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tanyawritesstories · 4 years ago

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DNA test, anyone? | Wolfpack x Reader

So I said a while back that I was going to try and write a fic based on a @clonesandmoans post about the Wolfpack getting the reader pregnant after an orgy and not knowing which one was the father. So, I wrote just that! Hope you enjoy! 😉

Warnings: NSFW, smut mentioned, fluff, described orgy in a flashback, pregnancy, protective good bois

•••

You woke with immediate pain in your entire torso. Dull, aching, constant pain. As bad as that may be, it was a reminder of the mind blowing events of last night. You smiled at the thought, images flashing through your head.

Your brain couldn’t comprehend the amount of pleasure your body was feeling. Your skin was covered in sweat, bruises, and several hands. Gripping, massaging, spanking, all over you. You weren’t sure who was where anymore.

You were pretty sure that Wolffe was the owner of the cock that was in your mouth, hilt deep, choking you. His grip on your hair was just hard enough to cause a little bit of pain that easily flowed into pleasure.

Comet was the one with your tits in his hands, massaging them gently and using his mouth to suck harshly on one of your nipples. He hadn’t used his teeth on them, but his thumb and index fingers pinching and rolling was enough for you.

Warthog was in your right hand and Wildfire in your left. Both your hands skillfully working their cocks to climax. You didn’t know how you were managing to keep your body functions working since your brain had pretty much left you. You were on autopilot at this point.

That left Sinker and Boost to both of your other holes. Boost was in front of you thrusting into your soaking cunt with wild abandon. Not content to stop until he filled you to the brim with his cum. Sinker had filled your ass after working you open, it still stung a little when he slid in as he was impatient and rushed prepping you a little. He was now moving easily in and out of you thanks to his precum and how wet you were.

You were literally being fucked out of your mind by the entire Wolfpack and it was everything you had ever wanted.

By the time the night had ended, every one of them had stuffed you full with each of their cum. Your legs felt sticky at just the memory.

You sat up slowly, wincing as the soreness turned to sharp pains in your lower regions. You stood on wobbly legs, finally standing up straight and not losing your balance. After standing for a few seconds you were hit with an intense wave of nausea. Despite the pain, you ran to the fresher and promptly threw up into the toilet. You figured it was a result of the strange drinks the boys had mixed for you the night before. You had watched them add at least ten different alcohols into one concoction with potentially bad after effects.

You leaned against the wall after emptying the contents of your stomach. Still worth it. You proceeded with your daily duties as a civilian mechanic, doing repairs, safety checking equipment, seeing the boys off to yet another mission, all in a day’s work.

Everything pretty much stayed the same for the next week. Except the fact that you would randomly get nauseous and end up in a refresher, or with your head over a trash receptacle, puking your brains out. You had no idea why. The idea of it being the alcohol was a good one, but it wouldn’t be lasting this long. Food poisoning? But you ate the same thing everyday and never had this reaction. Just being sick in general was an option, except everyone was perfectly healthy, unless a sickness just appeared out of thin air.

You went to a medic after getting tired of throwing up everyday for nearly two weeks in a row. You were hoping it was an easy fix, that there was a medication you could take and make it go away so you could get back to work. That wasn’t the case.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Y/N,” the shy medic began. “It can’t be that bad, can it?” You questioned, concern finding its way into your eyes.

“You’re pregnant.”

The information struck you like a mudhorn charging at you full speed. “What? T-that can’t be right,” you stuttered out. “I ran the tests three times, it’s correct,” the medic assured, “somehow you got pregnant.”

Then it dawned on you. The Wolfpack. That night they fucked you senseless must have overwhelmed your birth control and gotten you pregnant. Your head fell into your hands and you groaned. Fuck. Now what? What steps did you take from here? Do you tell them? That in itself presented an issue. All of them had emptied themselves into you, so who was the father? It could be any of them, it’s not like the baby’s looks or DNA could tell either. You knew if they pulled it up they would only find that it was a clone not which clone.

You sulked back to your room and had no choice but to deal with your situation. You weren’t exactly ready to be a mother, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. You had to tell them when they got back, there was nothing else you could do.

It was another few weeks when the boys finally got back. You were nervous as all hell and decided to tell them after they had gotten settled back in and relaxed some. You didn’t need to add to their stress or dampen their happiness. You welcomed them back like you always did and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek, telling them you had a surprise for them later, so that they knew to set time aside.

That time came just before they were all about to bunk down for the night.

“So, Y/N, what’s this surprise you have in store for us?” Sinker asked with a wink.

“Well, it’s nothing like the last one,” you replied. You made sure you had all their attention before continuing. “I have something important to tell you guys,” you said, looking at the floor. You chanced a glance up and saw six pairs of eyes boring into you. You took a deep breath and prayed they didn’t flip out.

“I’m, uh, I’m pregnant,” you said, just loud enough for them to hear.

You got the opposite reaction to what you expected. Complete silence. Looking between them you could see each of them thinking, trying to figure it out. Comet was the first to decipher it.

“So which one of us is the father?”

You looked sheepishly at the floor again. “I-it could be any of you, possibly all of you.”

There was silence again until Sinker spoke up. “We’re that good, huh?” You looked up to see the smirk on his face before Boost elbowed him in the ribs and quietly told him to cut it out. An arm wrapped around your shoulders and you looked up to see Wildfire’s eyes looking back at yours. “Are you going to be alright?”

You closed your eyes, the full force of what you had done finally setting in. You were ashamed, embarrassed, and felt stupid. The creases of your eyes began collecting tears and you squeezed them shut harder, causing the tears to fall down your cheeks. You couldn’t hold back your emotions any longer and you broke down in tears. Wildfire pulled you into him and held you tightly as you sobbed into his shoulder, soaking his blacks. You felt the rest of the boys come to your aid, rubbing your back, running their fingers through your hair, holding your hands, anything they could to provide you some comfort.

You quieted down after a few minutes and slowly pulled away from Wildfire only to be taken into Wolffe’s arms. The Commander placed his hands on your cheeks and tilted your face up to look at him, wiping your tears with his bare thumbs.

“It’ll be alright,Y/N. We’ll help you,” he assured, “We will all be with you every step of the way, anything you need, tell us, ok? This baby is all of ours, so we’re going to treat it and it’s mother like the greatest treasure in the galaxy.” The other men echoed Wolffe’s words with their own words of encouragement and promises to be there for you. You found a smile coming to your face, a feeling of calm washing over you.

“I don’t deserve you amazing boys,” you said.

Wolffe kissed your forehead, “No, cyar’ika, we don’t deserve you, or this amazing gift you’ve given us.” Tears rolled down your face, but this time from happiness. Everything was going to be alright.

The next few months were the most chaotic and stressful months of your life. The boys were so attentive to your needs and always there to help you. They hated leaving you to go on missions but they didn’t have much choice, and you assured them that you would be ok. But when they weren’t on mission, at least one of them was always with you.

They also made sure you were in perfect healthy condition. Walking you throughout the ship for exercise, making sure you stuck to a healthy diet and didn’t consume anything dangerous, and not letting you lift anything heavy, no matter how much you complained about some of those things.

Comet was usually the one to enforce your ‘food laws’ as you had nicknamed them. Refusing you things that would make you gain extra weight, and making sure you stuck to the list of foods you were given. He only let your cravings go so far until he took whatever you were eating away from you once you had too much. Usually that caused you to get mad or upset at him, the hormones only making things worse, but he was a firm man and didn’t budge even when you gave him your best puppy eyes. Though he wasn’t all bad, he always made sure you had food and if you were craving something specific he would run to the mess hall and get it for you.

Warthog kept you from working too much, usually he was already in the hangar when you would try and sneak in to get work done. He would notice you but pay no mind until you started doing something worrying. He would rush to your side and lift things for you or pick tools off the ground, go up on ladders, and occasionally escort you away from your workstation if you had been working too long. You would get upset at him too and worry that the work would go unfinished, but he would make sure it got done, by him or another mechanic.

Sinker was always there during your mood swings. When you would suddenly get angry or sad he would be at your side, comforting you or calming you down. He had a way with words and seemed to know the perfect ones to make you laugh when you were sad or soothe you when you were angry. He often dried your tears with his hands, always removing his gloves so you could feel his skin. You got anxious sometimes too, to the point you would be jittery. Sinker would be there letting you do anything to occupy your mind and get it off the anxious thoughts. Usually it was running your fingers through his hair or tracing his vertebrae with shaky hands.

Wildfire had specifically read up on the physical effects of pregnancy and found himself taking care of your changing body. You would wake up with muscle pains and Wildfire would be right there to massage the tension out of your shoulders or back. He would tell you facts and information he read off the holonet about which positions to sleep in to reduce the stress on your body. He would happily do little things for you, like rub your back or scratch an itch you couldn’t reach. Nothing seemed too big or small a task for him. He held your hair out of the way when your morning sickness kicked in and never complained. He would help you take baths and showers, scrubbing places you no longer had access to. Even going so far as to shave your legs and your vulva when you nearly broke down in tears saying you didn’t feel sexy anymore because of it.

Wolffe also contributed where he could, given it was hard because he was the busiest. He would spend time listening to you rant and rave about things that were bothering you or the events of that day, or the fact that Comet refused you cupcakes again. He was good at listening and hung onto every word you said. He often helped you shower too, since you loved to talk and sing in the shower. You taught him some songs and he would sometimes sing them with you. Oftentimes your mutual showering would lead to more adult activities. Seeing you big and pregnant always turned Wolffe on to some degree. Whenever your hormones would go crazy and make you horny, you always went to Wolffe. After finding out about his breeding kink you exploited it every time you were in need of special attention. It drove Wolffe feral seeing you naked and pregnant. He would give you exactly what you needed even when you didn’t know what that was. Whether that was fucking you rough and urgent or slow and sensual, he always knew what you needed. The other Wolfpack boys knew not to get in the Commander’s way when you would comm him asking to meet up in a less traveled part of the ship.

Boost was the most nervous about the situation that had been thrust upon him and his brothers. He hesitated to pitch in and help, not knowing what he could do but feeling bad he wasn’t as excited as the others. It took your assurance to bring him around, telling him that you were just as scared and nervous as he was. He decided that he would help keep you in shape and healthy. He would walk or jog throughout the ship with you, help you through light workouts that Wildfire told him were beneficial for pregnant women. He wanted to support you and therefore mirrored your workouts, making sure everything you did he did too, just so you weren’t alone. It often encouraged you and it became a challenge for you to get Boost to sweat with every workout you did. He was perfectly athletic and if you could get him to sweat and exert himself a little bit then that meant you were doing a good job. He even took up yoga with you, you were both just as bad being beginners and had many laughs and tumbles from trying strange poses. Sinker made the mistake of teasing Boost for doing yoga, you put an end to his teasing with a karate kick to the ass. Sinker never mentioned it again.

By the time the baby was due, the Wolfpack had transformed a corner of the barracks into a nursery. Complete with everything you could need, a crib, changing table and plenty of clothes for the little one. If anyone asked General Plo how any of those supplies managed to make it aboard he would swear he had no idea. But you all knew better. Despite the Force, the Jedi General was not a good liar. But he was a good babysitter.

You went into labor in the middle of the night, waking the boys up with your shouts of pain. They rushed you to the medbay and tried not to get in the way of the med droid as it delivered the child. They watched, some in horror, some in awe, as you gave birth. It was a perfectly healthy baby boy, who you could already tell looked a lot like his fathers.

You held the little babe on your chest and looked at the men surrounding you, most of which had tears in their eyes. “We did it,” you rasped out, your throat sore from screaming out in pain. “What are we going to name him?” Warthog asked. You looked down at your son, sleeping soundly on your chest. There was a little star shaped strawberry birthmark on his left cheek. “Nova,” you said.

“It’s perfect,” Wolffe agreed. He gently placed his hand on the baby’s head. “Our gift from the stars.”

#star wars the clone wars #star wars #wolfpack battalion #commander wolffe #clone trooper boost #clone trooper sinker #clone trooper comet #clone trooper wildfire #clone trooper warthog #wolfpack x reader

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silverwhiteraven · 4 years ago

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Wings of Broken White - Ch.8

Tag List: @marichatmay

[ Posted on Ao3 ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 7 ] [ Chapter 9 ]

Marinette and Chat Blanc continued to see each other sporadically after their midnight meeting full of emotional rollercoastering and winged secrets. He had told Ladybug about it a few days after, leaving out the part about Marinette’s revealing of having wings. It made her heart skip to know that he would keep a secret that wasn’t his to tell even if he didn’t have to. Ladybug thanked him for being honest with her and told him to be careful, but she was happy he got the chance to spread his wings around another friend.

Ladybug also offered to increase their patrols together if he ever wanted to practice flying with her. She even teasingly said something along the lines of them both needing the benefit of practicing with each other, just in case they ever had to have each other’s backs during a fight in the skies. He accepted, looking giddy to get even more opportunities to fly with another. She also found it unfairly adorable when he joked that he wouldn't get jealous if she wanted to fly around with one of her own civilian friends.

The two even thought about the possibility of some day both flying with their civilian friends together. Ladybug had to hide her giggle at the thought that she might have to break the news that Ladybug and Marinette could never fly together, if this proposed group flight practice were to ever take place.

But Ladybug did confess to Chat Blanc, that if she were to ever choose a civilian to fly with, it would be either Nino Lahiffe or Alya Césaire, because if there was anyone besides Marinette Dupain-Cheng that was trustable, it had to be the people Marinette herself trusted most. Chat hardly held back on his approval of the choices, and it made her laugh to see his bright antics.

After that, several more months passed by the duo, and the world. School was nearing the end of another year. Akuma’s were just as rare and random as ever. Best of all, Chloé had continued to be reprimanded by an ever vigilant Adrien. She was starting to almost mellow out as the fact slowly sunk in that someone she cared about and who cared about her, too, was actually willing to go against her, and even leave her, because she was in the wrong.

All of this led up to an end of school project for their class.

The students were to work together in equal shares to put on a play, telling either one of the fairy tale stories they had studied in class, or one they made up on their own. Nino had proposed that they make a short movie out of the project so that the fruit of their joint efforts could be shared outside of class. The teacher thought the idea was brilliant, and gave them extra time and afterschool privileges to help them set up.

Marinette had been a little tired the day the class was assigning the roles. Her mind only half paid attention, causing her replies to be badly timed and delayed. Because of it, an interesting selection of character parts were assigned.

“Now, I know we’ve been delaying assigning the lead roles,” Nini spoke from where he stood at the front of the room, acting as one of the movie’s directors, “ but I wanted to make sure everyone knew what the other options were before a bunch of people tried to jump at being the Knight of the Princess. So let’s start. Any volunteers or votes for the Knight’s Princess?”

There was various various calls of names and a few ‘me!’s, and most of it all went over Marinette’s head. The only part that really registered was ‘votes for the Knight’, so Marinette half-heartedly pipped in, “Adrien could do it.”

The room went quiet and all eyes turned to her like she had just declared herself to be an Akuma or something. She blinked, wondering what she said.

Nino was the one to break the silence with a crooked and amused smile. “Marinette, you want Adrien to be the Princess?”

She gaped like a fish, realizing she had heard his earlier question completely and utterly wrong. She waved her arms around and she stuttered, trying, and failing, to clear away her mistake. She froze when Adrien burst out laughing, clearly not offended or even upset.

“Why not?” Adrien chuckled as he calmed. “Not the first time I’ve been told I’m pretty enough to be royalty. It would be a nice break from the cool-guy look I’ve been doing at photoshoots lately, too.”

The room started to buzz again with noise. It seemed everyone was considering it, liking the idea of breaking away from assigning a girl to be the Princess.

Alya pipped up above the others mischievously. “So if Adrien get’s to be the Princess, who’s taking the role of Knight? Another of the boys, or one of the girls? At this point, anyone can take the spot since we’ve decided to ignore traditional gender roles. Any volunteers?”

There was more discussion filling the room at that declaration, and a few people glanced at Chloé. She had probably been gunning for the role of Princess, but now she seemed to be pouting. “If Adrien is taking the lead role, then I still want a good one. But I refuse to be a smelly Knight! I’d rather be the King.” She stated decidedly, and the class chuckled and murmured their acceptance of her decision. They were happy to have her not throwing a fuss. It was rather refreshing, actually, to see her still being dramatic but cooperative with the class.

Murmurs continued as the class discussed the role of Knight. Marinette stayed out of it, too embarrassed that she might mess up again. It wasn’t long before Adrien hummed to himself and turned to her.

“Marinette? Would you like to be the Knight to my Princess?” She squeaked at the sudden proposal, and the class hushed. Adrien turned to the others, a small but confident smile on his lips. “She’s helped all of us in Akuma attacks before, right? Marinette acts the part of a Knight saving dames and damsels in distress naturally. I think she could do this, if she wants to, that is,” he adds with a reassuring glance. There wasa round of agreements from the others, before all eyes turned to her, breaths held in anticipation of her answer.

Retreating into the neckline of her oversized shirt to hide a fluster, she nodded her acceptance. There were a few excited woops, and Kim even whistled.

After that, all the roles and assignments for the project were set.

Marinette and Adrien were to be Knight and Princess. Chloé and Juleka took to the King and Queen. Kim and Ivan claimed a joint role of the Dragon for themselves. Rose volunteered to be the Evil Sorceress. Mylène wanted the role as the Knight’s Fairy Guide. Alix was to make props and set backgrounds in the art room. Nathaniel and Alya were the script-writers for the story. Max and Nino were on camera duty with the help of Markov. Sabrina was put in charge of coordinating, scheduling, and final edits.

Lastly, everyone was given two tasks as a group: First, if they had nothing to, they were to help their fellow classmates who were still working. And second, everyone pitches in for the costumes if they can.

Everything went surprisingly smoothly for their project once everything was divided up. Adrien got Chloé to pitch in for the costumes with him, both allowing their immense closets to be raided. Alya and Nino were able to check out cameras from the yearbook and photography clubs. Props became a group-effort when most of the class rather enjoyed, and got carried away with, the art room’s free to use supplies. Some of the musically inclined were putting together a playlist for mood and background music. Kim helped the cast members practice their lines, even standing in for a partner if someone wasn’t there.

It was fun, Marinette had to admit. Up until the inevitable hitch caught up to them, though.

The days of filming their project were upon them. The school’s courtyard had been commandeered for the majority of their sets, empty due to it being a weekend. Large green rolls of poster paper had been used like wallpaper, hung from the second floor banisters to act as a greenscreen. The stairs got covered in painted cardboard so they would look like castle walls and towers from the side.

The entrance to the school was left clear, since the class had deemed it worthy to be its own set background twice over. The first was to act as the front gate to the King and Queen’s castle for the opening scene outside. The second would be from the inside, doors closed and covered with curtains to make it look like the inside of a Great Hall. To give the makeshift Great Hall its finishing touch, Chloé had ‘borrowed’ the fancy chair from her Father’s office to act as a throne.

All in all, things went great. The story and filming opened with the Knight, Marinette, decked out in painted cardboard and foam armor, returning from a mission in another country. He was summoned by the King and Queen immediately upon arrival, to be told that the Princess, Adrien, had been cursed and kidnapped by the Evil Sorceress. To their credit, Juleka and Chloé actually did an amazing job of acting and looking like emotionally distressed parents who just lost their daughter. And when they did a flashback scene in one of the classrooms, Rose proved to be one scary Evil Sorceress with Adrien a perfect damsel in distress. They did have to redo the scene several times, though, because the Queen, Juleka, was having trouble not looking like she wished she was being kidnapped by a very pretty girl instead.

The Fairy Guide, Mylène, was then called forth to help assist the Knight in tracking down the Evil Sorceress and navigate through the Magic Woods. This part took a mix of walking along the makeshift greenscreen wall multiple times and actually going out to a few of the parks around Paris. They had to admit to themselves, though, that they mostly just wanted to run around in-costume and have fun, as well as eat a picnic that Alya’s mother and Marinette’s father had both contributed to after hearing about the project.

It was the pre-rescue battle scene that caused the hiccup. The class artists had done a too-good job on the two-person costume of their Dragon. Kim sat upon Ivan’s shoulders, allowing the Dragon to have an impressive two and a half metre height from head to ground. Kim was also very set on being very animated and expressive with the Dragon, so the mouth, full of sharp paper mache fangs, opened and closed at his command while he threw glitter out like it was fire. Ivan controlled the legs, wings, and body, which all had moving parts for mobility. The legs were strapped to his own, so they walked and stepped when he did. The wings were controlled by Ivan’s Raven wings, allowing them to move realistically. Kim, acting as the neck, would twist around, and Ivan, needing to keep balance, would follow his movements, causing the whole dragon to lumber around and sway like it was alive.

The Fairy Guide, Mylène, couldn't bring herself to face the Dragon at all, let alone appear on set with it. What really took them off guard, however, was the Akuma that came along as the class was gathered around Mylène.

#marichatmay2021 #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ml wing au #wing-binding #chat blanc #willowbendt

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hansolmates · 5 years ago

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jeongguk; a royal exchange (02)

feat. the rom-com college!jeongguk x princess!reader au no one asked for

she’s the man!au where the princess impersonates her brother yoongi in order to finish his degree on time while yoongi is thrusted into princely duties. jeongguk is in the mess purely through room arrangement.

notes: p.2 is a straight up roll of pure crack and fluff. lil sexy for like .2 seconds. super self indulgent and inspired by the princess diaries. princess is stressed the whole time and we live to see her suffer

w.c: 7.1k

01, 02

“I’m sure this is probably the hundredth time you’ve heard since you’ve landed, but welcome to Illyria! The palace welcomes you to your new home away from home.”

“Ho-ly,” Jeongguk slaps a hand in front of Taehyung’s offending tongue, in case swearing is forbidden on royal territory. Wouldn’t want their scholarships taken away over Taehyung’s potty mouth.

“Excuse me, Mr. Hoseok, sir?” an exchange student from a university in New Zealand (yet Korean-born, ironically) pipes up, “why does the infrastructure of the building look like that?”

The student is referring to the ravines of gold metal that stream the walls of the palace. While the architecture is classic, the sheen of the metal definitely gives it an air of regality.

“Good question, Namjoon. The castle is wired and designed after our main export, Illyrium. The element was discovered in the early 1850s in what is now the ruins of Oros,” Hoseok quips brightly, patting the stone affectionately. “It has a conductivity percentage of 106% percent, more than silver. It is also quite durable.”

Namjoon’s deep laugh echoes throughout the pavilion, “I was just asking because it makes the castle so beautiful. Thank you.”

Jeongguk takes the time to snap more pictures of the castle, switching between his Sony and his phone. He zooms in on a low balcony overlooking the terrace they landed from. A figure rolls into his shot, stumbling barefoot with a ruby silk robe swishing between steps. You’re tired, sleep-laden as you clutch a snow white mug between your two hands, leaning your elbows against the metal bearing. You’re staring at nothing and everything, glazed over your backyard that seems to stretch on for eons.

“You’re right,” Jeongguk marvels at your visage between his lens, “absolutely beautiful.”

“Can I please get a better assignment, Jimin?”

“Your highness,” Jimin frowns, following after you, “you love teaching the exchange students, what has changed?”

“Exactly, Jimin,” you sigh, stopping in the middle of the hallway. Jimin’s nose nearly bumps into yours, “nothing has changed. I teach students every quarter, the same subjects every time. It’s not to say that I don’t love teaching,” you exhale, blowing into Jimin’s honeycomb bangs, “but can’t I have a more challenging assignment? Conversing with dignitaries, renovating the town square, I’ll even do culinary!”

Your poor secretary squeaks, pushing up his rose gold iPad to carve some distance between you two. “You-you know those jobs aren’t suitable for a Princess,” Jimin cuts himself off once he sees your eyes soften in defeat, “b-but! I’ll see if Hoseok would be willing to take on another class? And maybe we could arrange a presentation to the King in regards to your proposals?”

“Right,” you smile sadly, folding your arms and stretching the tight blazer your mother forced you in, “as if another Google Slideshow will impress him.”

Jimin squeezes your shoulder, as if he could tell you all the things he could never say through body language. “Showtime’s in two minutes, your highness.”

You nod, making haste to the large double doors that lead to the main living room. Normally, the scholarship program’s presentation is done in the throne room, a big show of bravado and an ego booster to your family. However, this particular class is entirely post-grad and under ten students, so you figure they were placed in a more intimate area for the sake of comfort.

Jimin pulls a lint roller out of nowhere, careful to catch every bit of dust that dares meet your presence. You tug uncomfortably at your collar, and give the signal to the door bearer. You fight the urge to flinch at the usual bombastic announcement.

“Introducing, the Princess of Illyria!”

The students and staff are bowing when you enter, and you send a look to Yoongi, who only offers you a lazy smirk. It’s a look you’ve feared since childhood, an explicit tell that he knows something you don’t. Nevertheless, you tack on a smile, standing in front of the ten students who are still dutifully lowered. You have to hand it to them, the undergrads would already be turning heads to get a peek at the princess.

“You may rise,” you voice floats. As mother always said, your voice must replicate a dandelion seed, bouncing in the wind.

The student directly in front of you elevates, a pair of doe eyes taking his sweet time to appreciate the view.

Jeon Jeongguk gives you a lazy smirk, mirroring your brother’s. The smile evaporates from your face, taking in the handsome man that you lived with for two months over two years ago. His eyes have certainly not lost their spark, but his hair is trimmed and showing off his forehead. A Sony camera wraps around his neck, held tightly by a strong pair of hands. He’s even dressed brightly, wearing a navy blazer over a plain white tee and a pair of dark jeans. Something twinges in your heart when you see that a familiar pair of black combat boots remain.

Jeongguk is the first to break eye contact, deciding to at least pretend to care about Hoseok’s presentation on the flatscreen. An overplayed video about Illyria’s history drones on, while Hoseok and Jimin are exchanging schedules in between. You’re sure that Jimin is passing on your word about choosing not to teach this quarter, and now it’s personal.

This urges the students to take seats on the couches, while staff floats around with various pastries and refreshments.

Your family takes their respective seats, and you fight the urge to pinch Yoongi as you hiss, “You knew about this?”

“Surprise,” Yoongi sing-songs, munching on a linzer cookie. “I handpicked all the students.”

“Couldn’t give your sister a heads up?” you snap hotly, making sure no one was looking as you pop a whole cream puff in your mouth.

“Sorry,” Yoongi leans over the shell of your ear, “Your hot ex-roommate is here, just wanted to let you know before you eat the dessert table.”

You mouth a fuck you, taking a stab at him under the table with your heeled foot.

After Yoongi’s not-so-subtle reveal of each other’s identities in a crowded Chinese restaurant two years ago, you’ve since cut off all contact with Jeon Jeongguk as you resumed your life as Princess of Illyria. Simultaneously shocked, but not surprised due to the obvious hints of suspicion, Jeongguk had forgiven your lie and allowed you to leave in good spirits. You remember leaving him at the front door of your dorm, hugging you warmly and bidding you safe travels.

It confused you, because it would've been easier to leave if Jeongguk had gotten angry at the complete breach of trust and kicked you out.

Hoseok is now presenting a slideshow of the intended schedule and itinerary for all students. You’re now glaring at the back of Jeongguk’s head, trying your damn hardest not to shove three brownies in your mouth in the presence of guests. Your tiny dessert spoon picks pathetically at the measly crumbs, and Jimin is urging you to smile from his position opposite you.

“And as always, our lovely princess will be conducting our class on Modern Illyrian Anthropology and will be organizing your field studies!” Hoseok practically shouts across the room, where you’re sitting wide-eyed with your family. You feel Yoongi reach over to dab the crumbs off your lips, enjoying your suffering.

You shoot a look at Jimin who was supposed to take care of things, and he gives you a pained expression that reads don’t fire me.

With a tight-lipped smile and feigning ignorance to Jeongguk’s interest in you teaching, you reply to the expectant students, “It’s always a pleasure to teach, I promise to not bore you with Illyrian history, that’s Hoseok’s job.”

“Hey!” he scrunches his nose, then turns to the students who are hiding their giggles, “Better get on her good side if you want a nice field assignment.” he warns good-naturedly, giving you a mock glare.

You suppose giving Jeongguk a field assignment far, far away from the castle.

After the long-winded presentation and a handful of brochures, the royal family is escorted out to retire for the day. As the youngest in the family you're the last one to leave.

Out the doorway you hear Taehyung utter, "That's her? What a babe!"

As to not arouse suspicion, it takes longer than anticipated to get a private moment with Jeongguk. No one but Taehyung and Jimin know of your circumstances, and it is to remain that way due to the fact that you and Yoongi committed fraud, royal or not.

Jeongguk is a quiet student, surprisingly. Choosing a seat by the window, he spends most of your classes doodling and looking out the pavilion. As stimulating as Namjoon and Irene’s questions are, you’re a little disheartened at the fact that Jeongguk has made little effort to talk to you, even if it’s as impersonal as classwork or office hours.

Today Hoseok’s teaching, and that gives you ample time to work out where you want to assign the students for field study. You’ve shaken off Jimin for now, and you’re currently roaming the halls with your phone, checking off your schedule.

Called the Museum of Modern Illyrian Art for Namjoon … check.

Sent staff to the villa in prep for the kiddies’ weekend getaway … check.

Sent e-vites and physicals to the Genovian royals … next.

Find a quiet corner to stress cry before 2:30—

A hand flies out of nowhere, grabbing your waist roughly and throwing you in a small room. The hand clasped over your mouth swallows your scream as the door shuts tight.

