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larkspyrr · 1 year ago

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chapter v — would i run off the world someday? (wc. 4.6k)

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Wriothesley ducked, narrowly missing your glove as it brushed across the peak of his shoulder. You withdrew, making a tiny, frustrated noise and narrowing your eyes. You shook out your fist before returning to the stance he’d taught you, poised to strike again, a viper with its fangs bared and glinting.

"Good," Wriothesley barked, flashing you a breathless smile during the momentary lull between swings. "Keep it up!"

A wild grin lit your face, your eyes catching an arc of golden light. You lunged again and Wriothesley sidestepped it with ease, weaving in the opposite direction of the coming impact. "I intend to."

"Get one more good hit on me and we'll call it a day."

You stopped abruptly, arms sagging to your sides. Your face fell, the very picture of disappointment. "Already?"

Wriothesley tilted his head, letting his arms relax a bit, fists lowering from his face. He spared a glance at the massive bronze clock ticking away overhead. "We've been here for over —"

He had barely enough time to register your sorrow morph into savage delight before you struck, gloved fist landing squarely in his gut. He recoiled with an oof.

You straightened up, stretching your arms and neck with a grin. Your training shirt lifted slightly more than was strictly proper with the motion but he was almost too busy trying to process that he'd been duped to enjoy it. Almost. "Never let your guard down, Wrio," you said coyly. You stretched your arms out in a wide arc on either side of your body, bring them — and your shirt — back down where they belong. "My teacher tells me that all the time."

Wriothesley laughed despite his sudden air deficiency, a surprised hand still pressed against the point of impact on his stomach. "I suppose he does, doesn't he? Wise and handsome,” he said, lifting a brow. “But that was a cheap shot."

"Nothing about me is cheap," you shot back with a wicked grin and a wink, knocking the breath out of his lungs once again, more effectively than any punch ever had. You looked at him as you descended the stairs, grabbing a towel off the side of the ring and throwing it over your shoulder. "Tea?"

“Of course."

He forced himself not to watch your departure too closely — he was a gentleman, after all, no matter what the sight of you in your training clothes did to him. He'd thought, that first day when you emerged from the locker room in black trousers and a loose-fitting shirt that covered your skin all the way down to your wrists, that you looked more beautiful than you had dripping gemstones and lace — that you looked radiant, powerful, in your element. That maybe this ruse had been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea. That you’d be the death of him.

He still thought all of those things, from time to time. He was a perfect gentleman, of course. But no one could fault a man for admiring art. So long as he didn't participate in any heists down the line.

Or attempt to, anyway. Some art seemed quite resistant to being stolen, reinforced glass and thick screws in iron walls and armed gardes and he was absolutely fine with that because Wriothesley was a duke and would never disrespect art's wishes, especially when art had no intentions of ever marrying.

He felt perhaps the metaphor had gotten away from him a little.

In the weeks since you'd come to your arrangement, he had learned quite a bit, about not only the aristocracy and etiquette, but about you as well. Your relationship was unconventional, that much was certain, but nothing about Wriothesley's life could ever be called conventional, so he elected to roll with the punches, and Archons — you certainly kept the punches coming.

You stopped to pick up your dress from the basket near the locker room door, waving your hand at him as you slipped through and out of sight. Wriothesley released a catastrophic exhale as the door swung shut behind you and he was left, mercifully, alone.

He had expected a thousand different things from your attachment — not many of which falling under the umbrella of 'good' or 'easy'. He historically had a penchant for keeping people at arm’s length, not only for their own protection — but his as well. From the time he entered the Fortress for the very first time, young and shivering and wisp-thin, bloodstained and naive, traumatized and defensive, he'd had a knack for attracting trouble, from every corner of every nook, of every name and variety. It found its way to him like sharks to an open wound and all he could do to stop it was try not to flail and make it worse and hope that the shiver would pass him by.

As much as Wriothesley enjoyed companionship, he had to face the reality that he had to be particular with those he allowed into his inner circle.

He would never admit it out loud, but it was terribly lonely.

People relied on him. No one ever asked him to take the role after the previous administrator fled—he chose to fill it, opening the doors to the office and taking up the mantle while he still wore his production overalls. He took it, so it was his duty to take every responsibility that came along with it seriously. He knew that it would mean sacrifices; that it meant never truly belonging to the overworld again. But when he thought about it, had he ever belonged there anyway? Not even since he was first sentenced, but before? Perhaps even from the day he came to be, had he ever truly belonged?

Determination, cowardice, obligation, fury. Righteousness. Loneliness. The cocktail that made Wriothesley who he was and guided his every move left little room for anything else, his own desires be damned. And when his home and his people were threatened, he knew he’d find a way to overcome, as ‘overcome’ was what he had always done, through hell or high water or whatever primordial miasma or sunken cities existed in between.

He'd hoped you would be the key. He'd expected you to be a pawn; a convenience. Perhaps another obligation, another surefire trouble hounding him, hot on his heels. He'd expected you to maybe renege on your word; to call off the ruse or fail to rise to the occasion. He'd expected you to end up being just as cold, critical, and capricious as the rest of the court had led him to expect from one of their own. He'd expected you to confine him to a singular, stifling box lined with the barbed wire of perception, to treat him like dirt — or worse, to treat him like a duke.

He hadn't expected to find a friend. But friendship was easy with you, as everything was. Easy to bare a tiny shard of his soul, easy to laugh, easy to walk by your side and feel like maybe he belonged — somewhere.

Easy to want.

And if he had to remind himself from time to time that you were off-limits — for his sake as well as your own — well, that was no one's business but Wriothesley's.

"Not gonna change?"

He snapped to attention at your voice, seeing you'd returned, as lovely and perfect and put-together as though you'd never been in the ring at all, never left bruises in the shape of your fingers on Wriothesley’s skin. Your hair once again fixed back away from your face, all the little flyaways that made his pulse jump tucked back away where they had originally been. Jewels dangled in front of your exposed collarbone, still flushed from your shower. Your head, tilted in confusion as you looked at him still standing on the platform, covered in sweat, undignified and slack-jawed.

"Ah, sorry, I was, uh. Wrapping up," he said haltingly. "I'll only be a minute."

You smiled at him, unsure but trusting, and nodded, looking for all the world out of place against the backdrop of splintered wood and battered dummies and limescale.

Wriothesley pushed down his want to a place where it couldn’t reach him, and turned away.

"This is unexpected," Wriothesley said, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes from behind his desk. He hadn’t even gotten to his morning tea yet; you’d entered his office unannounced about as soon as he’d dropped into his chair.

You folded your arms in front of your dress — which, today, was an enchanting sea green with mesmerizing eddies of opalescent pearl. He stared at them blankly, tired eyes following their swirling path as he searched his brain for answers that continued to elude him.

"You were aware there was a ball today, were you not?"

He frowned in sleepy concentration. "I was,” he said slowly, recalling your words the last time you’d been by, a few days previously. You’d mentioned it in passing over tea, while explaining to him the differences between various silverware and what they were used for in polite society. He was pretty sure he knew the differences on a fundamental level, though the reasoning behind so much specificity still evaded him, as much about ‘polite society’ eternally did. “But —"

"There are still be a number of balls we must attend together,” you interrupted. You tapped a heeled foot against the bronze floor of his office. “To keep up appearances, as you well know."

He sighed. "And I take it one such ball is happening today?"

"Indeed it is." You tugged at the sleeve of your dress absently, angling a slow smile his way.

He rubbed a hand over his face before eyeing you warily. “And what is the occasion this time?”

“It’s a two-parter," you said cheerily, beatifically, an expression which immediately filled him with a sense of dread. You daintily sat on the edge of his desk. He sent up a quick prayer to whatever Archon might be listening to give him strength. You crossed one leg over the other, the action causing the fabric at your thighs to bunch slightly. Wriothesley's fingers twitched. "The ball itself follows a performance happening today at the Opera Epiclese. Some tragedy or other. It would be wonderful if you could accompany me, which —"

"Which is why you are here to bother me at the crack of dawn," he finished.

"Precisely," you confirmed, expression light and impish. "I wanted to make sure you didn't have other plans. Plus, I knew you'd have a harder time turning me down after I made the journey all the way down here."

Wriothesley sighed again. Defeated. You were right.

He’d spent the night dealing with a possible issue among the inmates — some scheme or other George had brought to his attention before it could come to pass, a warning passed along the other day in a surreptitious walk-by, the skittish boy disappearing back into the crowd before Wriothesley had even noticed the letter stuffed into his palm — but after a night of searching alongside a few other trusted staff members, had been unable to find anything amiss anywhere within the facility.

He’d suspected it would be the culmination after months of mutterings about something nefarious at play, rumors and tips promising enough that the absolute radio silence the night before had only increased Wriothesley's worry of what such a conflict would entail. Not to mention who and how many could possibly be involved. The challenge in learning more about such details did not bode well for their origins. Rumors spread like wildfire within a prison — unless there was someone you didn’t want to know you’d been talking.

Wriothesley was, as a result, nowhere near being in a physical or mental state to deal with the aristocracy’s games on that particular day. Frustrated and exhausted, he was fairly sure it had been a miracle of human will that he managed to drag himself to his office at all.

But it had been a while since he’d been inside the Opera Epiclese, and he supposed fewer curious eyes would be on him in the darkness of the audience chamber.

Plus, you would be there.

“Fine,” he grumbled, reluctantly getting back to his feet. He dropped his pen back to the desk where it clattered, a mascot for his own inner turmoil. “Just give me a bit of time to get ready and we can depart.”

You shot off his desk excitedly. "Oh, we have time! It isn't until this evening," you said. Your eyes were eager; an expression he was getting too know a little too well. He already knew the next words that would come out of your mouth. "I figured we could squeeze in a training session beforehand."

He laughed quietly, the sound quickly transforming into a yawn. "Of course you did."

“Also,” you said, holding up a silk-clad hand with an apologetic smile. “Today, I will help you select your attire.”

Wriothesley bristled. “What was wrong with my attire last time?”

“Oh, it was perfectly fine, if you were attending as a prison warden," you said carefully, one eyebrow delicately arched. "This is an opera, Wriothesley, and we are going to be attending arm-in-arm. I need to make sure you look the part.”

Wriothesley’s face fell. He was almost too tired to ask... but he had to know. “Is looking the part going to be uncomfortable?”

Your smile was wide and innocent. He didn’t believe it for a second. “Oh, absolutely. That’s a vital part of the experience.”

Arriving in the overworld never got any less disorienting, no matter how many times Wriothesley ascended from the depths to the Opera Epiclese, passing by centuries of despair and decay and brine. But finally, at last, the sun made its appearance high overhead, unimpeded by the sea, and he was above ground once more.

He fidgeted, adjusting his sleeve. You were right. The suit you had picked for him was uncomfortable.

He looked good, though.

And when you scanned him head to toe with an appraising eye before declaring he looked ‘very handsome’, well, he decided then and there that maybe he’d have worn anything if it made you think that. He was a simple man.

Wriothesley spared one more longing glance at the entrance to the Fortress before he descended the steps into the Fountain of Lucine courtyard, into an ocean whose waters he still didn’t understand, vibrant bursts of color, diamonds and champagne and violins and titles. You, on his arm, looking as though you had not a worry in the world. He was feeling strangely reminiscent of the night of your meeting. Proud to be the one you chose to stand beside.

It didn’t make the experience any less dizzying, of course. He marveled once more at the sheer force of the glittering, suffocating display and the legions of people who looked so at home in the midst of it, so in contrast to how Wriothesley felt with his stomach on the floor. He felt the same as he had as a boy, when he looked out of the viewing windows at the end of the ferry and into the vast Fontemer, living and breathing just ahead — close enough to touch, but separated by an impenetrable wall, forever separate from the shimmering iridescent fish who swam by with no regard for Wriothesley at all, wide-eyed and so, so young.

He realized too late that he had begun to hold your hold arm a little more tightly to his side. If you had noticed his moment of weakness, you didn’t say a word, smiling and offering a polite greeting to an acquaintance as you passed by.

He hadn’t even noticed he was being guided until you came to a stop by a flowerbed, identical to the one he had first approached you at, weeks ago. This time, the look on your face was kind, understanding, lacking any of the boredom and resentment of that first evening. Looking at him, as opposed to staunchly away.

His heart pounded.

"Wrio," you said, your mouth curving into a gentle smile. You paused, a bare breath of a moment, and then reached out to adjust his tie for him, your knuckles brushing gently against his throat as you fussed over it. He swallowed, wanting yet unable to look away from you, close enough for him to kiss, if he wanted to.

He definitely didn’t.

Archons, was he fucked.

You finished adjusting his tie before patting it down, straightening out his coat, fingers curled around each lapel. You let your hands rest on either side of his chest, apparently content not to move them just yet. He hoped desperately that you couldn’t feel his pulse thundering beneath your palms.

"Ready for the show?" you asked, eyes bright and playful.

A question which Wriothesley knew had two meanings. A question to ground him. He exhaled, willing a wave of tension to drain out of his shoulders. He lifted his free hand to give yours a squeeze, just above his heart. A small number of neighboring attendees watched the gesture raptly, gossiping mouths hidden away behind their hands.

"With you by my side," he said with a lopsided smile, "I'm ready for anything."

Wriothesley had always liked the opera. He had even when he bore a different name.

As a boy, when he would hang out around the Fountain of Lucine to pluck out stray mora that the other children hadn’t gotten to yet, he would cling onto the soft, warbling notes that radiated from the opera house’s shuttered doors. The boy would relish the sounds of the plays — tragedies, comedies, romances. He’d savor the voices clear as a Fontainian spring. He’d delight in the orchestras, telling a story together in perfect harmony, painting a landscape upon the blank canvas of his adolescent imagination.

He would find a quiet corner behind some flowering bushes to sit and close his eyes and dream. Sometimes, the boy would just appreciate the gift he didn’t have any mora to buy or any right to steal. Sometimes, if he was feeling brave, the boy would let himself imagine the voice of a mother he’d never known, singing to him from somewhere forever out of his reach.

After a while, whenever he went to the Opera Epiclese, the boy would forget to check the fountain at all.

After the boy who went by a different name was taken in by a host family, the faceless voice in his mind was replaced by the voice of a woman who smiled warmly at him and drew smiles in mustard on his sandwiches and gave him friends — brothers and sisters, bright, beautiful spirits — and he didn’t have to imagine anything at all. She and a man, a mother and a father, a bewitching duet, cradling his lonely soul and giving him a song of his own to fill the empty spaces in his heart. And for a while, the boy felt like maybe he wouldn’t have to close his eyes in a dark corner to dream anymore.

Until the man and the woman betrayed the boy and the song in his mind went silent, ceasing beneath the violent whip of a conductor’s cruel hand. The boy hadn’t gone to the Opera Epiclese to hear the singing since. In fact, the first and only time he had been at all was to stand trial for their murder.

He'd barely had any interest in music after that at all; until one day when he had marched into an administrative office to find a rusty old gramophone sitting on the desk, dusty and silent and dead.

He’d pulled out a record he found in a nearby drawer and fiddled with the device until it played an unfamiliar piano tune; crackling in protest but alive. He almost always let it play now while he worked. A new song for a new name.

You shifted at his right side, your arm pressing against his own, and the boy was brought back to the present, sitting in a high-backed, elegant seat in a darkened opera house he hadn’t been back inside since he was convicted, a lifetime and an identity ago.

A young woman stood center stage, head to toe in shimmering sapphire, illuminated from above by a singular spotlight shining unforgivingly at her from somewhere in the dark catwalk. She sang of the Oceanids, a haunting, reverberating melody which ushered the audience through her sorrow and loss, her dark eyes glittering with theatrical tears.

She brought her lament to its conclusion, eyes shut, manufactured tears sliding delicately down her cheeks at last, a finely manicured hand pressed demurely to the swell of her chest. Her voice echoed and waned before coming to its inevitable conclusion; the chamber’s silence reigning supreme for only a moment before an applause far too polite to have properly encompassed the appreciation for the performance spread amongst the audience. The singer curtsied low, the curtain falling and obscuring her from view before she rose once more.

Wriothesley clapped politely alongside them until the throng began to rise and make its way back out of the venue in orderly rows, like hundreds of affluent ants.

“I didn’t realize you were such a fan of the opera, Wriothesley,” you were saying from his side. You hummed thoughtfully. Eyes on him, even in the dark, even as the lights slowly returned to the opera house. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so attentive.”

“I’m a very worldly man,” Wriothesley said smoothly. “But I’m afraid you must have not noticed yet, my lady. I am far more attentive when it comes to you.”

You snorted, a quiet sound—one of his favorites—meant only for Wriothesley’s ears, and he smiled, suddenly feeling rather warm. You tapped your finger on the back of his wrist as you stood. “My father is just ahead. We should stop and say hello.”

Wriothesley nodded in agreement, allowing you to tug him in the direction you had indicated. His eyes finally found your father in the crowd, talking to a squat, older man he didn’t recognize.

“Hello, darling. And hello, Your Grace,” greeted your father as you and Wriothesley approached. The Viscount turned, a flute of champagne in his left hand, half-drained and sloshing with the rotation. His cheeks were pleasantly flushed, his smile friendly and open. He was steadier on his feet here than he had been at the previous ball. He was dressed impeccably. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure is mine, my lord,” said Wriothesley earnestly, dipping his head. He nodded as well to the other man, who returned the gesture in kind.

The Viscount grinned toothily. “I do hope my daughter isn’t giving you too hard a time.”

Wriothesley chuckled, looking at you as you gave your father an unimpressed glare, arm still tucked in the crook of Wriothesley’s elbow. He didn’t have to work too hard to appear fond for the benefit of watching eyes. “Of course not, sir,” he said at last, tearing his eyes away from you to return his gaze to your father. “In fact, your daughter’s company has been the highlight of these past few weeks.”

You made a startled noise. “Oh, stop it,” you said hurriedly, cheeks coloring ever-so-slightly. “You’ll make a lady blush.”

Wriothesley smiled, hopelessly endeared. “It seems I already have.”

“Hush, you.”

Your father beamed, eyes darting between your pout and Wriothesley’s smile, wrinkling even further at the corners. “Nonetheless, you have my gratitude for looking after her,” he said, and gestured to the man still watching patiently at his side. “Your Grace, this is Lord Paquette. He’s an old friend of mine. Paquette, this is Wriothesley, the Duke of Meropide.”

The other man bowed shallowly, form perfect, nearly mechanical in its precision despite his apparent age. “It’s an honor to meet you at last, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley smiled tightly, swallowing down the usual nerves that gripped him when meeting a new person who almost certainly knew his past — and held his precariously positioned future in their hands (and in their vote). “The honor is all mine, Lord Paquette."

The man smiled and turned his attention to you, still watching the exchange with a careful expression. “It’s nice to see you as well.”

Wriothesley could feel you relax a little as you smiled at the older man. “And you as well, my lord. How is Gerard? Still in Sumeru?"

"He's well, thank you," he responded absently. He turned his attention back to Wriothesley. “How did you find the performance, Your Grace? Have you seen Mademoiselle Genevieve perform before?”

Wriothesley felt a twinge of irritation at his dismissal of you; could have sworn he felt you stiffen at his side. He tried to ignore it for now. “This was the first I've heard of her," Wriothesley answered honestly, managing a polite enough expression. "Her performance was very moving. It's been… quite a while since I’ve been to the opera.”

Your father smiled sympathetically. Lord Paquette looked very much the same as he had before.

Wriothesley didn't think he was a fan.

“Say. We’d love to have you join us on our next ride, Your Grace,” said the Viscount.

"Oh, yes." Lord Paquette offered Wriothesley a conspiratorial grin. “It's a nice afternoon for some of us gentlemen to get away from the missus for a bit. You'll understand one day, I'm sure."

The Viscount snorted indignantly, and suddenly Wriothesley knew exactly where you got it from.

"Oh, I very much doubt that. There are scant few places I'd rather be than by her side," Wriothesley said easily, turning his best devoted smile on you. Your returning smile was dry and humorless, a tiny private eye roll just for Wriothesley's benefit. Wriothesley looked at Paquette, then your father. "But I'd be honored to join you all for an afternoon."

"Oh, how wonderful," said the Viscount, clapping Wriothesley on the shoulder. "I will send word once we have a date set.”

“Thank you, sir. I will be looking forward to it.”

"Take care, Your Grace," the Viscount called as he departed, amicably greeting no fewer than three separate people before he was even out of earshot.

Lord Paquette watched him go, turning back to face the two of you once more. He smiled at Wriothesley and then at you, nodding his head. “And I actually would like to speak with you as well at some point in the near future. I have some business I think you’ll be interested in.”

Wriothesley watched you hesitate, glancing at your father’s retreating back before returning to Lord Paquette, who waited patiently for your response. “Me?” you asked incredulously, head cocked. “Not my father?”

“Precisely,” he said ambiguously, already looking detached from the conversation, eyes wandering over the rest of the crowd. “We will speak then, my lady. Enjoy your evening.”

