose bumps as her pyjamas don’t have sleeves. He himself sports a very old and very ugly fleece that in the dim and distant past used to be of some monochromatic colour. Milady doesn’t comment on it.

“So, want to talk about the dream?” he offers.

Milady clenches her jaw. “I didn’t have a dream.” She discreetly slips the Twix in the pocket of her hoodie.

“Okay.” Richelieu takes a sip from his mug.

“There are nicer children.” Milady repeats.

“Ready to murder you if a future parent even speaks a word to you, yeah,” he snorts.

“Who said I’m not?”

Richelieu laughs at that.

“I mean, you can always ask for a replacement. They are ready to call you ‘Daddy’ and everything the first time they meet you.” Milady persists. She tries not to grip the chocolate in her pocket so it doesn’t melt. She needs to put it in her suitcase later on.

“You don’t like it here?” He asks, furrowing his brows.

“It’s okay,” she clenches her fists. He will kick you out as soon as he finds out what a nasty bitch you are. Language! Miss, she started it first.

She is no victim. She starts it first. She kicks and bites and replies with snide remarks. They leave her alone, and for the time being it’s all fine until it all starts all over again.

“You are not going to go back, you know.” She flinches. The Twix wrap crunches. Richelieu pretends he doesn’t notice. “The paperwork is too tedious to begin with.”

“I’m not nice.” Milady finally says. The skin of Richelieu’s hands looks bleak in the early morning light.

“Neither am I.” He states. “So I don’t think that anything what personnel told me can faze me.”

He knows, Milady realises with a cold dread. Problematic child, the Headmaster sighed. As if she’s the only one. This one has anger management issues. She’s just not good at hiding it.

“Why me?” she asks, clenching sticky palms nervously. “Why not another cat?”

Richelieu rubs his forehead and looks like he has no idea.

“Cats don’t talk.” He offers. When she sceptically raises her eyebrows, he relents. “I saw you being cornered by one of those nicer children when the staff wasn’t looking. And I thought, ‘she’s a fighter. I could use her help.’”

“Hm.” His eyes are huge, red-rimmed and half-hidden under papery eyelids. They are grey, not like the floor tiles in the orphanage, some unfamiliar hue. He didn’t tell her the whole truth but for now it’s enough.

If he’s heard everything about her, maybe he doesn’t really care.

“You want an ally,” she says.

“Well, when you put it this way it sounds slightly wrong, but if it makes you comfortable, so be it.”

“I don’t care,” Milady shrugs.

His hand hovers as if he wants to touch her but retreats in a flash, so quickly, that Milady just probably dreamt it all. She doesn’t need comfort anyway. She never clung to staff at the orphanage because it’s pathetic. It’s not that they liked her at any rate, they always avoid her. No one likes problematic children. Problematic children don’t like them in return, so it seems fair.

“I won’t call you ‘Dad’ or whatever.” She warns him. She’s heard that it’s anticipated.

“Don’t expect you to.” He takes her mug and when Milady volunteers to wash their cups, he just waves his hand dismissively.

“Like, ever,” she elaborates. It’s not just because it’s only been a little over two weeks. Parent means care and love. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to trust him so much to accept him. Doesn’t seem like he’s planning to give her that anyway.

“’Richelieu’ works just fine,” he smiles thinly.

“So you don’t get upset, or angry, or anything over it.” She adds hastily as she stands up from her seat.

“Promise, I won’t get upset, or angry, or anything over it.” Richelieu vows. “Just… Settle here. Make yourself comfortable. Unpack your suitcase. You are here for a while.”

Richelieu tries to look reassuring. He asks her to trust him in that.

This, Milady decides, she can give. Allies should trust each other to some extent.

“Um,” Milady falters, hovering at the door. “Richelieu?”

He looks up, question in his eyes.

“Good morning,” she lamely offers.

He chuckles and wishes her to sleep well.

In her room, Milady opens her suitcase and carefully puts the Twix bar. After a moment of hesitation, she pulls out a crumpled wad wrapped in a toilet paper and throws it in the bin.

It’s almost six.

When she falls asleep at ten past, just on the edge of consciousness, she hears a sound of steps in the corridor, water running.

When she wakes up seven hours later, there’s oatmeal in the pot ready to be warmed up in the microwave, an apple and a post-it note.

When she’s read it three times over, she folds it carefully and hides it in-between the pages of one of her books.

She puts the book on her bedside table and starts to unpack the rest of her things.

#trevilieu modern au #team trevilieu #milady

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