The captor turns on the singular lightbulb, grinning at you like a madman. “Hey Princess—what the fuck!”

You grimace, putting down your switchblade that was dangerously close to Jungkook’s jugular. “What the hell, Jeongguk! I could’ve killed you!”

“Dang, princesses are something else nowadays. Where on your body are you hiding knives?” Jeongguk marvels as if he wasn’t ten seconds away from being dead!Guk, patting down your lavender pantsuit in a way that’s highly inappropriate. “What are you, Ty Lee?”

“Self-defense secret,” and under your breath you add, “and Mai’s the one who hides knives. Ty Lee’s the acrobat.”

The grin easily returns to the tall boy’s face, burnt eyes shining against the naked bulb. This is the most emotion you’ve got out of him since classes started, and it’s doing nothing to ease the butterflies in your stomach. “So, come here often?”

“To the storage closet?” you snort, “not particularly.”

“And where’s a place I can go that you do come often?”

“My office hours,” you deadpan, “in which you haven’t visited, by the way. As a friend and as a teacher, I’m insulted.”

A low whine erupts from his throat, and he leans against the shelves, long arms spread across the three-ply toilet paper. “But your little secretary’s always there. It’s awkward when we’re not alone. I don't know if I should act like a friend or a student. Speaking of, where is he?”

“Ah, Jimin’s getting Starbucks.”

“Lit, can you tell him to pick me up a pink drink?”

“No,” but you send a text to Jimin anyway. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I’m supposed to be coming back from the bathroom,” he air-quotes, “AKA, running around the palace until I can corner you.”

You sigh, fiddling with the hem of your blazer.

“Are you annoyed at me?” and for a second, Jungkook’s eyes betray a hint of vulnerability. “Am I being too forward? Or do you not want to catch up? I don’t know, I figured you’d be excited to see me but you’ve just been so busy.”

“Jeongguk,” you put a hand on his shoulder, ceasing the rambling. He opens his mouth to add more, but you squeeze his bicep. “I’m not annoyed at you. I’m annoyed at the situation. I’ve missed you,” you offer him a shy smile, and he returns a small, hopeful one in return, “but you’re right, it’s been really busy with the usual duties and I’ve been a little on edge with keeping things together without letting any secrets out.”

You’re also confused as to why you’re still harboring feelings for him, but that’s another secret you keep to yourself.

“Well, your duty is doo-dy.” Jungkook huffs, but is placated by your confession. “Don’t worry Princess, I’ll think of something.”

A knock startles the both of you, and Jeongguk squeaks, brandishing a plunger in defense. With a dainty finger, you push the plumbing tool back to the ground, as the knockings did not stop.

“Ohmygod—am I going to be beheaded for kidnapping the Princess?” Jeongguk panics and checks his phone, realizing his bathroom break turned into a straight up game of hooky. “Do you guys still behead? I mean if you’re pulling out knives from who knows where—”

“Guk, relax,” recognizing it immediately as a code between you and your brother, you swing the supply closet open.

Yoongi looks between the two of you, gauging the situation. When he notices that no, you two did not just romp between the 3-ply and were in fact only talking, he huffs. “Losers,” he mutters under his breath, hiding a grin as he leaves you two to splutter.

It’s already well over twenty minutes past your class time, but Taehyung just wouldn’t shut up.

You can’t blame him, he’s thrilled that you managed to snag him a field study with your personal couture designer. He’s lit up like a good boy on Christmas eve, getting his present early. He’s gushing about how excited he is to use authentic Swarovski crystals and rub noses with the fancy fabrics.

“I’ll make you the perfect dress for the upcoming gala, Your Highness.” Taehyung’s vibrating in a manner you never imagined on a human before.

“Thank you,” you reply awkwardly, “I’m sorry, but what gala are you referring to?”

He shrugs, “I’m sure there’s a gala you have to go to sometime. I’ve just always wanted to say that, makes me feel special.”

“Tae,” Jeongguk is sitting on your desk, heels bumping into the mahogany. With a stiff jerk of his head, Tae’s lips morph into an ‘O’ and he finally gets the hint, bowing to you and scurrying off.

“Y’know, his fashion’s kind of eccentric.” he nods over to the excessive fur lining on Taehyung’s slippers, “I’d make sure your designer keeps a close eye on him.”

“And what do I owe the pleasure of your presence,” you click, “twenty minutes after class?”

Jeongguk has the audacity to roll his eyes, rolling his head back to crack out the stiffness. “The chamber choir, really?” he exhales, dropping the itinerary you spent the better half of your nights preparing.

You raise your eyebrows, “What? It pertains to your major.”

“For the past six years all I've done is eat, sleep, and breathe music,” he says, and you’re suddenly reminded that you had a glimpse of that version of Jeongguk two years ago. A slave to the music, as much as he loved the subject, it sometimes felt like a tether that weaved far too deeply under his skin. “Can’t my field assignment be something different? More eclectic?”

“Do you have anything in mind?”

“In fact, I do.” Jeongguk lolls his head to the side, chestnut bangs falling softly. “For my field study, I want to shadow the Princess’ duties.”

You slam your hands down, standing up so you’re nearly nose-to-nose with the young man. “Are you crazy? Do you want Yoongi and I to get caught?”

“Listen, I’ve thought about it all throughout class—”

“—what? You didn’t listen to my lecture?—”

“—and today in class you mentioned that you graduated with a Master’s in Public Affairs, because in fact I always listen to you,” Jeongguk presses a finger to your lips when you try to cut him off, “and lo and behold, one of my minors was in public affairs! What better way to get more experience in the business when I have the master right in front of me?”

“I don’t know, Guk,” you try, mulling through all the possible situations and horrors that could occur because of it.

“Princess, we’re killing two birds with one stone!” Jeongguk pleads, giving you the puppy eyes, “not only do I get a far better field study assignment, but it’s far better because I get to spend more time with you!”

You hate how absolutely weak you’ve become under his gaze. In the span of less than three weeks, Jeon Jeongguk has re-entered your life like he never left. He wanted to spend time with you. The selfish part of your brain says you wish the same. Who are you to deny such a simple desire?

“Fine,” you spit out, putting up a front and pretending to be annoyed, “but you better not get all huffy around Jimin.”

He shrugs, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “Worth it.”

“You’re different,” Jeongguk states bluntly, actively ignoring the way Jimin tries to push between you two. Jeongguk continues to press into your shoulder as you weave through the gardens. You’re picking flowers for a specific theme arrangement and pattern. A diplomat from Spain is coming and he is bringing her young daughter. You've heard that she’s recently taken in interest in constructing flower crowns.

“Well, two years can do that to a person,” you reply airily, dropping a tiger lily in the wicker basket Jeongguk insisted on carrying.

Having Jeongguk follow you around like a duckling is fun, to be frank. Jimin is no longer hyper-focused on you, forcing him to spread his attention between you and your overly-attentive student. Jeongguk can’t attend every single one of your events because some of the information’s sensitive, but when he does it makes your job feel less of a job and more like a fun group project.

Like when you and Jeongguk would stumble in the farmer’s market every Sunday morning, hungover but aching to fill your bellies. You two were walking zombies, forcing yourselves out of bed to feed yourselves. But it was always fun because you were together, whenever it was Jeongguk’s turn to pay, you’d sneak in more KitKats for yourself. Whenever it was your turn, Jeongguk would smuggle more cartons of banana milk.

“No, no. It’s not that,” your friend admonishes instantly, “your personality’s still the same, even though it was Yoongi-fied. Your heart hasn’t changed,” you turn your head sharply towards a field of carnations, concealing your flush. “I mean, you’re more confident.”

“In other words,” Jimin pipes, looking up from his iPad, “an air of regality.”

You scoff, putting a hand on your hip and looking expectantly at the two boys. “You’ve changed too, Guk,” you reason, shaking your head. “Old Jeongguk wouldn’t be wearing white dress shirts and shoving princesses in closets.”

“You shoved the princess in a closet—!” Jimin starts, having half a mind to cancel the field study all together.

“Well, Old Jeongguk didn’t have a chance to really get to know you,” Jeongguk twirls a baby’s breath between his fingers, tucking it in-between your ear. “That’s New Jeongguk’s job.”

“So, you’re the Princess’ head of security,” Jeongguk tilts his head to look up at the slightly taller man, his visage covered by a pair of shades. The bodyguard is never really present, only when citizens enter the castle or you’re out of town. “You know you’re inside, right?”

The man only slightly inclines his head to acknowledge Jeongguk’s prodding. Hmph, he looks like a talker.

“If you’re her head of security,” Jeongguk leans closer, trying to avoid any further attention to his conversation, “do you know where she hides her knives? Because sometimes she wears those tight pencil skirts and I can’t help but wonder—”

“That’s classified.”

“Alright, where do you hide your knives—”

“Also classified.”

“Jeongguk,” you relent, sliding your footrest next to your throne, “leave Seokjin alone and come here, please.”

You can’t blame him. It’s always been a pastime of yours to ruffle Seokjin’s feathers, but you must admit that meeting with citizens is a long and frankly, boring process. The routine is fairly simple, the citizen bows and offers something for the table, and in return you lend your ear and offer assistance if possible.

“For your table, Your Highness,” the next citizen bows, carrying a foil-lined tray filled with fresh baked bread.

“Smells delicious, Bertrand.” you beam, ripping open the tin to snatch a hot slice off the top. Rosemary and thyme are egg washed atop the brown bread, and you proffer a piece to Jeongguk, as you could imagine the poor guy is as antsy as ever. “And may I introduce you to my student, Jeon Jeongguk? He’s studying my diplomacy for his field study.”

Bertrand tips his head, “Lucky you, she’s a true leader.”

Jeongguk nods shyly, nibbling on the crust. “Truly an honor.”

Jeongguk offers to bring the gift to the table with the other offerings across the room, and you nod, conversing lightly with Bertrand. His worries are simple enough, he feels pressured by a catering request from an Illyrian Duke, and wishes to serve a party fit for a royal. In resolution, you offer to send a palace chocolatier and chef to help with the preparations. Jeongguk returns to his seat next to yours just as Bertrand leaves. He pulls up his iPad, feigning notes that he should be writing while observing you.

The next citizen hobbles over, holding a large ivory wicker basket covered by a beige tarp. “For your table, Your Highness,” they bow, “I hope you like omelets.”

If you weren’t on the throne with an audience of one-hundred, you’d be delivering a very confused expression, coupled with panic. “May I?” you inquire, forcing a smile as you lift open the tarp.

In the basket there are two small jars of marmalade, and one huge chicken sitting fat and proud that its skin overflows between the gaps of the wicker. Its head twitches in your direction, barely turning because its neck is hugely bulbous with excess weight. Its beady little eyes mock you. It smells fear.

“Her name’s Dixie,” the citizen supplied helpfully.

“Holy shit,” Jeongguk whispers next to you, but not soft enough for it to not echo in the throne room, “Dixie, you are a thick chick.”

“Jeongguk!” you exclaim, which causes the whole room to reverb at your shrill cry.

Of course the chicken has to freak out, flapping its wings and freeing itself from the confines of its package. The animal dives for you, and you press yourself as much as you can against the throne. Jeongguk knows no bounds, throwing himself in front of you to catch the large bird. Feathers weave unto his umber tresses as the bird meets gravity, Jeongguk unable to calm down Dixie.

It’s more or less a wild goose chase (chicken chase?) after that, Jeongguk follows Dixie down the platform and around the throne room. The citizens and staff are clutching their stomachs in laughter, endeared by the young man following the chicken. Jimin is laughing and slapping Seokjin’s shoulder, his face breaking in an unabashed smile.

And you can’t help but laugh along with them, trying to smother your giggles by covering your face with a silk fan. You peek over the thin fabric to see Jeongguk looking especially concentrated on his mission. It wasn’t like the chicken was going to escape the throne room because the doors are closed, but surely it will be a workout as Dixie’s a trooper and isn’t going down without a fight.

“Don’t worry Princess, I got this!” Jeongguk’s voice reassures you from the far edge of the throne room. He’s taken a break, but the glint in his eyes show he’s committed to catching Dixie as she scuttles in circles.

He flashes you a breathtaking smile, all gums and pearly whites as he runs a hand through his wavy locks. Your smile falls slightly, and you clutch your fan tighter at the realization. Oh, you are besotted.

“Hoseok’s had me on my back about teaching a full class before your weekend getaway but I’ve long decided,” you lift your chin haughtily in a way only princesses do, jutting out your lip in confirmation, “that you should enjoy the time you have here. Summer’s almost over. You all should get a headstart on your packing so you can get to the beach early.”

Your class erupts into hoots and hollers, the Powerpoint presentation about the minerals of Illyria long abandoned. Two months have already passed, and in a couple weeks they’ll be saying their goodbyes. A twinge of sadness hits you as you relish in your students’ happy smiles. As each semester passes, each group leaves something behind you’ll never forget. This summer, as much as you taught them, you’ve learned a lot from them as well.

Students are already starting to pack up, but Namjoon’s butt is firmly planted in his seat, raising his hand. “Sorry, I have a question.”

You smile goodnaturedly, already used to his usual spiel. “I can email you the Powerpoint and we can go over whatever you want on Monday.”

“Ah, no. I was wondering if you were coming with us,” Namjoon mutters sheepishly.

You’re surprised, even moreso when Irene and Yerin insist that you should go. “Yes, you have to go!” Yerin bounces in her seat.

“Oh,” you blush, “I can’t. I don’t normally go on these things, wouldn’t it be weird to have your teacher at your party?”

“Hell no!” Yerin gasps shamelessly. It’s one thing you liked about this class, after class is over, they always managed to make you feel normal. Maybe it’s the closeness in age and education, but they remind you so often that you’re still young. After all, they weren’t Illyrian, and while outside of class they put on the whole shebang for you, it didn’t take long for them to get comfortable around you. “We can show you what real college life is like! We can roast barbeque on the beach and tell scary stories!”

Taehyung snorts, already halfway out the door, “I’m sure the Princess doesn’t wanna see you shitfaced in the ocean.”

You placate Yerin with a small smile, “I have to work after this, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Namjoon walks up to your desk as the rest of the students file out. He runs the spine of his journal along your desk, “Prince Yoongi and Hoseok will be there too, if it makes you feel any better. Hope you can come.”

The room is soon vacated, leaving you and your Star Student alone.

“‘I’ll see what I can do’, really?” Jeongguk rolls his eyes, plopping himself atop your desk. Your eyes snap to the way the dark denim cords around his thighs, and you make a deal of slamming your laptop shut. “C’mon, of course you wanna come. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Not really,” you admit. “I used to really like spending the weekend at the villa. I loved getting to know each class and know what it feels like to be like you guys,” you downplay yourself, stuffing books and electronics in your briefcase. “But ever since we roomed together two years ago, I can’t bring myself to go anymore. It’s not the same when you’ve actually had a taste of it.”

Jeongguk’s eyes soften at your confession. You could feel that he wasn’t prepared for your honesty, and you don’t blame him. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I leave in two weeks, you know.”

“I know.”

“Can you at least try to come, for me?”

You lift your head up to reach his eyes, looking equal parts nervous and vulnerable. You’re suddenly thrusted back to two years ago, cornered in your dorm room where Jeongguk was upset at the thought of hurting him, lying to him. You didn’t want to hurt him, or yourself.

But as Jeongguk’s large hand reaches across the desk to your smaller one, you don’t think to pull away.

“Your Highness!” Jimin interrupts the two of you, and Jeongguk snatches his hand back with a glare. Jimin ignores him, looking breathless as he leans against the door of your classroom. “Your 3 o’clock is ready. We have to hurry if we want to get through the crowd.”

With one last look, Jeongguk excuses himself, brushing past Jimin with a gruff “Bye, Princess.”

“Today’s not your day to meet with citizens,” Yoongi mumbles next to you, looking disapprovingly at the way you wait for the next citizen to approach you.

Seokjin holds the crowd off as you converse with your brother, who looks ready to leave to the villa. He’s dressed in a plain white t-shirt, foam slides and baggy slacks. If it wasn’t for the family crest proudly presented on his right breast pocket, he could easily be mistaken as the average citizen. “Mother insisted,” you reply shortly, growing more irritated by the second.

“Really?” his brows disappear under his bangs, “because from the way she said it, you were looking for work.”

Caught, you turn away from his watchful gaze. “I have a problem, okay?” you say stiffly, “I needed a distraction.”

“Alright,” Yoongi shrugs, leaning close to your ear to murmur, “where’s the dead body?”

You slap his arm, “Yoongi! I didn’t kill anybody!”

“At this rate, it looks like you’re wasting yourself away.” Yoongi replies bluntly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “C’mon, Loverboy was all pouty in my room not too long ago. Don’t disappoint him.”

With that, Yoongi turns on his heel and walks off. Citizens bow at him like dominos as he exits, your break definitively over.

Whatever is blooming between you and Jeongguk, is and never will be fair to the both of you. In your eyes Jeongguk isn’t the type to settle, not relationship-wise, but life-wise. He wanted to grow and cultivate his art, and taste freedom every step of the journey.

You weren’t freedom or growth, and you could only hope he realizes that before you become too selfish.

“Your Highness?” you break out of your reverie when a young woman your age looks at you shyly, “My name is Wendy. I didn’t get anything for the table but, I got you a caramel macchiato.”

She brandishes a venti iced caramel macchiato, condensation dripping from her fingers. Your face lights up, accepting the caffeinated drink. “I really needed this!” you perk up immediately, taking a sip and letting the cool flavor soothe your tastebuds. “Thank you, Wendy. What is it that you request?”

“Advice,” she admits, a blush creeping from her neck. She looks down at her work boots, caked in grime. “I’m an engineer who works in manufacturing Illryian technology.”

“We are eternally grateful for your service to this country,” you reply evenly. Engineers are highly revered in your country, as your economy is dependent on their brilliant minds.

“But I have fallen in love with a man who is under my station, and wishes to find work elsewhere,” she bites her lip, her eyes growing glassy. “I haven’t told him my feelings yet, however I’m also worried for my family who finds men like him to be unworthy of an engineer like myself.”

“Ah, bound by duty and expectation.” you reply grimly, “a rock and a hard place, huh?”

“Yes, forgive me for my crassness. I felt as if you would understand my predicament.”

Putting your drink down, you reach for her hand. Oil and dirt cake her fingers, and she attempts to pull away as to not soil you, but you hold on tighter. “Tell him how you feel, Wendy.” you whisper, a conversation so intimate it’s only proper it be for her ears and her ears only. “Whether he leaves or not after you tell him is his decision. However, I assure you it will hurt far more if you don’t give yourself a chance.”

Her voice cracks, “But what if it doesn’t work out?”

You start to feel a little teary at her candor, and you run a thumb over her palm. “Then you’re one heartbreak closer to happiness. Nevertheless, you are a strong, intelligent, beautiful woman. Don’t let your fears reject that.”

Wendy finds the strength to squeeze your hand, and you belatedly realize that if this piece of advice was personified, it’d be slapping the shit out of you.

“You came!”

Hopped up on bitter caffeine and potential regrets, you stand in the living room well past midnight, party in full swing. Jimin trails behind you sans iPad, feeling lighter in a pair of trunks and a black tank. A playlist of Namjoon’s organizing is blasting from the surround sound, coupled with the flatscreen television projecting an intense lap of MarioKart. Irene and Taehyung are shoulder to shoulder, concentrating on getting that Mushroom Cup. The sliding doors that lead from your villa to the beach are cracked open, wide enough to hear the conversations the other students are exchanging.

It was always nice to have your villa occupied like this. Less empty, more familial.

Yerin is the first to greet you, throwing her arms around you and smelling like seasalt and vodka. She’s drenching your clothes, clad in a yellow polka-dot one-piece. “This weekend’s gonna be killer,” she whispers in your ear, causing the hairs on your neck to rise. For a petite thing, she really wastes no time cutting to the chase.

You detach yourself, holding up a bag of pastries. “Snagged some munchies for your inevitable drunk crash,” you smirk, placing the container on the kitchen island.

Yerin gapes, red tinted lips mouthing an ‘o’ at your language. “You’ve been hidin’ out on us, haven’t you Princess?” Yerin then brushes past you, ready to get her fingers on the confections. You’re over her shoulder, pointing out both Illrian delicacies and pastries she’s familiar with.

After Irene snags the Mushroom Cup they’re joining you at the island, lips coated in powdered sugar and jam. The girls laugh when some powdered sugar gets into Taehyung’s hair, Irene patting him a little too hard on his bangs.

“You’re here!”

You whip around to see Jeongguk sliding the glass doors hurriedly, bare feet slapping across the tiled floor to reach you. He’s dripping wet, ocean water rivering around his body. Your eyes can’t help but follow the flow of the cool liquid, finding purchase between the planes of his chest and honeyed abs, glowing from the heat.

Three years of your life were spent studying preparation and execution for war or nuclear threat. Unfortunately, at this very moment you feel way more prepared for war than Jeon Jeongguk standing in your villa, looking like that.

Instead of the usual pleasantries, you hold up a leather wallet. “You left this in the classroom,” you chide.

It’s a baldfaced lie. Somehow, Jeongguk’s wallet had conveniently ended up in your office between reams of paper. The bastard himself has the audacity to feign surprise, coral lips gaping in relief. “Wow, Princess. Totally not a ploy to get you to come here.”

“Right.”

“Give it here, I’ll drop it off in my room.”

“Wait, wait!” you hold up both your hands, centimeters away from Jeongguk’s pecs. You’re nearly eye level with them, and you force yourself to look up at his smug face. “You’re dripping wet on the tile! Your feet still have sand you heathen! Do not get our carpets dirty!” you hold the wallet to your chest protectively, “where’s your room?”

He tilts his head adorably, droplets flecking from his slicked back mane. “Third door on the right.” he doesn’t dare to argue with your sudden passion to keep your villa clean.

You nod, “go enjoy the water. I’ll be right out.” You don’t give him a chance to reply, kicking off your sandals as you reach the cosier part of the villa. Soft carpet meets your toes as you pad off to the guest bedrooms.

Jeongguk managed to snag the corner room, albeit smaller, it’s a single with a full mattress. You see his Superdry backpack open on the floor, its bottom worn with the white lining peeking through. Despite only arriving in the afternoon, his fresh scent is palpable. You drop the wallet on his desk, and you notice that his laptop’s still on.

The Macbook Pro glows confidently, his screensaver revealing a photograph of you on your balcony.

“Snooping around, Princess?”

You whip around, seeing Jeongguk appear fully clothed, running a towel over his hair. He is no longer dripping water or sand, but he still smelled like salt and fire. He nonchalantly closes the door behind him, taking a seat at the foot of his bed.

“You know it’s illegal to take unsolicited pictures of royalty, right?”

“And who should I answer to, hm? The Princess?” he teases, face blooming from the fluffy white towel.

You’re not upset about the picture, he knows that. But there you sit, slumped over his desk, looking forlornly at his picture of you.

“I’ve locked the door,” Jeongguk pipes up, looking at you worriedly. “Yoongi mentioned that the room’s are soundproof. He said you looked upset today. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

The room feels smaller, swallowing you whole. You’re tired from today’s events, both emotionally and physically. Jeongguk is having nothing of it, reaching between the two of you to pull the arms of the desk chair, wheeling you between his thighs.

“Jeongguk,” you start, “why weren’t you mad at me when you were right? Right about me hiding something from you.”

His brows furrow, “You made a sacrifice and protected your brother. Why would I be mad at that?” he says honestly, “sure, I was upset at first. Who wouldn’t be? But you did it out of love.”

You smile wanly, knowing that there wasn’t going to be a chance that he’d be upset at you. It was out of your devices. “I wanted you to be mad,” you admit, wringing your fingers between your skirt, “it would’ve made it easier to leave.”

“It would’ve, wouldn’t it?” he replies, his voice cotton soft. “After you left, Yoongi wouldn’t let me talk to you on the phone. Said you needed time. But I got him to tell me stories about you, stories that made me realize that I missed getting to know you.”

It’s then you feel the weight of today express itself onto your cheeks, the wetness dampening your skin. You feel his thumb brush away the tears.

“Tell me,” Jeongguk requests softly, “tell me what you really feel.”

You let your head collapse in his hands, relishing the warmth and comfort it brings. “I feel hurt. And confined.”

“More,” Jeongguk bids, his other hand squeezing your thigh, “let it out, Princess.”

You are a strong, intelligent, beautiful woman. Don’t let your fears reject that.

“I miss acting like fools at the grocery store, falling on top of each other half-asleep.” Everything tumbles out shamelessly, like a waterfall. “I hate how frustrated I am when you call me Princess, because while it is my title, it turns me on in the most devastating way when you say it.” you drop your head in the crook of his neck, embarrassed to see his reaction. “I want to laugh with you, hold you, I want you, so badly. But I want you to be happy, to make music and art, and travel the world to find your muse,” you shake your head, pushing yourself away from him. “I feel so stuck here, I can’t hold you back when you’re free and—”

“That’s enough bullshit,” and he’s kissing you, a clashing of teeth that has you sensitive and reeling. His hands grasp your cheeks, and you’re stumbling in your chair as the wheels make moves on their own. You squeak against his lips before you’re wheeled back to the bed. Hot hands pull you forward to teeter your body onto the bed, keeping you in place.

The man in question breaks apart, but close enough that his lips brush against yours when he speaks, “I’ve never kissed a princess before,” Jeongguk says wryly, cupping your cheek, “but if you make one more gripe about freedom and your stupid self-righteousness and I’ll stop.”

A pure, unprepared whine escapes your lips, shame be damned.

“You’re my muse,” he plants a kiss on your forehead, “I bothered Yoongi for weeks, working tooth and nail for that scholarship,” a kiss on both your nose, “you’re what it means to feel free.”

And that’s all it takes for you to surge forward, toppling over him until he’s pushed against the headboard. Capturing your lips with his, you catch droplets of saltwater and a flavor that’s so distinctly Jeongguk, feeling high off the taste.

Your skirt rides to your waist, your underwear damp from the ocean and arousal. You straddle him, feeling so unbounded and free as Jeongguk lets you do what you’ve both wanted to do. With a roll of your hips Jeongguk grunts, forehead pressed to yours. “Princess,” he rasps, meeting your thrusts, “we have until Christmas to do this, no need to rush.”

Wait, Christmas?

Jeongguk grins, kissing away your surprise. For now, you’ll ignore the burn between your thighs. “Before we left today, Yoongi and I asked the King, your father, if he would consider extending my scholarship for a full semester. I mentioned that Yoongi and I had some unfinished projects from undergrad,” he pecks your lips, “and he’s going to help me produce a full album for my final thesis.”

“That’s amazing!” you cheer, pulling him into a hug. “I’m so proud of the two of you!”

“Mhm,” he nuzzles your neck, pressing featherlight kisses to your skin, “can’t produce anything without my muse around, so I’d say Illyria is the perfect location.”

Your fingers thread into his damp locks, and you feel your heart swell with happiness. Here, under the gaze of the beautiful boy who wanted to offer you his heart and his world, you felt free.

extra.

It takes the strength of both your hands to pull Jeongguk in the storage closet, but it isn’t like he’s putting up a fight anyhow.

“Come here often?” you drawl, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Impressive,” he chuckles, “usually it takes you an hour to shake Jimin off ya. It’s only been thirty-five minutes.”

“I just wanted to show you something funny,” you pull up your Instagram, and play the featured video. While it was posted weeks ago, it started to pick up traction after Yoongi liked the post this morning. Jeongguk is dashing around the palace, sweating bullets and cooing “c’mon Dixie!” to the sprinting chicken in the throne room.

“You’re viral!” you giggle, “you put Illyria on the social media map!”

Under the lowlights, it’s still easy to see Jeongguk’s skin has gone placid. “If I ever hit it big, that shit better not haunt me,” he groans into your neck.

“Please,” you roll your eyes, “every famous person has a backstory. Aubrey Graham had Degrassi and the Yodeling Wal-Mart boy–”

“Are you really gonna compare your boyfriend to the Yodeling Wal-Mart kid? Tell me what you really came here for,” And like a teenager, Jeongguk reels it back in, winding his hands around your waist. He gives you bedroom eyes like it's a session of Seven Minutes in Heaven, “so, we’re gonna make out or what?”

#jungkook #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jeongguk #jungkook fluff #kpop #kpop fic #kpop fanfic #jjk #royal au #college au #bts x reader

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another-bryk-in-the-wall · 4 years ago

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Kinktober Day 1 - mutual masturbation (Joseph Seed x reader)

what’s up guys i am back with some smut with your favourite abusive and terrible cult leader

Day 1 of @lustyargonianmaid ‘s Kinktober list. There are more to come over this month so stay tuned.

Warnings: smut

Don’t like don’t read don’t come crying into my askbox

Days in the bunker were long and so tiresome. Day in, day out, the same thing. Wake up. Eat breakfast. Train a bit with what Dutch had left in the bunker. Read. Dinner. Go to bed. Rinse and repeat. It was getting boring, and the Deputy wasn’t having it.

At least they had separate bedrooms. Joseph moved into the bigger bedroom on the other side of the hall when the Deputy was unlocked from the bedframe, leaving her with the more comfortable bed in Dutch’s old room. At least she had peace there during the nights.

To her disadvantage, Dutch had not left any kind of toys in the bunker, but ever since she was young, Rook was able to get off with her hands only, and she would put them to good use. At least he had left some non-sticky porn magazines down there. Just don’t let Joseph see them, or he would have an aneurysm or just drop dead at the sight of a tiddie.