“And you, Lord Paquette,” you said slowly, an uncertain tint to your voice.

With that, Paquette left, disappearing into the crowd. He had left his own champagne flute behind, standing empty and neglected on the stone ledge ringing the courtyard. Wriothesley found that he could breathe a bit easier without the added scrutiny of the older gentleman, exhaling slowly.

“That was odd,” you said, pulling your arm from his and leaning against the ledge. Your eyes were narrowed analytically as you scanned the rest of the attendees. The ball was getting going in earnest, violins making their reappearance, servers darting around with startling agility amidst the crowd, balancing mountains of champagne and hors d'oeuvres on the trays held precariously aloft in their hands.

Wriothesley hummed in agreement, moving to lean against the ledge at your side. “That sort of thing not happen often?”

"Someone having business with me, of all people?" you said dubiously. "No, I can’t say it does. Should be interesting, at least. But he probably just intends to ask me to marry his son, having not even consulted him about it, if I had to wager a guess."

Wriothesley was quiet for a beat, lost in thought.

“So,” he drawled finally, the vowel long and drawn out. You quirked an eyebrow at him curiously. “Riding?” he prompted.

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “My father would just like for you to come riding with him. You should be honored. It means he likes you," you explained. “It’s something they do often in the warmer months. An age-old tradition for the men of the court to go frolic in the fields for a few hours and talk about fishing or gambling or whatever it is they talk about out there.”

Wriothesley blanched as realization finally dawned on him. “Like on a horse?”

You look at him deliberately, lips curved with amusement. “Yes, Wriothesley. Like on a horse.”

“And you can’t come?”

“Traditionally speaking, no, I can’t come.”

He swallowed thickly, a sharp pang of trepidation seizing his chest. “I’ve never ridden a horse.”

“Well, then,” you said brightly, ruffling his hair as he stared on in horror, seeing nothing in particular. “There’s a first time for everything. I suppose we have our next lesson laid out before us.”

Wriothesley’s eyes snapped to yours. “We’re going riding?”

“Yes,” you said. You flicked a sly look at him out of the corner of your eye as you turned, weaving your arm back through his. ‘Like on a horse’.”

a/n: wrio: haha it's totally fine to be actually attracted to the person i am pretending to be attracted to. just physical attraction. totally normal. nothing to see here

i have been really looking forward to this chapter. it’s more character study than plot but after this, we get into the real thick of things :) honestly i could spend 200,000 words just ruminating on this guy's character and potential past. i want to put this man under a microscope. hoyo give me more challenge!!

also, to answer a question i got in a comment and a couple DMs - no clorinde/wriothesley will be happening here! i avoid writing/reading love triangles like the plague because they do not spark joy for me, personally. in here, wrio and clorinde are just good friends! clorinde has other prospects <3

i have been bad about naming songs from the titles, this chapter's title is from 'runaway' by AURORA

#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wrio #wrio x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #reader inserts #reader insert #lark.writes #🌊

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year ago

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A Green-Eyed Monster

Dance Like We're Making Love Chapter 3

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: You're enamored - completely and totally enamored by one person. He seems to be enamored by you too. In the eight weeks since you met Bradley Bradshaw you know you've never felt like anyone the way you feel about him. It worries you that you're ready to commit to him, that you're ready to take the next step. But you're not sure you're ever going to get the answers from him that you're searching for. But you're ready to try. What you are not expecting is the red-head in a green dress standing right by his side when you walk into dance practice. She's all over him like she belongs with him, and even you can tell that she looks far better with him than you do. Disclaimers: Female! Reader, Dancing, Sexual Themes, Kissing, UST, Phone Sex Warnings: This story does not start explicit but does get there. Minors do not interact. This story is 18+. Word Count: 3012 A/N: I think I ought to brace for some pitchforks with this installment. Roo and Tiny's happy little relationship? It's not quite so happy, not anymore. But! I hope you all love this installment! Thanks, as always to @desert-fern for beta-reading this chapter! Love ya, Fernie! AO3:Cross Posted Here! My Masterlist Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

Dancing hasn’t been the only thing happening in your life over the past couple of months - not in the slightest. Between planning the Bachelor and Bachelorette parties, cake tastings, and dress fittings, you've been navigating the burgeoning relationship between you and Bradley Bradshaw. You've never felt so alive. It feels like you’re finally living your life. You've had so much fun in the eight weeks since your dalliance, your assignation, your arrangement, well your whatever it is with Bradley Bradshaw began. He sets your every vein alight and makes you laugh, so much. If you didn't know any better, and you’re not sure you actually do, you'd think you were falling in love. It feels like you’re free falling, like there isn’t a single thing holding you down.

Before Bradley Bradshaw you’ve never felt so cherished or gorgeous or loved, not once. You’ve also never had a partner so intent on ensuring your own pleasure. Sometimes you can’t believe that you feel like this, with him, when you’ve never even been on a date together. But that was by design, you know, even if a part of you rankles just a little to think that you have to hide until after Greg and Sophie get married. You shouldn’t feel like a dirty little secret. You shouldn’t. But as hot as you find having signals to meet Bradley at his place or yours, and how many times you fuck in restaurant bathrooms and filthy clubs, you can’t hide how you feel. So, on what is the penultimate dance class before the wedding, you’re determined to finally get Bradley to put a name to what the two of you are doing.

But you’re also running horribly, terribly late. You’re one of the last people walking into the studio, slipping in just as Rodrigo begins his customary speech at the beginning of class. Bradley’s easy to spot, he always is. But what you don’t expect is the long-legged red-head in a green dress clinging to his muscular bicep. The dress accentuates all of her assets and you can tell by even Will’s googly eyes that every man in the room has his eyes right on her. It’s a blow to your already fragile heart and your tattered self-esteem to see the two of them standing there together.

You can’t cry, not in front of every other person in the bride’s and groom’s parties. And you cannot let yourself cry in front of Bradley fucking Bradshaw. In fact, you will not let yourself. You let your anger at being duped and taken advantage yet again by a man fill you. When it comes time to actually dance, you feel exactly like you did that first dance class with Bradley Bradshaw, except it hurts far more than you’d expect to see his brown eyes widen in delight at the sight of your face.

“Hiya, Tiny.” Your eyes roll so hard that you’re sure your disgust is palpable from in the cockpit of one of his jets from ten-thousand feet in the air.

“Rooster.” Ice-queen. Ice-queen. Ice-queen. That’s your motto at the moment.

“Is everything okay, Tiny?” How dare he keep being so concerned?

“I dunno, Rooster.” Your voice is a sardonic drawl as he twirls you around on the dance floor. “You tell me.”

You would step on his disastrously colossal feet, but you’ve worked too hard to make sure this dance goes well - far too hard. You rebuff his every attempt at making conversation, but are otherwise exactly the same as you always are. Thankfully nobody notices how you’re maybe just a touch further away from the heat of his skin than you should be.

It’s even more of an exquisite sort of torture when you and Bradley have your final rehearsal for Greg and Sophie’s wedding present. The red-head has long since disappeared from the studio. Bradley's hands still linger over every inch of your skin as he draws you close. But while just a week before, you were responding to his touch eagerly, now you feel disgust. Maria and Rodrigo seem to want to correct every move, including how close you are to Bradley. Of course, what you don’t expect is the clapping that springs up as the final note spills out of the speakers after your final run-through of the day. It’s the red-head, of course it is, and her applause has Bradley letting go of you like your skin has burned him.

You sip carefully on your water, noting vacantly how Bradley glances your way as she plants her red fingernails hand on his chest. So they’re that close, huh? You should’ve known it was too good to be true. But you paste a halfway decent facsimile of a smile on your face and sincerely thank Rodrigo and Maria for their assistance with Greg and Sophie’s wedding gift.

You’re just gathering your bag when a breathy noise and the scent of too-sweet, cloying perfume alert you to her presence. You turn and are not even the slightest bit surprised to see the red head’s big green eyes staring right into yours.

“I, um” She sniffs out, “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Abigail.”

“Nice to meet you,” You grind out, wanting nothing more than to be as far away from this woman as you possibly can get.

“I’m Bradley’s wedding date.”

You blink at her, before smiling inanely. “Oh, how come he’s never mentioned you before?”

“I travel a lot for work. I’m a flight attendant.” She’s starting to sound defensive and isn’t that just perfect?

“Oh, that’s nice. It must be hard to leave him here all by himself, though.” You pretend not to notice how Bradley blanches at your pointed statement.

“It is nice to have a husband to come home to.” She giggles, the sound tinkling like the gentlest of bells. But you have to lock your knees to keep your legs from collapsing out from under you. You’re not sure how you escape the married couple, and you’re sure you black out, because the next thing you know you’re pulling into your driveway.

Married! He’s married? Why? Why would he string you along when he’s got such a beautiful wife to come home to? It occurs to you suddenly that you’re the other woman in this situation - that he’s made you the slut. You’ve had sex - filthy hot, dirty sex - on his bed, in his bathroom, in the kitchen and on the sofa. He’s desecrated you in nearly every room of his house. The house he shares with his wife. But you’ve not seen a single picture of her on the walls or ever seen the tan line of a wedding ring on his left hand. You’ve had his dog tags dangling over your face as he pounds into you for fuck’s sake and there’s definitely never been a wedding ring on them.

You want nothing more than to cry while eating ice cream straight out of the carton in your pajamas. Of course, just as you're wriggling out of the terribly uncomfortable bra which pushes your tits up just right and makes them look delicious, the one you'd worn for Bradley, your phone trills from its spot on your nightstand.

"Sophie?" Your voice is quiet and a little choked up as you murmur into the phone.

"Hiya, Honey Bee!" She sounds so happy. It hurts to think that you were that happy only a couple of hours ago.

"So, Greg and I, we wanted to thank you and Bradley for everything you've both done to help us with the wedding. So we wanted to take you each out to dinner, separately." Her joy makes you smile, despite your emotional turmoil. "And we were sort of hoping we could have our dinner with you tonight?"

"God, Soph. You don't have to do this! But," You giggle gently, "if you insist, then I wouldn't say no."

"We'll pick you up at 7! Love you babes!"

That's about how the rest of the week goes. You get yanked from wedding event to wedding event and it's nearly enough to keep your pain at bay. At least until you're safe and sound under your covers. That's the only place where you can cry until you fall into a fitful sleep. By the night of the Bachelor's and Bachelorette parties, you're caking concealer under your eyes to hide the dark circles and all you want is a strong, stiff drink.

But you're smiling nonetheless in your sparkling green dress and matching high heels when the limo comes to pick you up. The glass of champagne that gets shoved into your hand is just the ticket. You have no complaints when you're told you have to catch up and down the pale gold liquid until one glass becomes two and turns into three.

The alcohol buzzing through your system has you finally relaxing. You can finally feel the lump in your throat and the snarl in your thoughts dissipating. It feels like the universe is screaming at you to give up on Bradley Bradshaw. Here, at one of San Diego's best night clubs you're sure to find somebody who'll actually want you, not for some far fetched revenge plot or for a bet or to cheat on their flight attendant wife.

The minute you step in, you can feel the music rattling the floorboards. Coupled with the shots that get sent your way, and it's not long before you're dancing with anybody who wants to dance with you. It feels like sin. Your hair is mussed and you’ve long lost the sash that was once draped over your shoulder in the crush. There have been hands on your hips and curled around your waist all night. So you don’t even blink when another pair of hands draws you close. Sophie and all of the other bridesmaids aren’t even in your line of sight anymore. But you feel reckless, wild, tonight. Who’s tying you down? Who’s there to stop you from doing whatever you want with whoever you want?

It’s far too easy to find a man to dance with. Your new tango skills make it nearly too easy. Then the hands roaming your skin are replaced suddenly. For several moments, it feels even better than before. And then your new dance partner pulls you into moves you could do in your sleep after months of practice. You know your dance partner too. You can smell the spice of his cologne surrounding you. It feels like a bubble popping. All of a sudden everything is too loud, and your skin is crawling and you can barely hear yourself think. You rip yourself out of Bradley’s grasp, turning tail and pushing your way off the dance floor like he burned you. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Greg and Sophie all loved up in the corner as you rush past.

Your head is spinning and your heart is racing. Your thoughts seem to be lightning fast and molasses slow all at the same time. What the hell is he doing here? Why does he keep trying to find you? You’ve been avoiding all of his phone calls and leaving him on read for a reason. You grab your purse and cut a path through the most crowded section of the club making a beeline for the front doors.

When you burst through them, you finally feel like you can breathe again. But just because your lungs are taking in needed oxygen and spilling out carbon dioxide, it doesn't mean that your mind has made any more sense of why Bradley Bradshaw is trying so hard to get close to you.

"Hey." Your entire body locks up at the sound of his voice, worried that you'll see him with Abby hanging off of his arms like she belongs there. "Why do you keep running away from me, Tiny?"

Of all the things you expect him to say, that's not one of them.

"I keep running, Bradshaw, because the last dance class showed me exactly what you think of me." Your chest heaves as you catalog the exhaustion on his ridiculously beautiful face. "A cheap fuck. Somebody to keep your bed warm while Abby's jet setting around the world."

"That's not what happened between us." There's finally understanding dawning on his face and you want to smack the smug little grin right off of it.

"Then what happened?" Some sadistic, viciously curious part of you wants to know - needs to know.

"Abby…" You can see his throat work in the dim light as the doors open and send sound spilling out across the parking lot. "It's right, what Abby said. She is my wife. Or well, she was."

"I fell in love with her when I was in flight school. She was perfect, or so I thought, for a sad, gangly, barely adult man with no other family in the world. It was head over heels for me. I thought it was a head over heels kind of love for her too. It was the happiest moment of my life when she agreed to marry me."

"It was easy for the longest time. I gained my wings, I figured out how to be a man, a husband. I tried desperately to recall all of the things my mom told me my dad did, and did them for Abby. Just when everything was going great, better than, I was deployed. We spent the next three years snatching moments with each other here in San Diego, or in Virginia or via phone calls and video chats. I came back home thinking that we'd weathered another storm together."

"I was wrong. I felt like I was the same man I was when I got married. But Abby? She was different. She'd changed everything about herself and become a flight attendant. The next three years were, to put it gently, a train wreck in motion. Even though I was stateside with short deployments on board a ship, she was flying all over the world. I got back after a deployment to find her in bed with a pilot from her airline. And that? That was the end."

Bradley's breathing raggedly, like he's looking to you for approval or understanding or something. But you're still processing what he's saying.

"That's when she told me I was too rough in bed, sitting in front of a lawyer and demanding half of everything that was mine. It's been three years since the divorce was finalized, Tiny. I didn't cheat on her, or lead you on. I wanted to tell you. I was going to tell you after the wedding."

Your throat is bone dry, your head swimming.

"C-could you ever give me a second chance?" You must've zoned out because all of a sudden, Bradley’s much closer than he was before. The heat drifting off of his broad frame, clothed in olive green is hypnotic. If you were any less stubborn, you'd beg him to take you home. You'd beg him to let you help him forget that a woman like Abby had him first and threw him away.

"I dunno, Roo." The words feel like a peace offering spiraling through the hot night air. "That was… a lot of information."

The hope on his face falls, just a little at your honest words.

"But why is she back here? In San Diego again?" Your nose is a little stuffy and you can feel tears building at the back of your throat. You’re not sure you can take it if he says they’re getting back together again.

"She shows up every once in a while, asking for money." Your lips part, shock parting them without your permission. "Normally it’s only a couple hundred dollars. But this time, it is different. She wants thousands, claiming that I owe her that as spousal support after the divorce."

His shoulders are bowed under the weight of Abby's expectations.

"But I told her no, this time."

"Why?"

"Because I found somebody that's better for me than she ever could be."

It feels like the world goes silent around you. Your heart flip flops in your chest as you stare up into Bradley’s big brown eyes. It’s not a conscious decision which has you flinging your arms around his neck and smashing your lips to his. He staggers, catching himself against the wall as you straddle one broad thigh and kiss down his throat. You can feel every muscle in his thigh flex as one big hand tugs you in closer. This close, you can see the amber flecks in his eyes and practically taste the whiskey on his breath. It should sting your nose and make your eyes water. But instead the scent intoxicates you, drugging you as his chest heaves and each twitch of his muscles has his thigh brush against your sensitive clit. Your chest heaves, brushing your suddenly peaked nipples against his broad chest. When the door clangs open, neither of you move, too caught up in the rush of each other. At least, that is, until calls of your name and his rip you apart.

It’s the bride and groom’s parties, and your face grows hot as you tug your dress down so your panties aren’t completely exposed to the world. A breeze wafts its way over the assembled group, raising gooseflesh on your exposed arms and legs. But you’re not shivering for long as a sports coat is draped over your shoulders. You clutch the lapels close, reveling in the spicy cologne and ignore the way Sophie is trying to figure out why you’re kissing Bradley Bradshaw at her Bachelorette party.

As the two parties separate for the night, not to meet until wedding day, you pull your phone out and send one text message.

Roo, that was a lot, and I probably shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I need a little more time. But I promise, I'll tell you what I decide about us after the wedding.

Taglist:

💃 @dingochef 💃 @mak-32 💃 @atarmychick007

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💃 @f1maverick 💃 @daphne-turner 💃 @djs8891

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💃 @lunamoonbby 💃 @angeliccks 💃 @daisydaisygoose

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I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #dance like we're making love #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader

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ladywaffles · 8 months ago

Text

Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, Op. 18

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47442676

T | 1/1 | 2.4k

Ilsa tries to make sense of the world, after being welcomed back into the fold.

or: how the IMF learned (to varying degrees) to trust Ilsa.

Title from Sergei Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, Op. 18. I’m particularly fond of Movement II: Adagio sostenuto. Often considered one of the most popular piano concertos of all time, it was used as the score to the 1945 film Brief Encounter, and parts of it inspired Lorne Balfe’s score of Mission: Impossible — Dead Reckoning, Part One.

After two years at Lane’s side, Ilsa knows she should feel at ease in London. It is her city, her sanctuary; Lane, like her, was MI-6. He didn’t like coming back to London any more than she did, too aware of C’s eyes on him whenever his feet touched British soil.

Ethan Hunt and his IMF team have effectively freed her. Atlee confessed to setting her up; her government has taken her back. She is reinstated, avowed, welcomed back into the fold.

And yet.

She feels eyes on her everywhere she goes. It is hard for her fellow agents to trust the woman they have not seen in months, years. Some of them—the new ones, fresh-faced Oxbridge grads seduced into espionage by the false belief they could be the next Ian Fleming—do not know her as anything but a ghost story. Some of them—the older ones, her former fellow agents, already on edge and inherently distrusting, given that they are the ones who survived where their compatriots did not—still believe the story Atlee fed them: that she is a traitor to her government, her queen, her country, and she has duped them all into believing she is not, a triple agent waiting to strike.

It’s hard to let go of old habits when everyone acts as if nothing’s changed.

London is her city, it is her base. So why does it feel like she hasn’t come in from the cold until she feels familiar eyes watching her and turns to see a flash of green and a muted grin, a hooded figure that looks too much like Ethan Hunt—

And winks at her, staring her dead in the eyes, and before she can blink, her phone is buzzing with a text she knows will be from an unlisted American number with new mission parameters and he’s gone again—

Why does it feel like coming home?

///

Ethan believes her outright.

It’s the rest of them that take time to come around.

Despite the fact that he’s survived nearly three decades in their line of work, Ethan is still an optimist at heart and believes the best of people.

(“You know, he once asked me if I remembered being sweet,” Luther tells her when they’re on a sleeper train. Benji is knocked out in the bunk above her, happily snoring away. “If I could remember that far back. Ethan thinks he’s jaded, but he’s the best of all of us.”

As if I need you to tell me that, she wants to say.

“I know,” she replies instead.)

It should be Benji who opens up to her first—he’s the newest field agent of them, the easiest to dupe, the least experienced. Not to mention their shared country, even if Benji foreswore any allegiance to Her Maj when he took that IMF job.

Then again, she did stun him with a defibrillator. And shoot at him.

Brandt, she knows, will trust her when hell freezes over. Luther loves his gossip, and he coughs it up easily that Brandt was a part of the operation Ethan used to go undercover in Serbia that involved the murder of no less than seven people—and Brandt was the unwitting fool whose visceral reaction was used to sell the fact that Ethan really had gone rogue.

He’s as likely to forgive her for playing the double agent as he is to sprout wings tomorrow and start to fly.

No, it is Luther who comes around next; he too know what it is like to be disavowed by your government. There is no announcement, no balloon. One day, Luther goes from holding her at arms’ length to sharing knowing looks with her over Moroccan tea while Benji and Brandt snipe at each other.

Benji may have fooled Hunley’s polygraph for months, but she’s much better than a polygraph, and Benji’s not trying to hide as much anymore now that the IMF has been reinstated.

He openly adores Ethan, and who can blame him? They’re all here because of Ethan. Ethan is the sun they all revolve around, his gravity pulling them in closer and closer until he’s all that they can see.

It grates on Benji, that Ethan likes her and he can barely stand to be in the same room as her alone. He questions himself and his judgment of her.

But Ethan, endlessly kind and much more observant than she thinks others give him credit for, knows.

She’s not stupid. She knows that part of the reason he treats her the way he does—smiling, body relaxed, posture open—is to show the team, his team, that she is one of them. They can bring her into the fold. He is giving her his own seal of approval the best way he can.

They’re in Manila, backing up another IMF team, when it comes to a head.

Ethan is out doing what Ethan does best, which is to say, running down an agent like an idiot chicken with his head cut off, causing thousands of dollars in property damage as he does, and so it’s just Ilsa and Benji waiting for him at the extraction point.

Benji’s shoulders are hunched towards his ears as he guides Ethan through the winding market streets. A chill runs down her spine, and Ilsa puts her hand in between Benji’s shoulder blades and shoves down, just as a hail of bullets rains through the walls. She puts her body over Benji’s; she can barely hear him yelling directions at Ethan, the automatic rifles pounding through her ears.

She grabs her pistol and waits for a moment, but before she can return fire, a bomb goes off and Benji sighs.

“That’ll be Luther and Brandt. C’mon, we should get going before they come back.” Ilsa lets him help her up.

“Thank you,” Benji says.

“For what?”

“Saving me. I guess Ethan was right.”

She raises an eyebrow, and Benji huffs a laugh as he runs down the stairs to the idling van where Luther and Brandt wait for them.

“I can trust you with my life. Sorry it took so long.”

He slides the door open for her, ever the gentleman.

“I can’t say I blame you,” she says with a wry smile. “But I’m happy you’ve realized that. The feeling is entirely mutual.”

“What’re you yapping about? We’ve got places to go!” Brandt yips from the passenger seat.

“Oh, nothing,” Benji says as he slams the door shut behind him. “Just how I’ve finally confessed my undying love for Ilsa, and we’re going to elope in Vegas the second you turn your backs.”

Ilsa grins, toothy and bright, as Luther hits the gas and they all go flying down the road.

///

Benji is playing barista in the lobby while Ethan tries to break into the building from the roof. It’s been a whirlwind of activity since MI-6 officially “loaned” Ilsa to the IMF. In theory, she still owes her allegiance to Queen Elizabeth and Great Britannia; in practice, Ilsa has made a bubble for herself with Ethan’s merry band of men.

She sits shotgun in the utility van they’ve coopted as their mobile base. Brandt is behind the wheel. He’ll let anyone drive but her.

Ilsa turns off her radio and cuts him off before he can work himself up. “I know you don’t like me,” she says bluntly. “I don’t need you to like me. I don’t care, frankly, if you do. But I do need you to trust me, however little that may be.”

Brandt’s jaw clenches.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he starts. “You’re too good of an agent. To go undercover for two years, limited check-ins, almost no handling…. It’s hard. You sold it to Lane. You sold it to your country. How am I ever supposed to know if what you’re telling me isn’t a lie?”

“You were an analyst,” she says. “Analyze me.”

“That’s not my job on this team,” he grits out. “I don’t get to judge.”

“You’re right, it’s not.”

It’s Ethan’s, goes unsaid between them.

“But you do it anyway,” she states.

His grip tightens on the wheel. For a spy, he’s doing a terrible job of masking his emotions. Then again, he has no reason to hide the fact that she makes him uncomfortable.

“I keep it to myself,” he mutters.

“You don’t have to. I thought that was the whole point of Ethan’s team. Being open with each other. It’s unnerving, I understand. I’m British, the stiff upper lip comes much more naturally. And in our line of work, trust can get you killed.”

Brandt turns to look at her finally, fully engaging in the game of wits they’re playing.

“Lane trusted you.” Ilsa scoffs. “Lane didn’t trust me. He needed my skillset and my access. ”

“Ethan trusts you.”

“Ethan Hunt is a good man. I would never do him harm willingly.”

“And unwillingly?” Brandt asks.

She shifts in her seat, redistributing her weight. She’s starting to lose feeling in her legs. They never do tell you how much of espionage is hurrying up to wait for hours on end.

“There are casualties. But I do not intend for Ethan to ever be one of mine.”

Brandt tilts his head back ever so slightly.

Approval.

“You can’t protect him forever, you know,” Ilsa tells him. “It’s not your job to keep Ethan safe. Ethan is more than capable of doing that himself.

“I let him down once before.”

“And you think he holds that against you? From what I’ve heard, he couldn’t care less about that. You played your part perfectly,” she says.

Ilsa quirks an eyebrow. “Unless… You’re still angry that he played you?”

Brandt looks away. Bullseye.

She wants to laugh, but it would be cruel. “We’re all pawns in the game, Brandt. We use each other and burn each other and leave and do it all again the next day. If you can’t handle that, then why are you still here? It’s messy out here in the field. Go back to your desk, be an analyst again. Do good work from there. ”

“Because I believe,” Brandt says. He reaches over and turns her comms back on, and that ends the conversation.

She understands. It’s as good as she’ll ever get from Brandt. Even the most cynical of agents would fall victim to it, Ilsa thinks to herself.

Ethan Hunt is a force of nature. It’s hard to go back to real life, once you’ve had a taste of him.

///

“I thought you were bad news,” Luther offers. They’re in Miami, fresh off of a flight from the middle of nowhere after thirty-six hours of running down the newest threat to global security. Ethan handed them all hotel room keys and told them to shower, sleep, and eat. Ilsa fell face-first into bed and slept until sundown.

After a shower and a selection of the best street food Little Havana had to offer, she and Luther returned to the hotel bar. They’re sipping daiquiris, watching the night life explode around them.

“I know,” she laughs.

“You remind me of a woman I used to know,” he says. “She was brilliant and smart, and Ethan loved her.”

“He’s too kind for the likes of us,” Ilsa replies.

“I didn’t like you. I didn’t want to. I’ve watched Ethan go down this road before. The last time I had to pull him out of it, I ended up scuba diving in the San Francisco Bay to retrieve an unexploded nuclear ordnance that nearly ended life as we know it.”

Ilsa sips at her daiquiri; the rum is making her cheeks flush. Benji told her this story on one of the long flights they took, crossing from one corner of the world to the next. She knows how it ends.

“I’m flattered that you think that, Luther, but—”

“I’ve known Ethan longer than anyone. Don’t tell me that I’m wrong. I’m not. Ethan doesn’t let people in like he used to. I knew him when we were fresh-faced kids who didn’t know a goddamn thing. So when I tell you that Ethan has kept you here for a reason, I am telling the absolute truth.”

“Of course he needs me,” Ilsa says. “Otherwise you’d only have Brandt left to help keep him and Benji out of trouble, and where would that leave us?” she jokes, smiling easily with the alcohol in her system.

But Luther is stoic. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“Don’t hurt him,” he says. It’s not an order, more of a request—an entreaty.

“I don’t mean to.”

“And that’s why you will, eventually.”

Ilsa watches the boats on the water, bobbing through the tides. The sails stand out bright against the inky darkness of the night.

“You all love him so much,” Ilsa says. “He can take care of himself.”

“He can,” Luther agrees. “But we care about him enough that he doesn’t have to do it himself.”

///

In her line of work, there is no such thing as personal space. Close quarters are simply an occupational hazard.

Why she’s ended up in the trunk of the getaway car, pressed on top of Ethan as they brace themselves against the walls with every wild turn that Brandt takes, she could not explain.

“Are you okay?” Ethan asks. “I’m not squishing you, am I?”

“Ethan, I’m on top of you. I should be the one asking that question.”

“But I’d never tell if you were,” he says with a toothy grin. “I was married once. I know better than to say anything.”

In the space between breaths, he becomes solemn again. He’s probably seeing his wife’s face.

“Is she safe?” Ilsa asks.

“As safe as she can be, after being married to me,” Ethan answers.

“Not as safe as you’d like her, then.”

He smiles sadly. “If I had my way, I’d know where she was, locked away in a part of my brain that no one else could get to. Just for my own peace of mind, to know that she’s happy and alive. Thriving. That’s all I wanted for her.”

“But you can’t.”

“But I can’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” “Still,” she says. “I’m sorry. Our lives are not easy. But there are people who love you.”

“The best people in the world,” Ethan agrees.

“Doesn’t it ever grate on you? How they hover?”

He shakes his head. “No.” He stares at her. Even in the dark, his eyes are bright. “I understand why they do it. They mean the best, in their own ways.”

Brandt hits a curb, and Ethan’s arms circle her waist, pulling her to his chest to keep her from hitting the top of the trunk.

“Thank you,” she tells him.

She means it.

#mission impossible #ilsa faust #ethan hunt #benji dunn #luther stickell #william brandt #ethan x ilsa #lamby.fic

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sometimesijustfeellikescreaming · 9 months ago

Text

Give Me Wings to Fly (2/?)

Ao3 - Part 1 - / - Part 3 - Part 4

Surviving the weeks until Gale made it to England ended up being more difficult than merely making it back from each mission with his life.

He knew that Buck was his best friend, but he didn’t quite realize how much that friendship meant to him until he had nobody to talk to in the quarters at night. Until he was once again in the mess and nobody gave him shit for his antics — well they did, but nobody stared him down the same way Buck always did. What was it about his eyes and that magnetic look that made something come to life inside of Bucky? That made telling stories of the things they’d gotten up to that much more invigorating?

Bucky still did crazy things without Buck around, but the absence was felt. There was a distinct lack of something.

Someone.

It wasn’t so bad all the time. Bucky was busy learning the ropes and getting to know the base. Yet, in all things, Bucky was reminded that he was before the rest of his friends from training and was scoping out the base before any of them and would be able to show them when they arrived. He could hardly help it if his thoughts were framed in the context of planning all the things he would show Buck when he eventually arrived.

It’s no surprise then, when he knew his boys would be flying in the next morning that he duped the soldiers from the British army into a bet for their bikes. He’d spent his whole time there so far walking the twenty minutes from the quarters to the mess and that was fine, but he wanted to give Buck a surprise on his welcome to England. It was the best he could think of that was meaningful. Everyone coveted the bikes on the base.

When Buck finally landed with the rest it was like something fell back into place. It didn’t even matter that Buck didn’t understand the significance of the bikes or that his response to missing Bucky was a brush-off. With Buck, none of that ever really mattered. It wasn’t about what they said — it was about the fact that they had each other’s backs. What mattered was that Gale was finally on the same dirt as Bucky again and he could look him in the eye and know he was alive.

It was the grin Buck gave him that meant everything to Bucky and let him in on all the silent words the quieter man wasn’t saying. They were both alive and no matter what Buck said, Bucky knew that Gale had missed him too and was glad to see him again.

With Gale on the base, it was like the world was vibrant again. The war was still on and the flights were terrifying as fuck, but Bucky found himself doing carefree and shameless things more blatantly again now that Buck was there.

When the band came to play for them one evening at the bar on the base and Bucky caught the tune, he couldn’t help the way his foot tapped to the beat. He not only recognized the song but knew all the words. As he and Buck sat on the sidelines, he felt his heartbeat pick up in his chest as a desire to get up and sing filled him. He looked over at Buck and asked if he should do it, but was met by a knowing look of disapproval by Buck. Bucky slid over to another officer sitting down the bench from them and asked the same question to no response, just to get out some of his energy and irritate Buck. Something about that look Buck was giving him got under his skin in the best way. It was one of those looks that told him not to do anything stupid. It was the sort of look from his best friend that made him feel —something— it gave Bucky the wings to fly.

Against all the naysaying Buck gave him, Bucky traipsed up to the microphone and sang and danced with the band. Buck shook his head and rolled his eyes from where he watched. But when Bucky glanced across the room at his best friend a minute later it was to intent eyes watching him, eyes that burned him and dared him to keep up his antics. Bucky had no idea what to make of that look but it made something twist deep inside him, made him want to push the limits even further, act out more. He swore mentally at the way Buck was somehow the best and worst influence on him at the same time — and he had no idea.

The next verse of the song started then and Bucky leaned into the mic and threw an arm out in Buck’s direction, pulling out all the stops for his best friend. He would put on a whole show just for Buck if the man was going to stare him down like that.

Bucky turned and faced the band, closing his eyes and dancing to the music as it came to its dramatic end. It was one of his favorites and the conductor shook his hand and complimented his vocals before Bucky was able to make his way back to his friend across the room. Of course, Buck only rolled his eyes and punched him for being an idiot, but the smirk that tugged at his lips and the crinkle that played at the edges of his gleaming eyes told Bucky a different story. One of hidden approval and pride and, yes, still a tinge of exasperation.

Bucky loved nights like this where the two of them and the rest of the 100th could relax against the backdrop of the war. It’s not that they forgot about the war — because as much as one would like to forget the horrors of the war sometimes, with a cause this important forgetting means dying and giving in and letting the enemy win. Rather, in these moments, the war would fade into the background and become the backdrop to everything that existed in these moments. For a few hours, they were the 100th, a group of dedicated people serving a greater cause and enjoying a few drinks and good company.

But nobody ever really forgot the war. Not when they continued to go out on flights in their turns. Not when whole planes of men didn’t make it back alive. Not when, on those nights in the bar there were faces you would see every night for weeks who, suddenly, would never darken the door of the pub again, throw a dart on the billiards board, or call a bet on the next baseball game for the Yankees.

War was serious business, and even on nights when Bucky and the boys got to relax a little, the reality of where they were and what they were about was never far from their minds. The people that they sat beside, the relationships they forged here in England on the missions that meant life or death not only for themselves but for their country and families back home and the countries and people all across Europe built bonds far deeper than Bucky ever anticipated when he signed up for the war. He knew for a long time he wanted to be a part of the war in Europe and fight back against the villainy of the Nazis, but there was a difference between the innocence and ignorance of a good desire and living through the experiences themselves. War changes you. Bucky had seen things he never could have imagined in the last few weeks alone. On the last two flights alone.

So, when Buck came back from his first flight and Bucky came in his Jeep to pick him up for interrogation, he didn’t know what to say. Buck was upset that Bucky didn’t tell him what it was like to fly a mission before he went up the first time, but there weren’t words for it. There was no way to warn someone about the kinds of things you saw in the air. The adrenaline, the fear, the way you had to push everything aside so that you could think and keep everyone around you alive too. There was no comparison to anything else in the rest of your life. And then people died and it was somebody’s fault and nobody’s fault and — fuck — it was all Hitler’s fault as far as Bucky saw it.

But Buck wasn’t looking for a sob story or a rant, so Bucky told him the easy truth, that he didn’t know what to say. That Buck had seen it now. It was the best he could come up with and Buck’s next words echoed all of Bucky’s own sentiments on the issue; that he didn’t know what he saw. And hell if that didn’t strike Bucky to his bones because it’s what he hasn’t been able to put into words since his own first flight. That despite everything he’d seen he didn’t know what he’d seen at all. Dead bodies of people he’d spoken to and hoped for and encouraged — gone in moments without a second thought. Wounds he couldn’t begin to categorize as people were brought back to camp.

Then, at the end of it all, bodies were packed and stacked into the backs of cars and sent away, all the bunks of the fallen stripped away of belongings and mementos only to be filled with recruits on the next flight in. Bucky had no idea what to make of any of it. How was he supposed to process any of that? He hadn’t even tried.

Bucky didn’t think too hard about it then either, but he could see how affected Buck was and felt the anguish tear through him at the fact that he hadn’t at the very least been on the flight with him. I should have been up there with you.

Buck’s response came after a heavy minute, and again it was a hard hitter: they had a long road ahead of them. Bucky agreed and thought to himself that it was sure to be full of more of the kinds of things Buck had seen for the first time on his flight today. Bucky only hoped that, unlike this time, he would be able to have Buck’s back in the future. They were brothers in arms. There was something between them, the war brought them together and the war would not — could not separate them, Bucky would make sure of that. He would not see Buck die and he would not see him come to harm if there was a way for him to stop it.

#buck x bucky #bucky x buck #buck(y)#mota #bucky x buck fanfic #buck cleven #bucky cleven #masters of the air #mota fic #mota fanfic #major john egan #major bucky cleven #my fic #my writing #give me wings to fly #gmwtf

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lunar-wandering · 4 years ago

Text

Glamours and Gauze

well. this fic now wins the title of “longest one shot i’ve ever written”.

seriously, after Shadow Play, the will to write a Macaque fic was way too strong.

Word Count: 6k

Read on Ao3

There was a loud crash outside the noodle shop.

Pigsy paid no attention to it, simply continuing to work in the kitchen, but MK paused mid-sweep of his broom, glancing towards the entrance nervously, bracing himself for a possible enemy attack. (Knowing that the Lady Bone Demon was out there...... one could never be too prepared).

Instead of an enemy however, what stumbled through the door way was a, very visibly injured and bleeding, Monkey King.

"Holy shit, are you okay?!" MK yelped, dropping his broom to the ground as he rushed over to catch Wukong as he stumbled into the shop. A bit of blood dripped down from a rather large gash on the monkey's arm down to the floor. Pigsy would probably murder MK for the stain that would make, but MK was more so concerned about the heavily wounded monkey he held in his arms at the moment. "What happened?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with." Wukong grunted out, standing up a little with a wince, trying to push MK's hands off of him, without much luck. "I just came to get some bandages or whatever, then I'll get out of your hair."

"You- You can't just walk in here bleeding and expect me to not be concerned." MK said, leveling Wukong with what he hoped was a disapproving look, before turning and yelling towards the kitchen. "Pigsy! Monkey King's injured, can you get the first aid kit?"

There was the sound of something dropping in the kitchen, MK had probably startled him, and a bit of shuffling, and then Pigsy rounded the corner, first aid kit in his hands, looking exasperated as well as worried.

"I swear, everyday it's something new with you two." He said, "Come on, lets get him upstairs. The blood will scare away customers if he stays down here."

MK nodded, and despite the Monkey King's quiet protests, managed to drag him up the stairs and into his apartment. Carefully, he directed Wukong into a chair, as Pigsy set the first aid kit down on the kitchen table.

"You already know what to do, right?" Pigsy asked, MK nodding in response. "Good. I have still have some orders to get to, but call for me if you need any extra help."

"Got it. Thanks." MK said, opening the kit and pulling out some gauze and bandages as Pigsy turned and left down the stairs. MK reached into a nearby drawer, pulling out a small hand towel, wetting it with some water from the sink and adding a bit of soap.

"Okay." He said, turning back to Wukong. "I gotta clean your cuts so...... take off your shirt?"

"I can take care of myself, bud." Wukong said, quietly, but still, he complied, his shirt disappearing with a snap of his fingers, allowing MK to get a better look at his injuries. Most of the cuts didn't seem too bad, just surface wounds, but the cut on his arm was still cause for concern. MK was no expert, but it looked deep.

....Probably best to start with the most serious injury first, MK thought, giving Wukong no warning as he pressed the towel to the monkey's arm, cleaning the wound. Wukong yelped a little as he did it, his fur bristling and his tail thrashing in response.

"Sorry, probably should've warned you." MK apologized, trying to ignore the way Wukong's glare pierced into him. He hadn't noticed it before, far too worried about the very injured Monkey King in front of him but something seemed.....off about all of this. He wasn't sure what, and honestly, it could just how worried he was for his mentor's health, and nothing else. But still, his instincts had yet to steer him wrong before....... He shook those thoughts out of his head as he examined the injury. "Hm.... Not as deep as I thought. Good news is, it doesn't seem like you need stitches."

Wukong scoffed a little at that, rolling his eyes in a way that clearly communicated how obvious he felt that statement was. MK chose to ignore it, picking the gauze up off the table and starting to tightly wrap it around the monkey's arm.

"You know, I could've sworn all the stories said you were pretty much invulnerable." MK said, in an attempt to make conversation. The Monkey King had been unusually quiet this whole time, after all.

"Heh. You shouldn't believe every story you hear, bud." Wukong said again, and somehow, that was all it took for things to finally click into place. Sure, the Monkey King called MK 'bud' all the time, along with a variety of other nicknames he'd thrown into the mix, but the way he said it just now, his tone-

MK froze as the dots connected in his mind, slowly glancing up at the monkey's face, finding that the other was purposefully avoiding his gaze.

It didn't take true golden sight to figure out who the person MK was currently bandaging up really was.

Not wanting to seem suspicious, MK slowly went back to winding the gauze around the monkey's arm, trying to sort through his thoughts.

Okay. So. The Six Eared Macaque was currently sitting right in front of him. He was disguised as the Monkey King, who was MK's mentor. The last time MK had seen Macaque, he'd kidnapped his friends, attacked him, but then let them all go, giving MK a cryptid warning as he left. And now-

And now he was injured.

And he'd come to MK for help.

As for why the shadow monkey would turn to him for help, MK had no idea, but. As much as he distrusted Macaque, he couldn't just not help someone who was injured.

Alright. Okay. MK could work with this.

He stayed silent as he continued to treat Macaque's wounds, trying to put his anxiety over the fact that he was treating Macaque, of all people, out of his mind.