While studying the porn mag intensely, her hands slowly moved down her body, feeling the last bit of softness left on her skin. She didn’t even know when she last had an orgasm...time to refresh that memory.

As her fingers were working on her clit and her eyes fixed on the magazine, she did not hear the door opening. Only when the mattress started to lower under the man’s weight, she screamed, trying to hide her half nude body and the magazine.

“I hope you know you were quite loud.”, Joseph said, an amused smile on his lips. He was in his bed clothes already. His hair was down, no shirt, and a pair of boxers he had gotten from a pile of clothes around the bunker. But...there was a tent in his boxers, showing off his girth and size, and he...was not that small.

“Joseph…”, she started, trying to scramble an apology, but Joseph just placed his finger over her lips, making her quiet down in a mere second.

“Next time you feel these urges, Rookie, you come to me. God made us for one another, and it is my duty to fulfill any needs you have.”

“What?”

“We are meant to be, Rookie. The Voice told me this long before you arrived here. The Voice told me this moment here would happen…”

“...The Voice is spying on us?”

Joseph laughed at her confusion, lowering down, only his finger separating their lips anymore. “The Voice has never been wrong. Let me help you...love.”

Their lips connected, little fireworks going off in their bodies. She would have never guessed this would happen...but she wasn’t complaining. The kiss was short and sweet, and in Joseph’s eyes flamed a desire previously unknown.

Joseph gently reached down to her hand still in her panties, removing them slowly and bringing her fingers up to his mouth. He took one of them between his lips, closing his eyes as he gave them a soft suck.

“You are sweeter than I imagined.”

Now it was his turn. He reached down, replacing her hand with his own. His long and thick fingers stroking over her pussy, but not yet over her clit. Only the anticipation made her a moaning mess, begging him for more touch.

But she didn’t want him to do all the work alone. Quickly she moved to sit up a bit, just up enough to reach to his boxers, stroking him from the outside. A wet spot appeared where his tip was leaking precum, Joseph biting his bottom lip as soft groans tried to escape. How long has it been since he…?

It didn’t take much more to make her cum. The moment Joseph circled her clit with his thumb and teased her entrance it was over. She gasped and squeezed her eyes shut, grasping the bedsheets for extra support as the orgasm came crashing over her. Stars filled her vision as Joseph continued to rub her clit, prolonging the sweetest feeling she had had in ages.

And from that moment they knew - it wouldn’t be boring in the bunker for a very, very long time.

#joseph seed #joseph seed x reader #far cry 5

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masterjedilenawrites · 4 years ago

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The Sniper and The Medic: Chapter 3

Starring: Crosshair, OC Joan Vo, Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech

Summary: Crosshair doesn't exactly like medical personnel. In fact, he hates them. They're always poking and prodding, calling him skinny, telling him he's not good enough. But then he meets the new medical examiner, the smart and kind and oh-so-pretty Joan Vo. And suddenly, he's not only looking forward to his medical check-ups, but he's also starting to question whether he wants to go to war after all....

Rating & Warnings: T/PG-13. Eventual fluff. Light angst. Who knows what else will pop up, but I’ll leave warnings when needed.

Taglist: Let me know if you want to be tagged for this fic.

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >

Chapter 3: Bitter Pill

As expected, the conversation among his brothers the rest of the day was exclusively about the new girl.

"Dr. Vo was already a combat medic when the war started," said Tech over their lunch in the mess hall. "The battalion on her home planet took her in, so she knows how to take care of us clones."

"Did you see the scar on her hand?" asked Wrecker during their afternoon fight simulation training. "She got it from punching a droid... a droid! And then she stitched it up herself. That's my kinda woman."

"Joan's got a lot of ideas for whipping us into shape," said Hunter while they showered off in the refresher that evening. "Exercise regimens, diet plans, even some good team building tasks. She knows more than the Kaminoans."

Crosshair had nothing to contribute.

The four of them sat in the common room of their small apartment as the night started to settle in. They had been moved into these private quarters, in a different section of the facility, just last week. Though it was cramped and cold, they were already getting used to the separation from the regs.

"What about you, Cross?" Hunter asked from the seat beside him and the others turned to him expectantly.

The truth was that Crosshair had spent the day incredibly angry with himself. He had not gained any level of insight into Dr. Joan Vo like his brothers had. He hadn't noticed her scars or asked about her life or heard any of her plans for their medical regimen. He had stayed sullen and silent in that damn room. And now, the one time he wanted to engage in conversation over a girl, he had absolutely nothing.

He shrugged, tying to come up with something. But what could he possibly say? The only thing she'd offered up was that she knew someone from the Umbara mission. But that wasn't significant; everyone talked about Umbara. And he wasn't telling anyone about his homework assignment. He'd ran all the way over here to stash the pad of paper under his mattress, making him late for training, just so he wouldn't have to explain it to anyone.

Hunter immediately sensed his discomfort and let out a chuckle, clapping him gently on the shoulder. "She probably spent the whole time reading your long-ass medical chart, huh?"

Tech and Wrecker nodded along, believing that must have been the case. Crosshair didn't correct them.

"I do hope she addresses your insomnia," said Tech, picking up a datapad he had been doing some casual research with earlier. "And your resulting caf addiction. Not. Healthy."

He gave Crosshair a pointed glare before returning to the screen.

"Ah, don't worry about ol' Cross," said Hunter, still in an easygoing mood. "Joan's a professional. She'll get him sorted out."

Crosshair pouted but no one paid him attention. He did not want to be "sorted." Or treated, or fixed, or anything of the sort. This professional could take her war stories and good ideas and shove them, for all he cared. In fact the longer he was spending away from the doctor, the less he could remember why he'd liked her in the first place.

"She's so pretty...." Wrecker sighed for the tenth time that day.

Oh yeah, that's why, thought Crosshair as he secretly sighed along with his brothers.

"Did you notice she doesn't use any of the medical droids?" Tech asked, getting distracted from his research yet again.

"Oh yeah," Wrecker said, "she hates 'em."

"I don't know about hate, but she told me they're better for the menial tasks like blood analysis. Only a human can truly understand another human, she said."

"I'm glad she sees us as humans," Hunter said, a little quieter. "Treats us like humans. Not experiments."

"Does she think we have a chance to deploy?" Tech sat forward. It was a commonly known fact the Kaminoans still had their doubts about the viability of Clone Force 99, and even the clone commanders helping with their training were hesitant to have an opinion one way or the other.

"She does." Hunter straightened, his duty as their leader kicking in. "But we still have a lot of work ahead of us, a lot to prove. She has advice, but we're the ones that have to do something with it. It'll be a hard couple of months. But we're coming out of this as the best damn clone unit in the galaxy."

Tech grinned and Wrecker gave an enthusiastic hoorah! Crosshair couldn't help but smirk, too, though he believed they already were the best damn clones in the galaxy.

* * *

They'd all gone to bed hours ago, but Crosshair was the only one still awake. The lights were out but he could clearly see every pen stroke on the paper. He was sitting up in his bunk, or as much as he could in the cramped space between the mattress and the ceiling, and was reading through the notes Joan had made during his visit, while his brothers snored around him.

Sharpshooter

Quiet

Confident

Wide peripheral vision

Long-distance vision: incredible

Dexterity: limber, flexible

Detached from emotions

Crosshair blinked at the last note. He'd been feeling pretty good about himself up until then. Detached from emotions? Was it because he'd said he was better than the regs who'd shot at each other on Umbara? He knew it, she had judged him for that comment, just as everyone else did. But it was the truth and he stood by it. How dare she try to twist it into some kind of character defect. And besides, what did emotions have to do with his health anyway?

He found himself growing angry again, his cheeks flushing and heart beating heavily. Without thinking, he scribbled over her note and wrote his own next to it:

I have emotions.

He cursed at himself. That was a stupid thing to write. He tried scribbling over that, too, but it was still obvious what he'd written. He scribbled harder, until the paper ripped and he threw the pen across the room in frustration.

He took a few moments to compose himself and quietly got down from the bunk. This was so stupid. She thought she had him all figured out, didn't she? She hadn't even read his chart, she had no clue just how different he was and how hard his life had been. How badly he wanted, no, needed to get off this planet and fight already.

He picked up the pen from where it'd landed in the corner, just as Wrecker let out a large snore. He was sprawled across a double bed against the opposite wall, while Tech was on the bunk beneath his. Hunter had his own room across the hall, specially-designed with sensory deprivation measures. It was the only way he could sleep most nights, especially with Wrecker snoring like a Bantha.

They were an odd group to be sure, and they'd already been through so much together. Crosshair wouldn't trade any of them for the world.

He hurried back into his bed, taking up the paper and quickly jotting a few things underneath the angry scribbles. That would show her. Satisfied, he re-hid the paper beneath his mattress and finally let himself drift off to sleep.

Determined.

Passionate.

Committed.

Loyal.

#star wars #the clone wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #crosshair #crosshair x OC #eventual fluff #angst #crosshair needs a hug #medical things #soldier things #more tags to follow

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years ago

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🎃 Frightful October Act IV, #11 ~ Jealousy (Cory Hong)

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Supernatural, Romance, Vampire AU

Word Count: 3,227

Pairing: Reader x Cory

World: 24K

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

When you first met Cory, he was a member of the group 24K. You had met the group through mutual friends and instantly hit it off with the group’s leader. Pretty soon, you and Cory became inseparable – every bit of spare time he had was spent with you.

He was your best friend and you were his, but life seemed determined to keep the two of you apart. Every time you made plans to hang out, something came up at the last minute and the outing had to be canceled. It got to the point where you weren’t able to see each other at all. You were busy with college and work, while Cory was working his ass off trying to make it big.

A month passed. Two. Three.

You could feel yourself growing apart from him and it scared you. While you had many acquaintances in your life, you only had a handful of friends but none of them bore the same weight in your heart as Cory did. What if you never saw him again? What if he forgot about you?

You frowned at the thought and quickly shook your head. He was a busy man that barely got time for himself, must less for anyone else. You were thankful for whatever time he could spare you, no matter how little that ended up being.

That was enough for you… right?

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

A year had passed since you last saw Cory. Your brother had gotten into a car accident and needed to be looked after, so you left South Korea, returning to your home state of Oregon to care for him. It had broken your heart to say goodbye to Cory, but nothing could be done about it. You briefly wondered if the universe really did have something against your friendship.

Autumn had finally rolled around and you couldn’t be happier. It was your favorite time of year, after all. A Halloween superstore had just opened up down the street from your college and you wasted no time in applying there. You got a callback that same day – you were hired to work the closing shift, from six in the afternoon until close at midnight.

There were a couple others that had been hired for the same shift, and they were not happy about you. You were, though. Ever since you had been a kid, you’ve always found solace in the night time. It was peaceful and quiet, and more importantly, lacked the number of people you would typically find during the day.

Between work and school, you didn’t have much free time. Although there were others that had been scheduled to work the closing shift throughout the week, they up and quit without warning, leaving your boss understaffed. You offered to take over their hours, which he happily agreed.

Getting to work in a store surrounded by Halloween decorations, props, and costumes during the night time when very few people messed with you… it was like a childhood dream come true!

The bell above the door dinged as it was pulled open and you smiled brightly. “Welcome! Oh, hello, Fried.”

Fried smiled a charming smile, brushing strands of his navy blue hair away from his face. As usual, his long hair was loosely braided, resting on his right shoulder. The bright red ribbon on the end stuck out against his dark clothes. “A fine night to you, Y/N.”

Fried was a regular. He had been visiting the store every night without fail since the day it opened, always appearing around ten-thirty. He never actually bought anything, just browsed the products and made small talk with you. It creeped out the other employees that had worked the same shift, but you just assumed that he was lonely and enjoyed the Halloween merchandise like you did. He never did or said anything bad, so his presence didn’t bother you in the slightest.

Cory always did say you were too trusting for your own good.

“You got in new stock today, as I understand,” he commented as he approached the glass counter, watching you re-arrange the candles on shelves behind the counter.

“That’s right!” you smiled over your shoulder at him before picking up another scented candle from the box, this one claiming to smell like witch’s brew. “Vampires are pretty popular lately, so we got a whole shipment of Vampire-themed merch today.”

Fried’s dark eyes flashed with anger before returning to normal, his hand forming a fist atop the counter. “I see,” his words were breathy. “Where?”

You didn’t notice his change in attitude or how tense he became, too focused on the task at hand – you were terrified that if you let your attention slip, you’d drop and break them and they were expensive candles. “Over in the back right corner. Mason should still be over… there…” you glanced over your shoulder, blinking at the spot he had been seconds before. ‘Huh, he must be really into vampires’.

A few minutes of silence passed. You had just placed the last candle and were hopping down from the step ladder when your co-worker, Mason, approached you with a weary expression.

“Did you finish the display?” you asked with a smile.

“Almost,” he answered, glancing over his shoulder. “That guy is really weird.”

“Fried?” you questioned, tilting your head curiously.

Mason frowned at you, his blue eyes filled with worry. “You shouldn’t be so friendly with that guy, Y/N. There’s something… off about him.”

You mirrored his frown, giving him your full attention after folding up the step ladder. “He seems fine to me.”

He sighed, shaking his head. The motion caused a few strands of blonde hair to fall over his forehead. “You’re too nice, Y/N! Just… be careful, okay? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

A hand reached out, resting on his shoulder. He jumped back in surprise, slapping the hand away from him. Fried stared him down for a moment before turning to you. “Is everything alright, Y/N?”

Before you could answer him, Mason spoke up, eyes narrowed. “Sorry, but we’re closing early today. Please leave.”

“Do you even have that authority?” Fried challenged, folding his arms over his chest.

Mason scowled, taking a step forward. “I’m the manager on duty, so yes I have that authority. Leave now, sir.”

You frowned, your gaze flickering between the two men as they glared each other down. You could almost feel the electricity between them. After a tense minute, Fried turned and exited the store. Mason followed close behind, locking up and unplugging the neon ‘Open’ sign.

“Won’t you get into trouble for closing early?” you asked, softly, not wanting to further annoy him.

He seemed to relax a bit now that the door was secure, but he kept his guard up just in case. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” he offered you a smile. “Let’s finish up and head home.”

You nodded and got back to work.

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

You stifled a yawn as you entered your dorm building. It was only just turning midnight, meaning you got home about an hour or so earlier than you normally would. Even so, you were exhausted and still had class to get to early that morning. You turned the corner and froze, nearly dropping your keys. “Cory?”

The male in question had been pacing back and forth in front of your door but he stopped dead when he heard your voice. One second, he was at the end of the hall and the next, he was hugging you tightly to his body, picking you up off the ground. You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, resting his face in your neck. He could hear your pulse increase. “I called you so many times!”

“I kinda forgot my phone…” you rubbed the back of your head, offering a sheepish smile.

He set you down, eyes scanning your body. It was very faint, but he detected a strange scent on you, lingering on your skin and clothes. His eyes narrowed, grip tightening unconsciously. He didn’t like that smell. Not one bit.

“Cory? What’s wrong?”

He snapped out of it, releasing you as he forced a smile. “Nothing! Just happy to see you after so long.”

Your heart skipped a beat, cheeks growing warm as you turned to your door, sliding the keys in the lock. Cory followed you inside, his nose in the air as he tried to detect the scent inside your room, but it wasn’t on any of the furniture or books. Whatever that scent came from, it had never been inside your room. That made him relax a bit.

“I didn’t know you were coming back to Oregon,” you told him, pulling your coat off.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he grinned, flopping onto the bed. “Did it work?”

“Definitely,” you turned your back to him to hide the smile that lit up your face. You were so happy to see him that you could cry, but you didn’t want to ruin the moment, so you held them back.

The scent was beginning to drive him nuts, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to fully relax as long as it invaded his nostrils. “Why don’t you go take a shower to warm up? Then we can catch up over some horror movies.”

“Is that your subtle way of saying I stink, Cory?” you raised a brow at him playfully.

If he could blush, he would have. “No, I just don’t want you to get sick.”

“Fine, fine~” you clutched your towel and change of clothes to your chest as you entered the bathroom attached to your room.

Cory grabbed your laptop, skimming through a list of horror movies. He avoided the topic of vampires and chose a movie that was sure to make your hair stand on end.

You stepped out of the bathroom, fully clothed and refreshed from the warm water. You saw Cory on his stomach on your bed, playing around on his phone. The laptop was open in front of him – he had set up the movie already, pausing it on the intro screen so you could see the title of the movie.

“The Nightmare Before Christmas? Really?” you cocked a brow, sitting beside him and crossing your legs. “Isn’t that more of a Christmas movie than Halloween?”

He shrugged, scooting over so you weren’t hanging off the edge. “Who cares. It has all of the elements to make it a good Halloween movie. It’s a movie that must be watched twice a year without fail.”

“Is that right?” you chuckled, pulling the comforter from under his body. Even though the dorms had a heating system, it was old and didn’t circulate well through the old building. Once the two of you were snuggled under the comforter, he hit play.

You made it through half the movie before your eyes began to droop. You fought against the sleepiness trying to claim you, but you lost, your head falling onto your arms. Cory smiled softly as he put his arm protectively around you, kissing your forehead.

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

You entered the Halloween store with a bright smile, greeting your co-worker before heading into the back to clock in. Cory had insisted on following you to work, refusing to accept ‘no’ as an answer. You had been hesitant, but you were scheduled to work alone that night so it would be nice to have some company. Your co-worker clocked out as soon as you clocked in and left the store with a polite ‘goodbye’.

“I didn’t think this store would be so… empty,” Cory commented when you returned to the front. He leaned on the glass counter, looking at the various glass knick-knacks that had been placed on display. “Is it always this dead?”

You hummed, thoughtfully. “It’s pretty busy during the day, but it starts to slow down around five o’clock. A couple people show up at night here and there, but I’m sure as Halloween gets closer, it’ll start to get busier.”

“And do you always work alone?” he frowned. The thought made his stomach clench painfully. He didn’t consider you to be weak by no means, but what would happen if some lunatic came at you with a gun? Your chances of survival were lowered if you were alone, and the chance of getting robbed was higher. Not only that, but there were more than just criminals stalking the night.

“Not usually, no,” you picked up the basket that had been set behind the counter. It was filled with ‘return items’, or items that people decided they didn’t want or couldn’t afford at the register. “Mason, the night manager, is usually with me, but his mom is really sick so he had to call out to care for his baby sister.”

Cory followed you closely as you returned the items, his brow furrowed in thought. ‘Mason… is he the scent I detected on her? If he usually works with her, it might just be…’

The last item in the basket was a ceramic pumpkin cookie jar that needed to be returned to the top shelf. All glass and ceramic items were kept up high to avoid kids grabbing and breaking them. Even on your tiptoes, you couldn’t quite reach the shelf.

Chuckling, Cory came up behind you, his chest against your band as his large hand overtook yours. He easily pushed the pumpkin onto the shelf, but he didn’t step back from you. Your cheeks were burning and he knew it, he could smell the blood rushing to your face.

His arms wrapped around your shoulders, his nose nuzzling your neck. It was so easy for him to turn you into a blushing mess and he loved it. He loved knowing he had this power over you, and he loved being able to feel your blood rushing through your veins. You drove him crazy and you didn’t even know it.

The bell above the door dinged and you quickly pulled away, rushing to the front of the store. You were thankful for the excuse to get away from such an embarrassing situation. Your eyes landed on Fried and you smiled, about to greet him, but his expression made you stop dead, smile faltering.

He was standing in the doorway, his hands clenched tightly at his sides and his jaw set. His eyes took in your red face and the sound of your racing heart and his eyes narrowed over your shoulder, starting to glow a bright, crimson red.

Something inside your brain told you that these were not just contacts. Alarm bells were ringing like crazy in your mind. You took a shaky step backward, smacking into Cory, who put his hands on your shoulders protectively. You glanced up at him and squeaked – his eyes were glowing red, too!

Your heart was pulsing in your ears. ‘What the hell is happening right now…’

“It was you that I smelled on her,” Cory spoke. You could see fangs inside his mouth, glinting menacingly in the low light of the store.

“And who are you?” Fried tilted his head up, a smug expression on his face. He, too had fangs that glinted when he spoke. “I have been with Y/N every day for two and a half weeks. Not once have I caught your scent. And believe me, I would have noticed since it’s so… pungent.”

Jealousy bubbled up from within him, his fists clenching as he stepped forward to put himself between you and Fried.

You aren’t sure what suddenly came over you, but you didn’t like the smug tone Fried was using or the fact that he had just insulted your best friend. You put your hands on your hips. “I’ll have you know that Cory and I are best friends and we’ve known each other for three years. And he doesn’t smell!” you instantly regretted your decision as his glare snapped to you. He looked pissed. You cleared your throat, shrinking back behind Cory, who had a mix of happiness and amusement on his face.

Fried took a step forward and Cory followed suit, ordering you to stay behind him. Fried grew angrier at this, his upper lip curling back as he hissed. “I spent three weeks scoping out this mark. Do you honestly believe I’m going to just step aside and let you have her?”

“No one decides who has me but me!” you could feel his glare through Cory’s body. “No matter how long you ‘scope me out’, I’ll never be yours!”

Fried snarled at you and you squeaked in fright, throwing your arms around Cory’s waist, your face hidden in the back of his jacket. The reality suddenly hit you that this was not a normal man that you were yelling at.

“You heard her, now leave,” Cory ordered, his voice full of bravado.

Though Fried had been a vampire much longer than Cory, about seven centuries, in fact, Cory was stronger and Fried knew that. He could easily sense the power lurking beneath the surface. If they fought it out, Fried would surely lose.

“This isn’t over,” Fried promised, but he knew it very much was. He hastily exited the store, shattering the glass when he slammed into it.

You hadn’t realized you were shaking until Cory turned, bringing you into his warm chest. His embrace was warm and protective. “Cory, you… you’re a vampire?”

His body tensed and he nodded. His voice was soft as he asked. “Are you scared of me, Y/N?”

“If I was scared of you, do you really think I’m be clinging to you, you dork?” your face was still pressed against his chest, so your words were a bit muffled, but he heard them.

Cory smiled, pulling back just enough so he could rest his forehead against yours. “I wanted to tell you so bad, but I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Your cold hands cupped his face. “You’re my best friend, Cory. No matter what happens, I’ll always be on your side,” you could feel the blood rushing to your face, but you had to speak from your heart. It was now or never. “You are honestly the most important person in my life. You always have been, and you always will be.”

Hearing those words made him lose his self-control. He slammed his lips against yours, his fangs dragging across the flesh as his grip tightened around your body. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, holding back a groan when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip to taste your blood.

“Come back to Korea with me,” he whispered, licking his lips, stained red from your blood. “We can get a house together. And a cat. I know you like cats.”

“Are you trying to bribe me with a cat?” you teased, tugging at his t-shirt.

He chuckled, running his tongue over your lip to collect the new bead of blood that had formed. “Maybe~ Is it working?”

“You had me long before you mentioned a cat,” you pulled away, your hands folded behind your back as you grinned. “But you can’t go back on your word! We are definitely getting a cat.”

“Of course,” Cory smiled, his voice soft. “I will give you the world, Y/N. Just say the word.”

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

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letsperaltiago · 5 years ago

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I call it magic when I'm with you |Jake x Amy|

So for my b99 Fall Fic Exchange 2019 I got to write for my fave @amyscascadingtabs and got these 3 prompts to inspire my story:

Halloween costume parties

Baking together (could be something Halloween-related or general fall coziness)

Peraltiago kids celebrating Halloween

I decided to combine all 3 of them (somewhat? I mean there’s no party but there’s the mention of costumes) with a main focus on nr. 2. Hope you like it even though I finished it so last minute and it’s kinda not what you asked for... I’m so sorry! I don’t know what happened. Started out good and next thing you know there’s Harry Potter sexy times going down... Anyways happy Halloween and fall-season to you, Johanna and everyone else on here. You’re sweetheart and I hope you still enjoy it though my take on your prompts is... alternative.

———————————————————————————————————

The sound of crunching leaves beneath her feet secretly provoked a happy, giddy feeling in Amy’s stomach and an extra pep in her walk as she made her way back from the deli down the street from their apartment. It was the day before Halloween, a Friday, and this just so happened to be her and Jake’s weekly common day off which had lead to the purpose behind her trip to the deli: Instead of simply handing out candy, the sergeant was going to (see: try to) bake cute Halloween-themed cookies for the cause. Today was truly a day of mysterious events. Not only was Amy Bad-at-anything-culinary Santiago-Peralta going to bake for innocent kids who didn’t know any better than to politely accept her cookies… She had also willingly gone grocery shopping and everyone knew that she far from handled anything colder than 60 degrees very gracefully. Yet Amy couldn’t help but smile just a bit as a fresh breeze played with both her hair and dead leaves in various shades of red, orange and yellow.

Also extra plump from all the unconscious smiling, her husband couldn’t help but notice the extra bright pink shade of her cheeks when she finally walked in the door with a stuffed paper bag.

“Not too cold?” He hurriedly made his way from the living room to where she was standing by the door to grab the paper bag from her grip.

“A bit,” she shrugged off her coat before putting it away along with her shoes. “But also kind of nice. Refreshing even.”

A scoff could be heard from kitchen the room where Jake was now in the midst of putting down the heavy bag and its content. “Amy Santiago enjoying the cold? Must be a lie.”

“Perhaps adding Peralta to my name changed me for the better,” was mumbled into Jake’s left ear suddenly, letting a tiny giddy shock run through him as an effect from feeling her arms wrap around his waist from behind him. Not that he minded one bit but he hadn’t noticed her making her way from the door to him. Instantly in a reaction to the pleasent surprise, a smile grew on his face and though she couldn’t see his face, it didn’t take much more than the slight change in the tone of his voice to tell her that he was smiling.

“Well… ” the affectionate touch had quickly captured Jake’s full attention causing him to stop his dutiful process of unpacking the groceries onto the counter as to allow himself to turn around in her grip on him to look at her. Their nose-tips briefly brushed across each other, bubbling chuckles dancing from their lips, accompanying their stupidly happy grins. There was barely what could be called space between them. A tiny readjustment was all it would take for them to get that loving lock of lips they always craved. Indeed Jake was in the midst of leaning in to kiss his wife whilst mumbling, “Guess I’m the best thing that has ever happened to you then-“ when a loud wail interrupted their little moment, this bursting their otherwise bulletproof bubble, just as their lips were about to come together and he’d just barely been able to sense that his wife’s lips were still cold from her trip to the deli. A sigh was the only thing Amy got to feel, not at all as satisfying but nonetheless replacing the kiss, before she drew back to shoot him an apologetic yet slightly amused smile.

Jake returned the exact same look. “Did you tell her to do that?”

In a split second Amy’s cheeky apologetic blush switched to a look of defence followed by a playful punch to his shoulder. “How dare you!”

Seriousness being a rare matter it all of course just earned her a soft laugh from Jake who put his hands in the air in what was supposed to look innocence as he slowly backed away from the kitchen towards the hall. “I’m just saying… She’s been napping peacefully ever since I put her down before you left for the deli so it seems rather suspicious that she just now, all of the sudd-“

“Shut up, Peralta,” she scowled picking up on where he’d left off unpacking the groceries, “… and feel free to collect your daughter since you two seem to be ganging up and framing me.”

Though she was clearly messing with him there was no way she’d have to tell him twice; apart from Amy, their new barely 3-month old daughter was Jake’s favorite human and every second with her, wailing furiously or making happy gurgling-sounds, was precious. Still, even after a few months into fatherhood, her daughter was even better and more perfect than he’d ever dared to expect. Actually he never actually knew what to expect since he was so damn scared, but Marcy was incredible. It felt amazingly incredible to not be able to imagine a life without someone that you used to not be able to imagine your life with.

“Hey, Marcipan,” he cooed as he carefully pushed open the door to the infants little, pastel yellow painted room. The little girl of course didn’t answer but simply let out another wail as to call out for someone’s (preferably mom or dad’s) attention.

“Shhh,” he shushed her calmly all while safely leaning down over her bassinet to cradle her tiny body his warm hands. Within seconds, making sure to be careful with the tiny human still as fragile as porcelain, his daughter was safely cradled in his arms and a warmth that had come to grow very familiar spread within him. “What do you say we go help mom bake some cookies, huh?”

He pecked Marcy’s forehead before slowly making his way out the room and down the short hall before continuing the one-sided conversation. “Just between the two of us, we have no choice but to help her,” there was a truth in the words that provoked a chuckle from the father’s own lips. “If we don’t she’s gonna burn the place down and we’ll have to spend Halloween in the streets. Your mom might be tough enough for that but I sure as hell am not.” Whether is was on purpose or not, his sentence ended as he rounded the corner to the kitchen.

“I heard that, you know…” His wife currently had her back turned to them, hands working on something on the kitchen counter and allowing Jake to admire the long, shiny pony tail flowing down her back. Pony tail meant serious business in the book of Amy Peralta-Santiago.

“Just being honest with her, honey.”

There was barely any time for her to react before she felt his figure’s presence besides her, presenting her her now awake and curiously observing daughter. A smile instantly appeared on the mother’s face, her hands interrupting whatever she was doing.

“Hi, baby,” she cooed sweetly ahead of bowing down to place a kiss, similarly to how Jake had just seconds ago, to her daughter’s soft forehead. “Did you nap well while mommy was gone? Or did you just spend the entire time plotting against me with your father?”

“Oh mommy, me and dad would never be mean to you,” Jake spoke in a high-pitched, phony voice as to take on his daughter’s role.