"...So." He started, nervously, as he finished wrapping up the last of the cuts. "Uh. Any other injuries I should know about?"

"What?" Macaque asked, sounding somewhat.... dazed and confused. MK had been so deep in his thoughts, he hadn't even noticed that the monkey had been spacing out.

"I asked if you were injured anywhere else." MK repeated, narrowing his eyes as Macaque's eyebrow twitched as he looked away, tail swinging back and forth.

"Uh, no. Don't think so." He muttered, seeming.....unusually quiet and meeker than MK remembered him being. Then again, he was supposed to still be pretending to be Wukong, since he didn't know MK had figured him out yet, but still.

"Well. 'Kay, that's obviously a lie." MK said, crossing his arms. "Seriously, are you injured anywhere else? Did you get hit on the head or something?"

Macaque didn't answer, staring at some point on the nearby wall. MK sighed, taking that as a yes.

So probably a concussion then. That......explained why he'd decided to come here for help, of all places. Or, well, at least explained a bit of it.

MK pulled some ice cubes out of his freezer, putting them in a little plastic bag, before wrapping a cloth around it, and placing it in Macaque's hand.

"What's this for?" Macaque asked.

"Put on your head, wherever it was you got hit. It's for the concussion." MK explained, putting the materials he'd used back into the first aid kit and closing it up. "Stay here. I'm going to bring this back down to Pigsy."

Leaving Macaque alone in MK's apartment was probably not the best decision he could've possibly made, but it really didn't seem like the shadow monkey planned on moving anytime soon, from the way he'd slumped against the chair, holding an makeshift ice pack against the side of his head. With one last look over his shoulder to make sure Macaque hadn't moved, MK turned and walked down the stairs.

He found Pigsy in the kitchen washing dishes, as expected.

"How's the monkey doing?" Pigsy asked, once he'd noticed that MK had entered the room.

"Oh, uh, he's fine, other than the mild concussion, but uh. He's um. Not who we thought he was." MK started, setting the first aid kit back into it's usual spot on a nearby counter. "You remember Macaque, the one from the shadow play a week or so ago?"

Pigsy paused, gently setting a place down into the sink as he turned around to give MK his full attention, wiping the soapy water on his hands off onto a hand towel as he did so.

"You mean to tell me." He said, "That the shadow monkey that attacked us a week ago is up in your apartment? And you just left him there? Alone?"

"He's injured, it's not like he's going to go anywhere." MK said, although he wasn't entirely sure if said statement was even true. "Besides, I think. Well I think there's more to him than meets the eye."

"Look, kid." Pigsy sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I trust your judgement. However, if that monkey makes a single move against you-"

"Then he's out of here, I know." MK said, turning to head back up the stairs. He'd left Macaque alone for long enough, after all. "I assure you Pigsy, if I need help, I'll call for you. Promise."

"....Whatever." Pigsy said, "Just go and keep an eye on him. I'll text the others and tell them what's up."

"Thanks!" MK said, and he rushed back up the stairs.

Macaque wasn't sitting in the chair.

For a brief moment, panic flung through MK's mind, wondering if, he had, in fact, been duped.

But....there was no way someone could fake injuries like that, and nothing seemed to be out of place, the windows and door still closed, so where-

There was some rustling in the living room.

Cautiously, MK slowly walked around the corner-

Macaque was laying, face down, on the couch. His injured arm dangled off the side, his hand barely touching the floor, the ice pack lazily positioned on top of his head. His tail was curled up beside him, still.

He was no longer disguised as Wukong.

MK cautiously approached him, before lightly poking his back.

No reaction, but he still seemed to be breathing normally. He'd probably fallen asleep.

Well.... MK supposed he could leave him be for now. He'd have to wake him up in a few hours or so, both to make sure that the cut on his arm hadn't gotten infected, and to check on that concussion, but as of right now, he could let him rest. He didn't really want to let Macaque out of his sight again though, so instead he grabbed one of his sketchbooks and pencils and sat down on the floor, doodling as he waited.

Macaque woke up to something poking him in the side. He groaned, rolling over-

And tumbled right off the couch and onto the floor with a pained yelp. He landed on his stomach, thankfully not hitting his head again on the way down. Upon this rude awakening, on pure instinct, he immediately shifted back into whatever disguise he'd been wearing before he'd fallen asleep.

Grumbling under his breath, he slowly pushed himself up, looking over to the side.

Oh. And there was Wukong's kid, sitting on the floor, holding his staff and looking both nervous and guilty.

.....Ah, that's right, Macaque had, in a moment of weakness, chosen to go to MK for help. As for what had been going through his mind when he'd chosen to do that, Macaque had no idea, but at least he'd disguised himself as Wukong first-

Wait. His disguise. He'd fallen asleep.

.....How long had the kid been sitting there? Had he seen-

"I'm sorry!" MK squeaked out, distracting Macaque from his thoughts. "I had to wake you up- to check on your injuries. I didn't think you'd uh. Fall."

Macaque did his best attempt at a 'Sun Wukong Original Smile'. He think he only half succeeded.

"It's uh, fine, bud." Macaque said, mentally trying to pull himself together. Come on, he's an actor, he acts every time he has to interact, he can do this. "You uh, did a good job, but I think I'm mostly healed by now already so I'll just get out of your way-"

"Wait." MK interrupted, and Macaque, who had stood up and turned to walk towards the door, froze mid-step.

He could not do this.

"You don't....need to stay disguised as Monkey King." MK said, and Macaque's fur bristled. Fuck, he'd been found out already, time to get the hell out of dodge-

"Ohoho? So you've figured me out already huh?" Macaque said, letting his Wukong glamour drop, but keeping his other ones, his most important ones, up. He pulled the shadows closer to himself, to make a more threatening appearance. "Hah, I guess every fool has moments of lucidity. Well, I've got all I wanted-" That was a lie, he'd gotten nothing, but might as well make the kid panic for a while wondering what he'd taken, right? That's what villains did, right? "-So I'll just be on my way now. See you later, bud."

Macaque turned, fully intending to walk into the shadows on the wall and teleport away-

The front door swung open, and the lights, which Macaque hadn't even registered had been off, switched on, flooding the room with light. The shadows crumbled in the brightness-

And Macaque smacked right into the wall.

He fell back to the floor, hissing in pain, his tail swishing as his previous wounds, both from the earlier fight and from falling off the couch, were agitated. He rubbed his head as a new batch of pain swept through it.

"MK!" He heard Mei shout, as she came in through the door, a true storm of energy. "I came as soon as I could- is that him?"

Macaque, still rubbing his head, (he was pretty sure his concussion from the fight was gone by now, but honestly he might've just gotten a brand new one), glanced up, seeing that Mei was looking at him with an appraising gaze.

"He doesn't really look all that menacing without the cloak to be honest." She said, shrugging. Macaque blinked at her, confused.

"What? No, you know what, it doesn't matter, I'm leaving." He said, standing up and dusting off his outfit, trying to put what had just happened as far away from his current thoughts as possible. (Later, he told himself, later he could scream into a pillow about how fucking embarrassing what just happened was. But he couldn't focus on it, not now.). With as much dignity he could muster at the moment, he slipped past Mei, walking out the door she'd left wide open.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Someone asked, and Macaque abruptly felt something grab onto his scarf. He stumbled, turning around to see who'd grabbed him, only to find himself standing in front of a large, blue, fish demon.

Ah. This must be that 'Sandy' that Tang had mentioned. Macaque had never met him, and honestly, right now, he really didn't want to.

"Ah, I was just leaving-" He started, tugging on his scarf, trying to get Sandy to let go.

His grip didn't even waver.

"But I haven't even gotten the chance to meet you yet!" Sandy said, easily scooping Macaque up despite the shadow monkey's protests. "Come on back in, I'll even make you some tea!"

Was literally anything going to go as planned today?

Apparently not, as Sandy unceremoniously dropped Macaque back onto the couch, the monkey scrambling to right himself so that he didn't go tumbling off the piece of furniture again.

"What kind of tea do you like?" Sandy asked, "Mint? Peach?"

"I don't like peaches." Macaque hissed, "And I don't like tea."

"Coffee then?" Sandy asked, and proceeded to take Macaque's silence as a yes.

"There's some instant coffee in the 3rd cupboard on the right." MK instructed, and Sandy nodded, heading into the kitchen and quickly setting up a teapot of water on the stove to boil.

"So~" Mei started, plopping herself down on the couch beside Macaque, showing a surprising lack of fear at his presence. "What exactly are you doing here, huh? You going to kidnap our souls again?"

"Oh for the love of- no, the lamp is gone anyways." Macaque huffed, keeping his eyes on the kitchen. He wasn't a fool, he knew a powerful demon when he saw one. Sure, Sandy was only making tea right now, but he'd have to be extra careful around him in the future. "I would've left already if you guys didn't keep trying to keep me here, for some stupid reason I can't even begin to comprehend."

"Well, after much debate, we've decided to attempt to add you to our anti-hit list." MK said, casually leaning against a wall. If the room had been darker, Macaque would've taken great pleasure in having his shadow appear behind him to freak him out a little, but as it was right now....

"What the fuck is an anti-hit list?" Macaque asked, genuinely confused, but didn't get an answer as Sandy walked out, carrying a tray with four cups, three filled with tea, one with coffee, and a small plate of cookies and fruits. He set them down on a small table that, to be honest, Macaque hadn't even noticed. MK and Mei happily picked up their cups, sipping at their tea. Macaque didn't touch his cup, staring at it with obvious distrust.

"Aren't you going to drink your coffee?" MK asked.

"How am I meant to know it's not poisoned?" Macaque scoffed in response.

"Because Sandy would never do that? I can taste test it for you, if you really want me to-" MK said.

"No thanks, don't want to be contaminated with your dirty Monkey King Successor Saliva." Macaque said, smirking when MK sighed in irritation. Good, maybe if he got under the kid's nerves, he'd let him leave.

"Why don't you try some of the cookies and fruits then?" MK asked, biting into one of the said snacks, "The rest of us are eating them without a care, so they're not poisoned."

"You could just be avoiding the ones that you poisoned so that I'll eat them." Macaque said, relishing in how MK huffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm not going to be fooled so easily. You do remember who I am, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, the Six Eared Macaque or whatever." MK grumbled, and Mei stifled a laugh.

"Kind of a weird name for someone who doesn't have six ears." She said, before pausing. "...Wait, do you have six ears?"

"...It's more of a nickname, really." Macaque mumbled, eyebrow twitching, suddenly very much disliking where this conversation was going. He stood up, pushing the cup that he hadn't bothered to drink out of to the side. "Anyways, I think I've overstayed my welcome here, so if you don't mind-"

"Not so fast." Sandy said, stopping Macaque before he could even take a step.

"What now?" Macaque hissed, glaring at him.

Sandy grabbed hold of Macaque's hand and dropped a tea bag into it.

"I know you said you didn't like tea-" He said, "-But I figured you should take some with you anyways. This one specifically is good for relaxing!"

Macaque rolled his eyes, but he still shoved the tea bag into his pocket, something the others took note of. With a quick glance at MK and Mei to make sure they weren't going to try and stop him again, Macaque finally, finally, left.

Cursing himself with every step he took, Macaque snuck into MK's kitchen, pulling out the tea bag Sandy had given him. He'd tried, oh he'd tried, to rest on top of the roof but, as he was right now, he wouldn't be getting any sleep.

Sandy had said this tea was good for relaxation. He could probably trust that, just a little bit.

Keeping an ear (or two. or three. or four-) out to make sure MK didn't wake up, Macaque slowly and quietly set up the tea kettle on the stove. He pulled a mug out of one of the cupboards, and set it down on the counter. Restlessly, he tapped his foot on the ground as he waited for the water to boil.

Really, he'd rather be anywhere but here, in the middle of the night, making tea in the apartment of Wukong's Successor.

But, truthfully, he didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. The Lady Bone Demon obviously had records of all the places Macaque would usually hide out. He wasn't very keen on getting captured again when he'd only just barely escaped.

Right now, staying close to MK was probably the safest place he could be. The kid was under Wukong's protection after all.

...Whether or not Wukong would arrive in time to maintain said protection was up for debate, but the kid is powerful. He'd be enough.

Macaque barely managed to get the kettle off the stove before it started whistling. He poured the water into his cup, blew on it to cool it down, and took a sip.

...Huh. So Sandy hadn't been lying. The tea actually was pretty good, and Macaque found himself leaning against the counter lazily as he continued to sip it. To be honest, he hasn't eaten or drunk anything in... a while, technically he didn't really need to, he could live without it, but. Something about this was... nice, he supposed.

He felt a bit more relaxed than before, almost enough to no longer notice the small aching pains of his healing injuries-

The cut on his arm throbbed with an extreme amount of pain, and Macaque tensed, tail curling up, doing a full body shudder-

The cup went tumbling to the floor.

MK woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of a crash and quiet swearing coming from the kitchen. Quickly, he shot out of bed, summoning his staff and rounding the corner-

He just barely caught a glimpse of a shadow slipping back out through the window.

Keeping his guard up, MK slowly reached over and flicked on the lights.

There was nobody there.

But somebody had been there- The kettle was not where he'd left it earlier, and-

There was a broken cup laying on the floor, some remnant drops of tea around it, as well as a very familiar tea bag.

MK sighed, putting the staff away and getting his broom out of the closet instead. He swept up the broken pieces, throwing them into the garbage can. He paused for a moment, thinking. Then, he activated his golden vision, and looked up.

Sure enough, he could see a faint golden outline of Macaque pacing on the roof.

MK debated, for a while, whether or not he should go up there and confront him. After all, an explanation as to why Macaque had broken into his apartment in the middle of the night just to make tea, instead of drinking it earlier when they offered, would be nice information to have.

On the other hand though, MK was tired, and it was late, and honestly, from the way Macaque was pacing, it didn't look like he'd be leaving the roof anytime soon.

MK turned around and went back to bed.

When MK climbed the ladder to the roof in the morning, still clad in his pyjama's, his phone tucked in his pocket, the roof seemed to be empty.

MK had long since learned that when things involved Macaque, not everything was as it seemed.

Specifically, a bunch of shadows on the nearby wall looked rather suspicious, if you were asking him. He dug his phone out and turned on the flashlight, shining it over the shadowy spot.

Almost immediately, Macaque fell out of the, now non-existent, shadows, barely catching himself from having another close encounter with the ground. He stumbled a little, clearly off balance. For a moment he looked like he hadn't slept at all, his fur mussed, bags under his eyes-

MK didn't get to see much of it, for as soon as he blinked, Macaque was back to looking the same way he always did.

"Would you stop doing that?" Macaque hissed, glaring at him. MK blinked, turning off the flash and pocketing his phone again.

"Uh. Good morning?" MK said, and, seeing no way to phrase the question delicately, asked; ".....Why did you break into my apartment in the middle of the night?"

"Heh, what are you talking about?" Macaque said, sliding back into his 'cool and composed' persona almost effortlessly. "You must've dreamed it, bud."

MK, in fact, had considered the possibility that it had been a dream when he woke up in the morning. However, the broken porcelain and used tea bag laying in his trashcan proved otherwise. He was about to point this out- when a familiar dull pang ran through his head.

Oh shit, not now.

"Hey, bud!" The Monkey King's voice said, a golden see through version of him appearing at MK's side. "I uh, know I kinda brushed you off the last time, sorry about that, but I figured I'd check in and see how you were doing!"

"Not now, Monkey King." MK whispered, under his breath, but of course, Macaque still heard it.

"Monkey King?" He questioned, before registering the way MK was looking slightly to the side, a slight golden glow reflecting in his eyes. "Ah. He's doing the astral projecting thing, isn't he."

MK didn't answer, instead trying to give Wukong the hint that now was not the time.

"Why, are you busy with something? Meh, I'm sure it's nothing you can't handle." Wukong said, and MK sighed. "Look, my vacation will be over soon, okay? There's just a few more uh, friends I need to visit, and then-"

A hand landed on MK's shoulder, and he barely restrained himself from startling as another, different pang ran through his mind.

"Monkey King! Good to see ya, bud." Macaque said, sarcasm colouring his voice. "How's your little vacation treating you huh?"

"Macaque." Wukong hissed, looking shocked, but quickly transitioning into anger. "What are you doing with MK?"

"Me? Why would you assume I've done anything to your little apprentice?" Macaque said, "You should be thinking about what you've done, honestly."

"Wh- what are you going on about now?" Wukong asked. Macaque laughed.

"Seriously? You need me to explain it to you? Oh, that's rich." He said, "Wukong, you really need to learn how to take a step back and see the world outside of you, because you obviously haven't realized that you've left your successor behind."

"I- I haven't left him behind." Wukong said, although the glance he sent in MK's direction spoke volumes about how much he actually believed that. "I'm coming right back, MK, as soon as this is done. I promise."

"Oho, we all know exactly how good you are with promises, Wukong." Macaque said, his tail thrashing back and forth. Wukong looked pained for a moment-

And then the connection cut off, Wukong not even saying goodbye as his see through form turned around before fading away. Macaque took his hand off MK's shoulder, laughing in a way that felt....forced.

"Ha....same old Monkey King, huh." He said, crossing his arms. "As much as he tries to insist other wise, he really does never change."

"What, was that?" MK asked, looking Macaque up and down. He'd stayed quiet during their conversation, but now... "Seriously dude, what the fuck?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Macaque said, waving him off. "Anyways, what are you doing on the rooftop this lovely morning?"

"I should be asking you that." MK responded, "Also, don't think I don't realize that you're attempting to deflect."

"Deflection who? Never heard of her." Macaque said, sitting down on the edge of the roof, his legs swinging off the side. "Besides, don't you have a job to do?"

MK looked down at the clock on his phone. 9:30 am. Shit, Macaque was right, MK did have to be getting to work.

"This conversation isn't over." He said. Macaque pretended like he didn't hear him.

When MK finally got a break and headed back up to the roof, the shadow monkey was gone.

Macaque ended up showing up in the noodle shop, two days later.

Tang had nearly choked on his noodles when the monkey had suddenly appeared out of nowhere beside him, barely keeping himself from yelling in surprise. Macaque hadn't even glanced at him, resolutely staring down at the counter instead. Everything about his body language implied that he'd rather be anywhere but here.

So..... why was he here?

Everyone very much wanted to ask, but one look from Pigsy shut them up. They all knew Pigsy's habit of helping people, MK and Tang had experienced it first hand after all, and they deferred to his judgement on things like this.

So they let Macaque be, silently sitting on the stool, his tail swinging back and forth.

Pigsy pulled MK into the kitchen.

"Kid," He started, "When you patched up Macaque, how much gauze did you use, exactly?"

"Only enough to wrap up his arm." MK answered, "There was plenty left afterwards. Why?"

"And you made sure to put it back in the kit?"

"Yeah.....why are you asking me this?"

Pigsy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I was doing inventory earlier- checking to see what things I'd need to stock up on. Figured I'd check the first aid kit too, since you'd used it." Pigsy said, "The gauze is gone kid. And I mean like, gone, gone. There ain't any left at all. Like it was never there in the first place."

"That's....weird." MK said, scratching his head. "Who would want to steal gauze?"

"That's what I'm wondering too."

Red Son happened to visit the noodle shop that day. He paused as he entered through the door, noting the monkey demon sitting at the counter, resting his head on one hand.

"...I see you peasants have forced another person into your friend group from hell." He said to Mei, leaning up against a wall. Mei elbowed him in the stomach in response.

"You say that as though you aren't also part of our friend group." She said, rolling her eyes. Red Son huffed, but didn't argue with her claim, so she took that as a win. "Also, he isn't exactly in the friend category yet. We're working on it."

"If he isn't in the friend category, then why is he even here?" Red Son asked, "It's not every day a random demon monkey decides to just hang out in a noodle shop, of all places."

"First of all, his name is Macaque." MK said, walking over to where Mei and Red Son were standing, holding a broom in his hand, since he'd just finished sweeping up the kitchen. "Secondly, we're not sure why he's here. He just kinda, showed up."

"And don't diss the noodle shop either." Mei said, "We all know you like it here as much as we do."

"Whatever." Red Son said, before turning to MK with narrowed eyes. "Anyways, are you okay, Noodle Boy?"

"....What do you mean?" MK asked.

"I can smell blood."

Unseen to the group of three, Macaque tensed, head snapping up as he looked over to them.

"I'm fine though?" MK said, a questioning lilt in his voice. "I haven't fought...anyone, really, in over a week, and I don't think I've cut myself on anything.... Are you sure the spices aren't messing with you?"

"It's kind of hard to mistake the smell of blood, Noodle Boy." Red Son said, rolling his eyes.

Macaque slowly stood up, starting to make his way towards the door. Unfortunately for him, this movement caught Mei's attention.

"Where are you going?" She asked, drawing MK and Red Son's attention to Macaque who, upon realizing he'd been noticed, stepped forwards much quicker, looking like he was about to run-

He stumbled, one hand going up to his head, his other arm waving off to the side as he struggled for balance, tumbling backwards. MK dropped the broom and caught him before he could hit the ground. In front of the group's eye's, Macaque's form seemed to glitch, revealing, for a moment, mussed up fur, a scar over his eye, six ears-

And blood soaked gauze wrapped around his arm.

Almost as soon as they'd seen it, it was gone again, replaced with Macaque's usual look.

There was silence, for a moment.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" MK asked.

"I'm fine." Macaque hissed, attempting to shove MK's hands off of him, struggling. When he found that he couldn't, he stopped, slumping a little. "Put me down."

"No no no, we're not going to pretend that we didn't just see that." MK said, adjusting his grip and lifting Macaque up.

"Wh- what are you doing, I said to put me down, not pick me up." Macaque said, fur bristling. "Also, you didn't see anything. You're hallucinating."

"Stop deflecting." MK said, gesturing vaguely for Mei and Red Son to follow him, as he carried the monkey up the stairs. "If you're still hurt, we need to treat it."

Macaque didn't respond, and MK looked down to see that his eyes were closed, his form flickering again.

"Huh. I guess he really does have six ears." Mei said from behind him.

"Now is not the time, Dragon Girl." Red Son said. MK ignored them as he unlocked the door to his apartment, walking into the living room and laying Macaque down on the carpet. He might regret that later, blood stains were hell to wash out, but that was a problem for future MK.

Macaque's form flickered again, except this time, it stayed on the version of him that looked.... well if MK was being honest, he looked awful. His face was pale, and his fur looked like it hadn't been brushed in weeks.

Not to mention the bloody gauze around his arm.

MK made quick work of removing it, wincing whenever Macaque whimpered in pain in response to the injury being touched. As soon as the injury was uncovered, the trio sucked in a horrified breath.

"...I don't understand." MK whispered, "He's a demon, demons heal quickly right? He got this injury at least 3 days ago, so why is it-"

"It's cursed." Red Son said, sounding terrified, for once. "He's been struck by a cursed blade. Whoever did this really does want him dead."

"What do we do?" MK asked, "We can't just let him... let him bleed to death."

"You mentioned before that Wukong has a room full of items, back on Flower Fruit Mountain?" Red Son asked. MK nodded in response. "He probably has something there that could help."

MK, who had kneeled on the floor to check Macaque's injury, quickly stood up, summoning the staff.

"Mei, get Pigsy and the others. They'll probably be better at taking care of him right now than we are." He said, before turning back to Red Son. "How will I know if I've found something that will help?"

"Truthfully, I couldn't tell you." Red Son said, shrugging. "I've never had to deal with something like this before. ...I'm sure you'd know when you see it though."

"Oh, sure, that's real helpful." MK said, sarcastically, and proceeded to turn and run out the door.

"Seriously why does Monkey King have so much stuff!" MK yelled, throwing a box of jewels at a wall. He'd been searching frantically through the mountains of items for.... about ten minutes, and he was, honestly, tired of it. "Would it kill him to hold a garage sale once in a while? Maybe then I'd actually be able to find shit!"

"Hey, each of these items are near and dear to me, I'll have you know."

MK yelped, summoning the staff as he whirled around, coming face to face with none other than Sun Wukong himself.

"Monkey King!" MK said, "You're back?"

"Yep, managed to get all that I- uh, I mean, I managed to catch up with everyone." Wukong said, lazily laying back on his cloud. "Anyways, mind telling me what you're doing in my storage room?"

"...You're not going to like the answer to that." MK nervously rubbed the back of his neck. He knew that Macaque and Wukong had a history, and although he didn't know the full details, he knew that the two of them didn't get along now. Truthfully, he had no idea if Wukong would even be willing to help Macaque at all.

MK himself wasn't entirely sure why he was helping him either, really, he'd done nothing to warrant it.

But then again, he hadn't done anything that warranted a slow death via bleeding out either.

"I'm sure that whatever it is can't be that bad." Wukong said, "It takes a lot to surprise me, kid."

"Macaque is currently bleeding out on my carpet."

"He's what?!"

When Macaque woke up, he was back on the couch again. He vaguely recalled passing out after MK had carried him up the stairs, but to be honest, that whole event was.... a little blurry for him. He thinks he woke up a few more times afterwards, but between the blurry faces and surprisingly muffled sounds, he can't make heads or tails of what happened.

He sighed, not really wanting to get up yet, snuggling back down into the couch-

He can hear another heartbeat. There's someone in the room with him.

Macaque sat up laser fast, throwing his usual glamours back on.

"Ah ah ah, none of that now."

Something lightly tapped his shoulder, and Macaque's glamour dissolved completely as a slight golden light went over him.

He turned his head to see Wukong sitting on the edge of the couch.

"Don't want you to pass out on us again after we just healed you." He said, "Seriously, try to keep from using a lot of magic in the next few days. You'll heal faster."

"Oh that's rich, coming from Mr. 'I can't stay in bed for 2 hours'. You don't think I've forgotten when you got hit with that energy depletion curse, did you?" Macaque retorted, crossing his arms. Wukong gave a nervous laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"To be honest, I was hoping you did forget that, actually." He said.

"Please. As though I'd ever forget something that led to the honorable Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, walking right into a tree." Macaque said, a smirk on his face.

They were both avoiding talking about what had happened between them. Neither of them truly felt they were ready for that yet.

They were in MK's apartment though, so they could at least try to avoid an actual fight.

"What's this I hear about Monkey King walking into a tree?" MK said, walking into the room. Pigsy and Mei followed close behind him.

"Ah, it's nothing, he's just lying like always. The medicine is probably making him think of things that aren't true." Wukong said, and Macaque rolled his eyes.

"If you give me some plums later, I'll tell you all about it, MK." Macaque said, ignoring Wukong's protests. "Monkey King needs to get knocked down a peg or two, in my opinion."

"MK, I swear if you agree to that-" Wukong warned.

"Deal." MK said, holding out his hand for Macaque to shake. Wukong yelled in outrage as Macaque laughed.

"Heh, nice to see the two of you actually getting along, for once." Pigsy said, leaning over the back of the couch as he ruffled the fur on the top of both Wukong and Macaque's heads.

Both monkeys froze.

"....You two okay?" MK asked. Wukong and Macaque glanced at each other. An agreement had been made.

They would never speak of this.

In near perfect sync, the both of them leapt off the couch, turning and running off in different directions, Wukong going out a window, while Macaque chose the slightly more reasonable option of going out the door.

MK, Mei, and Pigsy stood there in shock for a moment, as they watched the two monkeys get further away.

".....Stupid touch starved monkeys." Pigsy sighed, turning and heading back down to the restaurant. He'd had enough Monkey Madness for one day.

MK and Mei glanced at each other, and then back in the directions Wukong and Macaque had gone.

"Uhh, I go get Monkey King, you go get Macaque?" MK said.

"You wanna make it a race? See who can get one of them to come back first?" Mei asked.

"Absolutely. Ready?"

"As always."

"Then 3, 2, 1, go!" MK yelled, and two of them ran off, chasing after Wukong and Macaque.

#Monkie Kid #fanfic #my writing

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starshine583 · 3 years ago

Text

New Girl on the Block (23)

(Welp, y’all, this is it. This is the last, pre-written chapter that I have written. From here on out we’re gonna have to rely strictly on my writing consistency and... I’m so sorry for that lol Because CLEARLY, if we’re on the last pre-written chapter, after having posted, like, three over the last month, we know that this isn’t gonna be good. BUT! I do have THIS chapter to give you! So please enjoy! And don’t forget to check out the mini series connected to this called Journal Entries!)

Ch.1 / Ch.22 / Ch.24 (ao3)

Chapter 23: How the Cards Fall

Marinette stared in horror at her former classmates, violently kicking herself for being so reckless. How could she forget that this was one of Alya and Nino’s favorite food carts too? She used to eat there with them all the time! She should have known better than to pick this place! Actually, she shouldn’t have picked anywhere to eat at all! Going to a place she used to enjoy meant going to a place where she used to hang out with her old friends, which meant eventually running into them, which meant- well - this! Oh, how could she be so stupid?

Maybe it won’t be so bad, she reasoned with herself before she could start hyperventilating. Maybe they’ll just roll their eyes and leave instead of making a scene.

But Alya was never one to back down from a (accidental) challenge. As soon as she realized her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her, a scowl etched itself onto her lips, and she started stomping in Marinette’s direction.

“It is you!” The red-head scoffed. “Oh, when I get my hands on you-”

Marinette flinched back, officially throwing breathing out the window. She looked at her current classmates and wondered what they would do if she ran, what they would think. Would they follow her or would they stay and talk with Alya? What if they started asking questions that Marinette couldn’t answer? What if Alya answered the questions before she could? Would they believe her? Was she going to have to find a new school again? What if Lila’s lies followed her there too? What if she never escaped Lila’s claims?

Suddenly, not breathing turned into breathing too fast, but before she could spiral further than gasping, a shadow passed over her.

It was Allan and Claude, coming to stand in front of her as a defense.

“Hey, woah!” Claude said, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “Why don’t you back off a bit and tell us what’s got you so upset?”

A hand touched her shoulder lightly, and Marinette’s gaze snapped to Felix, who was now standing next to her. He met her eyes with a subtle raise of the eyebrows, and she knew what it meant.

“Are you alright?”

Marinette drew in a deep breath to steady herself and nodded, even though her insides felt like they were turning outwards at this point. Felix must have seen through her fib because his hand stayed on her shoulder as he looked back at Alya. His eyebrows were furrowed, which could be from his concern, but Marinette also knew curiosity when she saw it. He wants to know who these people are, and why they’re angry with her. And after everything she’s told him about her old school, he might be able to figure it out.

Alya briefly paused at the boys’ blockade, before raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

“So is this who you’re hiding behind now?” She asked, unimpressed. “Are these the new people you’ve managed to dupe?”

Marinette tensed, and Felix’s grip tightened on her shoulder. Whether that was a sign of support or his disgruntlement, she wasn’t sure.

“Are we supposed to know what that means?” Allegra, who had also come to stand next to Marinette, drawled.

“No.” Alya said. “Not yet, anyway. This one likes to wait until you’re in pretty deep before springing her trap.”

Marinette bit her lip, indignation rising in her chest. She didn’t deserve this. She hasn’t done anything wrong!

“Alya, that’s enough-” She tried to say, but Alya cut her off.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” The red-head snapped. “You don’t get to have a say anymore, not unless you’re willing to admit what you’ve done, what you really are.”

“Alya, come on.” Nino, who finally decided to join the conversation, coaxed. “L-Let’s just go. It’s not worth fighting over.”

Marinette might have been grateful had he not backed down right after when Alya shot him a glare.

“I’m going to assume you guys are her new classmates and friends.” Alya continued. “So let me tell you, as a former classmate and best friend, that this girl,” she pointed her finger accusingly at Marinette, “is a fraud.”

“That’s not true!” Marinette couldn’t help shouting.

Alya ignored her. “She makes herself look sweet and innocent by making you croissants or cookies and bringing you handmade gifts, but it’s all an act. All she really wants is the attention that the gifts bring, and when she doesn’t get it, she goes ballistic. I used to think she was the best thing in the world until a foreign exchange student came along and became more popular. Then she started stealing that person’s homework and ripping it up, or throwing her textbooks in the trash, or even tripping her down flights of stairs. One time we even caught her stealing personal items!”

“I didn’t do any of that!” Marinette insisted, more so to her friends than to Alya. “I told you she framed me!”

Alya scoffed. “You can’t even deny it anymore! Lila has all of the rude texts you’ve sent her, there were multiple witnesses to the tattered homework that was on your desk- myself included -and we all saw her take her family heirloom out of your locker.”

“That wasn’t a family heirloom! She literally bought that in a store two months before and then put it in my locker to frame me!”

Alya rolled her eyes and turned back to Claude and Allan. “Obviously, she’s going to make up whatever excuse she can to keep you from listening to me, but I advise you to dump her now while you can. She’ll make your life a living nightmare if she thinks you’re better than her somehow, though at this point,” Alya shot Marinette another scalding glare, “we all are.”

Tears burned in the corner of Marinette’s eyes, but before she could further argue her innocence, Claude spoke up.

“Ok, so what proof do you have of this?”

It was something she’d expected Felix to ask, honestly, and it left her staring at the brunette in shock. He was.. asking questions. The right questions. He wasn’t taking Alya’s words as gospel the way everyone else at Dupont had done with Lila’s words.

Alya frowned. “I already told you-”

“No, I don’t care about what you’ve said.” Claude interrupted. “You’re a stranger I just met, and Marinette is a good friend that I’ve known for a wonderful month and a half. I’m going to need more than your word.”

Alya narrowed her eyes at him, debating.

“Alright, fine. I’ll bring Lila here as a first hand account. She has the texts saved on her phone. As for the homework and such, those have already been replaced and done away with, but I do have the class president binder where several important forms are missing from Marinette burning them instead of giving them to Lila after leaving.”

Marinette had to bite her tongue to avoid laughing despite herself. Lila said that she burned some of the class papers? What would make her lie about something like that? Was it to get out of the work? Oh, boy, was that going to come back to bite her. She probably had to resign all of the ‘missing’ paperwork! Oh, this is the greatest thing Marinette’s ever heard. Hopefully, she said she lost a lot.

“Do you have the burnt papers?” Allan asked.

“No, of course not-”

“So, let me see if I’ve got this right,” Allegra said, her voice edging on annoyance, “we’re supposed to believe the account of a foreign exchange student, who we also don’t know, and who, apparently, brought out the worst in Marinette by herself even though no one had ever done so before, and the only actual proof you have, other than that girl’s word, is a series of texts that can easily be altered and a binder with some missing pages that ‘Lila’ could have misplaced or even burned herself. Is that correct?”

Alya scoffed. “You’re making it sound ridiculous.”

“No, I’m repeating what you’ve said to us, which is ridiculous.”

“She’s done other things too!” Alya insisted. “Just the other day she met up with one of my other friends and tried to persuade them into her clutches again, even though she had already transferred schools. Look-”

Alya pulled out her phone, and for once, Marinette looked on with interest as well. Lila making up a lie like that meant someone had to be going against her now, right? So who was it? Did someone mention Marinette’s name in an argument, and now Lila’s latching onto that as an advantage?

After a minute of searching, Alya flipped her phone around for them to see her screen, and the picture displayed on it made Marinette’s stomach drop.

“Woah, is that Adrien Agreste?”

The group, aside from Felix, leaned forward to see the picture better, but Marinette found herself leaning back, the blood draining from her features. That was a picture of her and Adrien at the café last Friday, but- but how did- when could they have possibly-

“Where did you get that?” She blurted out before she could stop herself.

Alya fixed her with a smug grin. “Look familiar? Lila took this while you and Adrien were having lunch last week. I’d been wondering why he was asking her so many questions about her stories, but now it all makes sense. You’ve been secretly coaxing him to your side again, and poor Adrien couldn’t resist. Even when I called him about the picture, he said he just wanted to be your friend again. I guess he always did see the best in everyone, though.”

Marinette felt sick to her stomach. How long was Lila with them in that café and Marinette didn’t even know it? How much did she overhear as Marinette blabbered on and on to Adrien about her current life? Did she know about Marinette attending Rosemary? Did she tell Alya about her attending Rosemary? How many people did she send that picture to?

She clutched for Felix’s hand on her shoulder, suddenly not trusting herself to stand, and he quickly put his other hand on top of hers. The comfort of his touch was appreciated, but not enough.

A burst of laughter cut into Marinette’s panic, and she turned to Claude who was all but rolling on the grass. He clutched his sides as he howled and even went as far as to wipe tears from his eyes.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute..” the brunette wheezed. “So you’re telling me, that Adrien Agreste, the fashion icon and heart throb of Paris, was in your class, but Marinette only started acting out after the foreign exchange student showed up? No offense to you, Mari, but I’m pretty sure a rich, young model would have been way more popular. How come she didn’t sabotage him?”

Alya faltered for a moment, not quite expecting the question and certainly not the laughter. “W-Well- I mean- she did have a major crush on him. Maybe she didn’t care that he was more popular than her because she liked him so much.”

Marinette felt her cheeks heat up out of embarrassment, but thankfully, no one touched on that subject. Instead, Allegra hummed and said, “Okay, fine. Assuming that’s true, what made Lila so popular?”

“Plenty of things.” Alya stated matter-of-factly. “She’s helped Prince Ali organize several charities, made petitions to save endangered animal preserves, is best friends with Ladybug-”

Marinette didn’t resist her eye roll.

“-and even saved Jagged stone’s kitten!”

Marinette glanced at Claude, who immediately deadpanned a “what”. She knew that if anyone was going to pick up the last line, it would be him.

“Jagged Stone never owned a kitten.” Claude said. “He’s allergic.”

“It was before he knew he was allergic.”

“He’s still never owned a kitten!” Claude exclaimed with a flail of his arms. “He’s only ever owned a crocodile! That’s been said in multiple interviews!”

“But-”

“And if we want to bring up charities, Prince Ali doesn’t organize any charities. He only donates to them.” Allegra pointed out.

“I-”

“And petitions to protect endangered animal preserves?” Allan echoed. “Those don’t need protection. They are set in stone by law.”

“I’m sure-”

“Look, you’ve clearly been given false information.” Claude said, crossing his arms, “and because you were dumb enough to believe the real attention-seeker, you’ve lost an amazing friend. Now I suggest you leave us alone before I report you to the authorities for harassment.”

Alya��s face twisted with rage. “Harrass- you know what? Whatever. I’ve done my part. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when she starts ruining your life out of jealousy.”

Marinette caught a glimpse of Claude clenching his fists, and Allan put a hand on the brunette’s shoulder to steady him.

“We won’t. Have a nice day.”

Alya huffed and stormed off, dragging Nino with her. He glanced over his shoulder to give Marinette an apologetic look, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Instead she crossed her arms over her chest and blew out a sigh. That.. could have gone worse.. she supposed.

“Marinette.”

Marinette’s fingers dug into her skin, and she hesitantly looked up at Felix. His hand had loosened on her shoulder, and he was staring at her with an unreadable expression. What was he thinking right now? Was he angry? Disappointed? Confused about why she didn’t tell him about her lunch date with Adrien? She wished he would give her a clue of some kind.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly. “You’re shaking.”

Marinette blinked, pulling her hands away from her body. She was shaking? How did she not notice?

“Oh, and you look so pale!” Allegra cried, wrapping her arms around Marinette’s shoulders. “Should we take you home?”

Marinette grabbed Allegra’s arm and forced a small smile as she shook her head. “No, no, I’m.. I..”

She wanted to say that she was fine, that they could continue having lunch as usual, but a lump in her throat made it hard to get the words out. Next thing she knew, tears were spilling down her cheeks, and she was putting her hand over her mouth to choke down a sob.

All this time.. All this time she’d been keeping her past a secret from them, scared that they might take Lila’s side like everyone else, yet here they were, holding her close and offering her hushed condolences. They were giving her the very support she’d been afraid of losing, and now she was ashamed that she’d ever been afraid at all.

“I’m so sorry!” She nearly sobbed.

Allegra pulled her closer. “No, don’t say that! There’s nothing you need to be apologizing for!”

Claude and Allan rushed to wrap their arms around her as well, and Felix slid his hand down to rub her back. This, of course, only made her cry harder, because they were being so gentle with her, so kind. How could she have ever doubted them?

“Why don’t we go back to the house?” Claude suggested gently. “Mom and Dad won’t be back yet so we can give you a minute to recover.”

“And Felix makes the best honeysuckle tea.” Allegra adds. “It’ll cure any pain those idiots caused.”

Marinette sniffed and gave a little nod. People were starting to stare at them anyway, and at this point, she’d lost her appetite.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, whatever you need.” Allegra said as she led Marinette back to the car.

Marinette took the handkerchief Felix offered her and dried some of her tears, then gave him a small, grateful smile. He hadn’t spoken much during the altercation, but the way he quietly hovered around her and held her hand when she needed it said enough, especially since she knew he didn’t appreciate being touched.