Amy straightened back up to take in the funny sight of her husband’s parody with one hand on her now popped hip and a suspiciously cocked eyebrow. Though there was no way she was actually mad at him, this kind of banter was a Peralta-Santiago trademark. Not a day went by without it and Jake incorporating their newborn daughter was definitely to his advantage.

“Hm,” she turned back to what appeared to be a bowl with mixed ingredients. “I don’t know if I believe you two…”

“Please believe us, mommy,” Jake continued his little sketch, following Amy’s movement away from them trying to close the remaining distance between them. “I napped really well and daddy just sat there thinking about how much he loves you and how he can’t wait to see you wearing that sexy Hermione costume he bought-”

Upon hearing those last few words slipping off her husband’s lips (her husband who was currently holding their tiny daughter in their arms!!) Amy’s head snapped back to him and away from where it was looking at what was slowly but somewhat surely becoming cookie dough. “Jake!” Though his wife’s eyes would forever and always be the most beautiful, soothing and perfect brown pair, for a second right there in that moment, he feared them and the threatening daggers they shot. “Don’t say stuff like that in front of Marcy!”

“Babe, she’s a baby,” he chuckled warmly to his defence, leaning in before tenderly placing kiss to his wife’s cheek followed by replacing them directly onto her ear so that his breathy whisper could hopefully cause shivers to run down her spine. “I could add so many more details about what you and I do when she’s asleep and she wouldn’t understand a thing.”

One side of Amy, the one that did quiver beneath the feeling of his whisper into her ear, wanted to give in to the tension her husband had managed to sneak into an otherwise very innocent and domestic moment. Yet her contradicting side, the one that was eyeing their tiny daughter safely cuddled up in his arms, managed to fight her urge. Yes, it was a fact that the otherwise incredible arrival of their daughter had kept them from any particularly intimate activities. Whenever Marcy happened to somewhat sleep through the night the two exhausted parents made sure to use every precious second to catch up on the constant state of lacking sleep that they currently lived in. Yet she couldn’t get herself to act on her urges right in front of the tiny, innocent human.

“Jake…” Amy’s vocal chords barely managed to generate a mumble with a longing quiver as she fought the fight between giving in to the side of her that was simply a craving human and the side that was a parent.

Deep down she knew that they couldn’t go any further - at least not right now when her baby’s beautiful, innocent face was looking right at her. Nonetheless she couldn’t break the spell without allowing herself to give into the intrigue that her husband’s familiar lips waiting expectingly against her ear brought to life within her. There barely even time to acknowledge the movement before her neck and head had twisted just enough in his direction for her ear to be replaced by her lips. Years later and he still made her feel like a bubbleheaded love-sick teen.

“I know she’s a baby…” Amy whispered into the merge of their moving lips, somehow managing to keep up with Jake’s lips that happened to be persuasive as ever in the act of pursue this rush of affection for his wife. “… But we need to behave.”

“Uhummm,” as carefree as he was known to be, there was no way the mumble meant Jake planned on stopping. Itself the fact that he’d been able to keep Amy going, partially against her morals, for this long was a tiny victory that sparked the teasing competitive within him that he loved almost as much as her.

Though Amy kept telling herself that she was indeed about to break it up, Marcy letting out a tiny squeal beat her to it. The two enamoured adults quickly broke the embrace both instantly redirecting their wild gazes down at their fussy daughter. Both had to let out a small chuckle meanwhile Marcy looked anything but pleased by her parents’ lack of immersion in her presence.

“We pissed her off,” Jake joked before taking a step back from his position previously glued to his wife, allowing room to gently rock the infant which instantly reacted by quieting down. Still by the kitchen counter and having learned quite early into their new role as parents that Jake was very much capable of handling their daughter’s small tantrums on his own, Amy had resumed to the process of her Halloween cookie-experiment (Amy doing anything in the kitchen was an experiment, Jake had learned a long time ago).

“She’s tired of her dad being so obsessed with her mother instead of her.”

Jake could hear the smirk in her voice as she shuffled across the tiny kitchen to turn on the oven for her.

“That must be a big misunderstanding then,” he carefully repositioned the tiny human. Instead of cradling her carefully he was now holding her by the armpits, Lion King-stylez, facing him as he raised his arms to hold her at his eye level. “Isn’t that right, Marcipan?” He kissed his daughters forehead tenderly before holding her back out to look into her eyes. “You and I both know that you’re my favorite, don’t we?” his voice immediately indulged in his daughter’s universe, mushy and goofy, only adding sweetness to the sight of him simultaneously nuzzling her tiny with his big nose.

Moments like these could only kindle a varm feeling in every corner of Amy’s body.

Since things were going so well for them she rarely gave it any thought, but in moments like this specific one it suddenly hit her that at some point Jake actually doubted his abilities as a parent. Yet here was, goofing around with their child like it was the most natural thing in the world, and Amy could only burst with pride at the sight. Not only had she witnessed Jake picking a tough battle in order to disobey the voices in his head telling him that there was no way he could be a better father than his own was; now she was also witnessing him, on a daily basis, being what she could only consider as being the most loving, dedicated and hard-working father to their daughter.

“I’m okay with that,” Amy smirked, making her way to the fridge to put the dough to rest. Jake’s eyes followed her, staying attentive for many reasons, as he carefully placed his daughter back into a cradled position in his arms. There was no way he was going to be let off with being right; something was coming to shut him up and all he could do was observe, wait patiently for his witty wife to pull out the last trick hidden up her sleeve. Her every move was noted.

Slowly closing the fridge was step one. The movement wasn’t exactly slow enough to seem suspicious, like it was leading to something else, but what happened afterwards or better known as step two would definitely blow his mind.

“… cause at the end of the day, as soon as I put on that costume… I’ll be your favorite.” Just in time to match her reaching the end of her venomous sentence, Amy tantalisingly turned around (right on that very same spot by the now closed fridge) and like a dagger stabbing him in his hopelessly devoted heart her deep, her brown eyes told him everything he needed to know. As so many times before she was more than right - and as so many times before he didn’t mind one bit. If she wasn’t smirking before (which she was) then she definitely was now and it was driving Jake crazy which with the biggest guarantee in the world she immensely enjoyed. Amy Santiago-Peralta had driven him crazy with great, legendary purpose for the past 11 years and by the looks of it she wasn’t planning on stopping; yet another fact Jake didn’t mind one bit.

He especially didn’t mind later that evening, after saving five entire batches of cookies from burning, when Marcy decided to stay asleep and his wife suddenly walked into their bedroom clad in a what Hogwarts would definitely define as a scandalous outfit: a way too revealing school girl outfit (if you asked Hogwarts - not Jake), red knee-socks and tie, only to be topped off with a magic wand. Needless to say that Jake, who’d quietly been sitting in bed on his phone playing Candy Crush (such a dad) dropped his jaw through their bedroom floor right at that very moment. Ambushed was not the word; this was so much worse (better).

“Hey, babe…” She smiled teasingly, posing by the end of the bed well knowing that she hypothetically could say or do nothing at all and it would still drive Jake insane. But where was the fun in that?

“Wanna explore my chamber of secrets?”

His reaction to those words, to her brief dismay, reminded her of Scully’s famous heart attacks. “Oh my God, Amy,” he basically gasped for air and Amy loved it as she took her time making her way around the bed before straddling him with the dopiest yet sexiest grin on her face.

“Jake Peralta!” She gasped playfully. “Is that a wand in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

And though he loved his daughter more than anything in the world, he prayed that tonight would be the night Marcy Santiago-Peralta would make him proud and sleep soundly.

“Guilty as charged…” He returned the grin, having finally returned from his stroke-like state, only to put his phone aside to slide his hands all the way up her thigh to her waist, burying them under her robe to pick at the edge of her skirt. Amy Peralta-Santiago-Granger… You’ve definitely got me under your spell for the night.”

#b99 fall 2019 fic exchange #b99 fic #peraltiago fic #peraltiago #jake x amy #amy santiago #jake peralta #brooklyn nine nine #b99 #fanficition

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freckled-words · 5 years ago

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For The King - Part Three

Are you READY for the beginning of some Dragon King antics? Cause I am stoked to get your thoughts on this chapter. This is where I picked up the actual idea that Anon was requesting ah ha ~

Edited by @the-wild-ego

PART ONE / PART TWO

By the third year of your duty as the King’s personal servant, you had confirmed a suspicion you’d had of him when you were a child.

Fierce, greedy, and cruel as he could be, King Phantom still had moments of vulnerability. It was these moments that you saw the truth of why he’d wanted to keep you at his side. He was wanting companionship.

Not the romantic variety of companionship, that was certain. There had been numerous attempts by courtesans, noble daughters and sons, and widowed royalty to woo the Dragon King. All had been treated with disdain and were dismissed.

One particular incident involved a cocky prince being thrown out of the palace. From the roof. Into the flesh eating fish moat beneath. ( King Phantom received a letter from the newly appointed Princess of that Prince’s kingdom in thanks, along with a small chest of treasures.)

As much as you wanted to move on with your life, and pursue your passions away from servitude, you never once considered asking for your freedom.

At night on your cot, when you asked yourself why that was, you answered with, “My being here might make a difference one day.” Given that the King had not changed his disposition in the centuries of his rule, you didn’t think it possible, yet it was still a hope.

************

“Y/N, come here.”

You’d been dozing in the back corner of the throne room while the King addressed the citizens concerns.

The last had just left, and the guards had followed along to close up the large throne doors. It was nearing noon at this point and the rest of the day would normally be spent with the King lounging or looking over reports from his generals and spies. King Phantom sincerely didn’t care just how much you knew about the goings on.

Going to his side, you reflexively asked, “Yes, my King?”

“Tell me, in your own words, what would cease my people’s constant complaints? Dealing with their petty problems grows more bothersome by the day, as of late.” King Phantom shifted in his throne, angling himself to have a clear view of your expression. After that day when you had spoken frankly to him as a dragon, he found he rather enjoyed seeing your moments of genuine expression and hearing your thoughts. It was refreshing after being praised or cursed for hundreds of years.

This had, indeed, left you bewildered. Here was the King asking you, the servant, on how to handle the common people.

Trusting the King to keep his word about ending your life quickly, you told him bluntly, “For starters, and I ask your forgiveness, but you did ask, you could be less of a jackass your Majesty.”

King Phantom rolled his eyes, “I’ll continue acting as I please. Give me another.”

Your posture relaxed and you looked down at the expanse of the throne room’s vast hall, “What if you didn’t have to listen to the complaints? Instead you assigned an advisor, or appoint a group of people that know the city best to handle the people they know? If there are any major crimes or blood feuds, then you step in.”

With a few years in attendance to the King’s meetings with the people, you’d noticed that he didn’t care enough to give fair judgments. Often leading to bigger feuds or issues a few months later. If people that knew the locals, and knew the King’s laws best, were put in charge less problems could arise.

King Phantom mulled this over. It would remove a majority of the complaints in the morning, if not all together, and free up his time for more leisurely activities.

He flicked his hand in a sign of dismissal and conjured a small orb in his palm. This spell allowed him to summon people he needed, which at present, was a scribe to write down letters of summoning.

You went to the kitchen from there, to see if you could beg the cook for a small tidbit. It wasn’t quite noon meal time yet, but you’d eaten a smaller breakfast that morning. Not by your own choice, of course, you’d been pulled away by the King demanding you help him choose which tunic to wear that morning.

You were in luck, the cook was in a good mood and was happy to give you a roll and a handful of grapes.

You ate and walked back towards the throne room, as it had been plenty of time for the King to get his ideas in order and deal with whoever needed dealing with.

As you passed an alcove, you heard hushed whispers. Being unfortunately curious, you pulled back against the wall and listened.

“I swear it will work!” Insisted a man.

“For all that she paid for it, it better. Or she’ll be taking her gold back out of our hides! How are we supposed to use it?” Questioned a second man.

“I’ve got an in with a sweetheart in the kitchen. She’ll sneak it into his noon meal.” Explained the first man.

“He spells all his food, if anything is poisoned it burns up!” Complained a third man. There came a sound of flesh hitting flesh, and a muffled “Ow!”

“Keep your bloody voice down and listen you sod. That’s why I’m saying it’ll work! The witch I bought this from brewed it up special, it’s not going to burn up. He’ll think it’s safe, and ta-da, the monster King is dead.” The first man proclaimed smugly.

You’d heard enough. Spinning on your heel, you hurried back the way you’d come.

You had to warn the King. Regardless if that supposed poison would truly work or burn up, you didn’t want to take a chance of it succeeding.

You couldn’t identify the three men talking, meaning they were either new to the palace, or were usually not within your sphere of interaction. They’d sounded like men that didn’t have the smarts to come up with an elaborate plan, and they’d mentioned a woman’s involvement. If a group like that were investing their money in killing the King, then they’d have plans that could spell trouble for the rest of the Kingdom after.

He wasn’t in the throne room where you left him. Spotting a page cleaning up, you asked if he’d seen where the King had gone. The page said he heard the King muttering about food.

Your heart crept up your throat. He’d gone to the dining room, which was nearly the other end of the palace. If you didn’t reach him by the time he’d tested his food, you may be too late.

All sense of decorum was tossed aside as you ran as fast as your legs would carry you. A bell tolled from the city center, alerting everyone that it was the point in the day when the sun was at its peak. Time for the noon meal.

Any palace personnel you passed in your mad dash stopped what they were doing to watch. They would often rely on you to know of the King’s mood. To see you in a state of panic, told them that something must be terribly wrong. Any not in the middle of completing a necessary task, abandoned their work and hurried off to warn others.

*****

King Phantom took his seat at his large table, and surveyed the food waiting for him. He ate light in the mornings, heavier at noon, and heavier still at night. There were plates loaded with dried meat, cooked meat, cold meat, and stewed meat. Despite popular belief, he did enjoy fruits and vegetables as well. Leading to bowls of plump grapes, sliced apples, peeled oranges, soups loaded with onions, broccoli, carrots, and peas. Potatoes cooked in various forms were a favorite. And of course, a vast array of desserts ranging between pies, puddings, cakes, and a recent treat that’s been quickly becoming popular, caramel candies.

By reflex, King Phantom flicked his hand out and sent a shimmering wave of red power over the food.

To his disappointment, the only thing to turn to ash were the bowl of caramel candies. He’d really been looking forward to trying them. A servant immediately cleaned away the bowl of ashes, and a dish with a raspberry chocolate cake took its place. He cast the spell once more, and the cake came up clean.

Having taken up the mantle of King, Phantom had learned the proper etiquette expected of his rank. Which meant eating his food in a certain order. He pulled the nearest bowl of stew towards himself and breathed in its savory scent. Potatoes, beef, carrots, peas, onions, corns, and a dash of spice seasoning to give it a kick. Exactly how he liked it.

Behind him, one of the kitchen maids twisted the handkerchief in her apron pocket. She’d taken a guess at which bowl the King would reach for first, and her guess had paid off. Her man would be pleased with her.

King Phantom filled his spoon with a chunk of beef and broth, and raised it to his lips.

“YOUR MAJESTY, STOP!” The spoon was slapped from his hand, the bowl was swept off the table. The broth splashed across the wood floor, splattering on chair legs and the base of the table.

The servants present froze in place, not daring to even blink.

King Phantom could only stare in genuine shock as his servant collapsed to their knees, gasping for air as they struggled to breathe.

The sound of sizzling drew his attention to the mess on the floor. Wherever the broth and food pieces had landed, now eroded from their poisonous touch, leaving blackened holes in their wake.

He’d just about swallowed poison that had managed to withstand his magic. This was a working that would have certainly ended him, as anything that could withstand the magic of a dragon could kill that dragon.

The food had been laid out before he had arrived, which would make the perpetrator safe from his scrutiny. Or so they’d hoped.

He snapped his fingers and the bowl’s sides took on a ruby glow showing where fingers had touched. Turning in a circle, he scanned over each person present in the room. He stopped when he faced the maid that had taken up the station behind him. Her hands were clasped in front of her, giving him a clear view of her now glowing fingers.

Advancing on her, he demanded, “Did you place the poison in my food? Speak truth, wench.” Another flick of his hand and his shimmering magic covered her.

She pressed a hand over her mouth, fighting to keep her lips still as she furiously shook her head in denial.

King Phantom slapped her hands away, and pinned her to the wall with a hand to her throat, “Speak!”

Gasping, she broke into tears, “Y-Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Guards, take this filth from my sight.” He threw her to the ground and left her to the guards that immediately swarmed on her.

In this time, you’d finally calmed your breathing. Getting to your feet, you met your King’s infuriated gaze. You hadn’t anticipated this, causing you to take a startled step back, “Y-your Majesty?”

“How did you know? Were you part of this? Were you working with that waste of life to get rid of me and changed your mind at the last second?” He stepped closer, looming over you with his anger barely in check.

You lifted your hands up in defense, “No, Your Majesty! I overheard some men talking about it! I came here as quickly as I could!”

When you lifted your hands, King Phantom saw a swatch of black across your palm. You showed no sign of pain, did you not realize it was there? If you’d known the poison would cause a reaction to flesh, you would have merely stopped him from eating, not thrown it as far from him as possible and risk being splashed yourself.

Even with that conclusion made from his observation, he recalled your expression as you’d slapped away the spoon. Pure, unfiltered panic and determination. You’d been set on saving him and had run yourself ragged to reach him.

His anger evaporating, he took hold of your hand. You stiffened, never having been touched by him before. His grip was firm, ensuring you didn’t pull away. A flash of pain hit you as you finally registered the magical burn, causing you to hiss and give an involuntary jerk.

“Hold still.” He demanded quietly, as he held his other hand over yours.

You did as told, biting your bottom lip to have something to distract you from the pain.

A shimmer of power dusted onto your skin. The blackened patch took on a ruby glow. The pain immediately ceased, allowing you to watch as the glowing spot shrank, leaving behind fully healed skin.

King Phantom didn’t release your hand until he’d turned it over to inspect for any missed places.

You poked at the place where the magical burn had once been, and muttered an awed, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“You said you overheard men speaking of the poison, did you see their faces?” King Phantom asked, putting a hand to your shoulder and guiding you out of the dining room.

You obeyed, walking where he directed, and shook your head, “No, I didn’t get a chance. Once I heard of their plot, I took off at a run to reach you.”

“Show me where.”

#For The King #Part Three #Phantom Battle AU #Dragon AU #Medieval AU #fanfiction #NateWantsToBattle #NWTB #Platonic Reader x Phantom Battle #Reader Insert

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 5 years ago

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Your Tears in My Dreams (DamiJon) Part : 1/2

Rating : General Audiences

Summary :

His best friend always has that smile. Bright and refreshing like a can of cold soda on a hot and humid summer. But one day, when they were walking down the halls to class. Jon stopped, and for once in Damian life, he saw Jon cried. ---- Dick cleared his throat, his darting eyes finally landed on his jade eyes, “Why do you want to know now?” “Curiosity,” Damian shrugged, “I’ve never seen him cried before, that was the only time he did and I forgot why he did.” “You think it’s your fault?” “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

Inspired by this beautiful art of Jon crying and Damian not knowing what to do by @glitter-dc

Read on AO3

Click Keep Reading to read on Tumblr.

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Jon was his best friend and the only friend that ever counted, but their relationship didn’t start smoothly. As a privileged nine-year-old boy that only knew about the expectation he’s meant to fulfill in a world of adults, Jon’s sincere friendly approach was extraterrestrial.

Yet, no matter how much Damian pushed, Jon insists. To Damian, Jon is nothing more than his father’s journalist best friend’s son. Damian had understood the political need to befriend each other, but Jon never sees it that way.

Jon who’s always as bright as the sun when he smiles. All his frontal teeth would show, and the one teeth on the top right that bent inwards sticks out more than the rest. The apple of his cheeks became prominent whenever he’s too excited, and blush just like roses in full bloom whenever they were running, or if it was a hot day. His eyes would shine like clear lakes under the high noon. Strands of his raven-black soft curls bounce cheerfully and swept through the wind like feathers whenever he moves.

Always, Jon would smile through the rain, through the bad scores he gets, and through the wounds that he gets whenever they’re playing too rough.

His best friend always has that smile. Bright and refreshing like a can of cold soda on a hot and humid summer.

But one day, when they were walking down the halls to class. Jon stopped, and for once in Damian life, he saw Jon cried.

It was the first and the last time Damian saw him that way.

The memory comes in as a dream, played like a slow-motion clip that lasted forever. Long enough that at one point, Damian asked why Jon cried, which of course, Jon in his dream didn’t make a sound any other sound than sobbing. But when Damian woke up, it felt like it lasted a second. Like every dream, Damian thought he’ll forget it after a few seconds being awake. But this time, the way Jon looks at him with his sorrowful eyes and downturned lips, stays the whole day, and the day after that, and so on.

Damian can still feel chills down his spine at how deeply Jon’s eyes pierce through his soul. The details of how strands of his black loose curls tossed around because he just took a nap at break time. The way his tears sticks to his lush lashes and glisten like morning dews on blades of grass under the light of dawn. His tightened jaw as if to hold his voice. Bawling with a heavy stream of tears rolling down his red apple cheeks.

Every detail of that moment would never be forgotten, but only that one frame, in that perspective that felt prolonged forever. Damian can’t remember anything more after or before that.

To be expected of course. After all, that happened ten years ago.

++++++

“Ah, Master Damian, I didn’t expect you for another day,” the family butler, Alfred, called from the library where he’s been cleaning. He takes off his usual suit and only wears his white button-up with sleeves rolled.

“Sorry for the unexpected arrival, I’ll clean the room myself.”

“Was there something urgent sir?” Alfred is as sharp as ever, Damian missed that about him.

“Yes, I’ll ask you about it later.”

Then Damian continues to walk down the halls and into his room. The room is still fairly clean, he’s touched that Alfred cleans his room even though he never stays the night in the manor for years. Whenever he has business trips in Gotham, he always stays in a nearby hotel, and only came for a quick dinner together, only if that family was in town.

It’s been forever since he last enters this room, just by the whiff of scent already felt like a blast from the past.

Back when the politics of his country were heated and dangerous, Damian was sent here to seek refuge. His family’s company, the League of Al-Ghuls, were caught between the heat. Though now that he’s older, he knew that his family participates in that political war. That’s why Damian’s life was in danger.

So, he was sent to a place owned by a father he never knew he had at nine years old. It was not expected that he had grown fond of the place and elongated his stay until his mother demanded him to come back to have proper education for her standards.

Ever since he was a child, he’s meant to continue the family business. Now he’s considered perfectly weaned and being trusted to have good judgment for the benefit of their empire. It is how their family is. It is what Damian had excepted with consent. Then life just swept Damian away.

The last time he was in this room, he was 15. There’s a picture of him and Jon by his desk. A thin layer of dust accumulated at the top of the frame. It’s a picture of them on a school trip to Ocean City. Jon had many friends beside Damian, but he wanted to take a picture together first.

Damian cracked a smile, seeing little Jon wearing his dad’s bright blue bucket hat on top of his awry hair, and a smile bright like the sea on their background.

He looked for his old stuff. Pictures, diaries, books, anything that can give him a clue. When he’s checking one of his bookcases, there’s a row dedicated to journals, textbooks, and sketchbooks. He recognizes some of the journals’ spine. When he takes it out, his heart raced.

It’s his diaries, not just any diaries too. He used to exchange them with Jon. They’ll write about their day and give them to each other once a week, or sometimes once a month. It was Jon’s idea from an old Japanese comic he bought from a discount box. It was ridiculous and Damian had thought it was intrusive.

Damian doesn’t know how Jon can talk him into sharing his personal thoughts with someone. Saying his feelings out has not been his strong suit, but writing it is another story. It’s easier to tell his secrets to inanimate objects that’ll never judge him. But what really made Damian went along with it, was because Jon’s diary is entertaining and fun to read. Usually filled with dad jokes his father told him and things he gets in trouble at. The way Jon writes it is just like how he talked with all his quirks and slang.

The tradition doesn’t last their whole friendship though. Some time into their teens, they stopped exchanging their diaries.

Though Jon never asked for his diary again, Damian kept writing out of habit. His brown covered journal, the last one, is a diary he never gave to Jon.

Flipping through the pages, he noticed that he didn’t write them on a regular basis. Some are days apart, some weeks, even months. Most of them are from 2009 to 2010, and the only content in there is frustration, anger, and self-pity that he’s too proud to tell anyone else.

Right at the last entry that stops in the middle of his journal, he finds the one he’s been looking for.

‘17 November 2010

Something absolutely bizarre happened today. Jon cried. I was lost for words at seeing him cry for the first time since I have ever known him. Jon is not one who cries easily, or ever. He’s strong and he had pulled through a lot of misfortune that happens to him with only a frown or anger. He had a very deep wound on his forearm from scrapping it upon a loose nail on a plank, he bled a lot but he just hissed and screamed in pain, in that process, he shed a tear, but it was not ‘crying’. Even when his father scolds him badly after we went to town till 4 AM, all he did was frown.

We were just talking as we head to our class. I didn’t ask why at first. He was terribly sad and I’m afraid of saying the wrong words. So, I just pat his back and took him somewhere people won't see. I don’t want him to feel embarrassed if someone sees him like that when he clearly needed to cry. Maybe he’s been holding back something that he didn’t tell me.

It was also the first time I ever missed class. Of course, my mother will be more upset about this more than father, but I did not feel regretful. Jon needed me for once, and the consequences are light compared to the situation. Though I will not enjoy the incoming international call.’

And that’s it.

Damian sighed in defeat and disappointment with his fifteen-year-old self. He admits, he was not the most emotionally intelligent child back then. Even so, this means Damian is worried over Jon’s well being more than what caused it. Jon was precious to him at a point, even more than his duty as an Al-Ghul.

Since his own diary doesn’t reveal what he’s been looking for, he would need to ask from someone else.

++++

‘I’ll be staying in the manor for approximately a week, I hope it’s okay.’

‘Of course, you’re more than welcome. I’ll be home for dinner.’

‘Alright, I’ll tell Alfred to anticipate you.’

“Who’re you texting with?” his older brother, Dick came to the living room with a big jug of tea. His hair is a mess as always whenever he’s back home, and a wardrobe just as hideous. It’s six months too early to be wearing an ugly Christmas sweater, and Dick paired it with a skimpy boxer.

Damian had come to terms with it, only because Dick is his favorite brother.

“Is it a speeecial someone? Maybe someone... who is not your wife?” Dick raised his eyebrows scandalously and takes a loud slurp of his tea.

Damian scoffed up a chuckle, “You know my relationship with my wife is strictly business, she has her own set of lovers.”

“I still can’t understand what’s the point in marrying, if all it was is for business.”

“Politics in an Al-Ghul family is different from a typical American one. It’s why my mother became a Wayne for a short yet beneficial time before their scheduled divorce, and conceived me, just as she planned.”

“I... still can’t get my head around that. Family isn’t politics.”

“I’ve come to know that thanks to you, and this family.”

Damian gave him a thankful smile while Dick melts with eyebrows downturned. Really, they’ve come a long way. The one that really thought him the meaning of love and family is the Waynes.

“Then where are your own set of ‘lovers’” Dick looks ups and close his eyes dreamily.

“And why would I told you about my affairs?” Dick gasped, putting a hand on his chest, again, this particular sibling always able to make him crack a smile, “I was texting father, in case you’re still wondering, he’ll be home for dinner.”

“Good to know you’re on good terms! When did that happen?”

“Ironically, by being his business partner I get to see him and talk to him more than I was just his son.”

Dick burst a fit of a laugh, almost spilling his hot tea to his bare thigh.

“So, I heard you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yes, I hope I’m not taking your time from work.”

“No! Tomorrow’s Sunday, and I do visit on weekends when I can.”

“And the others?”

“Well, you know our siblings, they came when they can, but they’re all busy doing their own thing. Jason’s on tour. Tim won't be back for a year, a project in France. Duke’s with Doctors Without Borders. Steph...” Dick trails and made a face.

Damian’s jaw hits the floor, “Don’t tell me, she married him?”

Dick chuckled, “Yup, now she’s in the middle of a jungle in Indonesia, teaching anyone that needs it.”

Damian shook his head with a defeated smile, “Last time I was here, even the mansion feels crowded with... was it six of us? Now it feels a bit empty.”

“Well, little hatchlings ought to left the nest sooner or later,” Dick rubs his head. “So, you wanted to talk to me, but it’s not about reminiscing the past, isn’t it?”

Damian smirked, ever the detective.

“On the contrary, it does have something to do with that, but not about our family,” Damian takes a deep breath as quietly as he can, “You’re the one I talked to the most when I was a child.”

Dick squints his eyes, “Yeeees?”

“I was wondering if I ever said anything about Jon in particular.”

“Jon? As in Jonathan Kent? Your bestie?”

“Yes, Dick, Jonathan Kent. Is there something wrong?”

“No no! Just... it’s been so long since you talk about him.”

Damian just shrugs.

Dick put his cup of tea down on the table and narrowed his eyebrows, “Alright? What do you need?”

“I believe I had a fight with Jon, or maybe I made him so upset that he cried. Did I ever talk about these things with you?”

Dick sighed and tips his jaw to the side and raise his eyebrows, already at loss, “You were totally mega best friends with Jon. Honestly, I can’t choose, you were complaining about him a lot.”

“Only at first,” Damian chuckled, remembering again, “He was not the friend I asked for, but among all the wrong button he pushed, once when he pushed the right one.”

“And that is?”

“He treats me like a child, but as an equal, and expect nothing of me. Most of all, he’s incredibly patient.”

Dick is making a face, biting his lips from smiling too widely. Damian rolled his eyes and his older brother keeps him to himself.