It’s funny. Whenever she used to think about them finding out about Lila- because, surely, it would have to happen eventually -she always assumed she would feel anxious or paranoid afterwards. “What if they didn’t believe her? What if they constantly doubted her actions now? What if she constantly doubted their actions? Would they ever be able to trust each other fully again?” But as she got into the limo and sat down, and everyone crowded around her to show their love and support over the awful things Lila had said, all Marinette felt was safe.

~~~~~~

Felix leaned his back against the peppered countertop and crossed his arms, his finger tapping against his bicep with impatience. The iron tea kettle sat on the stove next to him, slowly heating and steeping the honeysuckle tea that he’d been requested to make. Usually, it took no time at all for the kettle to whistle, but today, it felt like he’d been standing there for an eternity.

He glanced at the digital clock on the microwave to see how long he’d been waiting, and the numbers 12:45 blinked across it.

12:45pm.. That meant he’d been in the kitchen for about..

Two minutes.

Felix sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his gaze sliding to the kitchen doorway. Marinette was sitting in the living room with the others just outside of it, with her and Allegra on one three-cushioned-couch, and Claude and Allan on the other one across from them. She seemed to be having a decent time, chatting and laughing with everyone, but that didn’t ease Felix’s mind any, not after what he saw in the park.

He’ll admit to being curious when the fight first started. Rosemary is known for its hair-pulling, arm-biting brawls, but they’re also known to remain dignified despite them. For example, the brawls are almost always private, which is why, when someone called out to Marinette in such a harsh and open manner, Felix couldn’t help being intrigued.

When he saw how Marinette reacted, however, his stance on the situation dramatically changed.

In the month and a half that he’s known her, Marinette has faced down high-class celebrities, an overwhelming amount of clothing requests from Claude, and an actual akuma, and not once has Felix seen her so much as flinch. Not until today, that is, when that red-head somehow shook her to her core. Just the sight of her sent Marinette into hysterics, crying, shaking, her face becoming white as a sheet- he’s quite certain she almost hyperventilated at some point too. This strong girl that he’d grown to admire, that he was starting to believe could face anything unscathed, had crumbled to pieces in mere seconds, and it honestly frightened him. He wasn’t sure what to do or how to help. So he simply grabbed her shoulder, hoping she would understand what he was trying to say- that he was there for her, and was she alright?

She understood him, thankfully, and her shoulders started to loosen a bit under his gaze.

But then that red-head started talking.

She spat out the most ridiculous accusations Felix had ever heard, accusations stating that Marinette was a liar and a fake, that she only ever did things for attention. Even if the part about wanting attention was true- which it wasn’t -why would it matter? She does incredible things simply because people ask her to. Why shouldn’t she get any attention for it?

As annoying as the last claim was, though, it wasn’t nearly as infuriating as the rest of the things that girl said. She told them she was Marinette’s former best friend, yet she cast the ravenette aside at the drop of a hat simply because an exchange student with a rusted silver tongue told her to do so. Honestly, who would be dumb enough to believe that some foreign student was best friends with one of the Parisian superheroes? Or that a highschooler actually got to organize charity events? The most she would be able to do at her age was greet people as they walked inside.

Felix wasn’t even going to think about the Jagged Stone claim, since Claude already made it quite clear that that was another lie, but really, who goes into a new school spreading the most impossibly grand lies they can? More importantly, how did those lies manage to stick? Was everyone at Dupont a complete moron?

No.. No, that wasn’t it. No one was that stupid, surely. They all probably wanted to believe Lila. That’s why they pounced on Marinette the way they did. They were looking for an excuse to go after her the entire time.

Felix clenched his fist and turned to the kettle again, watching the steam rise from the spout. It’s no wonder she became so worried when saw Adrien Agreste at Rosemary. After her crush on him and the lies, Felix wouldn’t want to see his former classmates either.

...Speaking of Agreste, what was that picture about? Felix doubted Marinette was trying to ‘persuade him to her side’ as that red-head had said, but her reaction to it was extremely strong nonetheless. Why were they in a café together? It sounded like she met up with him only last week, but she’d told Felix a couple weeks ago that she didn’t want to see him. Why would she put herself through that? And why did she grip his hand so hard when she saw the picture?

The shrill whistle of the tea kettle broke into his thoughts, and Felix jumped to move it off of the burner. Once it was set aside properly, he turned the stove off and began setting out the mugs to fill them. They weren’t as delicate or pristine as the tea sets his father owned, but they would do nicely for the time being. Besides, if Marinette had a one-of-a-kind glass teacup, she might fret about breaking it instead of enjoying the tea.

Felix filled the mugs and put them on a tray, along with some sugars, milk, and honey, then picked up the tray to bring it into the living room. A round of delighted cheers filled the room as he entered, and Claude eagerly bounced up from the couch to grab his mug. Felix moved the tray out of his reach, though, not wanting to offset the balance and spill everything.

“Sorry it took so long.” Felix said as he set the tray on the table. “The tea is fresh so I brought in ice cubes to cool it off if you want them. If not, make sure to blow on it before drinking or you’ll burn your tongue.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know the drill.” Claude remarked as he reached for his mug again.

Felix rolled his eyes. “That was for Marinette’s benefit, not yours.”

“I’m sure Mari knows how to drink hot tea.” Claude retorted.

“But I appreciate the advice anyway.” Marinette spoke up with a smile.

Felix glanced at her as he handed her a pink mug, trying not to look at the puffed up red spots under her eyes. Her tears had long since disappeared, but the remnants of them still remained, including the trails on her cheeks that the tears had run down.

“You’re going to love this, Marinette.” Allegra chirped, thankfully taking the girl’s focus. “This tea literally tastes like honey. I doubt you’ll even need any sugar!”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna.” Claude smirked, already shoveling a spoonful of sugar into his tea. “Unsweet tea was never my style.”

“I swear you are gonna die from diabetes one day.” Allan muttered while taking a sip of his tea.

“And it will totally be worth it.” Claude replied.

Marinette and the others laughed, which helped Felix relax a tad as he sat next to Allan. If Marinette was laughing again, maybe that meant she was feeling better.

The ravenette’s lips hovered over the mug for a solid minute as she blew on the pale, celadon liquid, and when she finally decided to take a drink, Felix found himself staring. Did she like it? Was it too strong? Should he go make something else for her?

“Oh, this is amazing!” Marinette gasped, her eyes lighting up.

Felix smiled, relieved. “I’m glad you think so. I like to add a few drops of honey and a sprinkle of sugar every now and then because it brings out the flavor, but that’s just a personal preference.”

“The tea is incredible already, but I’ll try your style anyway.” She said, reaching for the sugar. Claude pushed it towards her, while Allegra gave her the honey, and once Marinette dumped the extra ingredients into her mug, she took a spoon from a tray to stir them.

She took another sip of the tea, and this time, she sank into the couch with a contented sigh.

“Wow. That is so good, especially with how warm it is! I feel like I’ve just been wrapped up in the most comfortable blanket ever.”

The trio shared a laugh, and Marinette sat up with another giggle herself, but to Felix’s disappointment, the smiles didn’t last.

Marinette set her mug on her lap and let out a sigh, a bashful smile replacing her giddy one. She kept her gaze on her cup as she said, “So, I guess… I should explain myself?”

The group exchanged glances, and Allegra frowned.

“What’s there to explain?” Allan was the first to ask.

Marinette looked up. “Well- Y-You know.. The reasons why Alya was so angry with me. How everything happened at my old school.”

“Again, what’s there to explain?” Claude said. “It’s obvious what happened. This ‘Lila’ person spread rumors about you around the school, and for some reason, your classmates were dumb enough to believe it. End of story.”

For once, Felix agreed with him.

“.. Not quite.” Marinette admitted, causing Felix to furrow his eyebrows. How much more to the story could there possibly be? Don’t tell him it got worse.

“I’d like to tell my side of the story, if you guys don’t mind.”

Allegra offered her a reassuring smile. “Of course not, but you don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah.” Allan agreed. “Your word is all we need.”

A grateful smile caught the corners of Marinette’s lips. “Thank you, but I want to do this. I’ll feel a lot better once you guys know the full truth.”

“Then we’re all ears.” Felix said, sincerely.

Marinette’s smile widened slightly as she glanced at him, but her expression fell serious again when she began her story.

“It started almost two years ago. The September before last, a girl named Lila joined our school- er -my old school, Dupont. She came in telling all of these different stories about meeting celebrities and arranging charity events or music concerts and being ‘best friends’ with Ladybug.”

The sheer disgust in her voice when she mentioned being best friends with Ladybug made Felix smirk, but he let her continue.

“With stories as crazy as that, I couldn’t believe that my fr- uh.. That my classmates were actually believing her. In one day, she had them following her around like dogs and carrying her stuff because she claimed to have hurt her wrist in an accident. I forget which excuse she used, but it ticked me off to no end. So I tried to tell everyone that she was lying.”

“It.. didn’t end well, unfortunately. She turned into an akuma and went on a rampage, and after Ladybug and Chat Noir fixed everything, she only gained more sympathy from everybody. That’s when the stories about me started.”

“Every time I tried to expose her, she would make up some elaborate lie that made me the bad guy, and everyone swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. I tried to tell the teachers about what was happening, and some of them helped keep us separated during class time. But other than that, I was kind of just.. left to handle it by myself.”

Felix held back a scoff. Typical. Teachers never bothered entering student squabbles if they thought it wasn’t law-suit worthy.

“Of course, since the teachers weren’t doing anything, the lies only got worse, and soon, Lila started lying about me unprovoked. She would say I stole her things or ripped up her homework or tripped her down the stairs. I almost got expelled over it twice.”

“Wait, seriously?” Claude said before Felix could actually scoff. “So you told the teacher that this ‘Lila’ was spreading lies around the school, but they still tried to expel you over the things she said?”

Marinette nodded. “They would have to if she hadn’t come back and made up some lies about having been mistaken. I’m still not sure why she did that.”

Felix shook his head, absolutely incredulous to what he was hearing. It appeared the students weren’t the only morons in that school. How has it stayed funded for this long?

“Maybe it was a power play.” Allan muttered with a frown. “She sounds like the type of person who would do that.”

Marinette shrugged. “Yeah, I guess she is.”

“Didn’t anyone believe you?” Allegra asked.

A wince overcame the ravenette’s features, and Felix reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t wait to hear what she had to say about that question.

“Yes, someone did,” Marinette admitted, “but he wasn’t very helpful, to be honest. Actually, he tried to get me to stop going against Lila in case she got akumatized again. His reasoning was that her lies would eventually be found out on their own, but.. as you know.. They never were.”

Claude scoffed and put a hand to his chest, seeming to be offended by the very notion. “Are you for real? He just wanted you to let it go?”

“Did he even say anything while you were in the process of being expelled?” Allan asked.

Marinette’s face said plenty, but she answered aloud anyway. “No, not that I know of. He never liked getting in the middle of confrontations.”

Now it was Felix’s turn to scoff. He tipped his drink up to his lips, downing half the mug to avoid interrupting her story further. Felix scoffed, taking a sip of his tea to avoid interrupting her story further. Did no one want to stand up for Marinette? Did no one in that forsaken school have any sense of loyalty or gratitude? That dumb redhead at the park even admitted that Marinette had done numerous things for them as favors. How can they look at themselves in the mirror each morning when they treat people so horribly?

“So what happened after you almost got expelled?” Allegra prompted.

“Well, if you’re asking me what changed, then nothing, really.” Marinette replied. “Lila continued to lie, and I continued to take the fall for it, except now people were actually doing things to me. Before, they only talked about me behind my back or glared at me from the front, but after another one of Lila’s crying fits, they started ripping up my homework, stealing my things. I guess they thought they were playing the act of karma when they did it.”

“And I assume that guy who believed you stayed quiet the whole time?” Claude asked bitterly.

Marinette shrugged. “Basically. He tried to speak up on my behalf a few times, but he was always shut down too fast for it to matter.”

“Eventually, it got so bad that everyone started tripping me too, or running into me on purpose in the hallway. The last straw was when someone tripped down the front steps of the school, and I almost stumbled into a passing car. I was lucky I didn’t get hit.”

Felix’s grip tightened on his cup, and he thanked whatever was watching over her that day while simultaneously cursing the idiots she’d been forced to interact with. Did they even realize what they were doing? Or did they simply not care about almost murdering another classmate?

“Oh my gosh.” Allegra gasped, putting a hand to her mouth.

“That’s insane.” Allan said.

“Were they even sorry?!” Claude demanded, outraged. “Did they even look ashamed when you almost got hit?”

Marinette took another drink of her tea and shook her head. “No. My Maman tried to talk to the school about it, but since nothing actually happened besides me getting pushed, they could only offer her detention slips or suspension.”

She paused to look up at Felix, surprising him.

“That’s why I decided to transfer to Rosemary.” She said, and in that moment, it felt as though everything she had ever told him clicked into place. The reason the akuma attacks all seemed minor to her, why she never mentioned her old school, her becoming pale when Agreste first came around to Rosemary- it all made sense now, like he’d taken a million separate puzzle pieces and connected them to form a single picture.

Felix thought he would be pleased, that he would feel triumphant upon solving this brain teaser known as Marinette, but he didn’t feel pleased at all. Instead he felt.. Sympathy. And fury. This girl was not some puzzle for him to mess around with. She was a person, a friend, his friend, and to hear her be treated in such a way made his blood boil.

“We’re glad you did.” Allegra commented.

“Yeah, you’re clearly much better off here.” Claude agreed. “Those jerks don’t know what they lost.”

“So you guys aren’t.. Ya know.. mad at me or anything?”

“Mad at you?” Allan frowned. “Why would we be mad at you?”

“Well,” Marinette thumbed her mug for a moment, “I did kind of keep this a secret from all of you on purpose. I just didn’t want to drag my old problems to my new school. That and.. I didn’t want to risk you not believing me.. I’m sorry I didn’t have more faith in you guys.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Allegra said. “You went through something terrible. We don’t blame you for not wanting to bring it up again.”

“Besides, you transferred schools to escape from the rumors, right?” It only makes sense that you wouldn’t tell us about them when you got here.” Allan pointed out.

Felix nodded in agreement, and Marinette let out a sigh of relief.

“That’s good to hear. Thanks for hearing me out.”

“Of course.” Claude smiled. “You’re our friend, Marinette. A few dumb rumors would never drive us away. If it did, we wouldn’t even be friends with each other by now.”

Marinette gave him a curious look. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, we’ve all been lied about at some point.” The brunette stated nonchalantly. “I mean, we go to Rosemary, a school filled to the brim with rich, talented, and extremely spoiled kids who have nothing better to do than gossip about each other. I get accused of cheating at least once a semester. Allegra had rumors about her bribing the dance teacher when she was chosen for a leading role one year, and Felix has been rumored to actually not be rich at all.”

Felix rolled his eyes, but an incredulous laugh left Marinette’s lips.

“What?”

Allan snorted. “Oh, that one was pretty funny. Some people still think he actually lives in the school.”

“Seriously? Why?”

“Cause he wouldn’t invite people over to his house.” Allegra said with a wry smile. “And he practically wears the same outfit everyday.

Marinette hummed, looking Felix up and down. “They make a good point.. Felix, is there something you’d like to confess to?”

Felix gave a playful scoff, and the group laughed at his reaction.

“See?” Claude asked. “Your rumors were definitely worse than ours, but we’re not inexperienced. People will always try to bring you down in the lamest way possible.”

Marinette chuckled. “Yeah.. I guess they will. Thanks, guys.”

“Anytime.” Allegra smiled, pulling Marinette into a small hug.

“We’re always here for you.” Allan added sincerely.

Marinette smiled as well. “I know.”

“And if any of those jerks come around you again, you just let us know,” Claude said, punching his fist into his palm, “especially if it’s that guy who tried to tell you to ‘ignore’ Lila.”

A nervous laugh came from Marinette, and she reached up to mess with her pigtails as she said, “I appreciate that.”

Felix, satisfied with how the conversation ended, tilted his cup up to his lips, only to realize it was empty. He pulled his cup down and scanned the table, noting that Allegra and Claude’s cups were empty as well.

“Why don’t I get us some more tea?” He offered, moving to grab the tray.

“Oh!” Marinette perked up, quickly downing the rest of her tea in one gulp. “I’ll come too.”

Felix blinked. “Uh.. that’s not necessary. I can carry it all in one sitting. If you’d rather sit-”

“No, it’s alright.” She said, standing up to take Claude’s cup from him. “I want to stretch my legs anyway.”

The trio exchanged glances again, but Felix was too busy eyeing Marinette to notice. ‘Stretch her legs’? She’s only been sitting for- what? Thirty minutes? Forty-five? How restless could her legs be?

“We’ll wait in here.” Allegra remarked, referring to herself and the other boys.

Felix nodded and picked up the tray, not bothering to argue with Marinette. If she wanted to walk with him into the kitchen, she certainly had the right to do so. And who knows? Maybe she wanted a moment to herself and didn’t know how to tell them.

They strode into the kitchen together, and Felix set the tray on the counter while Marinette handed him her mugs.

“Thank you for helping me. You know you didn’t need to.” He said as he refilled the mugs.

“I know,” Marinette said, leaning against the counter while she waited, “but I actually wanted to speak with you privately, so this works for me.”

Felix raised a questioning eyebrow at her. She wanted to speak with him privately?

“What did you need?”

Marinette glanced up at him, then seemed to think better of it as her gaze flicked back down to the ground. “I wanted to apologize to you too.. You remember last week when you asked me if something was wrong and I told you I didn’t want to talk about it? Well, the reason I was upset was because Adrien came to the bakery that day and begged me to speak with him. I didn’t really feel comfortable with it, but I felt guilty not giving him a second chance when he seemed so sorry about how he’d acted with Lila. So I agreed to have lunch with him after the Valentine’s Day party, which was where I ran off to while you guys were cleaning up. I guess Lila took a picture of us there, and I didn’t realize it..”

Felix frowned. Her reasons for visiting Agreste again were troubling to hear, but..

“Why do you need to apologize to me?”

Marinette’s gaze snapped to his again, her eyes wide with surprise. “Because I didn’t tell you. I knew after everything you’d heard about him that you wouldn’t want me going to see him, but instead of hearing your opinion, I just didn’t say anything. I should have talked to you about it. Maybe then Lila wouldn’t have found me and taken the picture..”

Felix stared at her for a moment, astounded by her logic. She thought she had to ask him before going to see Adrien? Sure, Felix would have advised against it immediately, but that didn’t mean she had to ask his permission.

“Marinette, you don’t owe me anything.” He told her. “Your life is your life. If you want to go have lunch with Adrien Agreste, that’s your decision. And while I would have advised against it, I still would have supported your decision nonetheless. I am your friend, not your boss or guardian. Do you understand?”

Marinette nodded, a grateful smile crossing her lips. He was happy to see it.

“More importantly, you don’t owe Agreste anything either. Just because he finally wisened up to his mistakes doesn’t mean you have to give him a second chance, especially if you don’t feel comfortable doing so.”

Felix paused, thinking over what he’d just said.

“Although, I am curious.. What did he apologize for? He wasn’t one of the people who assaulted you, was he?”

“Oh, no, no.” Marinette hastily answered. “He, uhm.. He was actually the one who didn’t believe Lila.”

Felix tensed, using all of his self-discipline to avoid screaming ‘Are you kidding me?!’. Because really, out of all the people that had to convince Marinette to let Lila go, why did it have to be him? Actually, now that he thought about it, of course it was him! Who else would Marinette have been willing to listen to? Who else would have had the gall, the audacity, to act as though enabling a spoiled brat was some noble sacrifice? Wow, that guy just managed to keep climbing up the ranks on Felix’s ‘most hated’ list, didn’t he?

“I see.” Felix managed to mumble. “Are you going to tell the others?”

Marinette bit her lip, which was most likely a ‘no’.

“Not yet-” bingo “-I don’t want him getting a bad reputation. He did apologize, after all.”

Felix drew in a deep breath, letting the frustration towards that answer melt out of him. This was Marinette’s decision. She has trusted him with it, and he is going to respect it, no matter how much he hates it. That’s why he simply heaved a heavy sigh and put a hand on her shoulder as he said, “Marinette, you are truly too kind for this world.”

A blush bloomed across her cheeks, and she let out a small laugh. “O-Oh.. thanks.”

Felix turned back to the tray and picked it up, offering her a polite smile as he did. He didn’t agree with her method of handling things, but he did trust her to know what she was doing. Marinette was Marinette, after all, and she was much more capable than he was in most areas. If she thought this was the best way to go, he wouldn’t dispute it.

“So,” he began as he gestured for her to start moving towards the living room, “if I just put sugar in Claude’s mug instead of tea, do you think he would know the difference?”

Marinette snorted. “Oh~, that’s a tough one. Maybe we should test it to find out.”

“Alright, but you have to give him the cup. If I do, he’ll assume I’ve poisoned it.”

Marinette giggled and walked into the living room, and Felix followed behind her with a smile. He knew he couldn’t march up to the Agreste mansion and rip Adrien apart like he preferred- he probably couldn’t get any revenge on him whatsoever -but Felix would be darned if he just let this go the way Marinette wanted him to. Actions such as this needed to be punished, not forgiven and forgotten because of some half-hearted apology. If she wanted to toss the whole ordeal over her shoulder, that was fine, but Felix was going to hold a grudge against Dupont that was strong enough for the both of them.