“Ahem, did you know when you made him cry?”

“My diary said it was November 17th of 2010.”

“I think I was in Barbados with Barbara then, for the honeymoon?”

“That’s right, I wouldn’t have called you then.”

Dick cleared his throat, his darting eyes finally landed on his jade eyes, “Damian, why do you want to know now?”

“Curiosity,” Damian shrugged, “I’ve never seen him cried before, that was the only time he did and I forgot why he did.”

“You think it’s your fault?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

++++++

“As in Jonathan Kent?”

“Yes, Alfred. I don’t think I befriend any other Jon. Or any other person,” Damian chuckled lightly.

“I have not heard you talk about sir Jonathan in a very long time.” Alfred grabs the plates, and Damian grabs the utensils.

“Dick said that too. It’s just something I’m curious about.” Damian puts the spoons and forks on the sides of the plates on the dining table.

“When did it happen?” Alfred asked as he gets a bowl of salad with beans while Damian grabs a bowl of baked creamy mushroom penne.

“We were 15.”

“That’s ten years ago, Master Damian, why does it matter now?”

The question stabs through his chest like a dull knife, “No, it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m not late to dinner, am I?” walked in a man with a suit in his hand, loose tie around his neck and an opened button at the collar. The middle-aged man smiles when he sees Damian there.

“I’m impressed you’re not,” Damian put his hand on his hip.

“I’ve missed eating dinner with you a lot. I’m not gonna miss you again when you finally decide to visit your old man.”

“I’ve seen you a lot, father.”

“As Bruce Wayne, a business associate, not as your dad.” Bruce put a hand on Damian’s had and rubs it. As annoying as it is that his father ruined his coiffed hair, it always feels comforting to be patted on the head. The sensation will remain a mystery.

“I’ll put my things away and get Dick,” Bruce announced and walks out of the kitchen.

There’s a pulsing throb in his chest. His eyes are on the door his father walks out from but his feet stay rooted in their place. Damian has gone this far, it’ll be a waste not to try. So, he chased his father out and meets him in the hallway.

“Father,” he called, and Bruce turns around, “There’s a reason I’m visiting.”

“I figured. You don’t usually stay in the Manor if it’s not for the holidays, and our conference will only take two meetings.”

“I took a few days off after we’re done with the trade.”

His father knits his thick eyebrows together, looking concerned, “Why are you taking days off? That’s unlike you.”

Now Damian felt foolish. The matter feels even more trivial now, Damian finally sees that. He flew over for a conference that could’ve been done by his close peers just so he can ask his family about his ‘dream’. His father is right, this is unlike him. How did he even get here? Damian had hesitated before. Brushing off ever coming back to Gotham unless it’s for business purposes. Even at holidays, he’ll never force himself to spare the time to come, and if he does, it’s never longer than two days.

But this time, before he gets to hesitate, he was already on the way here.

“It’s alright, Damian, you can ask anything,” His father comforted, already treating it seriously.

With a heavy heart, Damian raises his shoulders, “It’s just.... something that incites my curiosity, it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“Let me judge that after you tell me.”

Damina bites his lips, crossing his arms and hold onto his elbows tightly. Eyes darting around, before he finally just let it out.

“It’s about Jon.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows, lips parted open and eyes widen, “Jon,” the man breathes. “As in that Jonath-”

“Yes, Jonathan Kent, son of your best friend Clark Kent,” Damian cleared with a firm and irritated voice. Sighing, he cleared his throat, “Something happened when we were kids. I know Jon. He’s always bright and happy, but I remembered that he cried in front of me once, and he looked devastated. I don’t remember if I ever asked him why. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

His father’s sharp eyes soften as he noticeably holds his breath, “Damian...” he called gently, “You know what happened when you were kids.”

Damian paused, breathing mindfully as if to stay calm, and he managed to squeeze out: “This is before that... in 2010”

“That’s ten years a-”

“I know,” Damian raises his voice, frustrated. He knows it’s silly of him to ask around an uncertain memory from ten years ago, but... “I just wanted to ask if I ever told you about Jon crying. Please just tell me if you remember or not.”

Though Damian already knows his father wouldn’t have known anything. Bruce was a distant father when he’s a child. His friends were only Dick, and Jon who he thought was a beneficial ‘friend’.

It doesn’t hurt to try to ask, Damian thought. Somewhere in his childhood, he forgot when, he and his father tried to mend their rocky relationship. Even though they don’t share the same last name, they’ve been family.

“You did mention it to me,” Bruce said, and Damian’s heart jumps.

“Do you remember what I said?”

“Yes,” Bruce chuckled, “You were in a sour mood. I thought it was because of something I’ve done again.”

Damian huffed with the corner of his quirking up, “We weren’t always rainbows and roses, but this one is not because of that, right?”

“No, you told me about Jon. You’re upset with him, not angry or irritated. You always know what to do, but that time, you don’t.”

“Me? Upset with Jon?”

“Not as in at Jon. You told me that Jon is keeping secrets from you, and you’re upset because of that.”

“Now can you tell me why you cried?”

Jon finally stops crying, and his deep frown turns around, but this smile is not the same. His red-rimmed eyes look at Damian with his clear blue irises pooled in tears like overflowed ponds.

It feels like the world stopped in that quiet gymnasium they snuck into.

“I don’t think I can ever tell you why,” Jon’s voice croaks weakly.

“What? You don’t trust me?”

“No, Dami...I’m just afraid.”

“Of what? What could’ve scared you enough to not let me know?”

“I can’t tell you! Just, drop it! Okay?” Jon burst, and immediately looks guilty. He folds his arms and leans away from Damian who’s left puzzled.

Damian is angry, but mostly, disappointed? He thought Jon is close enough to lean on him, but it certainly doesn’t seem so. Even in anger, Damian doesn’t have it in him to leave. After years writing diaries, it doesn’t feel as heavy now to tell at least a snippet of sentimentality to Jon... In vocal form.

“Fine, keep your secrets, what is a man without a few? But know this Jon. You are a person that is dear to me, dare I say even more than my family. You’re the most treasured friend of mine, and I only wish to ease the pain that you’re feeling.”

Jon wails even louder that his voice echoes in the empty gymnasium. He can’t believe Jon’s still able to shed even more tears after the previous wave of pouring rain. Damian hold his breath and leans away, the guilt makes him uncomfortable being this near to Jon. He might just make things worse. Let’s never say his feeling out loud again, he had learned his lesson.

Just as Damian was about to scoot away, Jon loops his arms around Damian and squeeze tight.

“Stay with me for a bit. I know your mom’ll be angry, but can you skip class?”

Damian scoffs, Jon asked as if Damian would say no, which is absurd. Damian put his hand on top of Jon’s while the other is on his back, rubbing them gently to comfort. A wet patch is growing on Damian’s chest where Jon pressed his shut eyes. Warm stuttering breath felt through the shirt and onto Damian’s skin. Closing his eyes, Damian buries his face on Jon’s soft black curls.

Jon smelled like the sun.

“Yes, I can Jon.”

The memories come slowly, it’s not as clear as the dreams, but it’s one puzzle pieces among many, and this one fits where it should be.

“Did I say anything else?” Damian leans closer.

“I asked what would you do about it, but you just shrugged. You’re quiet for a few days and then Jon started to come over again.”

Damian sighed a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding. Now he remembers what happened after, but he still doesn’t know why Jon cried. Jon couldn’t have started crying out of nowhere. Must’ve been something he saw, or something Damian said to him.

“Why does it matter now?” His father asked, rubbing salt on his wounds.

Damian clenches his hand, “I dreamt it, I thought I’ll forget it later, but I didn’t,” he confessed, “I couldn’t sleep... I feel restless remembering that I had done him wrong, that I had made him cry and not knowing why. I wanted to seek the reason and say I’m sorry.”

“Then why don’t visit the Kents?”

Damian’s whole body tensed, “No, I can’t. Something this trivial, I can’t possibly-”

“It certainly isn’t trivial for you if you can’t sleep because of it.”

“It’s my own fault, I shouldn’t bother them for something like this.”

Sighing, Bruce puts his hand on Damian’s shoulder, “They’ve asked about you whenever I met them, they care about you enough to worry. They’ll be delighted to see you.”

Damian bites his lips, still hesitant, “You think so?”

“I know so, I’ll call them to expect you.”

“It’s okay, I’ll do it myself. They still live in the same apartment?”

“No, they live in their farmhouse permanently now.”

“Thank you, I’ll call them after our deal is done,” Damian stated.

“They’ll welcome you, there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

Even so, Damian can’t stop the uneasiness piled up in his chest, “I hope so.”

tbc

#damijon #supersons #supersons fanfic #Damijon fanfic #Jondami #jondami fanfic #super sons #super sons fanfic #jonathan kent #damian wayne #no powers au #they're the same age #maybe angst #who am I kidding of course it's angst #romance #no sex #not dangerous?

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thehangeddemon · 5 years ago

Text

Fairchild, Part I || Xavier & Maximus

Xavier: "What an incredible waste." Xavier looked around what should have been a stunning, lavishly decorated foyer and was instead a poorly lit, apparent monument to dust used only to hold the front door. "All this money, and look what you did with it. Disgraceful."

Looking around, no one could have or would have ever guessed that anyone at all had been living in the manor for decades on end. Missing bulbs, layer upon layer of dust, dead plants in dry vases were everywhere. A veritable sea of cobwebs in every corner, a garden run wild visible from every dirty window. Only the kitchen and library showed any signs of life at all, and Xavier strongly suspected that was only because the manor's former occupant was forced to eat by human biology.

It would take months to restore the estate to a respectable status worthy of its grandeur. Whoever appeared was certainly going to have their work cut out for them.

"Best get on with it." Xavier looked down at the incomplete circle at his feet, consulting with the parchment in his hand to guide him through the last bits of its construction. When it and the accompanying ritual were complete, his new home would have a butler.

Maximus: Maximus looked up from his newspaper, cigarette clenched between his teeth. The sensation always began between his legs, and he could not, for the sanity of things, figure out why that was necessary.

Quickly, he disappeared, reappearing on the other side of the Crawford manor. With haste he gathered his things. Squishing everything he owned in what felt like record time. Cigarette smoke began to crowd his head.

It was only a matter of time. He could make assumptions of this next demon, but he was usually wrong.

The tingle became an itch wrapping around his spine...

A man appeared center of the summoning circle. Tall, pale, dark neatly parted hair, sharp jaw, and quiet curiosity upon his brow. A long black coat and leather gloves. A cigarette between his fingers and a tan leather briefcase clenched in the other.

A quick judgement of his new master, and the demon bowed his head.

"Sir."

Xavier: Xavier didn't know what to expect, so what he received was quite the pleasant surprise.

His new butler certainly looked the part.

"I shall have to remember to thank my father," he chuckled, folding the parchment and slipping it inside his inside pocket. "I was apprehensive about hiring on another demon but you'll do quite nicely. What is your name?"

Maximus: Light gray eyes followed his hands. Must be a young demon, he speculated. Crawford had confessed to memorizing the ritual. Then again, Crawford never liked being alone.

"Fairchild, sir. Maximus Fairchild."

Xavier: "Very well, Fairchild. I am Xavier Atlas. You may call me 'my lord'. This," he swept an arm around the mess, "is your new pet mess, and my recently commandeered home."

Maximus: Of course, English. A wave of nostalgia at the phrase 'my lord'. It had been some time...

"Yes, m'lord." He assessed his surroundings. "Where would you prefer I put my things?" His accent was almost neutral. The most subtle hints of Louisiana filtering from his subconscious.

Xavier: "That is the question, isn't it? Bloody academics," he muttered, rubbing away part of the summoning circle and heading for the stairs. "Come along, Fairchild. Leave your case for now."

Maximus: Well, whomever had taught his new master taught him well. Free of his cage, he stepped forward and followed. The case and his coat were left behind. He felt for his hat - forgotten. Oh well.

Xavier: "This estate is located in Northern California. It is secluded, a single private road is the only way in other than trekking through the woods. It stretches for two miles and there is a gate a mile in. The closest town is called Paradise. I'll acquire a vehicle in due course. Do you drive?"

Maximus: He soon fell in step an arm's length behind. "I've learned, m'lord. Might I ask what supplies are in stock? I would like to get started right away."

Xavier: "Precious little, I'm afraid. My predecessor apparently only ate enough to survive. I can only smell traces of coffee, oatmeal, and pipe smoke. The rest of the house is empty and filthy. He didn't even bother covering the furniture with sheets so even the upholstery is caked with dust."

Maximus: "So, no cleaning supplies, then." As he followed behind, he felt the balustrade, the windowsill, the forgotten painting on the wall. The tip of his glove was atrocious.

Xavier: "Not even that. I did find some opium should that take your fancy."

Maximus: "Is it not yours, m'lord?"

Xavier: "It's never appealed. I prefer wine. I collect it. There's a door in the kitchen I imagine leads to a wine cellar. If not, I'll have one put in. Right then."

Having reached the end of the hall, Xavier opened a set of double doors. They led to a large cluttered library which contained one of the few spots in the house free of dust: a desk piled with books and papers and pens and all manner of academic implements. "Library. I'd like one of your first tasks to be locating the blueprints to this house. He designed it himself, so they're bound to be in here."

Maximus: The library was given as much evaluation as every object in the house, the same judgmental gaze which had fallen on his superior. Without his coat, his physique revealed strength and rigidity. Perfect posture, tension in his shoulders, and a strong chest. Lips red as though stained with wine parted. He itched for the cigarette he had discarded.

"If it is not here, I can make one, sir - m'lord."

Xavier: “Appreciated, Fairchild. I’d also like any personal documents he kept examined. Keep and organize financial records only, burn the rest. Same goes for his works. I’ve no interest in obscure Russian literature or his ramblings on the subject.”

Xavier swept one last distasteful look at the disarray before turning back to his new butler.

Handsome. Well-groomed. Strong. Like a toy soldier.

The faintest smile curved Xavier’s lips. “Come along, Fairchild. Let us get you acquainted with the kitchen and your quarters.”

Maximus: Neither did he, having played charades with a Russian demon decades ago. The memory left a bad taste in his mouth.

His head lowered submissively. Refreshing, having a master taller than himself. Their relationship felt balanced, somehow.

Early on he had learned not to ask many questions, but he was curious. He wanted to know how old his master was. Young, but younger than himself? He felt a sense of composure not many of his kind could. His thoughts were his own. His only sense of privacy given by the scar on his scalp.

Quietly, he followed behind.

Xavier: The kitchen was another area marginally free of dust that showed vague signs of life. The stove was used regularly, the refrigerator was not. Dirty dishes were in one side of the sink and clean ones were on the other.

On the counter was a canister of oats and a sugar bowl. In the pantry, more oats and sugar, coffee, and a few cans of evaporated milk. Nothing else.

Maximus: "Did you kill a hermit, or did he die of malnutrition, m'lord?"

Xavier: “An academic hermit,” Xavier said casually. “A dull but intelligent man. Still, what the chase lacked in physical prowess it made up for in other ways. At least for a while. Carnation and oatmeal can only get a man so far.”

Maximus: "...Will there be people asking questions, or have you sorted that out already?"

Xavier: “I have the practicalities in hand. Damien Eisley will have appeared to move away after having sold his estate to a dashing wealthy Englishman. He was an only child and his parents are long dead. He never married.”

Maximus: Dashing, are you? Confident, no doubt. "Wrapped up nicely, then." He smiled politely. A well-practiced gesture. "The library, the blueprints...is there anything else pressing, m'lord?"

Xavier: "Yes. Lists. One for everything you require to set this place to rights, one for the gardens, one for structural and cosmetic repairs that need to be made, and one for things that need to be purchased. Appliances, furniture, and the like."

Maximus: "Am I to choose all of it?"

Xavier: "For now I'd like your recommendations. Once we can actually see what we have and take proper stock we'll plot our next course. There's every possibility I could hate all the furniture and decide to hire a decorator."

Maximus: Somehow, his servant managed to straighten further. "As you wish. I'll begin with supplies. I'll assess damages as well. If you'll allow me to get started, there is something I must ask of you, m'lord."

Xavier: Xavier nodded. This would work well. Fairchild seemed to have enough backbone for a task like this, not that it was really a choice.

“Go on then.”

Maximus: He looked around the kitchen. The old dish towel collecting dust would do. Carefully, a strip was ripped away and offered.

"Please tie this to one of my wrists."

Xavier: Xavier watched his new butler curiously. He’d expected to be asked for something, perhaps permission for something or other, not to be handed a dusty strip of cloth.

“Is this part of your ritual, Fairchild?”

Maximus: "It's part of another ritual, yes. I would prefer you see which is wearing this so there is no mistake."

Xavier: "Does it have to be cloth?"

Maximus: "Easier to remove. I've always used cloth."

Xavier: "Hmm. I rather think we can do better than that." He was quiet for a moment, staring at nothing and seemingly lost in thought. "Ah, I know which one."

No sooner had the words been spoken than a gold watch with a black leather band appeared in Xavier's hand. "Will this serve your purposes?"

Maximus: His eyes fell to the ground while his master contemplated. The cloth was placed on the kitchen counter.

Oh. The demon stared at the watch a moment before daring to look into his eyes.

"Do you know what I'm about to do, sir?"

Xavier: He'd be met with a steady, gently inquisitive gaze. "Can't say that I do, Fairchild. Please, enlighten me."

Maximus: "I'm going to begin my duties. It's much easier to see than explain. What's most important is you know the one wearing this," the watch he gently took from his master's hand, "is the true me."

Xavier: "Ah, I see." Xavier nodded as understanding dawned. "Very well. And very efficient. Would you like to select your bedroom now or after you've finished?"

Maximus: "I don't...sleep, sir. I would rather get started."

Xavier: "We all need somewhere to hang our hat, Fairchild. Come along. It will only take a moment." With that, he started toward a small hallway just off the kitchen.

It led to a slightly larger hallway flanked by rooms on both sides with a large window at the end of it, which faced, the woods.

Maximus: "It seems I left my hat back with Crawford, m'lord." A smile, perhaps more genuine than before, appeared and disappeared just as quickly.

Once more he followed behind. He was attracted to the room at the very end, closest to the window.

Xavier: Ah ha, so there is a sense of humor behind that stoic facade. "Then we shall purchase you a new one," he chuckled.

He stood to the side while Fairchild considered his options. "You said you don't sleep. Do you eat?"

Maximus: He had not been reprimanded for his smile. Crawford would have teased him, asked if he was going soft. Perhaps he was. It had been some years since living with an authoritarian tyrant. He needed to push Crawford from his mind.

"Occasionally. Do you, sir?"

Xavier: "As frequently as when I lived. It amuses me to think that God would frown upon us living an even better life than some of his creations."

Maximus: "Well, we certainly don't look as beautiful as we may...seem." He took a gander at his room. The closet was of a decent size. A tiny window above a small full-size bed. The room felt familiar to him. Servants' quarters no doubt. He'd never lived anywhere else.

"This is fine. Thank you."

Xavier: "Neither do angels. And looking at us doesn't burn a human's eyes from their sockets."

Xavier nodded. "Feel free to do with and decorate it as you wish. By all means, knock out that wall and build yourself a suite."

Maximus: "I don't need much, m'lord." He would bring his briefcase and separate his things only after a proper dent had been made in the house.

He turned back to his master and offered the watch and his wrist.

Xavier: "Your life is about extravagance now, Fairchild." Xavier took the watch and placed it around his butler's wrist. "Enjoy it."

Maximus: That was a flowery promise to make. One he would take with a grain of salt. If you say so, he wanted to comment. He refrained, more occupied with his spell. Eyes closed, a soft utterance in Italian, as gentle as a proper whisper should be. Like a mirage, mirror images of himself began to illuminate into existence by his side, as though appearing from darkness itself. Three sets of black eyes returned to their original gray.

Slowly, their arms dropped in unison. His creations turned towards the door and disappeared from sight.

Xavier: Fairchild was observed with the utmost fascination. For all that Xavier wanted to live like lord and surveyor of his own private kingdom, his interest in magic far surpassed his desire for wealth.

A smile crept slowly across his face as the copies appeared. "Ingenious," he murmured to himself. He almost wanted to follow one of them and just watch.

Maximus: Maximus watched his new master, studied his expression of interest perhaps too late. How long, he wondered, had Atlas been staring like that? The entire time his eyes had been closed?

Self-consciously, he straightened his sweater vest, rubbed his thumb over the three scratch marks he had dug into the top of his hand during the spell. His back became rigid once more.

"One is set to task in the library, the other the kitchen. I'm going to survey the house now."

He bowed his head. "M'lord." He needed his notebook from his briefcase.

Xavier: "Very good, Fairchild, thank you. I am off to dispose of Eisley's scrap metal heap and acquire a proper car. If any of you finds any interesting artifacts or valuable items set them aside. I shall return soon."

Maximus: Another bowed head in regard. At least he wouldn't be bored, or suspended with idle hands. He would start with the attic and work his way down, as he had always done when introduced to a new environment.

Xavier: It was a couple of hours before the gentle rumble of a car engine would be heard coming up the road and rounding the drive.

Damien Eisley's practical, ancient car had been replaced by a brand new black Rolls Royce decked out with all the bells and whistles money could buy. Rather a small improvement against the scope of all that was yet to be rectified, but an improvement nonetheless.

Maximus: No version of Maximus Fairchild greeted him in the yard. The original waited at the open door with perfect posture and raised chin. A smudge of dirt streaked his forehead. His black cleaning sleeves were sullied with webs and dust.

Xavier: "You look like you've been to battle already," Xavier said by way of greeting as he got out of the car and went around to the trunk, where he retrieved several brown paper bags.

He grabbed a cloth from one of them and offered it to his butler.

"A small start, in many respects. I bought whiskey, too."

Maximus: "Only with the attic and a den of snakes, m'lord."

The cloth was taken with a soft word of gratitude. His carefully combed hair had managed to loosen, gently falling over his eye while he scrubbed his face.

"Please leave the bags, sir. I'll carry them."

Xavier: "Snakes? Sweet Lucifer in Hell, I've never seen such wealth go so thoroughly to waste."

He shook his head in both dismay and in response to Fairchild.

"By all means, go about your business. I was a docker not that long ago. Hauling is something I'm very adept at."

Maximus: "Yes, sir." He turned, looking back over his shoulder. No, he would face him properly. "I found the blueprints, by the way. They're on top of the desk."

Xavier: "Ah! Excellent. Good work, Fairchild. In addition to cloths and whiskey, I purchased several pairs of gloves, rat poison, soap, bleach, and silver polish. Not an extensive supply by any means but it's a start."

Maximus: "Thank you, m'lord. I'll distribute to the others. Are you - Would you like something to eat, sir? Did you bring anything for me to make?"

Xavier: "Just now I don't think I want to eat anything out of that kitchen. I've made us a reservation at the Plaza Hotel in New York. We'll dine there later this evening."

Maximus: His demonic servant suddenly stilled. Absolute statue.

"M'lord?"

Xavier: "If you're going to work for me, then it's best you know a little about me. Chiefly that while your title may be butler, that is not all you shall be. I've need of an assistant."

Maximus: What Atlas had managed, it seemed, was to completely catch his servant off guard. A moment was required to compose his thoughts. How queer. Was this due to his master's age, or was he even a demon at all? He smelled like one, but certainly his actions were not of his previous owners.

"Are you certain that's not butter upon bacon for me, sir? I've never been to the Plaza."

Xavier: For a moment Xavier wondered if he'd somehow broken his new butler. He hadn't thought that a dinner invitation was capable of shocking someone into silence.

"I did tell you your life was going to be full of extravagance from now on. Come." He nodded toward the sitting room.

"Have a drink with me. In addition to your supplies, I got a crystal decanter and glasses."

Maximus: "...That you did."

The door was shut behind them. Locked for good measure. A duplicate was busy list-making in the sitting room. Books had been rearranged by author. Not nearly as many as the library, but still it seemed worth the trouble while dusting and looking for any stray pesky Russian literature.

Quietly, he unfastened his watch. The duplicate looked up, as though startled, and disappeared into nothingness. The rag his copy had held fell to the floor.

Xavier: "You and your shadows do quick work." He retrieved the decanter, two glasses, and the whiskey. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Fairchild, but I daresay I'm not quite what you expected. Perhaps not quite what you've become...accustomed to, in the demons you've waited on?"

Maximus: "I really should be doing that for you, sir." Indeed, Atlas could be no closer to the truth.

His eyes fell to the floor. He removed his cleaning sleeves and folded them over one of the timeworn leather chairs. Silently, he shook his head.

Xavier: "I suspected as much." He poured them each a glass and offered one to Maximus. Then, resigning himself to the dust, he sat in one of the chairs.

"Sit. We both went to Hell. We both know exactly what demons are capable of because we were both forged into the same by them, we are them. I can imagine what's been asked of you and done to you since you left Hell and began serving them."

Maximus: The chair nearest, with his sleeves, was stiffly taken. Not yet comfortable enough to lean back. Rather, he rested his arms on his knees, forward. If his master were to comment he would reposition, of course. Sit up straight, son. Your spine works just fine!

"Begging your pardon, m'lord, but I don't think we're...so much the same, are we? I was...barely acquainted with Hell."

Xavier: "In the broadest sense we are but at the heart of the matter, perhaps not. I was in Hell thirty years before my father turned me loose. Barely any time had passed on this mortal coil but a whole life had passed for me. And although my eyes are black, I know I'm not quite what you would call....standard issue. You've sensed this, yes? Wondered what sort of demon I am?"

Maximus: His confession caused his servant to slowly straighten. Had he heard correctly?

"I thought...I thought you were a...crossroads..." In fact, he would take a sip of his whiskey. Thirty years? "Such a brief time below."

Xavier: Xavier shook his head, briefly letting his eyes flicker black. Just like Maximus'.

"Not a crossroads demon. Plain old black-eyed one." He smiled. "My father told me I hardly needed more. Said I was halfway demon already when the hangman slipped his noose around my neck. A point of pride for him. Torment for me."

Maximus: "Torment?" A hint of genuine curiosity filtered through his etiquette.

Xavier: "The oldest demons aren't really demons. They're angels. Fallen with our lord Lucifer. Hell's twisted them far more than it's twisted anyone since. One such demon is my creator. My father."

Maximus: "Your father...is an angel?"

Xavier: "To hear him tell it, yes. Sometimes I even believe him. I'm his pet experiment."

Maximus: "What is an angel like?"

Xavier: "Infinitely cruel," Xavier said softly.

Maximus: "Are we not all?" A rhetorical, equally soft question.

Xavier: Maximus was given the barest whisper of a smile. "My soul was already corrupted when I went to Hell. There was no fun in breaking it rest of the way for him. Instead he entertained himself with a question."

Maximus: "A question?" What had Xavier done before he had died?

Xavier: "Yes. What would happen, he wondered, if you turned a man into a demon but left his humanity intact?"

Maximus: That hinted smile returned. He knew, and stared at his glass instead. "You offer to take your property to the Plaza."

Xavier: "Semantics," he said, taking a sip. "You are my employee and my assistant. And if you are to be such, and if this is to be my new permanent home, I'd like...a measure of honesty in it."

Maximus: The demon swallowed. What fresh torment would this cause in the long term? He could only speculate.

"Honesty, m'lord?"

Xavier: "I won't demand your thoughts at every turn or pry into your mind or your life, both are your own affair. But as we're going to be under the same roof, I'd like you to feel comfortable beneath it. You won't be belittled or struck or tormented. I grew up with pretense and tension and an insufferable household dynamic and now I'm actually in a position to have a peaceful home. The irony of that is not lost on me."

Maximus: Ah. He'd managed to keep his humor to himself this time. No smile at the mention of prying into his mind. He could not give himself away.

"A demon wanting a peaceful home? No, the irony is quite glaring, if I do say so."

Another sip from his glass. His finger danced along the rim. "This is my Hell, m'lord. I can't imagine what will happen to me, should it not be...hellish."

Xavier: Xavier gave a humorless chuckle. "What do you call this then?" he asked, making a sweeping gesture around the room. "Snakes are the thin end of the wedge, I guarantee it. But, if your Hell must be hellish in order to remain peaceful, then I suppose we'll find something hellish to do on the regular. Ever broken into the Louvre?"

Maximus: "I don't - I don't think that would be hellish at all," he smiled. That well practiced smile that put most at ease for its significance. A representation of his servitude. To smile to his master as though everything were as it should be. A smile no one questioned. They just knew.

"I should...get back to cleaning."

Xavier: "We'll murder some priests and burn some churches then. That's always good fun. Not terribly vexatious but necessary as far as I'm concerned. And I was serious about the Louvre. This house needs art."

Maximus: Maximus took a breath, quickly expelled in what could have been mistaken for a laugh. Almost, Master Atlas. Almost.

"First, you need clean walls for your art."

Xavier: Another smile. So close. That toy soldier would lose some of his rigidity yet.

"I do at that. Other than the snakes and the blueprints, what report do you give on what you've seen of the house so far?"

Maximus: This was much more his element. His shoulders relaxed by an inch. "The blueprints are not complete. In making this home, I'm not sure, things were purposefully omitted. A compartment in the wall for something no bigger than a hand. A smaller room in the attic. I have not yet finished. So far, I have written the supplies I would need, such as for caulking. A basic grocery list as well."

Xavier: His brow furrowed slightly. "What could he have been concealing? I watched him for several weeks, all he did was read and write and eat oatmeal. Only left the house a handful of times. The only trace of anything supernatural here is the two of us. Unless you've sensed something else in your inspection?"