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(Devotion: Alright guys! We’ve talked about the message of God’s wonderful salvation- which you should totally go back and read if you haven’t accepted Christ as your savior. It’s extremely important. -we’ve talked about how the Bible says people will react to the word of God, which has been proven to be true time and again; We have talked about Hell and why it exists; and in the last message, we talked about God’s compassion and faithfulness to His people. The last devotion wasn’t exactly in line with the others as far as the salvation theme, but today’s devotion will be! We’re going to talk about Jesus Christ and what exactly He went through on the cross to become the perfect sacrifice for our sins. This one’s probably going to be a bit long, and it is going to be gruesome. So what I’m going to do is bolden the main points of what He went through, then I’m going to describe them in detail. That way, people who can’t stomach gore or painful descriptions can still see a semblance of what He did, and people who can stomach it will get to understand the full extent of which Jesus loves us. Alright? Everyone got it? Great! Let’s get going then!

We start in the garden of Gethsemane. Jesus comes here only a few hours or less before He is arrested to be tried for crucifixion. He knows He is about to be arrested; He knows that this is the only way to save us from our sins, but that doesn’t stop Him from crying out to God and begging Him for a last way out. He says, “O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt”, and the Bible says that He was under so much stress during this prayer, He actually began sweating drops of blood. Blood! More so, the Bible also tells us that Jesus had to have an actual angel fly down and keep His heart from rupturing, lest He die prematurely. That means that Jesus was so stressed He almost died before He could even be crucified! Jesus was scared! He was terrified of going through with what God was asking of Him, and wouldn’t we all be! Nobody likes pain, and Jesus was about to go through one of the greatest pains we could ever face. Not only that, there were going to be a few other add-ons to the physical pain He was about to receive.

See, Jesus is supposed to be the perfect lamb, the perfect sacrifice to atone for all of our sins, but to do that, Jesus not only needs to be punished for the sins we have committed, He also has to become the thing He’s being punished for. You cannot punish something that is innocent. It would be unjust. Jesus is aware of this, and that’s another reason He’s as stressed as He is in this moment of prayer. Although Jesus is manifested in human form at the moment, He is still very much God and part of the Holy Trinity, and as such, He still hates sin with a burning passion. He is disgusted by the very thought of it, the very idea. So imagine His dismay when He figures out that He has to become sin! That it has to be woven and meshed into His entire being! That would be like, for me, looking at all of the disgusting food water that’s in the sink before doing dishes and having to bathe myself in it without soap. (even bathing in it with soap would be bad, but you know) And for you guys! Think of the most disgusting thing on earth and then imagine being drench in it! Having it smeared on your skin and shoved in your mouth and caked all over your body- That’s what becoming our sin was going to be like for Jesus, and He hated every bit of it!...

But He loved us. So He went on with it anyway, the pain of crucifixion and the atrocity of becoming all of the sins of the world at once.

As soon as He was done with prayer, Judas- one of the former twelve disciples -betrayed Jesus and handed Him over to the chief priests as well as a crowd of people and soldiers. Jesus went willingly with them and did not fight. In fact, when Peter- another one of the twelve -leapt forward to protect Him by cutting off one of the High Priest’s ears, Jesus actually rebuked him and proceeded to put the High Priest’s ear back on his head. He was healing one of the very people who were about to kill Him! And the disciples were so confused and so panicked by this mob and Jesus’ “strange” behavior, that they all fled. Every single one of them. (This was done to fulfill scripture, so we shouldn’t judge them too harshly, but it is extremely sad for Jesus’ case.)

So the High Priests take Jesus away to Caiaphas, another High priest, and they put Him on trial. The High Priests and Elders tried to put false witnesses up on the stand, but none of their stories were adding up. They couldn’t share the same details that the other was, and almost no two stories were the same. Therefore, the High Priests got frustrated and started taunting Jesus directly, saying, “Answerest thou nothing? What is it which these witness against thee?” But Jesus refused to say anything. He just sat there, silent. This angered the High Priest, so he finally just yelled at Him- or at least, I imagine he yelled -and said, “I adjure thee by the name of the living God, that thou tell us whether thou be the Christ, the Son of God.” And here, we have one of the instances that Jesus openly admits, plain and blunt, that He is the Christ. He tells the High Priest that He is the Son of God, and that after this, He will be sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of Heaven.

The High Priest rents his clothes (which means to tear them. It used to be a sign of grieving) and says that Jesus has committed blasphemy, and unfortunately, the rest of the council agree and sentence Him to death. This is where the beginning of the crucifixion process begins. They still had to get a governor’s approval for the death sentence, but that didn’t stop them from taking Jesus and blindfolding Him and beating him while He was blindfolded. They would laugh and spit in His face during this and taunt Him, saying “Prophesy unto us, though Christ, who is he that smote thee?” It was an incredibly humiliating experience for our Lord to go through, but it was about to get much much worse.

The next morning, they take Jesus to Pontius Pilate, a governor, and demand that Jesus be crucified. Pilate, I would assume, reviews the case, because we see him ask Jesus if He is the King of the Jews a few verses later. Jesus simply answers with a “thou sayest” then refuses to speak again for the rest of the time. Despite that, though, Pilate knew the people were only delivering Jesus there because they were jealous of Him. So he gave the angry mob a choice: “Whom will ye that I release unto you? Barabbas, or Jesus which is called Christ?”

so understand this choice, it is important to know that there was a certain feast going on at that time, and at the feast, Pontius likes to release a prisoner of the people’s choice. Barabbas was a current prisoner, known for being a murderer and a thief, and I’m sure Pilate was hoping that by presenting a very unjust man compared to Jesus for release, the people would concede and choose Jesus to release. That’s not what happened, though. The people were so angry and so swayed by the High Priest’s influence that they decided to let the thief and murderer loose, as opposed to a completely innocent man. Pontius Pilate is flabbergasted and asks them, “What shall I do then with Jesus which is called Christ?”

The response was.. unanimous.

“Let him be crucified.”

“Why? What evil hath he done?” Pilate persisted, but the people only cried out louder for Jesus to be crucified. So Pilate, seeing that he couldn’t change their minds, washed his hands in a bowl of water and said, “I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it.”

Thus, Jesus was sent off to be Scourged, the first part of the crucifixion process. Scourging is a devious, calculated type of torture that uses a cat of nine tails to rip the flesh off of its victims. A cat of nine tails is basically a leather handle that has nine different whips attached to the same end, and on the end of those whips were hooks created from shattered glass or twisted metal or any other kind of sharp thing you can think of. The romans would throw the whip across their victim’s skin, and the jagged pieces laced into the whip would latch onto the skin. Then, the Romans would yank across the whip, causing the jagged pieces to tear through the flesh. The pain that would come from that is excruciating, and during this scourging, Jesus was stripped of his garments and whipped with a cat of nine tails thirty nine times. To put that in perspective, it takes 40 times of being whipped with that thing to be killed. This means that Jesus was whipped to the point of near death. His skin is in tatters. There is blood all over his skin. His teeth have probably cracked from having to grit them so much, and Jesus is in pain. He’s in so much pain already.

But it’s not over yet.

The next thing the Romans decide to do is place a purple garment around him, and weave a crowd of thorns together. These aren’t just regular thorns, either. These thorns are about two inches long and pointed, and by the time the Romans got a thick circle of thorns together, I’d imagine you could hardly hold it in your hands without getting hurt. They took those thorns and pushed all 70 or so of them into Jesus’ skull. THEN they grabbed a rod and beat the thorns into His head!! The thorns punctured Jesus’ head so deeply, that the thorns actually touched his skull, curved from hitting it, then poked back out of His skin somewhere else. The way the Romans put this crown on His head, Jesus physically couldn’t take it off. And after all of that, the Romans bowed down in front of Jesus and mocked Him again, saying, “Hail! King of the Jews!” and beat Him with their bare hands, even though they had already whipped Him to the point of near death.

Pilate took Jesus to the Jews and again begged them to reconsider and let Jesus go, but the Jews refused to do so. They screamed for Jesus’ death all the more, so Pilate reluctantly gave it to them. This leads us to the beginning of the end, when they make Jesus carry His own cross. Part of the crucifixion was having the crucified carry their own cross to Golgotha, or Skull. It was kind of like an extra burden and humiliation attempt, and it worked well. Think of it like a murderer being forced to make his own death shot and give it to the nurses who were going to insert it in him. Jesus had to walk through the city, or at least on some sort of road, where crowds of people were lined up on both sides, all of them cheering for His death, and He had to do this while He could barely stand up straight. The Bible tells us that, because of His injuries, Jesus actually didn’t get to carry His cross all the way to Golgotha. He collapsed somewhere along the way, and a man named Simon had to help Him carry it the rest of the way, but sadly, they did get it there.

Once Jesus and the cross were on the mount, the Romans laid the cross down, laid Jesus on the cross, and used these huge nails to nail Jesus’ hands and feet to the cross. This was done through careful puncture wounds between the wrist bones and foot bones. It kept Jesus in place, while aggravating his nerves to make his feet and hands go crazy with pain. The Romans then raised the cross up for all to see, and for the next six hours Jesus hung on that cross. Something to note about this is that Jesus’ cross was not smooth. It had splinters and jagged edges all over the place, and the way the nails were pierced into His feet and hands caused Him caused His lungs to push heavily on His diaphragm. Because of this, breathing became a bit of a problem. His lungs could take in air, but He couldn’t breathe out. To do that, He would have to pull up on the nails in His wrists and push up on the nails in His feet and exhale. Pushing up, though, would cause Him to push His scraped, slashed, and bruised back against the splinters or possibly even into them. And let me remind you: He hung on that cross for six hours. Six. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you would do a lot of breathing in six hours.

And yet, despite all of that pain and suffering, the worst was still yet to come.

Jesus said seven different phrases while on the cross. Seven times He pulled Himself up on the cross, enduring extreme forms of agony, to speak with us. Would you like to know the first thing He said?

“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

Jesus asked God to have mercy on us and forgive us. We’ve rejected Him and cursed His name time and time again, we’ve insisted on turning to Him with malice and hatred, and now we’ve put Him through some of the worst, most excruciating pain imaginable.. But He asked God to forgive us anyway. This, Jesus’ incredible love and mercy and grace towards us, is the baseline of Christianity. His love is what keeps this world turning on its very axis, and it’s why we have no qualms shouting His name to the rooftops. His name deserves to be shouted and praised after all of the things He went through just to allow us to be with Him and talk with Him.

The second phrase He said was to a thief who was hanging on the cross with Him. In the Bible, we are told that Jesus wasn’t the only one being crucified that night. Two thieves were also being crucified along with Him, and they were placed on the mount to His left and to His right. The thief on the right was spitting on Him and mocking Him as well, but the thief on the left rebuked the first thief, saying, “Dost not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation? And we indeed justly; for we receive the due reward of our deeds: but this man hath done nothing amiss.” And the second thief turned to Jesus and added, “Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.”

This is when Jesus speaks the second time, as He, I imagine, turns to the thief as best He can to reply, “Verily I say unto thee, To day shalt thou be with me in paradise.” This conversation right here is a wonderful example of salvation and how simple it truly is. This thief was dying. He’d lived a bad life full of mischief and wickedness, and he had no way of making that right. But because he believed that Jesus was the Son of God, he was still able to go to Heaven. Salvation isn’t about works or what we can try to give back to Christ (although, we should try to give back to Christ as much as we can after being saved), it’s about the free gift that Jesus gave us. Heaven and Salvation is a gift. All we have to do is accept it.

The third phrase Jesus says is to John, one of the disciples, and Mary, Jesus’ mother. The Bible says that Jesus sees them before He speaks, so I imagine they are near the cross and weeping. Again, He drags Himself up on the splintered cross, draws in a pain-staking breath, and utters, “Women, behold thy son!” to Mary, and to John He says, “Behold thy mother!”. So He was making sure that His mother was going to be taken care of before He passed away.

Around this time, as Jesus was hanging on the cross, the earth fell into total darkness. I’m talking the sky was black. And as soon as this happened, Jesus cried out into the sky, saying his fourth comment on the cross.

“Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?” or “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

This.. is where we see the second add-on that made Jesus so terribly stressed during His prayer in the garden of Gethsemane. He is taking on the sins of the world. One can only imagine how many sins that would be, and in this moment, Jesus is taking every single one of them and forcing them into a single person, a single place to look upon. There was so much sin in Jesus at the very hour, that God had to do what He’s never done before in history and turn His back on a human being.

There are times when God’s grace leaves us, when His mercy runs out and we are instead faced with His judgement, but despite that judgement, God is still present in our lives and in the world around us. No matter how alone we’ve felt in the world, God has always been there next to us without us knowing. But not here. Here, God is actively turning His back on Jesus. He is completely forsaking Jesus because of the amount of sin that has poured into Jesus’ heart and soul as part of the sacrifice. That absence of God is something we are never going to know (unless you don’t get saved and go to hell, I suppose) but I can only imagine how empty it must be. How crushingly lonely it must feel, to know that now, Jesus truly is all alone in this world. The very God, the other part of Himself, that He’s been with since the beginning is now just.. Gone. That, I believe, was the worst part of this entire crucifixion for Jesus. He can face the physical pain; He can face the disgustingness of sin; He can face the humiliation of being God but also being mocked and treated like a life form lower than dirt because He knew He wasn’t facing any of that alone. He knew God was right by His side.

But now He wasn’t.

And Jesus was still there on the cross.

We see in the Bible that the darkness lasted for a full three hours, meaning Jesus has to go at least three more hours without God’s presence and comfort and light. In these last few hours, though, Jesus says three more phrases. His fifth phrase is, “I thirst.”

Another part of the Roman crucifixion costume was to get a sponge and soak it in vinegar mixed with gall. The combination created an extremely bitter taste that would supposedly distract the crucified from their pain every now and then, if only for a moment. So when Jesus said, “I thirst”, the Romans quickly got a sponge or even a cup ready and gave Him a sip of it. After He drank the cup, Jesus cried with a loud voice and said His final two phrases. Now in Luke and John, the last phrase that Jesus says is different when compared to each other, but the phrases are both so unique that I believe Jesus said both of them, one right after the other, and John and Luke simply wrote down different halves. So I’m going to write the last two phrases together.

“Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit. It is finished.”

After this phrase, Jesus gives up the ghost, or in other words, allowed Himself to die. This is another crucial point of Christianity because it shows Jesus’ power over life and death itself. He isn’t killed by blood loss or exhaustion or by a heart attack or anything like that. He simply dies because He wanted to at that moment. I think that’s kind of comforting actually. A God as powerful and loving as Jesus, who can control His own life and death as well as everyone else’s and was willing to give up His own life for us when we didn’t deserve it or even ask, is a God I most definitely want to serve.

Unfortunately, though, death was not quite the end of Jesus’ sacrifice. Not many people know this (or, at least, I didn’t know it for a long while), but after Jesus’ death, He went to hell for three straight days. Yes, you read that correctly. Actual Hell. If He’s going to take our punishment, He needs to take all of it, right? So don’t think God is just dishing out the punishments, but not taking any for Himself. He doesn’t need any, because He is a holy and perfect God, but He took some anyway so we didn’t have to, because He is also loving and merciful.

Hell was, thankfully, the last step of the sacrifice. After that, Jesus completed the ritual of becoming our free ticket to salvation by raising Himself from the dead! Have you ever heard of anyone who could raise themselves? I haven’t! And on top of that, the Bible says that Jesus’ resurrection was so powerful, that several other people around him were raised from the dead too! Just because He raised himself! Isn’t that crazy?

This is why rejecting Christ is such a big deal to God, and why people who claim there are other ways to Heaven are extremely blasphemous, because if there were any other possible way to Heaven, do you honestly think that God would have sent His only, begotten Son to die on the cross for us? Do you think God wanted to come down to suffer through all of this pain just to say “yeah, actually, you can also get in this other way”? No, of course not. Rejecting Christ’s sacrifice and salvation is basically telling Him that all of that pain and suffering didn’t matter, the same as spitting on Him like the other Jews as He hung on the cross.

He’s made the pathway to Heaven unbelievably simple. All we have to do is admit that we’re sinners, admit that we need saving from our sins, and accept Jesus Christ to be our savior by believing that He was the Son of God and that He died on the cross for us. If I was sure about anything in life, it is this. God is real. Heaven is real. Hell is real. Jesus is real, and He, along with God the Father and the Holy Spirit, is calling to you now. He is giving you another chance to accept Him as your savior before it’s too late. This could possibly even be your last chance. So please don’t put it off.

I love you guys very much and really really appreciate the people who have continued reading this. I’ll be praying for all of you to receive what I’ve told you, and for those who already have, I’ll be praying for you to keep growing in the Lord. Stay strong in the faith my friends! Keep telling the world about Jesus! He’s always right beside us! <3

Also, Here’s a link for a youtube video about Jesus’ death from a medical point of view. It’s a bit more detailed than I was, so please go watch it as well! https://youtu.be/0B3kgiLxybYOn that note, here’s a link I found recently that gives a bunch of videos and written materials from the author of “Cold Case Christianity”. He was someone who used to be an atheist until he started studying the four gospels with his skill of eye-witness-account-scrutiny. After studying the Bible for a few months, He realized that the Bible is, in fact, telling the truth, and ever since then he’s been racing to let the rest of the world know. Please check him out! www.coldcasechristianity.com/resources)

Tag List: @sasstrashforlike5fandoms @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce @i-need-blog-ideas @thewheezingbubbledragon @crazylittlemunchkin @unabashedbookworm @moonystars14 @sunflowers-and-mooncakes @2confused-2doanything @magnificentcrapposts @moonnette @nickristus-dreamer @vixen-uchiha @casual-darkness @luxmorningstarr @jjmjjktth @kaithehero @itsme1598 @theymakeupfairies @xjaccyx @miraculous-ninja @miraculouspenta @swiftie-miraculer13 @justafanwarrior @all-mights-asscheeks @ira-sairain @lookatthestars1 @dahjokester @blissful-passing @solangelo252 @canivialemonsquints07 @derbygracie @pleaseignorejustheretoread

#felinette #Marinette #Felix Culpa #Miraculous Ladybug #Quantic Kids #Rosemary AU #New Girl on the Block

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oldflyingraven · 2 years ago

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Day 11: “911 what’s your emergency?”

Prompt: Sloppy bandages

Mumbo, still dealing with the embarresment of crashing the server with his pumpkin and melon farm, works on another farm. It blows up in his face. Literally.

Read it here or on AO3!

@whumptober-archive

The building of his tree farm was going great.

It was!

Okay, maybe he was being a little bit perfectionistic about it. Maybe crashing the server with his pumpkin and melon farm was still in the back of his head. It was fine. He was just nervous about messing up again. TNT dupers had a lot of potential to create lag. So he would have to carefully supervise his farm as it was working. Void knew how much he’d be made fun of if he crashed the server again. Or worse, people would get angry at him. He was supposed to be the redstone genius! The prodigy! He could make a tree farm without crashing the server.

Mumbo sighed as he wiped away another speck of redstone from his face. As much as he loved working with the stuff, it got everywhere. The farm was almost done. The overflow protection that he wasn’t sure was even needed was in place. All he needed to do now was test it.

“Here goes nothing.” he said to himself. He moved back to the control centre. One of the dupers was right besides the switch. “3, 2, 1, go.” he flicked the lever.

At first it seemed to be working! The saplings were being dispensed by the dispensers. The bonemeal quickly grew them to full size. The pistons pushed the trees along marvously. And the dupers seemed to be working, dropping the duped TNT at the right intervals.

Mumbo almost dared to breathe a sigh of relief.

Too soon.

The world stuttered for a second. Lag. Mumbo wasn’t sure if his farm had caused it. But that stutter was enough for it to all blow up in his face. Literally. The duper had lagged and dispensed a block of TNT before the block before it had blown up. It launched the second block back up into the air where it exploded.

Exploded right next to Mumbo’s arm.

Red hot pain enveloped his arm and left hand in seconds. His ear started ringing immediately. He stumbled back from the duper, frantically slamming the off switch. “Oh Void, oh Void!” he breathed out. Water. He needed to cool his arm. That’s what you did when you got burned right? Oh Void. He’d never been injured in this way before. In the past TNT had killed him before, sure. But that was the thing. He’d never survived a blast before. Maybe a part of the platform had shielded him from a big part of the blast this time. He dropped down to the water at the bottom of his farm and lowered his arm into it. It only helped the pain marginally. But it was enough to allow for somewhat clearer thought. Bandages. He needed to bandage the burns right? Someone had explained this to him once. Shoot. He didn’t keep a first aid kit here. The only one he had was back at his main base.