Maximus: His eyes fell to the ground before returning his gaze. "Are you certain, m'lord? The snakes in the attic are how I found the smaller room. Did he know his time was coming?"

Xavier: "There's always room for surprise, I suppose, but I'm quite certain. None of his affairs were even remotely in order. Do you think he was dabbling in things beyond his understanding?"

Maximus: "I cannot say. Perhaps he valued his privacy. At any rate, I'll keep an eye out for anything else."

Xavier: "Do so. I'd rather not have any unpleasant surprises. Are the cosmetic repairs that are needed all superficial or should I hire a contractor?"

Maximus: "Superficial, m'lord, but I haven't yet made it to the master bedrooms."

Xavier: "That's something at least. Tell me more about the snakes."

Maximus: "Garden snakes, really. I relocated them to the woods. We'll see if they stay there."

Xavier: "They're not exactly a common household pest. Outside of Australia, in any case. They either found a way in or he brought them in for some godforsaken reason. He was an odd man."

Maximus: "Did you choose him just for this house?"

Xavier: Xavier shook his head. "No, it was just a bonus. Or it will be eventually."

Maximus: "Hmm." He gathered his sleeves and bowed. About to leave, he'd almost forgotten his watch. He turned to retrieve it.

"Do you have a room chosen, m'lord? I should clean it for you."

Xavier: "Yes, the master suite in the west wing. The one with the sitting room."

Maximus: "I shall focus on that. You should have a proper place to yourself."

Xavier: "Very well. Feel free to start a bonfire in the garden for Eisley's things. Chiefly his clothing."

Maximus: "Might I ask to use the driveway? The garden is salvageable. If you'll allow me to start planting vegetables as soon as the house is finished."

Xavier: Xavier nodded. “Have at it. While you’re out there check that fountain in the center. I’m not sure if I like it.”

Maximus: "You need a lion."

Xavier: “Or several. We’ll make a trip to Rome eventually and have something made.”

Maximus: "Certainly not snakes." A eye-reaching smile appeared, and remained as he ducked his head, disappearing around the corner after a bow.

Xavier: Xavier laughed. “Certainly not. Dinner’s at seven,” he called after him.

Maximus: Maximus remained in the hallway at the foot of the stairs, returning the watch to his wrist between careful teeth, cutting into his hand with fingernails as he recited his spell under his breath. He intended to make short work of his master's room.

Xavier: Xavier contemplated his living room while he finished his drink. What had Damien Eisley been hiding? Why were the blueprints incomplete? What had prompted the complete and total decline of the estate?

What did Maximus Fairchild look like without that tie? What would it take to get him to relax?

So many questions.

Maximus: Fifteen minutes to seven, and the bedroom was as clean as Maximus could make it with the recently acquired supplies. The old sheets and all of the clothing had been gathered by one of his duplicates and brought downstairs to the foyer. His briefcase had been placed in his room. All unused supplies in their proper place. Not nearly complete, but a dent, just as he had wanted.

His thumb circled the face of the watch absentmindedly. Dinner at the Plaza. He should change.

The watch was removed. He reappeared in his new bedroom a moment later. He should wear his best. The gray suit, perhaps, or the black?

The briefcase was unfastened. Inside, utter blackness. Not shadow, but something else. Something which allowed him to shove his entire arm within in search of his clothes. First, his violin case, which was placed on his pillow. Then the clothes; his best suits were placed on the mattress side-by-side.

Xavier: As Xavier had been living in the very Plaza hotel before deciding to commandeer the estate, and as all his clothes were there, it was there that he went to ready himself for dinner.

He wasn't wooing or looking to impress anyone tonight, but the circumstances still demanded a certain level of sharpness.

So, it would be a black suit and tie for him tonight, along with his very best pocket watch and dress shoes.

Only when he was satisfied with his reflection did he return to his palace of dust.

Maximus: Oh. He really must have been Atlas' first servant. Where he was, he wasn't entirely sure, but the hallway...it must have been a hotel. He quickly disappeared and reappeared inside a vacant room. He'd nearly missed, given he'd never stepped foot in this hotel before. Faulty security system, they would say. Humans rarely looked into supernatural occurrences, even those caught on camera. The gray suit, at least half of it, had been in hand. Keeping what was his on his shoulders, he began to redress. His shoes were still at home, but - oh. There they were again.

In the privacy of his room, he laughed.

Xavier: Xavier made his way upstairs to see the progress his butler had made in his room.

There was a very long way to go but it was already miles ahead of where it had been. He could actually make out the furniture enough to decide that he hated it.

"No honor and no taste," he muttered to himself. "How did you manage to keep this place from crumbling to its foundations?"

Maximus: Maximus emerged from the servants' quarters still combing his hair to its perfect part. No one was around to hear him mumble an Italian song to himself. This moment of privacy, as he had known up to this point, was a treat.

The comb was pocketed. Once more he straightened his vest, and judged himself in the only full-length mirror he'd managed to find in the house, which he had placed in the foyer.

No scars, save for the ones he had created. No marks previous owners had tried and tried again to create. Still, the same almost thirty year-old man in the mirror.

His eyes fell to his hands, to his wool tie. Perfect though it was, he tried to straighten it more.

Xavier: He let himself despair over his poorly decorated room for a moment longer before making his way back downstairs.

And finding an immaculately dressed Maximus Fairchild.

"You clean up well," he greeted.

Maximus: His hands immediately came away from his tie.

"Thank you, m'lord. Is this acceptable for the Plaza?"

Xavier: "More than acceptable. In fact, I daresay you look rather dashing which is more than worthy of the Plaza. Are you ready?"

Maximus: "I am." He paused, biting into his cheek. "You've gone already, haven't you?"

Xavier: "Indeed. I've been living there for several months now, and in Los Angeles before that, at the Roosevelt."

Maximus: "I see. You...took me with you."

Xavier: He tilted his head. "To the Plaza?"

Maximus: "Yes, sir."

Xavier: "How...ah." He chuckled. "When I teleported. Of course, that makes sense. I do apologize. Did you give some unsuspecting human a terrible fright?"

Maximus: "No one was in the hallway. I mostly dressed there." The return of his polite smile.

Xavier: "Fortunate for us then. It seems my spur of the moment trips are going to need some adjusting, lest I yank you all over creation with no warning."

He turned to the mirror and gave himself one last adjustment.

"We'll be teleporting into my suite and going down to the restaurant from there."

Maximus: A nod of understanding. Careful, slow hands reached for his master's collar, making one last adjustment.

Xavier: Xavier stood still, smiling softly as he let Maximus sort him out.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "And now to the Plaza."

Since apparently Maximus automatically traveled wherever Xavier did, there would (unfortunately) be no need to have his butler take his arm. He simply traveled as normal, bringing them to his perfectly appointed, luxurious sitting room.

Maximus: Seeing as he wasn't across the house this time, he finally had the pleasure of viewing a more-than decent looking room.

"Still miles to go before the house is done," he muttered to himself.

Xavier: "As my hag of a stepmother used to say, you're preaching to the choir. Did you see the bedroom furniture? Hideous. Just goes to show that money doesn't buy taste."

Maximus: "Some people are poor in spirit. That is the case, m'lord." One last look, and he headed to the door to hold. If he was certain in his decision to dine with his servant, then he would not question again, despite his wanting to.

Xavier: Xavier nodded his thanks and stepped into the hallway. "And create work for others in the process. Once the dust is cleared, we shall return to New York and see to purchasing new furniture. I'm hoping he has at least a few pieces worthy enough to simply be reupholstered."

He led them over to the elevators, where they were greeted by the attendant.

Maximus: "I think I can salvage the chairs in the sitting room. The kitchen should only need a few things. It depends entirely on what you would like for me to cook."

As they entered the great hall leading to the restaurant, his feet hesitated a half-step, caught off guard by the splendor.

Xavier: "If the appliances are in good working order then a good scrubbing will suffice. I was already planning on purchasing new crystal, china, and silver but after seeing the state of the rest of the house I suspect new pots and pans and cooking implements are needed as well."

Xavier sighed contentedly as they approached the restaurant. "Magnificent, isn't it? Worthy of any king."

Maximus: "You have been eating here every night, m'lord?" He had supervised and attended background to many luxurious meals, but never had he been a part of them. Not as Atlas intended. In his eighty-six years on Earth, he could still manage to be surprised.

But what had caught his attention had not been the crystal, the silk, or the beautiful people. His gaze was caught by the band dressed in white.

Xavier: "Not every night, but most of them. Some days I dine at the Ritz in Paris or at the Dorchester in London. I've also been known to eat at the market in Marrakesh." He looked around. "Anywhere in particular you'd like to sit?"

Maximus: "You certainly get around." A subtle gesture was given to the entertainment. "May we sit near them?"

Xavier: "I try. The world is meant to be traveled. Speaking of Marrakesh, we'll have to make a trip there as well."

Xavier nodded and approached the host, whose eyes practically lit at his appearance. All the way to the table it was 'as you wish, Mr. Atlas' and 'but of course, Mr. Atlas!'.

And once Xavier introduced his dining companion for the evening, Fairchild's name was added to that chorus.

They were seated at a table near the band and immediately plied with champagne.

Maximus: The chorus kept him silent, humored by the overeager behavior. There was serving, and then there was...whatever that was.

"Do I sound like that, m'lord?" he asked, leaning over the table for only his master's ears.

Xavier: Xavier chuckled. "Not half. I have a theory that Mr. Turner there once had dignity, but it's since been depleted and he sees dollar signs everywhere I go."

Maximus: Dignity. Interesting. A word he would not associate with himself on a regular basis. He would take his words as a roundabout compliment.

"Might I ask, what is it you do for money?"

Xavier: "Several things. I steal it and invest it in the stock market. I also steal and sell art. I'm looking into purchasing property. Couldn't hurt to have at least one legitimate source of income."

Maximus: "No, it could not." A single finger slid over the stem of his glass. "Is that what you did...when you were human?"

Xavier: "I was what you would call a jack of all trades. Picked my share of pockets when I was a teenager. I worked at the docks, as a house painter, as a courier. As a kept man, but that wasn't really work."

Maximus: "You've had a busy life, then."

Xavier: "I was a man on a mission."

Maximus: "Were you successful in your mission?"

Xavier: "I suppose that's a matter of perspective."

Maximus: "What is yours?"

Xavier: "I did, and I didn't. I did what I set out to do, and I rather think I did it well, but even I cannot turn back the sun."

Maximus: "...Revenge?" he asked quietly, sitting up straight as the waiter appeared.

Xavier: Xavier nodded, smiling sadly for a brief moment before turning on the charm for the waiter.

"Good evening, gentlemen," the man said, handing each of them a menu and filling their water glasses. "Our special this evening is moule mariniere and a custard cake for dessert. I shall give you a moment to decide."

Maximus: Ah, a dish which caught his attention. His Louisiana heart skipped a beat. Still, something else looked more delicious.

"Thank you, for this evening, m'lord."

Xavier: His smile moved back toward the genuine end of the spectrum. "Of course. We may live in a palace of dust, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't have a grand meal in a luxuriously appointed restaurant. In fact that's all the more reason for it."

Maximus: "For you, not for me. This is a privilege and I shall not forget it."

Xavier: “A privilege I’d like you to become accustomed to.”

Maximus: This was a test. He was an experiment of sorts. Somehow, that's what this was. Somehow this was going to hurt him; this demon would be no different than any other before him. The pain would be that much greater for his kindness. How clever. How cruel.

His smile did not reach his eyes. "What are you going to order, m'lord?"

Xavier: Though Xavier did not know the lay of Maximus' thoughts, he wouldn't have blamed him for them. What trust could there be so soon after meeting someone? Even humans did not develop trust so quickly, much less demons.

"It's been quite a long time since I've had moule mariniere. And this restaurant prepares seafood extremely well. What's catching your fancy?"

Maximus: Moules marinière did seem appealing, but, "I cannot decide between the stuffed tomatoes or the crawfish étouffée with haricot vert almondine." His lifetime in Louisiana seeping through effortlessly.

Xavier: "I refer you to my comment about the seafood and point you toward the crawfish. During one of his sycophantic rants, Mr. Turner informed me that all their seafood is delivered fresh every morning."

Maximus: "Then, I suppose, étouffée it is." Finally, he took a sip of champagne, and a lengthy look at his surroundings. Most were prim and proper. A few beautiful women laughing with abandon, cigarettes between their fingers. Their men with thick glasses partially filled with amber whiskey. He turned back to the band, his expression softening.

Xavier: Maximus' observations didn't go unnoticed by Xavier, nor did the change in his expression when his gaze landed on the band. For a brief moment he wondered if one of the musicians in particular had caught his butler's eye but the reappearance of the waiter interrupted that particular train of thought.

"Have you decided, gentlemen?"

"Yes. I'll have the special and Mr. Fairchild will have the crawfish."

"Excellent choices." The waiter gave a single nod and collected the menus.

Maximus: Maximus' head whipped back sharply enough to catch the attention of the waiter.

"No - No, it's nothing. Thank you."

Xavier: "Of course, sir." The waiter inclined his head toward Maximus and disappeared.

Maximus: "The allergy to salt, I suppose, will depend on the food," he said once they were alone again.

Xavier: “Wouldn’t you know, I’ve rarely suffered ill effect from the salt in food. No doubt there’s an explanation for it but my guess is that there isn’t enough to actually cause harm.”

Maximus: "Yet a circle will render me chained."

Xavier: “As it does to us all. There seems to be something that traps everything. Even death.”

Maximus: "Death? Really?" With such pale skin, the slightest of pink was indeed a blush. "I feel so ignorant. Forgive me."

Xavier: “I’ve nothing to forgive you for. I only learned myself recently. We’re all of us kept in the dark, literally and metaphorically. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, and I’ve made it a point to accumulate a lot of knowledge. And not just the sort demons are meant to have.”

Maximus: "And your father, he is aiding you in your pursuit of knowledge?" His eyes fell to the table submissively. "You had said, when I arrived, that you would thank him."

Xavier: “In a limited capacity. Giving me the instructions to summon you being within those parameters. But all the rest I’ve discovered on my own. You’d be shocked how many magical artifacts are strewn about where anyone can find them.”

Maximus: "Not too surprised, m'lord. My master before, he...he was a collector. Would find things in all sorts of places. Magic...it's quite easy to create, with enough belief. The smallest things. The simplest spells."

Xavier: "It is at that. If I were concerned for the fate of the human race that would rather alarm me, but as such, I simply intend to avail myself of as much of it as possible. Magic is a tool to be used, and who better than us. We've more understanding than most."

Maximus: "Most of the human race cannot believe their own religions. It's safe to say there won't be a swell of witches anytime soon."

Xavier: "More's the pity. I've met some very entertaining witches."

His charming smile returned as the waiter appeared with bread, butter, and a house salad for each of them.

Maximus: The waiter was ignored, his eyes back to his hands.

Xavier: "Your entrees will be served in a few minutes. Might I get you anything else while you wait?"

"Nothing for me. Fairchild?"

Maximus: A voice he would cater to. His chin raised. "No, thank you."

Xavier: The waiter inclined his head. "Very well." And off he went again.

Maximus: Watching the waiter leave, his gaze was caught by two elderly men and a young woman nearby. Distrustful, judgmental gazes, pointed specifically to him. He knew that look. He didn't have to guess.

Another sip of champagne.

"What are your favorite foods, m'lord? I should know what to make you in the future."

Xavier: Xavier didn’t answer right away. He’d noticed the looks, and he’d noticed Fairchild noticing them. What a perfect opportunity to put the dainty people back in their place.

And what better way to do that than to meet their gaze and let his eyes flicker black, winking for good measure.

Maximus: A cross was made over the young woman's chest. The family got to their feet in an instant, their desserts forgotten. Maximus, not having noticed what his master had done, stared in confusion.

"Dago," one spat as they passed. Afraid, but not enough to keep his tongue to himself.

Xavier: Xavier met the hiss with a grin, toasting the humans with his champagne.

"It seems that someone's parents never taught them not to stare at strangers," he commented.

Maximus: Had he just been defended by this demon? His chest rose and fell in a silent sigh.

"Not the first time. Imagine the look of shock on some when I speak French. As though it shouldn't be coming out of my mouth."

Xavier: "Not my first time either. The airs on people like them." He shook his head. "The vast majority of them have what they have by accident of birth and they carry on as if it were divine reward."

Maximus: "To many, they truly believe it. Royalty have been told it's their divine right since birth."

Xavier: "And their whole reality would fall apart if they accepted that it's blind dumb luck. What they consider strength and superiority is simply fragility and delusion beyond all reason."

Maximus: "There will always be masters and servants, m'lord. I believe there to be some shred of truth."

Xavier: "So too will there always be thieves," he said, smiling in the direction the family had gone.

Maximus: A polite smile followed, and his eyes returned to the handsome blond trumpet player on the small stage.

Xavier: Xavier buttered himself a roll, wondering if the dainty people were guests at the hotel and what line of work the men had once been in. There could very well be a chance for some vintage wines, definitely some priceless antiques. He'd poke around for them after dinner.

Maximus: Maximus was in a whole other world, completely enamored with the band. He'd turned in his chair to face them, as he felt respectful. A smile brightened his eyes. One of those moments of peace for him to savor.

Xavier: As was usual for him, Xavier found himself sitting back and observing. His butler was already proving to be a fascinating subject.

This was the most relaxed he’d seen him so far and the reason for it was perfectly obvious. It wasn’t just one musician that had taken his fancy as he’d thought earlier, but rather all of them. More precisely, it seemed, the music itself.

It was giving him more than a few ideas for future outings, and perhaps for some other things as well.

Maximus: He wasn't paying enough attention to his new master. He knew he should, but his weakness was just feet away. He was giving himself away and he knew it. This would be used against him again, and it would be entirely his fault for not being careful.

Slowly, he turned his chair back aground, straightened his vest, and cleared his throat.

"Apologies, m'lord. I didn't mean to be so thoughtless."

Xavier: “No need,” he said, smiling softly. “They’re very good aren’t they? Draw a crowd even when it isn’t a meal being served.”

Maximus: "Yes, they are." He could feel his anxiety like a wave of heat over his entire body, pooling into his stomach, forcing him to exhale.

Xavier: “You can listen, you know. Without seeking forgiveness or asking permission.”

Maximus: As much as he would like to believe, he could not will his muscles to relax. His shoulders were tight to the point of ache. Whatever was going to happen would happen regardless of what he said or did at this point. So, with a tiny nod, he turned back to the music.

Xavier: There was little be done for the establishment of trust except patience and time. Xavier could hardly explain why it mattered that Maximus Fairchild be comfortable, he simply accepted that it did.

He smiled and topped off both their glasses, settling in to listen until their food arrived.

Maximus: There was something to be said for a meal not prepared by ones own hands. Somehow the fact made his plate all the more delectable. His table manners far outshined half of the people in the Plaza. He hadn't looked up to notice.

Atlas was thanked once more for the meal, and when asked for dessert by the waiter, he declined. He wouldn't think to impose. He would, however, finally finish his flute of champagne.

Xavier: Maximus might not have noticed but Xavier did, and it inspired no small bit of pride. Perhaps even a sense of superiority on Maximus' behalf.

He turned down dessert as well, favoring more of the champagne in its stead. "I'm sure they make a perfectly acceptable custard cake but I've eaten the lion's share of it in my life and I'd be perfectly happy never seeing it again. It's all my father ever wanted for pudding, it was exhausting."

Maximus: "Really popular in England? I know how to make a fruitcake, should you crave it."

His napkin was folded and returned to his thigh. "If it's not praline or brownies, I don't care much, though."

Xavier: "Exceedingly. Feels like it's served with everything." But there was no hiding or denying the little glint in his eyes when Maximus mentioned fruit cake.

"I've never said no to either of those things. Americans do love their brownies and they make them so very well."

Maximus: "I remember when they became popular. Chicago, I think it was, invented them. It was all my...former master wanted for a year."

Xavier: "I can understand that sentiment. Although I'm sure you're as fed up with making them as I have been with custard. I've taken to visiting patisseries on a regular basis."

Maximus: "My French only goes so far as Louisiana staples, m'lord."

Xavier: "Mine isn't much better, but I've found that pointing does the job just fine." Was that a joke? Perhaps.

Maximus: "Would you...like to learn French?"

Xavier: "It's not a bad idea. I certainly go to Paris often enough."

Maximus: "Je peux t'apprendre," he smiled formally.

Xavier: "Ah! I understood that."

Maximus: His smile crept by a centimeter.

Xavier: "I probably understand more than I can speak."

Maximus: "Well, we can change that." Born to an Italian mother, yet his French was far superior. Nature of Baton Rouge. His father had not cared any which way so long as his English was not impaired.

Xavier: "If I start speaking well enough, all the shopkeepers in Paris will stop turning their noses up at me."

Maximus: "Exactly. Knowledge tends to make people respect, or absolutely despise you."

Xavier: “Hence why I gather it. I’m a dragon and it is my hoard.”

Maximus: The napkin was placed on the table.

"Well, then your lair must be perfect."

Xavier: “It must and it shall be. Is there anything you’d like to do while we’re here?”

Maximus: "You ask much of me," he smiled.

Xavier: "It's but the tip of a very elegant iceberg."

Maximus: One thumb overlapped the other. "There is nothing pressing I need."

Xavier: "Is there anything you want?"

Maximus: "Is that what you want from your servant, m'lord?"

Xavier: "I would like my right hand to indulge himself in one selfish thing, yes. I'd tell you to shoot for the moon but we'll work up to that."

Maximus: "Is this something you're going to take from me?" Less of a question, more of a statement to himself, but still, the correct inflection was added.

Xavier: “Why would I take anything from you when the whole world is at my thieving fingertips?” It was said lightly and with that care-free charming smile, but there was sincerity in his eyes.

Maximus: "That's just it. You can take...anything," he managed just above a whisper. He slowly breathed. "What I would like in this instant, is to get back to work."

Xavier: “Yes. I can. But I’ve yet to take back a gift once it’s been given, Fairchild. I know you’ve no reason to trust that but I hope in time you will.”

He flagged down the waiter and asked for the check.

Maximus: I have hopes too, he thought. He'd already made blunders this evening. He wouldn't dare make another by exposing another desire.

Once paid, Maximus got to his feet and tucked his chair away. He assumed they would be going back to his master's room. He waited to fall into a half-step behind.

Xavier: They would be indeed, but not before taking a small detour.

He waited until they were out of earshot of anyone before asking, "Did you catch the scent of those humans I sent scurrying out of the restaurant?"

Maximus: "Peppermint and pipe tobacco, m'lord. A hint of whiskey." He had indeed. "What are you going to do?"

Xavier: "Get petty revenge." He seemed to scent the air, seemed to listen for something. "Is it stronger toward the foyer or toward the elevators?"

Maximus: A test? He closed his eyes, as though that somehow impacted his olfactory. "The elevators."

Xavier: "Excellent, that means they're guests. Come."

Toward the stairwell, not the elevators.

Maximus: Here he would not follow behind, but briskly walk ahead in order to open the door, keeping a sharp eye for witnesses.

Xavier: Xavier was grinning from ear to ear. He'd been a solo act most of his life and rather enjoyed it, but there was something to be said about having a lookout.

He'd stop on every single floor, cracking open each stairwell door just long enough to check for the humans' scent until he found the floor he was looking for.

Maximus: There was something pleasant in the hunt. He caught himself smiling every other floor as he watched his master poke his head through the stairwell door.

"What are your intentions?" he whispered.

Xavier: "I merely wish to inspect their possessions and home and relieve them of the burden of anything that catches my fancy."

Maximus: "How generous," he smirked. "It's this room." To the left, room 604. "I can hear them." The soft murmurings of the gentlemen.

Xavier: "Ah, good!" Xavier whispered. There was no need to press his ear to the door, he could hear them just fine.

"Now then, have you much practice in concealing yourself?"

Maximus: "It's not been something allowed me. No one wants a servant that can hide from them."

Xavier: "What about illusions? Olfactory ones, in this case."

Maximus: His hands wound behind his back. "That I can, yes."

Xavier: "Excellent." He led them to the nearest corner. It would serve as a hiding place for the moment.

"A gas leak. Strong enough to get them to come out, just for a few moments. That's all I need."

Maximus: A reversal of sulfurous concealment during travel, something in which he was already keen in skill. A simple exaggeration his own natural unholy scent.

Contemplating, he peeked around the corner, back to the room. They would flee in the opposite direction, towards the elevators. Eyes slowly deepened to black.

"Tell me when, sir."

Xavier: Xavier cocked his head, listening for anything that had the potential to interrupt them.

"Wait for the elevator to pass....aaaand......now."

Maximus: The stench was every sense of the word revolting. A true expression of their demonic being. Strong enough to alert not just their targeted family, but the younger neighbor. Their game may have inadvertently created a union, as the young woman and businessman locked eyes. Another man with dark hair, and much darker skin than his own. He smiled, tickled by the look of disdain on her father's face. She must have had enough of their prejudice. Something to rile them.

Xavier: Another grin. "Well done, Fairchild. Come, we've only moments before they seek aid."

And with that, Xavier transported them into the family's room.

"I need anything that lists their home address," he whispered, glancing around the suite for the young lady's handbag.

Maximus: Her handbag was around her wrist, but the book she had been reading had been left behind. He checked the back and front.

"Regina Taylor," he read. "From her mother, Rebecca."

Xavier: "A name, good. Excellent start. Do you see any documents pertaining to the rental of the room? They'll have a billing address on them."

Maximus: Another glance around. Not in this room. The master bedroom, no doubt. Without word he disappeared into the next room. "A Reginald Taylor. Must be her father." He emerged from the doorway with a piece of paper.

Xavier: "Ah ha, you've struck gold! Remind me to get a whiskey decanter for your bedroom." He looked over the paper and almost immediately landed on an address.

"Upstate New York. How nice, a home in the country. Ready to go?"

Maximus: "Are you trying to turn me into a lush, m'lord?" His smile could have been taken in either direction; he had looked away. One last once over of the room.

"You've been to upstate New York?"

Xavier: "Crystal decanters are a mark of civility, Fairchild. Remember that. And yes, I have. I purchased several wines from a man who lives not far from the address listed here. If we're very lucky, they'll have a small household staff and we won't have to skulk about so much."

Maximus: His vest was straightened. This was turning into quite the evening. His chin raised, looking his master in the eyes, ready for their next task.

Xavier: Xavier smiled and nodded, tucking the paper into his inside pocket and taking them to the other side of the state, leaving the humans and the hotel staff to sort out the imaginary gas leak.

The house--or mansion more like--was everything manicured and stately. A little without character in Xavier's opinion but then he was biased. He favored his own house, dust palace or no.

"What do you reckon, old money or nouveau riche?"

Maximus: "Oh, very old money, m'lord. No nouveau riche would name their daughter after them. It's not the same plateau of pride."

Xavier: Another nod. "Fair point. Not nearly enough garish adornments to be nouveau, and more's our good fortune. Old money means several generations' worth of heirlooms and excellent taste in wine."

Maximus: "Several trips then? Shall we begin with the wine? It's most important to you," he smirked. What was that? Humor in his eyes?

Xavier: "You're a quick study," he chuckled. "Good man."

Many of the windows were dark but there were still some that were illuminated. The staff would probably be readying to retire from the evening.

"Much as I'd like to raid Mr. Taylor's wine cellar, we best start from the top down. Give the household time to tuck away for the night so we may roam freely."

Maximus: True enough. He would begin with the attic. Usually some interesting pieces were stowed away until holiday. A home as old as this one was bound to have something of value hidden underneath a white sheet.

His demon disappeared, reappearing on a creaky board next to the masonry of an extremely old chimney. Transporting to areas he'd never been before was still very much a task, one which caused his nose to bleed.

Xavier: Xavier followed not long after, but rather than go to the attic, he chose one of the darkened rooms.

And ah, what fortune indeed. He'd landed in Miss Taylor's bedroom and could already see the outline of a jewelry box on her vanity.

Its contents would be taken out and examined, with the best pieces being put aside to be duplicated. Or rather falsified, as was his custom.

He made a copy of everything he stole and left the counterfeit in its place. A sensible way to pilfer without drawing alarm or suspicion, to steal without leaving a single trace of the theft in his wake. In time, he'd teach Maximus to do the same.

Maximus: This was one of those situations in which he had no way to communicate with his master unless face-to-face. Two feminine statues were placed side-by-side. He'd have to search for him in a moment. For now, another moment to himself. He admired the craftsmanship in front of him; of the beautiful and slender fingers in particular. So very much did he love hands.

A quick glance over his shoulder. He cupped the woman's hand, felt the minute ridges of stone. How had they managed to haul this up here? These would look lovely in the foyer, or out in the garden once it was settled and flourishing.

Xavier: Copies in place and originals secreted in an obliging case he'd found, Xavier moved on to his next target: the master suite.

Here he found another treasure trove of jewels, an antique clock, and several vases that would look splendid in his library when it was returned to glory. There was even a very nice first edition Dickens on the bedside table.

Maximus: The statues were recovered, carefully, as though anything harsh would wake the ladies from their statuesque slumber. He then disappeared down the stairs, into the pantry. What glorious silver. He needed to find his master. Perhaps these would not be to his liking.

Quietly, he began to walk about the house. Upstairs, the bedrooms most likely. He headed for the stairs.

Xavier: Xavier poked his head out of the bedroom as he heard the approaching footsteps, smiling in greeting and waving Maximus over.

"Mr. Taylor has excellent taste in watches," he whispered when his butler was close enough. "And his wife seems to have an exceeding fondness for diamonds the size of eggs."

Maximus: "There is a variety of silver for you to choose from. I found statues in the attic I think will complement your garden. How shall we move these?" His whisper being just as soft, no one was the wiser.

Xavier: "I think for now we shall place it all in the attic and take it all at once when we take our leave. Spare us the need for multiple trips." He picked up the heavy case with the same ease he picked up a teacup and took them up to the attic.

Maximus: His servant was not far behind. A crystal figurine and candlesticks in his grasp.

"The silver is very ornate. I'm not sure if that's the style you wish, but for dinner parties it would suit."

Xavier: "Excellent. I've always been rather fond of the ornate." He offered to take the figurine and candlesticks from Maximus.

"Now then. I've a simple philosophy when it comes to stealing and it is this; I do not leave a trace. I operate as if a ghost. And a trickster. Any and everything I steal, I make a copy of, and leave the copy in place of what I've taken."

Maximus: "That must tax you, certainly." If that be the case, he nodded to the candlesticks. "Did you mimic those, sir?"

Xavier: "It certainly would if I relied on our demonic powers alone." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a medallion embedded with several chunks of iron pyrite. Fool's Gold.

"I draw power from the spell etched into this. It can copy any inanimate object perfectly."

Maximus: "The world suddenly seems less unique. How many things have I admired that are nothing but replicas?"

Xavier: "Replicas have always existed to be sure, but the copies made from this medallion have a shelf life. Given enough time, they'll disintegrate into dust made of Fool's Gold. By that point, the owner of the object suspects only that he was taken for a ride by whomever sold them the object in the first place."

Maximus: His imagination drifted towards a beautiful, kind, loving man in his arms crumbling to golden pieces.

He swallowed that preposterous thought and crossed the attic to the statues, unveiling them just as carefully as he had draped them.

"What do you think of these?"

Xavier: Xavier blinked. "Oh my."

He stepped closer, examining the face of one of the statues with careful, gentle fingers. "Exquisite artistry," he murmured. "Far too exquisite to be up here gathering dust. We'll give them a better home."

Maximus: Oh. Doing his best to keep his face towards the statues, he watched those fingers.

"That we will, sir."

Xavier: "Excellent find, Fairchild. You've a good eye. I think these ladies would look rather lovely in a rose garden. Proper English tea roses."

Maximus: "I think yellow dahlias would go nicely with the roses."

Xavier: Xavier felt a little catch in his chest that he wasn't entirely able to hide. "Yes," he whispered. "They would. To the pantry then?"

Maximus: Maximus turned to face him, brow slightly knitted. "Sir?"

Xavier: There was that charming smile once more, though this time it was far less convincing. "Let us help ourselves to Mr. Taylor's silver, and if it suits my tastes, his china as well."

And down to the pantry they went.

Maximus: He knew better than to press with a brand new master, yet still he opened his mouth, ready to ask again what he had done, if only to rectify, but once more the scenery changed around him.

His jaw clamped shut. "This way," he whispered, leading him towards the impressive yet limited array of polished silver.

Xavier: Impressive indeed. "Pleasing and immaculately clean," he said, nodding his approval. "We shall take it all. Is the china kept in here as well?"

Maximus: "In a glass case across the kitchen. Gold lining. Simplistic but respectable."

Xavier: It too was inspected, and though it did not entirely appeal, it would do until he found something that suited him better.

Once the dishes were gathered, and had been taken to the attic to wait with the other treasures he'd found, he took Maximus around the rest of the house in search of anything else that caught their eye. Artwork, furniture, rugs. All was fair game.

Maximus: Walking through the house one last time, rug underneath his arm, he wondered...had all of this been just because of a prejudice glare? Had the men paid him no mind, where would they be in this moment?

No, don't be silly, Maximus. It was just an excuse. The house was in disarray. Of course this served a single purpose.

"Ready when you are, m'lord."

Xavier: If only Maximus knew. When Xavier had said he was doing this for petty revenge, he'd sincerely meant it. They wouldn't be here now had it not been for Mr. Taylor and his family's rudeness.

The fact that this little crime spree was letting them get things for the house was simply an added bonus.

"I do believe I am." All the duplicates had been made and left in the proper place. The only thing left to do was ensure that they hadn't forgotten anything and satisfied that they hadn't, Xavier took them and their hoard home.

Maximus: His first concern upon landing, aside from counting every item in the hopes to avoid a second trip, was to see to his master. Had he overtaxed himself? This was an enormous haul for just one demon.

"Please, rest in the library. I'll tend to these things myself. Would you like a glass of wine, m'lord?"

Xavier: It had been a splendidly productive evening but Xavier had to concede that it had left him more than a little winded. He liked to think he was very adept at teleportation, and he was compared to most, but even so, multiple consecutive trips took their toll. The extra cargo on that last one certainly hadn't helped.

"It would be much appreciated," he said, catching his breath.

Maximus: This time, Xavier was followed as an equal, if only to watch his balance. "I shall start a fire for you as well."

Quietly, he waited by the best leather chair, in place until his master had adjusted. Then he turned, gracefully kneeling at his feet. He began to untie the demon's shoes, his dark hair falling forward over his right eye.

Xavier: Xavier practically melted into the chair, sighing contentedly. That tell-tale ache of overexertion was settling somewhere in his limbs and torso, as nebulous as it was bothersome.

"You did good work today," he said, obligingly lifting each foot in turn. "On the house and on our little detour."

Maximus: His attention remained purposefully on his oxfords. "Thank you, m'lord. And thank you, again, for a lovely dinner."

Xavier: "You're very welcome, Fairchild. We shall have another when we pack and move my things."

Maximus: His shoes were placed to the side, and with mastered skill, he turned towards the fireplace without having to look his master in the eyes. This, long ago, had become a comfortable ritual. One many demons seemed to favor, especially those older than himself.

In no time at all, the fireplace crackled with life. The gate was shut and the small latch closed. Being iron, a small burn pinkened the pads of his fingers, but he made no mention.

"I'll have your wine in just a moment."

Xavier: Xavier couldn't say if he particularly favorited it or not, but it was a gesture he appreciated.

He gave a content sigh as the warmth of the fire reached him, letting his eyes fall closed. "Thank you, Fairchild," he said softly. "Don't feel compelled to rush."

Maximus: His soft voice lured Maximus' attention. Carefully studying the demon with whom all of his loyalties now lay.

Without word, he disappeared for wine, and a properly cleaned glass. One of the newly acquired silver trays was inspected and brought forth after fashioning a proper pair of gloves. He was going to look the part, at least for a moment, before returning to his task.

Xavier: Although he didn't open his eyes to confirm, Xavier could feel Maximus watching him and wondered what his butler thought of him. Was he confused? Glad? Apprehensive? Resigned?

Only time would tell.

Maximus: Just as quietly, the tray was brought forth, having walked the span of the house. His glass was placed on the table, and the tray with the bottle of merlot on the desk.

"Getting back to work, m'lord," he whispered. "If you'll excuse me."

Xavier: He finally opened his eyes and smiled. "Thank you, Fairchild. Don't feel like you have to work from dusk until dawn. Take a rest, even if you don't sleep."

Maximus: Better memory than his first master. There was that consideration again.

"I'm curious of there are any other secret rooms or cubbyholes."

Xavier: "Keep a lookout for them if you can. I want to know definitively if Damien Eisley was hiding something."

Maximus: "Perhaps it's not as supernatural as we're thinking. Something as scandalous as an illegitimate child, or stowed away lover."

Xavier: "To be completely honest, the potential of that concerns me more than any magical or occult dealings he might have had. There can be no loose ends."

Maximus: "I'll keep an ear out for scurrying," he smirked. His head bowed, and he turned away once more. "Please call to me when you're ready for bed. I shall help you undress."

Xavier: "Of rats and secret family members," he said with a grin.

He was a bit surprised that Maximus would offer to help him undress but he wasn't about to refuse. "I will, thank you."

Maximus: His astonishment would have surprised his servant, considering every request given by every master before him. Undressing his master was an expectation.

No other hidey-holes that he could find. No secret hallways or dungeon. A bit boring; he had thought they had stumbled upon something mysterious from a novel. After hours of continuous cleaning, he finally looked over his shoulder.

Alone?

Xavier: Xavier melted into the chair once more, letting both the wine and the heat sink into his bones. Finishing the whole bottle wouldn't get him the least bit tipsy, so he had no reservations about finishing it off while he recovered from all the travel.

Maximus: He was so tempted to sneak into his room, to touch his violin, the bow stings, to perhaps play a soft song with the door closed. An illusion of true privacy. It was too soon. This was only night one, and he knew it was bad luck to relax so quickly after transition.

The statues were placed in the attic. The china was re-cleaned and put away properly, as with the silver. He would not attempt to finish cleaning the library or sitting room with his master so near.

Xavier: Wine bottle empty, Xavier stood and stretched. It was finally time to call this hectic, illuminating day to a close.

"Fairchild," he called as he went to his bedroom, barely louder than a conversational volume. They were demons; his butler could hear him.

Maximus: The sound of his name caused an instantaneous reaction. His demon disappeared and reappeared upstairs, awaiting patiently in his bedroom, hands behind his back.

Xavier: Maximus was given a smile in greeting. "Make more progress?"

Maximus: "The kitchen is more respectable."

Xavier: "Excellent." He shrugged off his suit jacket. "Tomorrow morning I'll give you funds and the keys to the Rolls so you can go into town for the supplies you still need."

Maximus: The jacket was gathered from his wrists before it could fall.

"That's very generous, m'lord. Thank you."

The jacket was placed over the nearest chair. He turned, ready to assist with his buttoned shirt.

Xavier: "I'll set up an account for you to draw from tomorrow as well, for household expenses."

Xavier untucked his shirt and started on the buttons.

Maximus: Despite his calm demeanor, he found himself on edge. This was where the change usually happened in his owners. This moment of vulnerability exposed why they were their namesake.

Slowly, he made his way around, gently tugging away the shirt from his shoulders.

Xavier: If Maximus was on edge, Xavier was blithely unaware. His mind was lost in finances.

“I’ll set up a separate account for your wages as well. Or I can give them to you every week, whichever you prefer.” Off came the shirt, and the belt a few moments later.

Maximus: "I've always felt better carrying something tangible. That's probably my age."

Xavier: “I shall give them to you every week then.”

Xavier turned to face his butler and smiled. “That will be all, Fairchild, thank you. You may retire for the night. And again, splendid work.”

Maximus: There he stood, looking somewhat dumbfounded for a moment, before he turned to hang Xavier's clothes.

"...Thank you...m'lord."

Xavier: Oblivious, Xavier attributed Maximus' confusion to the fact that he'd elected to deal with his trousers himself. It would've been simple enough to have his butler help with them along with everything else but no, they weren't there yet. This was a delicate dance, and that move was still too advanced.

Not that he didn't hope the day would come when he didn't undress himself below the waist. He did; it was simply too soon. But Xavier Atlas was a patient man.

#maximusfairchild #Fairchild Pt. 1

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spottedlekkudancer · 7 years ago

Text

Same Heart

Chapter 1 - Voyagers

Sum: You are a Colonel from the Battlecruiser Absolution now aboard Finalizer in an attempt to close a banking deal for the Order abroad. Not much has ever given you cause to seek a significant other before, however, when several people on the ship start taking a personal interest in you things may change.(KyloxReaderxHux)

Word count: 3,700+

Warnings: Language

“Come on Master (F/N)” The clawed hands of a B1-Battle Droid wrapped around your forearm, shaking your form in it’s place. “Did you forget what this day is?”

Through cracked lids you gazed up your assistant now acting as an alarm clock. “No Sterling, I did not.” Swinging the grey striped bed sheets off your body and placing your feet onto the floor you decided you had to get up even though you did not want to. Today you were being temporarily relocated to the Finalizer, a Resurgent-class Battlecruiser under the command of General Armitage Hux. A high ranking official, such as yourself, was needed to deliberate and sign off on a loan with the InterGalactic Banking clan. You only hoped it wouldn’t take too long. For although you loathed where you called home now you still did not enjoy entertaining the idea of being so close to the tyrannical Hux. Just his name made your stomach turn over with bitter, doleful, and vexatious memories.

The only thing you carried with to the hanger was your data pad; you still had quite a bit of work to finish and the quiet of space would be just the place to help you think. Or so you thought. Lt Colonel Zack had different plans. He stood in front of the Upsilon-class shuttle prepared for your transport: a smile plastered to his face and bags in hand. You stopped short in front of him. “Did you receive the order to come as well then?” You didn’t know how to feel about this development. Zack could be quite the chatterbox, even emotional at times.

“Good morning to you too Colonel.” He looked you up and down a bit too cheerily, but perhaps he was just excited to get off the ship for once. “Where is your luggage? I was under the impression this trip would be a week in length.”

“A week or more.” You corrected. “I had Scarlet bring them down earlier.”

The lines in Lt Colonel Zack’s forehead creased. “Is your droid coming with us ma’am?”

You shook your head ‘no’ as an answer, not wanting him to pick up more things to comment on. It was far too early to be conversating without a steaming cup of Tutsee brew.

Traveling the abyss of the outer rim takes time.

Far more time than you cared for. Several full cycles in fact. Between your trip to Finalizer and back you would be spending just as much time in wild space as you would closing that bank deal. When you did finally land you were so relieved you could have kissed the first person you saw. However, that would prove to be a tight lipped and pompous ginger haired man. You greeted him with a grimace half woven into a smile. “General, a pleasure as always.”

“General Hux, Sir.” Zack immediately picked up on the tension arching between the two of you.

“Lt Colonel, Captain.” He nodded to your officer and then to you.

“Actually sir, (Y/N) is a Colonel herself now.” Zack wanted to be respectful but it came across as timid.

Zack didn’t need to state that fact you thought, Hux was already aware of it. If the change in uniform color wasn't enough the plaque on your chest was a dead give away. Moreover, the fact he had signed for you to come here; no meager petty officer or Captain would be consulted on something like this.

“Yes I was informed your ship and feet were taken over by Captain Jaohm some time ago. How are you liking desk work instead?” His tone suggested the stab was intentionally set up.

Your time as Captain of the TA-772 explorer craft “Armata” was extremely short lived. Only a few months after receiving the new assignment Armata had come under the attack of Pirates equipped with clone war era Vulture Droids. During this you managed to lose some not necessarily important but definitely expensive cargo and were then sent for court martial. Although the court agreed this was entirely a success on your behalf, and you had been promoted several ranks for it, they unfortunately had moved you out of the Navy. “It is as fulfilling of a position as one could expect.” At this you did smile, for making sure he knew you weren’t bothered by this was paramount. “And I hear you are moving to StarKiller soon, with Commander Ren in tow no less. Seems you two have become quite the team.”

It was common knowledge that Ren and Hux shared more animosity for one another than a Loth-cat and an Akk dog. “Yes well, one learns to use the cards they’ve been dealt.”

It was good face but this idea was laughable to you. Though you had never met the Commander before you were positive in the conclusion that he was one of the only people Hux could not command or manipulate. “I was under the impression Commander Ren was in the Navy not the Army, General. Do correct me if I’m wrong.”

“You are not.” Hux stated plainly.

You only scoffed. So you were at least right in thinking he held no power over him officially.

After your little “welcome aboard” meeting in the hanger Hux introduced you to Lieutenant Mitaka whom was instructed to show both you and Zack to your quarters, and around the two kilometer long space cruiser. It was nearly a whole day's event in front of you, but this was much better of a pastime than mindless document work. So you didn’t complain. You did however, request time to use the refresher before your tour. Mitaka seemed happy to oblige and forwarded a map of the ship to your data pad. You all agreed you would rendezvous in the cafeteria in one hour.

On your way to the mess hall you passed by a peculiar scene

“Okay now can we rewire it please so i can go have my muffin.” The woman’s abrasive and accusatory tone is what caught your attention.

Down the hall on your left a clearly upset technician supervisor was hunched over an even larger man: his hands in a hole in the wall entirely too small to accommodate both of them.

New guy, maybe? Didn’t matter, you had somewhere to be. You took another step forward turning away, but the subordinate's actions were too loud to ignore.

“I haven’t had my muffin yet Matt!” She groaned loudly standing at her full height and throwing her hands up in the air. “Why do they keep sending me these people?!” She stormed away from the crouching man. “Huh Steve, why?” She regarded one of the stormtrooper guards on her way out of the area. You were almost struck with the nerve to go track her down and reprimand her. But it wasn’t worth the energy. She didn’t necessarily do something wrong, just obscene behavioral conduct. This wasn’t your ship. therefore, not your place to correct anything either.

Just as one disturbance left another entered. A trooper with an arrogant strut. “What up Matt.” he mocked the man on the ground. Passing him and kicking his wrench across the floor.

Honestly did none of these people see you, a superior officer, standing at the end of the intersection? The stormtrooper was headed right for you. Did they just not care? Should you care? Things were obviously run a little different on this ship.

“Hey you kicked my wrench!” The Nerf of a blonde turned on his heels, facing your direction for the first time. You couldn’t tell if he wanted to scream or cry. “Jerkface” Matt muttered to himself.

You sighed, his dorky glasses and defeated posture pulled at your heartstrings. It would be inappropriate to console him, but you had enough time to make a small detore.

Your boots clicked with an echo as you changed course. Casually you nudged the wrench with your foot giving it the momentum it needed to slide it’s way back to the toolbox next to Matt. The eye contact you made was brief and more than enough in your opinion to get your point across. Once out of the hall you turned right, correcting the “short cut” you had created. You would now be able to sleep without guilt over the situation you just witnessed.

You seemed to be lacking control a lot today. First Matt, next Mitaka didn’t have answers to any of your questions, then Zack got lost in a common area and it took two hours to hunt him down, and now at the end of a long day Hux was treating you to more invasive prying.

“And my former quarters?” Hux inquired as straight faced as ever. Absolution was where Hux called home in his first years as a general.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh.” Amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I hate to think they didn’t offer you them when you arrived for duty aboard the battlecruiser. How...” he paused to consider his next words. “Unfair.”

You knew he was teasing you, Hux didn’t believe in fairness like you did. On several occasions when you worked together in the past he regarded you as naive or foolish for such ideals. “Not at all. Admiral Broste did in fact push that I take Brendol’s old apartment in favor of a more modest one. It took him some time to accept ‘no’ as my answer.”

Hux stiffened at the mention of his father. Unblinking.

“Of course since then another officer moved in. I’m told he was ecstatic at his luck to have such a roomy abode.” You turned to him, face filled with false curiosity. “Are your quarters here as large as on Absolution?”

He cleared his throat. “No, no. Only Ren’s are.” It was a mindless answer and the muscles in his neck were not yet relaxing.

“How…unfair.” A teasing grin replaced the hard lines of Hux’s face when you said this. There were rare moments when your quibs and insidious bickering could turn pleasant enough to call friendly. If you were being completely honest with yourself Armitage was never really the one that got your stomach turning, it was the thought of his father. And at times the two Hux’s were very much alike.

The next thing you knew all of your attention was drawn to the thunderous footfalls of none other than Kylo Ren. Both you and Hux turned to greet him.

“Ren, it’s about time you joined us.” Hux said.

The closer Kylo got to the both of you the more intimidating he became. The very air around him was heavy, not to mention he towered over everyone else. “My place is not in the bridge, General. I’m only here to formally meet our guests.” It was the first time you were hearing the voice of the Knight and it made you wonder if all the stories of Kylo being a cyborg or alien were true. Maybe he wore the mask to hide the colored skin of a different humanoid species. It wasn’t the enslaving era of the Galactic empire, but among a predominantly human order people still acted just as racist as ever.

“Yes.” Hux gestured to you. “Allow me to introduce Colonel (F/N)(L/N): former Captain of the Armata and an old friend of my family.”

“An honer to meet you Commander Ren. I look forward to our time together.” You were surprised your voice wasn’t shaking you were so nervous, and after an awkward moment when Kylo didn’t reply to you you continued speaking. “I’m sorry to inform you my Lieutenant has already turned in for the evening.” You brushed a straying hair from your bun behind your ear, trying not to think about how close he stood to you. How the heat and energy he exuded made you feel weak with trepidation. Kylo didn’t respond verbally to this either, only stared at you. Or at least you assumed he was staring at you. The eye slit of his mask was facing only you.

You turned back to Hux figuring it would be less stressful to talk to him than acknowledge the silence of Ren any longer. “So what is on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“Nothing for you. The representative from the bank has given an ETA of 2200 hours.” Hux stated.

“I’m sure they will -

“Is that how you rose in ranks so quickly?” The modulated voice of Kylo interrupted.

You looked back up at him, far more confused than Hux seemed to be by the outburst. “Beg pardon?”

Kylo was right on top of clarifying himself, he wanted you to ask for the question to be repeated. “You are young, especially for such a high rank. At best you should be no more than an First Lieutenant.”

It dawned on you then and you're faced dropped into a stern frown. Any panic you had faced by the man’s presence was now overcome by the inherent need to prove your worth in some way. Many before Ren had assumed or questioned your position because of your political connection with Armitage and other powerful people in the First Order. None, however, had been so blunt about it to your face.

“If not your connection with the General perhaps you are conducting relations with another authority.” Kylo had just crossed a very clear line and the whole bridge went silent.

“Ren!” Hux was about ready to take the stick up his own ass out and beat Kylo with it. But you were much quicker to defend yourself than he was.

“If anything, Commander, should I have any urge to ‘conduct relations’ it would not be with someone of power. I enjoy playing the boss.” It was an equally crass comment. Fighting fire with fire is at times the best approach. And sure enough no one had anything to say back to you after that. Even Ren had fallen into silence. Weather he was taken aback or not, you couldn’t tell, but that is what you hoped happened.

You gazed around the room and all the officers immediately put their heads down and went back to work. Satisfied you pulled down at your tunic some. “If you’ll excuse me Sir.” It was directed at the General. He nodded.

After the blaster doors to the bridge closed behind you, you pulled up the map you were given on your data pad. It didn’t take long to find what you were looking for, every ship this size or larger had one and they were all relatively in the same location. It didn’t take you long to get their either, the smell of liquor was both revolting and intoxicating. All you needed was a little something to calm you down after what just happened.

You sat at the bar of the small cantina like common area and gave your order. To your liking the tender was quick and made your cocktail strong. Perhaps he could tell from the way your forehead creased that you were not having the best night, or maybe he just always made them hard.

“I didn’t take you for a drinker.” A figure in black uniform took the stool next to you.

“Lt Mitaka.” You played with the rim of your glass. “I could say the same for you.”

He chuckled. “The only people aboard this carrier that don’t are the Commander and the General.”

Armitage drinks, just not with noisy co-workers, you thought to yourself. The man is almost as big of an alcoholic as his father was. “I guess that doesn't surprise me much. I can’t think of two more stressful people to work with.”

“Is that why you are here?”

You nodded slightly. “I can’t say i’ve met the Commander's equal before.”

Mitaka chuckled at your comment. “That’s one way of putting it!”

You swiveled in your chair to talk to the off duty officer better. “Can’t blame it all of him. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I sleep better after a drink or two on a regular night.”

Mitaka’s eyebrows raised. “Only two?”

“Oh yes.” You flattened your hand against the counter top, patting the black glass. “That’s the Max out. I’ve heard stories about myself drunk that I am frightened to imagine, so I don’t let it get that far. Blackouts aren’t exactly good if I intend to keep my position here.”

“And here I pegged you for one of those giggling and dancing drunks.” He took a sip of his own drink. “But totally out of control Colonel could be fun to watch too.”

It was something in the way he emphasized the word ‘control’ that caught your attention. “I promise you, neither would be a pretty sight.”

“With someone as alluring as you, doesn’t matter what you would do.” For a moment a nagging voice in the back of your mind asked you to consider if he had heard what happened in the bridge. What he mocking you? You tried hard to dismiss these thoughts. He was already off duty at that time and you didn’t see him in front or behind you on your way here. You doubted he actually knew anything. This little man that you had taken for meek and not worth your time earlier today was just a smoother talker once you got him in a looser environment. That was all.

You shook your head at him, both flattered and dis-amused. It was a strange combination of feelings. You didn’t want to be hit on. Not tonight. And not by him. He was nice, but you just weren’t interested in personal engagements. “I should get going.” You quickly finished off your drink. The ferment burned a little going down. “Big day tomorrow.” You lied.

“Oh, of course.” His smile faded. “Did you want me to walk you back?”

“No, Thank you. I remember where it is.” You forced yourself to smile at him and leave in a manner that was very unhurried. “I’ll see you on the clock, Lieutenant.”

Several times tonight you had to remind yourself that you would not be on Finalizer long. That all of this was temporary and you could go back to your old grumpy Admiral on Absolution where things were straight-laced and normal. Admiral Kelljaed Broste was always a comforting thought. He always treated you like a grown woman, even when you were still in the academy and under Brendol’s crushing boots. The man beyond set in his Imperial ways. In your mind he was the only living personnel from the Empire’s fallen military left. This lead to many arguments on how things were to be run, but those worded scuffles always ended in some kind of understanding, a stiff drink, and Broste saying something outrageously funny. He was a nice man for someone who was responsible for the death of millions. That wasn’t to say he was a good person. He wasn’t. Nor were you. There was a distinct difference between nice and good. The Admiral was nice and you would miss him when he eventually passed. A sense of humor was hard to come by in such a strict military regime.

Now if someone would ask you if you would consider yourself Nice or Good you would say “Neither.” Keeping in mind you didn’t see yourself as the opposite. Mean or Bad that is. In your eyes the only thing you aspired to be was Right. Right, Fair, and Just. The galaxy needed a firm hand and this order was far stronger than the Empire. No planet under the watch of the First Order starved or were so impoverished that people lived in the wilds. There was no slavery, and above all you were here to protect the people from encroaching dangers. Dangers that included shielding people from their destructive selves. That included a total outlaw of Spice and mandatory mental and physical check ups yearly; for military it was quarterly.

That’s why when you heard yelling and saw sparks flying out of a control room it took you aback. Whomever it was throwing this temper tantrum needed not only to be court Martialed but to be mentally evaluated. Still this wasn’t your ship. You didn’t have to power to initiate an investigation into said person. All you could do right now was stop this madman from causing more damage.

You adjusted your uniform and hair to look as professional as possible, with the plan of going in there and giving the clearly out of line subordinate a severe reprimand. When you turned the corner to confront the culprit you could have puked in horror.

There surrounded by on fire computers was Kylo Ren, ignited lightsaber in hand and hunched in aggressive breathing.

“Commander!” You were outraged. A superior officer flat out demolishing in use equipment that was in fact not cheap to fix. You had never heard of such a thing. You thought a Knight of Ren would at least keep their rage checked on ship. Apparently not. Was this what Mitaka was referring to when he said everyone drank because of the Commander?

Kylo whirled around, seating with unchecked fury. “What?!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. ‘What?’ was all he had to say for his actions? Like he had some kind of permission slip that said he could do whatever he wanted? “You do realize someone has to fix this right? If you were so angry about something why didn’t you just use the battle simulators in the training rooms? Kriff! Go and cut down droids no one gives two shits about?”

Kylo took two long strides so he was mere inches away from you, and that heavy presence he carried started to make you feel sick again. It hit you that you just yelled at the most powerful man in the galaxy besides the supreme leader. Of course he had a ‘get out of jail free’ card. He stared you down for what felt like a medium sized eternity. Long enough to get you thinking about why you were afraid of him crushing you before, but not now. You didn’t get to come to a conclusion.

“Not my problem.” He growled, straightening to his full height and pushing past you.

“You could have at least put out the fire.” You projected to him over your shoulder. “Jerkface” You mumbled the last part, not really wanting to prove you had a death wish. You started typing out messages to proper personnel and emergency droids.

Unbeknownst to you Kylo did catch that last remark. And if he wasn’t so worked up over Hux chewing him out for disrespecting you earlier he might have even smiled.

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remsyk-blog · 7 years ago

Text

The Boogeyman’s Feast

I suppose this would be considered my first dip into original work. Very short, but I wanted to get it out there.

He wandered the halls, every door familiar even if the people behind them were not. Every step pulled him deeper into the complex, past the temporary residents, the short term visitors, closer to those he knew intimately, who he knew by name, though they did not know his.

Nurses, doctors, and orderlies passed him, ignoring his presence despite the sudden spring in their step, the straightening of shoulders, and the surge of energy. He knew them all, but he wasn’t here for them. That they benefited from his presence was a bonus, a light snack before the main course.

He passed through the locked doors, smiling faintly as the guard on duty stopped tapping his pen on the table, the wrinkled lines smoothing between his brows.

His first stop was just down the hall, an angry, tangled web of self-loathing, hopelessness, and rage. The aura was especially potent, hinting at a rough day of therapy sessions and self reflection.

Her name was Alison, and he always stopped here first.

He approached the door, peering in the mesh lined glass to the small girl inside, curled up in a ball on her bed. She was young, beautiful, and oh so angry, and as much as he loved the taste, he wished she could be free.

He lingered at the door, slowly collecting the mess of emotions, clearing the air before stepping inside, inhaling deeply as her fog of hatred enveloped his form. Her emotions were always bitter, a mixture simmered in isolation.

He closed his eyes as he pulled them in, waiting for the moment that made this visit special.

Alison suddenly shuddered, a muffled sound slipping past her tightly controlled defences. Another slipped out, and another, until she finally let go, her form relaxing as she sobbed, burying her face in her pillow.

He sighed as her release spread through the thinning fog, creating clean, refreshing pockets that cleared his palate and lightened his soul.

She cried until she had nothing left, leaving an empty calm in its wake. She stare at the wall across the room, spent and exhausted. The air finally cleared, giving the room an illusion of being brighter, the air lighter and clean.

He smiled, his appetite sated for now. She always had the highest concentration of emotions, a gourmet feast he couldn’t help but crave, but every week, this cleansing tears came earlier than the last. Every week, she let herself go a little sooner, forgave herself a little quicker, and for all the negative emotions he came to enjoy, it was this progress that truly brought him back.

He stepped forward, running a gentle hand over her head, brushing her hair back from her red, splotchy face, contrasting sharply against her brilliant, green eyes.

She didn’t react, but she sighed deeply as he pulled away, dragging the stubborn remnants of her emotions from her.

As he turned to leave, the door suddenly opened, revealing one of the doctors and a nurse.

“Alison?” She said with a kind smile, waiting to be acknowledged before stepping into the room. “I’m Dr. Morris, and this is Ella. We have some news for you.”

He stepped aside as the two women crossed the room to stand by her bed as Alison sat up, wiping her face as she sniffled.

“You’ve made amazing progress over the past couple months,” Dr. Morris said with a smile. “We’ve done an evaluation, and have decided we can move you into the short term wing.”

Alison stared, her eyes wide. “You mean…” she whispered, her voice cracking.

The doctor nodded. “That’s right. You’re getting better. There’s still a long way to go, but we’ll be here every for every step.”

He backed away with a smile as the three women continued talking, hashing out details, tossing medical terms back and forth. He stepped through the open door, straightening the collar of his black shirt before turning down the hall to his next meal.

Some people called him the Boogeyman, for creeping in the shadows, for feasting on the fear, anger, and guilt of others, for pulling their hidden emotions to the surface. But he always left them lighter, left them better for facing their fears.

Humans were creatures ruled by their emotions; sometimes to their detriment. Some, over time, learned to control them. Others never did.

He was going to miss such a delicious meal, but there were always others. Besides, he could always pop in for a snack, just to help her along.

#the boogeyman's feast #my works #original story #short short story #tumblr prompt #writing #supernatural

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worldcakecakecake · 7 years ago

Text

Good Luck Friedrich

A series of video diaries by Isabella Beilschmidt for her baby brother, Friedrich, where she details and explains the lives of their hectic family.

Video 3.2

They both laughed and ogled, Feliciano pointing and describing the events of the pictures. There was one of them jumping on Ludwig and Feliciano’s bed, another of them sliding through freshly polished floors in their socks, both hugging their favorite dog plushes, another of them laying down in a nap on the couch with Ludwig and finally of them covered in flour and sauce as they helped Feliciano in making a pizza.

“They’re really so nice and cute, the most darling little boys I have been so blessed to have,” Feliciano said as Mrs. Natale returned the pictures, now his turn to look dearly to them.

“I see you’ve also really progressed with the house,” she pointed, looking over her clipboard as she analyzed what could be wrong with Feliciano after his checking.

“Well it’s not done yet. There’s still a lot of rooms that need to be fixed along with the outer appearance, but we have done more than enough to be able to live there. Right now were focused on the garden."

“Really? What kind of things are you growing?” Her eyes squinted over the analysis, slowly conjuring an idea.

“Lots of things! We’ll have all kinds of colorful flowers and trees, but were also going to grow celery, cabbages, plums, apricots, strawberries, cherries, raspberries, oh of course tomatoes! And Ludwig really hopes to make the best batch of potatoes!” Feliciano was incredibly excited, practically jumping on his seat.

“That’s absolutely wonderful. Are you planning to sell any of the growths?” She jotted down.

“Probably not. We really want to use them for our recipes and give everything to our family,”

“All five of you?”

“Of course all five of us and m- wait, Mrs. Natale, we’re actually four.”

That’s when she finally dispatched her eyes from her clipboard, sure about what was going on with Feliciano. “Feliciano, you might be pregnant again.”

In an instant Feliciano stilled, along with all words and thoughts as Mrs. Natale simply continued to tap her clipboard with a pen.

“No-no-no, I mean-no! I-I can’t, Ludwig and I always use protection, it can’t be possible, we’re really careful about it,” Feliciano tried to excuse, tried to make the idea something far off.

“Did you use protection for your last heat?” She asked straight on, which instantly caused Feliciano to widen, to shock himself to silence, biting his lip hard and looking away.

“Oh god…no…no we didn’t,” he groaned, a hand rubbing into his forehead, slowly slumping until he was buried in them, feeling the heavy fault run through him, irking him for the rather large mistake they had made that night of celebrated bliss and freedom.

“Heats tend to do that, after all, you lose a great amount of structured consciousness and forget about anything but your mate, these are normal occurrences,” she tried to ease, for Feliciano continued to wallow in the shield of his hands. “But it’s not sure.” She wanted to keep a light as she went through a drawer, picking a brand new pregnancy test and offering it towards Feliciano, who peeked out, a new kind of nervous shaking through him that made him hesitant in reaching for the small device.

How could everything be so calm? How could the sky be blue, the sun shine, the air of the hills surely a refreshing one for the summer? He was worrying with all kinds of storms inside him. It was a surprise he could keep the car on the road as he drove, his mind in other dilemmas to be able to focus on the curves and bends, for once not escaping from the asphalt or nearing his car to a high cliff. Ludwig would be proud if he saw him now.

Ludwig…oh god, he was supposed to tell Ludwig, his grip harshening on the wheel, thinking of just continuing on ahead and taking more of the wonderful views of the area to avoid the coming situation.

No, he had to face this, parking the car in front of the house, too late to run away, no more ideas to help him escape from this. He thought of perhaps waiting, give them some time to really focus on the garden they wanted, and when he would start to show…maybe then he could tell him. Yes, that was a good idea, a sure one until he got down from the car and spotted the house.

The form was still so awful, the colors dreadful and in the process he got reminded on how the basement was still a mess of debris, how there were halls still coated in dust and cobwebs, how there were unfinished rooms, slated and disgusting that Feliciano didn’t bother to enter as he focused on the twins’ room and his own that he shared with Ludwig. No…they really had to start working to prepare for this new one.

He raised his hand to his stomach, the beginning form of his next baby giving him that enough assurance to lock the car and make his way inside.

He was met with a nice breeze, the slide doors to the back open, enough of a convey to let him know that all his family was outside in the back. He met with Heinrich first, who sat by the terrace, eyes looking about to the shine of the day, an occasional tap to the toy drum he had on his lap. Feliciano took him by surprise, holding and kissing his head as welcome.

“Ciao, caro, where’s vatti and Alessandro?” He questioned.

Heinrich first pointed to his brother, who was pacing around a tree, picking up rocks to then throw over the cliff, testing to see if he could make one drop in the river down below. He then pointed near to one of the growing patches they had for tomatoes, where Feliciano began to see movement, Ludwig surely working on caring for the potatoes. He was burying and checking the ground, dressed appropriately, even with a sun hat that made him quite the comical sight. Feliciano gave a laugh as he settled Heinrich back on his sitting, continuing with his toy drum, then going over to Alessandro to greet him with his own hug and kiss, aiding him with the throw of a stone to the cliff…didn’t reach the river either, but Feliciano gave him the assurance to keep trying before he began walking down the slope, between the rows of growing tomatoes, finding Ludwig at the end of one of them, rubbing away some dirt that managed on his face. He was so focused that he hadn’t even noticed Feliciano’s approach, slow, silent, even his breaths controlled, his mind still trying to think of the proper words to say.

“It’s coming along great,” Feliciano thought he could compliment, finally breaking him from his dedication for their eyes to meet, with instant smiles and a relief to be back at home together.

“They are, might have something for next month."

“Hmm, what dishes do you think we should make then?” Feliciano wondered, already his mouth watering, his stomach rumbling with hunger.

“Mashed potatoes definitely,” Ludwig started, feeling that very hunger as he began to dig into a new pile to plant.

“With some ricotta,” Feliciano dreamed.

“Rosemary roasted,” Ludwig continued to suggest.

“Potato gratin.”

“Those potato bites you made last month.”

“Oh yes! And um…speaking of things we made last month…um…Mrs. Natale figured out the problem.” And suddenly he was nervous again, a hand coming to rub at his arm as Ludwig gave him all the attention he needed, taking a sitting on the ground to hear.

“Yes?” Ludwig questioned after Feliciano let the silence elongate.

“Um…” Feliciano gripped on the hem of his shirt, pulling it as if to hide more of the nonexistent bump.

“Was it a virus?” Ludwig thought he could help.

“…No."

“An allergy?”

Feliciano shook his head.

“Is it anything dangerous?”

“Uh…no."

“Feliciano, just say it then. It can’t be anything so worrying as to-”

“I’m pregnant,” he proclaimed, loud enough to interrupt and make clear, a reach that was enough for Ludwig to be claimed by the silence of the valley as the words repeated on his head, ringing and alerting while in his physical he only remained in his sitting, no immediate reaction, no joy, no scorn, a lost expression that Feliciano couldn’t decipher.

He slightly flinched when Ludwig took off his hat, a hand rising to rub out the sweat that had accumulated, rare in such a fresh day. He raised his head to meet his eyes with Feliciano once again, not yet with a clear response, his mind surely thinking of a line of duties he already had to fulfill even with only minutes of knowing the news.

“Um…uh…” he tried to say, but he really couldn’t show a proper response.

No, it wasn’t anything dire, it wasn’t horrendous, it wasn’t bad, it was just the looming threat of having to raise another child when they were still dealing with twin toddlers. If it wasn’t for the nervousness, their situation, a reminder to Ludwig as he took a glance to the still rebuilding house, he surely would have been excited, would have twirled Feliciano in the spot, kissed him all and immediately call out the announcement to the twins and even to Vash and Lili next door. But no, all Ludwig could think about was the impending new work, along with the weight of his new job and still dealing with a pair of twins. He sighed…at least they had money now to not worry, but they would still have to make some adjustments.

“We’ll…start working on the room next to the twins’. Smaller, but the window has a seating and an incredible view to the valley. If we don’t stuff it with too many things, I’m sure it would be comfortable,” Ludwig already recommended with a huff as he stood, trying to rub out any prominent dirt on his clothing before he began moving forward.

“A-all right, that be…perfect.” Feliciano tried to smile, but he was still rather nervous. It slowly stilled as Ludwig came closer, with an adoring and trusting smile that Feliciano joined with in his own, letting him lay his hands on the grasps of his hips. His thumbs rubbed gently on his stomach, enough of an assurance of Ludwig beginning to accept and already love. Feliciano smiled at the growing promise, raising his hands to caress at his face before bringing him down to a kiss of beginning for this new child.

They went back into the house, Heinrich following obediently behind, eager for some cooking, while Ludwig had to pick up Alessandro, who kept edging himself to the cliff no matter how many times Ludwig told him against it.

That night, while they dined on Greek salad, salmon and of course Pizza, Ludwig and Feliciano didn’t stall long enough for the boys to know.

“Boys, your papa has some important news,” Ludwig declared with a teasing smile as he helped Heinrich take a better bite of the pizza slice he held.

Even while still munching, their mouths slowly being stuffed with food, their brown eyes gazed up with curiosity and eagerness, attendant to when the words would leave their papa’s mouth.

Feliciano was nervous, but also excited, twirling his fingers in a way that only made the boys anxious, jumping along in their seats along with Feliciano wanting to instantly know. “Boys, you’re going to be big brothers.”

At first they were both confused, Alessandro looking over to Heinrich knowing he was the bigger brother. It was a word that they only understood for each other and didn’t so for another being.

“Boys, your papa is going to have a new baby,” Ludwig helped to clear and then their faces alighted, jumping, shouting and even screaming.

“New baby! New baby!” They repeated, standing from their seats and both running over to their papa, hugging and looking for this new baby.

“No, boys, this baby won’t be arriving for a while, it’s just starting to grow in my stomach,” Feliciano explained, which widened his boys, looking over to the area as if they could already see hints of their new sibling. Alessandro poked as if hoping it could cause something, Heinrich joining along, but all it did was cause a fit of laughter to Feliciano.

“Another boy!” Alessandro though he knew.

“Boy! Boy! Boy! Boy!” Heinrich already wished as well.

“Actually, we don’t know that yet, it might be a boy, but it might also be a girl,” Feliciano continued to explain, and even so it didn’t dwell their happiness, their smiles, their activeness, even as they headed to sleep planning all kinds of games and things they could do with this new future member to their family.

Four months into yet another pregnancy, once again to the cramps, to the heavy weight, to the weird cravings (Fried cheese… he wanted friend cheese, accompanied by potatoes with eggs and artichoke soup), to the vomiting at any suddenness, the uncomfortable sleep and the extra carefulness Ludwig took with him that barely left him any kind of enjoyment. But there were sweet things, like Heinrich and Alessandro always laying upon his stomach expecting to hear the baby or catch some sort of movement, their mouths filled with gibberish of ideas that Feliciano smiled dearly to, rubbing their blond hairs until they found themselves napping upon the bump. There was Ludwig raising him to lay constant kisses on his stomach, whispering loving words to then give Feliciano kisses upon his lips.

Feliciano had to admit…he did miss those warm caresses Ludwig would give to his bump, as if tracing a message of love for their coming baby, a special kind of union every night that didn’t even let them sleep, wanting instead gazes into their eyes, of ever love and devotion.

A sonogram later, once again Feliciano held another image of the growing human in his stomach, gender and type told, which had Feliciano bouncing and with such a want to dance. He was currently comparing the images of Heinrich and Alessandro’s with this new one, trying to find similarities, if not the differences, still thinking if he should put them together on a wall or separate in other rooms.

Ludwig and him had just finished painting the new baby’s room into white, since Feliciano had ideas to paint over it and was already quite excited to start. Just last week they had finished with adding proper electricity to the room as well as getting a new glass for the window. Ludwig knew he would have to get started on making a new crib, as well as cabinets and sitting places, while Feliciano would start with making clothing, blankets and other fabrics they might need.

They had just washed away the sweat and force of the day, Heinrich and Alessandro tucked into bed, hoping that their ‘monster repelling’ night light would help them sleep for the night, to be able to calm as they made themselves comfortable in their bed, the dim of the lamp just enough as Ludwig read a book about caring for omega babies. He bought it that morning as soon as he found out that his next child was going to be an omega, a girl, news that had Feliciano shrilling, already thinking about all the kinds of dresses, bows, hairstyles and even little shoes he would place on her. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off from the sonogram, smiling away even in the share of their bed.

Ludwig finished a chapter, placing it on the bedside desk to a halt, shutting the lamp, coming close to Feliciano and easing a hand around him to pull him close, both nuzzling and cuddling and preparing for rest. There was still a well enough moonlight coming through one of the windows, still making the sonogram glow, still not making Feliciano dispatch himself from it, now letting Ludwig intertwine his hand with his as they laid them both above his stomach.

“Yes, Feliciano, it’s a girl,” Ludwig repeated, laying a kiss of assurance on his head.

“I’m still so smiley,” he laughed, blushing and cuddling ever closer into the hideaway of his collarbone.

“Mrs. Natale told me she might be due on February,” Ludwig told just in case, since he knew Feliciano had been so ecstatic with the news he probably hadn't heard anything else the doctor said.

“Wouldn’t it be so cute if she was born a valentine’s day?” Feliciano dreamed, putting the sonogram well between them so Ludwig could have his gazes as well.

“Wouldn’t it be annoying? What if she doesn’t like valentine’s day."

“Then we’ll make it her day!” Feliciano proclaimed. “It shall be…” and then he realized, “…what name should we give her?”

“You want to decide that now?” Ludwig raised an eyebrow, rather tired at the moment to think of names.

“Of course! So I can sew it on all her clothes and you can already carve it to her crib,” Feliciano pouted as he laid himself upon his chest how he could with his growing bump.

“But…I don’t have any names…”

“At least we’re only choosing one this time."

“It was easier to choose two,” Ludwig had realized.

“Come on! There has to be something." He fell upon the bed once again as he stared to the ceiling in thought. “Um…Rina,” Feliciano started, but it didn’t hold the right spark.

“Feliciana?” Ludwig suggested, but even he sounded unconvinced, more so as Feliciano gave him quite the glare.

“No, hmm…Viola?”

“Theresa?”

“Graziella?”

“Dina?”

After surely the hundredth name they gave up, their minds tired and wanting nothing more than to sleep.

“This reminds me of something…” Ludwig suddenly remembered, earning a curious gaze from Feliciano as he settled back into his side. “My great aunt was a writer, and she had a knack with names and knew just the perfect one to say that would have one picking in the first mention. She knew well their importance and how they can set the path for one’s life and suggested the ones that she knew would hold meaning to my other family members. Most of us were named after names she had suggested, even I was. It was obvious what to pick for me when she knew about my mother’s liking to Beethoven.”

Feliciano chuckled. “Do you think if we called her she would tell us?”

“No…I don’t think so…”

“…Is it because…?”

“Oh no, she’s dead right now.”

“Oh…” And Feliciano eased, consoling Ludwig with a trace of his fingers on his chest. “I’m sorry,” he saddened.

Ludwig chuckled, placing a kiss on the top of his head in assurance. “It’s all right, I was really young, barely remember her own funeral, but her stories were repeated throughout the family, I even read some of her books, she was an amazing writer.”

“That’s really cool, do you have any of her books there?”

Ludwig leaned out to check through his mini library at the bottom of the floor since they haven’t properly built or placed a bookshelf. He took out one with a cover of a regency era woman looking into the growing field, a beautiful array of flowers in the hold of her hand. The tittle read ‘Libertà’ by Analiese Beilschmidt.

“She set this one in Italy, a woman living through the rise of Napoleon and how she stands against the expectations of her family to take her father’s business once he dies.”

Feliciano’s eyes widened as he took it, instant interest to the idea, the cover a beautiful painting, tracing his hands as if he could feel the flowers, but what caught his attention the most was the beautiful name of the author.

“Oh, Ludwig, she had such a pretty name herself, I like it so much,” he caressed the name, a wanting, a choosing, already he could imagine himself calling a little Analiese, sewing and carving it, kissing and hugging her, smiling as he brought a hand to trace his stomach.

“You do?” Ludwig raised his eyes, starting to realize that yes…for their own coming daughter…it would be perfect.

“Mhm, really, really, really much…” he began to tap his fingers, a decision as he gazed to Ludwig, the blond smiling back to his brunet lover with that very decision.

“Analiese it is.”

They sealed it with a last kiss for the night.

Analiese was born a February 15…just after valentine’s day, in fact, Feliciano had broken water just when they were heading out of Vash and Lili’s place for the night after they enjoyed from a small exchange and drinks between friends they knew. The boys had just turned three, that night remaining with Vash and Lili as Ludwig and Feliciano hurried to the hospital for another birthing process. Like for Heinrich and Alessandro, Ludwig had been there, holding his hands, assuring him with countless words and kisses until finally they could hold their newest addition, a gorgeous little girl that had a great similarity to Feliciano. When Lovino saw her the first time, he felt himself transported in time, like he was holding a little Feliciano once again. Heinrich and Alessandro had first been introduced to her four days later when they returned from the hospital, both curiously looking down to her, poking and pushing to play, but there was nothing the little newborn could do but wobble, cry and reach for her parents.

This was not the new playmate they were expecting and were rather disappointed, even more so when their parents started giving her more attention as she was a mere baby. It resulted in them forming tantrums, shouting, screaming, even banging items unto the floor until Ludwig and Feliciano could find some play time, or they were grounded, pouting and crying the rest of the day in their room. It was hurting, neither had wished it would come to this and so Feliciano, who was the one who spent the most in the house since Ludwig was off working, spent most of the time trying to find new activities where he could include now all three of his children. He guessed the best way to do this was by using the art room, a place he had made enough memories and fun with both his twins and surely this new daughter would find her own in the future.

He brought the three of them that morning with excitement for a surprise, both his twins jumping and running while his baby girl was well tucked in his arms, looking curiously about the room, occasionally letting her hands flap in intrigue as she saw a painting she particularly liked.

“We want to see the surprise!” Alessandro already shouted not being able to take the waiting any longer.

“Of course, my dears, come with me.” And so he brought them all to an area which he completely covered in white paper, from floor to ceiling, all kinds of paints already presented to them in the center. The boys were still rather confused, wondering why their father created a squared space of only paper, but one idea made them imagine, made them hope to climb every corner and paint it in purples, blues and yellows.

“I want the three of you-” and Feliciano placed Analiese on the ground, who by this time was already five months old and was still a learning crawler- “to paint all of this, completely!” He presented, extending his arms to mean all the complete available space covered in white. He was asking something so rare that the twins still looked on confused around them, perhaps thinking still if indeed it was possible, that they could really do it, that there wouldn’t be shouts or angry glares, that they could actually paint all of this.

“Everything?” Heinrich questioned, as Alessandro neared to get a red jar, while Analiese was taking a purple one to test her holding and then shake.

“Yes, everything you want, as long as it’s this space here,” he pointed to where the paper ended to make it clear. “But you have to let me join, as well as your little sister. Can you let us?” He kneeled towards them with a playful smile and the twins laughed, jumping and nodding.

“Can we help her?” Alessandro wondered, already coming down to help Analiese open that purple jar, dipping a finger to create his first stroke.

“Of course, and teach her as many things as you want, but be careful with her, after all, she’s just a baby," he said it as Analiese just decided to dip her whole hand in the jar, ecstatic at the colors, waving around and already letting drops fall on the paper.

After this activity, no part of themselves was left free from the spray of color. All kinds were splashed throughout themselves or either the papers, with countless of free designs that depicted all around different things. Analiese’s was just a mess of trails as she crawled around, of testing handprints that she moved across to create her own waves, the ones she did on the wall done with the help of Heinrich carrying her how he best could. The twins’ took a better formation of houses, cars, trees, the sun, moon, stars, rivers and even flowers, or sometimes just a random mixing as they simply enjoyed from the coolness of the paint and trying out new colors. Feliciano was the only one that held a paintbrush, filling in some beautiful more intricate details into already present things. Sometimes he would throw it all away and just jump and dance along his children, creating equal messes and soaking himself in all different kinds of colors.

They found themselves in this world for the majority of the day, only to break when the twins heard a very familiar car approach.

“Vatti! Vatti! Vatti!” They shouted, not caring at all, drenched in fresh color as they ran away from the line of the paper, into the wood of the floors of not just the room, but also of the halls and stairs.

“Heinrich! Alessandro! No!” He shouted, but it was already too late.

He heard the creek of the door opening, of the boys’ laughter and Ludwig’s German “What in the world?”

Feliciano groaned, knowing surely the scold he was going to get. He gazed down to Analiese, who was beginning to crawl away from the space of the paper wanting to follow her older brother’s, but Feliciano wasn’t going to worsen the mess they already created.

“No, not you, come on, we have to say hi to vatti,” he prepared as he picked her up, a tight hold as he walked and saw the colored footsteps printed across the floors, the walls, the stairs, and as he came down, Ludwig.

The boys didn’t care about the paint they wore, they only cared about receiving proper attention from their alpha father, and so they hugged and kissed him, drenching his suit in colors. The look on his face was strained as it tried to hide a shout, his ultimate fury, but at the same time a smile and a chuckle to the loving welcome of his sons.

When he looked up, he had to hold himself from doubling over as he saw his own mate and baby daughter stained just the same way as his twins.

“I…thought it was a good idea,” Feliciano excused, and surprisingly it earned a laugh from Ludwig, ending it with a deep sigh, swallowing all anger to instead focus on the sweetness and endearments.

This was the family life he now had.

“Clearly only you could come up with something like this,” Ludwig rolled his eyes, but offered his arm, wanting his greeting from his daughter now.

Feliciano was slightly hesitant as Analiese was still drenched in her own paint, but Ludwig’s suit was ruined enough, any add from his little girl couldn’t do anymore damage. So Feliciano offered her, much to the excitement of the baby, who began fluttering and even laughing, quickly accepted into her alpha parent’s embrace, and the first thing she decided was to wrap herself around…his face. She laughed and cuddled away, staining Ludwig’s expression in all the colors of her own, of course not minding, in fact, she even began to spread her hand around his cheeks and jaws, his face her canvas now. Feliciano and the twins joined in the laughter this time, and Ludwig could do nothing but remain with his eyes and mouth shut so Analiese wouldn’t paint those too.

In one of the walls leading to the terrace, Feliciano hanged pictures of that day they were all colored to completion. There was one they had Lili take of all of them together at their living room, one of Alessandro and Heinrich holding a baby Analiese, the three timed perfectly to smile at the picture, and then one of a younger Feliciano staining Ludwig’s cheek the more with his kiss.

“-and look what we have here!” Analiese shouted, Isabella moving the camera in her direction as she proudly presented the mantle of the table they had prepared outside for the night.

The very mantle was that drawing the four had made long ago, now covered in plastic to hold and use as a decoration but also as a token of remembrance.

“Okay, that, but now…look at this!” And she presented the decorations and plates that were presented.

Flowers and tea sets galore in pinks, whites and browns that spoke of fairy elegance. The dimming of the lights were just enough, organized to eloquence, the free night behind them giving a freshness that somehow made everything more cozy and magical.

As Isabella taped, she already wanted to take her seating, to join from the food and sweets they had prepared.

“Wow, this is actually amazing,” Isabella complimented, honest wonder in her voice.

“I know, I did it, so it should be obvious,” Analiese smirked with a proud gleam.

How haughty was her sister. If only Isabella could show to the camera the roll of her eyes.

She showed the rest, helping in preparations, bringing in plates, settling bouquets around, all with their flower crowns still proudly on their heads.

“He’s here! He’s here! He’s here!” Giovanna shouted, running back to the terrace.

“All right! Come on guys, come on!” Analiese fretted as she brought everyone to organize themselves, making sure everyone’s flower crown was perfectly balanced, especially Friedrich’s, laying one last kiss of completion to his little head.

They all silenced as they focused instead to the sounds of their omega father entering, dropping the keys in a near counter, hesitant steps as he surely wondered where the rest of his family was in. He found himself following a beautiful glow, and indeed what a beauty he had met.

“Ta-da!” They all shouted together, even Ludwig joined in, with a smile to match the rest.

Feliciano laughed and ogled so hard that he was almost left breathless. “Ooohhh, you all look so gorgeous!” He complimented, nearing Aldrich and letting his hand trace one of the petals of his crown as he smiled in greeting to him before placing a kiss on his head. “Like-like…fairies!” He even flapped his hands like one and earned a chuckle around them all.

“And papa! Look at Friedrich!” Giovanna wanted to point out.

That’s when Ludwig presented him forward, the youngest child with his own flower crown and dressed in a light pink footsie. Feliciano almost cried from how adorable he looked, cooing so harshly it was barely understandable as he held him, bringing him close to gaze on at how enchanted he looked.

“Oooohhh, Il bambino più adorabile di questo mondo!” He brought him close to rub their noses together, then taking him into a tight embrace, letting him feel all his warmth and welcome. “But wait? Is there something special today? Don’t tell me it was one of your birthdays?” He showed worry.

“Na’, we just felt like it,” Alessandro assured.

“I found my old flowers crowns and I thought it be nice to do something different,” Analiese said.

“It’s very nice, I really like it. We should do something like this more often,” Feliciano smiled as he rocked Friedrich on his chest, letting his eyes wander around every detail they gave, the flowers, the crystals, plates, cups, utensils, and of course the mantel of such special meaning.

“But, we cannot let you pass until we add one more detail,” Analiese reminded, just as Heinrich gave her the golden flower crown, which she presented with an epitome of grace to Feliciano, bowing even like she was showcasing to an array of distinguished guests.

“Sir Feliciano of the Larath, a most important guest I would want in my party, bow to receive your crown, a well deserve gift of my loyalty,” Analiese proclaimed.

Feliciano chuckled, but very dutifully did he bow in the preparations he used to make back when Analiese was a child.

“This is a crown of peace, for your feats in stopping the war of Karsa, with nothing but kindness, understanding and even bravery.”

Feliciano smiled in proud earnest, just as Analiese placed it on his hair in perfect match, admitting that it went really well with her omega father.

“A splendorous party you have prepared, your highness, indeed what an honor it is to be here. You have my loyalty and command,” Feliciano smiled, still kneeling in his position.

“Arise powerful prince, arise and show yourself proudly!” Feliciano did so, with movements of elegance, yet such a vivid expression that betrayed the orderly way he raised.

"What a chance! What a wish! This crown shall show how indebted I am to you princess Analiese. Long live the princess! Long may she reign on the beautiful fairy kingdom!” And they all burst out laughing, but not without joining in applauds as Feliciano bowed like he had just performed before an adoring crowd.

“Come on, I’m hungry and I want to eat!” Aldrich announced, all agreeing and finally taking their chairs.

They passed around plates and bowls of salmon, steak, lentil salad, pastitsio, cookies, trifle, pudding and meringue roulades. No such thing as silence was given to them in the table, all kinds of conversations were instantly shared around them, a small little feast of laughter, talks and union, just the right thing for Isabella to tape lastly.

“Hey, we didn’t talk about how you came,” Analiese suddenly reminded.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it the next one, right now I just want to eat and focus on talking to you guys,” she smiled before she shut the camera to instead enjoy from the moment.

< Video 3.1 Video 4 >

#Good Luck Friedrich #GLF #gerita #gerita fanfiction #gerita fic #gerita fanfic #gerita omegaverse

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