Deep breath in, out. He pulled his arm out of the water and immediately ran into his nether portal as fast as he could. It wouldn’t be a long trip, but the sweltering heat of the nether didn’t do his burned arm and hand any favours. And when he almost fell back out of his portal in his main base it got even worse. Shaky sobs escaped him involuntarily. It hurt. It hurt so much. Finally he managed to dig the bandages out from his first aid kit. His right hand was shaking violently as he tried to apply the bandages properly. They ended up mostly covering the burns, but bandaging his left hand while still leaving it functional was nearly impossible. It was sloppy. Void. He couldn’t even apply bandages right. This was stupid. Mumbo felt stupid. He tried to find a healing or regeneration potion but no such luck. Either he would need to let this heal naturally, try to make a healing potion himself or ask another hermit for one.

Healing this naturally it was. For all he knew he had caused this himself. For all he knew he’d be laughed at or worse. He was an adult. He could deal with the consequences of his own mistakes.

#whumptober2022 #no.11 #Sloppy bandages #hermitcraft #fic #mumbojumbo #flyingraven oc

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jemmahazelnut · 3 years ago

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Lessons from Master Bob

Summary: Laxus hates people, hates Blue Pegasus and hates flirting. But when he has a chat with Master Bob, he will find that it’s more fun than he thought.

Link: AO3

Notes: A bit late, but this was written for Fraxus Day 2021. Hope you like it.

Lessons from Master Bob

Was it possible that there was no normal mission? Laxus didn’t ask for much, onedamn mission, even boring, even short, even simple. Why did all of Blue Pegasus’ requests have to do with royal dances, nightclubs, or something like that? Laxus just wanted a mission that didn’t have to do with any human being. It had to be there, defeat a monster, or a dark guild, or catch a fucking thief or something.

The most normal mission was to escort a nobleman so that he would arrive safely in Bosco. Laxus would do it, but he knew that with the reputation of Blue Pegasus the noble would expect to be entertained throughout the journey. Laxus had already been duped once, he had no intention of doing it again. Plus, he doubted the vehicle had an anti-motion-sickness Lacrima.

“Laxus, I was just looking for you. We need to have a chat,” Master Bob said as he approached. Laxus turned to him hoping it was good news for him, that there was some asshole to beat. It wasn’t the first time the Master had asked him, although outwardly he was a strange type, he was much calmer than Ichiya and understood the needs of the guild members. He was a really good Master, Laxus had to admit it.

“Okay, about what?” he asked. At least he wasn’t supposed to entertain the customers.

“Oh, I find you a bit uncomfortable and I hoped it would take you a couple of weeks to settle in and find your way. I understand that it can be difficult, so I’ll give you some lessons to entertain customers” explained the Master calmly.

Laxus nearly choked on his own saliva.

“W-what?” he asked.

“You’ll see, it’ll be fun,” the Master smiled and Laxus blanched. He was joking, wasn’t he? There was no way he would start taking lessons from Master Bob.

Bickslow raised his thumbs at Laxus from the bar counter, with a big smile.

“You’ll have fun!” he exclaimed.

Laxus turned from white to red and glared at his friend, vowing to take revenge later.

“I don’t need it,” he growled at the Master, but the man just shrugged.

“Your task for today is this. Come on, follow me,” he ordered.

Laxus wanted to argue, but that guy remained Blue Pegasus’ Master. He sighed in dejection and followed, just hoping it was quick.

***

“I heard you took seduction lessons from Master Bob,” Freed smiled with the clear intent to annoy him as they walked to their rooms.

“Shut up,” Laxus grunted, blushing visibly. He didn’t even want to think about the chat he had had with the old man. It had been perhaps the most embarrassing thing in his entire life, his only consolation was that no one would ever know anything about what they had talked about or done.

Freed continued to smile amused.

“So, did he teach you to flirt? What are his secrets?” he insisted. He obviously didn’t care about Master Bob’s secrets, he just wanted to annoy Laxus. The blond ignored him but Freed didn’t give up.

“Did he flirt with you to teach you? I guess that’s how these lessons work,” he continued with a smile that grew wider and wider. Laxus blushed, a sign that Freed might have guessed right. Still, however, he remained silent, determined not to say anything to increase his amusement.

“Or maybe you flirted with him, it seems fair. Somehow you have to practice,” Freed continued undaunted, ignoring Laxus’ embarrassment. “And tell me, has Master Bob played along?”

“Fuck you,” Laxus snapped. Freed continued to smile, with clear amusement on his face.

“I’m just curious about his tricks,” he justified himself. He was blatantly lying and didn’t even bother to hide it. Laxus gave him a dirty look.

“Go get lessons from him if you want to know,” he growled.

“I would,” Freed said with a sneaky smile. “But the Master seems to have a preference for you,” he concluded with a deliberately mischievous tone. Again, Laxus tensed and blushed slightly as Freed chuckled softly. The two by then had arrived in front of the doors of their bedrooms.

“Shut up,” Laxus murmured. Freed didn’t listen to him, evidently not yet fully satisfied with Laxus’ answers.

“I just want to know the tricks of the trade,” he said in a falsely innocent tone. Laxus turned to him annoyed, snorted slightly and again ignored him, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, evidently uncomfortable. Freed raised an eyebrow.

“What are you...?” his words died in his throat as Laxus put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him against the wall. Freed looked at him confused as Laxus put his other hand on the wall next to his face, bringing their bodies closer.

“If you want to know then I show you directly,” Laxus said slightly annoyed.

“Eh” was the only thing that came out of Freed’s mouth. Laxus smiled provocatively as he flexed his arm muscles. Freed’s eyes flickered on his bare forearm for a moment and he swallowed. Laxus didn’t miss it and that was enough to give him the confidence to take the next step.

“You know, the Master said my flirting doesn’t suit Blue Pegasus well,” Laxus began. “He told me I’m too physical,” he said moving his hand from Freed’s shoulder. His fingers ran along Freed’s torso, leaving a trail of heat on the boy’s skin until it came to rest on his waist.

Freed realized he was holding his breath, concentrating was becoming difficult. Laxus smiled aware of the effect and slightly lowered his head, bringing their faces closer.

“And that I shouldn’t touch the Blue Pegasus customers too much. Thankfully you’re not a customer,” he said, tightening his grip on his waist. The other hand from the wall moved to Freed’s hair, who now could no longer hold back the blush that was spreading on his face.

“He said I should learn to flirt more with small talk than with the body. Well, I generally hate giving compliments, but it’ll be easier with you. It’ll be enough to say what I think, like that your lips are irresistible and that I’d like to ruin them with kisses”.

Freed was frozen, his concentration rapidly fading. He could only feel Laxus’ warm hand holding him around the waist, and his voice too close to his face. Maybe if Laxus hadn’t been so close or so terribly inviting Freed wouldn’t have felt that way. But Laxus was close -damn close- his fingers were lowering dangerously from the waist to his hips, the other hand was stroking his now burning cheek and Freed could only look dazed at the boy he had been secretly attracted to for too long.

“Although I’d rather show it with facts and actually ruin them.”

Freed almost risked pushing forward to take his kiss, but Laxus kept talking.

“Or I should talk about how much I hate seeing you in these elegant dresses, because then I just want to rip them off and take you to my bedroom.” Laxus’s fingers were again moving up from his hips to his torso, running up the row of buttons and reaching for his tie.

Freed now felt his body burn, his slightly wide eyes continued to observe Laxus, his faint breathing so as not to risk saying something he would later regret. He was really tempted to close that distance and fuck all of his self-control. At that moment, however, Laxus pulled back, looking at him with clear amusement and some satisfaction.

“How was it as a first attempt?” he asked. Freed stared at him dazedly with his cheeks on fire as Laxus’s smirk widened. “I’d say not bad. If you’re like that after two simple sentences I wonder what you will be like when I seriously learn to flirt” Laxus chuckled, while Freed blushed even more with embarrassment.

“Not bad” was the only thing he managed to mutter, under Laxus’ laughter.

“Next time it will be better” Laxus promised with a playful wink and opening his door. “Goodnight, try not to dream what I promised you”.

Freed didn’t answer, wondering what Laxus meant by ‘next time’. He locked himself inside his bedroom still with his heart pounding and the heat filling his face. Damn Master Bob.

#fraxusday #fraxus day #fraxus #freed justine #laxus dreyar #fanfiction

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thr-333 · 4 years ago

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Drastic Measures- Part 4

@daminette-december2019-2020

~Flowers~

Would some people use this prompt for romance? yes

Am I people? no

Ao3

First< Previous > Next

-------------------

“Isn’t it amazing Tiki?” Marinette exclaims throwing the curtains open.

“No,” Adrien groans rolling over preferring it to glaring at the light.

“Just look at that garden,” Marinette sighs resting on the window sill.

“Wow, plants,” Plagg snuggles up in the blankets more.

“I’m going down before breakfast,” Marinette darts away from the window throwing on clothes, “Adrien do you want to come?”

“Raring to go,” Adrien yawns still under the covers, “Meet you down there,”

Marinette giggles leaving the room, and Adriens snores behind her.

“Someone’s enjoying not being on a schedule,” Tiki flew beside her, both confident that cameras would catch the Kwami anyway, “And I never once saw you this ready to go to school,”

“It’s much easier not having to juggle everything at school plus Ladybug and that bed?” Marinette sighs at the very thought, “The hero of Paris has not slept that well in a long while let me tell you,”

“I’m glad Marinette you deserve a break,” Tikki hugs her cheek.

“We both do Tiki,” They could use a long holiday after this was all over if it ever was.

“Miss duping-Cheng,”

“Alfred!” Marinette jumps, hoping tiki got out of sight in time, “Sorry! Didn’t see you there I was just I’m talking to um...”

“I’m well aware miss Dupain-Cheng,” Marinette's blood runs cold, “However you might have a tad more luck talking with the flower out there instead of the dead ones in that vase there,”

“Flowers in the… oh! Yes ah, very good point thank you, Alfred,”

“And if you wouldn’t mind visiting the rose bush at the back of the west wing they could use your magic touch,”

“Of course- I’m mean magic! What magic I don’t know what you're talking about!” She should probably just leave, “West wing you say? where’s that?”

“To the west miss,”

“Ah! Yes well, that would make sense,” Marinette cringes already halfway down the hall, “Thank you, Alfred!”

Marinette races down the hallway before more questions could come. She reaches the garden in record time only slowing down when the flowers came into view.

“Oh Tiki they're gorgeous,” Marinette let her fingers brush gently over the rose petals, “I’m not sure what Alfred is talking about,”

Marinette sits on the neatly trimmed grass taking out her sketchbook. Tiki darts from flower to flower leaving a trail of brightly blooming flowers in her wake.

Marinette is finishing off the details of a flower petal based skirt when a solid force barrels her over.

“What the- oh hi!” Marinette giggles as a wet snout pushes in her face, “Who are you, you handsome boy?”

Marinette scratches at the Great Danes ears giving herself enough space to sit back up. She laughs again showering the canine with affection. She catches a figure standing off to the side of the rose bush. Must be one of Bruce Wayne’s sons. she knows enough from second-hand gossip and the odd news article to take a guess that this one's Damian the youngest considering he should be about her age. He’s looking at them softly, must be his dog. Strange that from most of what she had heard he was cold, well except for Lila's retellings but those could hardly be believed. But still, he was cute-- Marinette swiftly shakes her head to get rid of that train of thought.

“Hi!” Marinette waves, one hand still occupied patting, something in Damian's expression snaps turning cold and harsh, “You're Damian right?”

“As if you didn’t know,” He spits walking over, Marinette raises a brow.

“I took a guess,” She shrugs, turning her attention back to the dog when he starts licking her face, “But I don’t know who this is, what’s his name?”

“Tt Titus,”

“Hello, Titus aren’t you just beautiful?” Marinette scratches his head as he lets out a bark.

“Titus here,” At Damian's command Titus leaves Marinette to sit by his side, “You interrupted out morning walk,”

Actually, you interrupted me. Marinette keeps the thought to herself trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. An act maybe? for public appearances. Marinette knew Adrien took on a persona for his fans.

“Sorry, lovely place to have a walk tho,” Marinette stands gazing wistfully at the flowers, “Aren’t they gorgeous?”

“Leave,”

“Excuse me?” Marinette reels back scowling at him now. He meets her scowl with one that would have been threatening if she hadn't donned a spotted mask years ago. Seeing her not back down he moves forward, Marinette holds her position.

“You’re only going to ruin everything so leave,” His gaze in her is steely, filled with resentment. Marinette meets it silently not wanting to insult her host's son, someone out of the two of them had to be polite. Damian huffs again brushing past her with Titus at his heels.

Marinette huffs as well heading in the opposite direction Tiki hiding away in her bag. She’s ready to head back to the room to vent to Adrien or Plagg whoever’s more awake. She startles as Dick appears next to her.

“Hi, Marinette,” Marinette doesn't have enough time to wipe the look off her face, “What’s wrong?”

“Just met Damian,”

“That explains it,” Tim says, crossing the hall and disappearing into another room in time to avoid Dick's glare.

“He told me to leave! And that I would only ruin everything,” Marinette lets it out, confident that her frustration wouldn’t even register to Hawkmoth in a city like Gotham, “And I’m pretty sure he wasn’t talking about the rose garden,”

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about that,” Dick says cheerfully guiding her towards her room, “Damian's just not great at expressing emotions I’m sure he didn’t mean to offend,”

I’m pretty sure he did

But she didn’t have time to argue, Dick was already pushing her gently down the hall to her room.

“Don’t worry about it ok?”

“Ok,”

Marinette then proceeded to go to her room and worry about it.

—-

Dick waves Marinette off with a smile it drops when she disappears down the hall. He ducks into the room Tim just went. Tim coming out of the secret passage just as he did.

“Wouldn’t go down there Damian's throwing a temper tantrum,” Tim warns holding a laptop and a cup of coffee that might be fused to him at this point.

“I’m sure he’s not,” Dick pats his shoulder, moving past before the passage closes.

“Whatever I’m going to order more training dummies,”

They part ways Dick hurrying down to the bat cave. Sure enough, Damian was there cutting down training dummies one after the other.

“Hey,” Dick calls leaning against a shelf on the edge of the training mat, “What’s up?”

Damian huffs turning to slice up another target.

“Why are you mad at Marinette?” Dick presses, “She seems sweet,”

“Don't trust an assassin,”

Ah so that’s what it is

" She seems innocent,” Then again so did her mother and that woman had proven to be terrifying.

“She was trained to,” Damian stops taking the water Dick offers him, “Don’t trust her for a second, she’ll turn in you,”

—-

“You take that back!!” Marinette beats Adrien over the head with a pillow, “I’ll take your miraculous and hand it over to Hawkmoth myself if you ever say that again!”

“Are you telling me you didn’t find it punny?” Adrien cracks up, getting a face full of pillow.

“Adrien!”

“Alright alright,” he surrenders, and Marinette backs off, “So what did he do next?”

“He told me to leave! Right to my face!” Marinette recites, falling back on the bed, “That’s just so rude- no not rude, mean ,”

“Mmhmm,”

“ What ,”

“No offense Mari we’re but you do this a lot,” Adrien rolls over resting on his stomach.

“Do what?” Marinette crosses her arms, cautious of where this was going.

“Dislike people the first time meeting them,”

“Name on-“

“Kagami,” Well yes not like I'm about to share my reason.

“Mhmm, how did breaking up with her over text before fleeing the country go by the way?”

“I don't want to talk about it,” Adrien face plants into the mattress screaming for a few seconds before popping back up, right as rain, “Lila,”

“I was right about that one,”

“An exception, not the rule,” Adrien waves her off, “Me,”

“You put gum on my seat,” Marinette smirks.

“I did not!” Adrien sits up shouting.

“Sure,” Marinette shugs trying to bait him into changing the topic.

“Anyway, maybe just don’t judge him on this first impression,” Adrien relaxes not falling for the bait, “Maybe it’ll be like when you met me,”

“You're right!” Marinette points, startling him, “Now I just have to wait for it to rain!”

“Wait what? I don't think you got what I meant!” Adrien calls after her as Marinette runs out of the room.

----

No taglist :P

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous ladybug #Marinette #miraculous marinette #badass marinette #maribat #daminette

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Text

Delight in Misery (ao3) - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

- Chapter 6 -

It was strange, Lan Wangji reflected, to be in public again after so long an absence. Stranger still to be addressed by strangers, to be called the Second Jade of Lan, or Lan-er-gongzi –

He wished that they would use his personal title instead. It might reduce the awkwardness.

Though, he reflected, it was likely that nothing would really reduce the awkwardness inherent in the situation, for all its old nostalgic familiarity: his brother walking in the lead, he and his uncle one step behind him, the representatives of the Lan sect in all their glory, beauty, and righteousness.

Looking at their tranquil expressions and sedate pace, one would never know that Lan Qiren was still furiously angry at Lan Wangji for his decision to abandon his sect and family, now made several times over; that Lan Wangji had been shockingly disrespectful by Lan standards in his response; that Lan Xichen had ordered that neither of them were permitted to speak until they could behave civilly (he’d used the term “like human beings”) once again.

It had been a very quiet journey to Koi Tower.

Luckily, even once they arrived, their customary reserve meant that no one noticed the tensions between them – not even the normally astute Lianfeng-zun, who greeted them at the door, much less his father and brother, and certainly not Chifeng-zun, who was listening to another sect leader speak with the stiff and stern expression that, after several years of keeping company with Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji now recognized as please stop talking to me.

(Lan Wangji briefly considered that he ought to suggest that Jiang Cheng spend more time with Chifeng-zun. They shared a history as young men who assumed control over their sects too soon as a result of the same enemy, and he knew Jiang Cheng highly esteemed Chifeng-zun – but then he rejected the idea as unnecessary and likely full of potential political pitfalls, especially given the Jiang sect’s role in the Jin sect’s current one-sided rivalry with the Nie sect.

As the Second Jade of Lan, he didn’t need to worry about political concerns, or at least not those beyond the basic premise of ‘don’t lose face for the sect’. His uncle and brother handled everything of that nature, just as they always had, holding up the sky for him and allowing him to focus on cultivation and his own interests, only he had been Jiang Cheng’s secret sounding board for too long now to fail to think of the potential problems anyway.

He found to his surprise that he missed it.)

Jiang Cheng would have noticed the tension, but he had yet to arrive – they had agreed that it would make everything easier if he would arrive to the gathering a little late, minimizing the amount of chatter they would need to endure about the two of them before the formal events began.

This would be Lan Wangji’s first discussion conference after having “left seclusion”, as people were calling it – his uncle with notably more sarcasm than usual – and the first test of his new public relationship with Jiang Cheng. They’d settled the public fight aspect with some degree of enjoyment, having a spar that extended throughout the rooftops and alleyways of the Lotus Pier, matching Bichen again Sandu and Wangji against Zidian, and the rumors had run wild ever since then. Finally, Jin Guangyao had intervened in his father’s name to “force” the compromise they’d all agreed upon: that Lan Sizhui would fall under Lan Wangji’s personal supervision, as was his right as the (assumed) father, but that he would remain at the Lotus Pier for most of the year to avoid a sudden and traumatic readjustment.

That this coincidentally would result in Lan Wangji spending most of his time at the Lotus Pier had largely passed unnoticed. Most people were far, far too busy gossiping about Lan Wangji’s mysterious Jiang sect wife, each one adding new salacious details atop the other. Some of the nonsense he’d heard…!

At least, he comforted himself, none of them would be rude enough to actually ask him about it directly.

“Lan-er-gongzi!” a voice called, and Lan Wangji would have stiffened if his back hadn’t already been straighter than a board. His uncle coughed and stroked his beard to conceal his expression of amusement – he probably thought that having to deal with Nie Huaisang, inveterate gossip and useless person extraordinaire, was exactly what Lan Wangji deserved.

He was probably right, too. Lan Wangji had brought this on his own head.

“Nie-gongzi,” he said, very reluctantly, as the Second Young Master of Qinghe Nie showed up with a feckless smile, promptly clutching at his arm and insisting that they go catch up and indulge in nostalgia about their shared school days.

Which ones, Lan Wangji wasn’t sure – Nie Huaisang had attended his uncle’s classes three times over before passing, and whether or not that final pass had been fairly earned or whether his uncle had simply yielded to his desire never to see Nie Huaisang’s face in his classroom ever again, Lan Wangji remained unsure.

Still, it suited him not to be forced to make nice with all those sect leaders pretending that they weren’t gawking at him, and so he permitted Nie Huaisang to drag him off to some unoccupied garden he had somehow managed to uncover, the other man chattering in his ear like a magpie the entire time.

“ – supposed I really should call you Hanguang-jun now, but that just seems so formal, though at least I remember it. I barely remember anyone’s title. Though now that my big brother’s sworn brotherhood with your big brother, I could probably just get away with calling you Wangji-gege –”

“No.”

“You’re so mean!” Nie Huaisang wailed. “Aren’t we old friends?”

“No.”

“Well, we’re close enough to count, anyway,” Nie Huaisang said. “Jiang Cheng’s my friend as well, you know; you can’t keep him to yourself just because you’re angry at your family! That’s just selfish. Aren’t there Lan sect rules against being selfish? I assume so, though I admit I’ve forgotten more of them than I’ve learned…don’t tell your uncle that, I’m afraid he’ll revoke my sympathy pass.”

Lan Wangji reflected briefly that it was good that Nie Huaisang was self-aware enough to recognize that the pass mark had likely been given out of sympathy rather than for merit, but then returned to the more critical point of what Nie Huaisang had said.

“Why do you think I’m angry at my family?” he asked. And what was that about Jiang Cheng?

It was critical that Sect Leader Jin, among others, not suspect that Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng shared a closer relationship than apparent – even Jin Guangyao had agreed with that – and if they had been sussed out so quickly, and by Nie Huaisang…

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes at him. “You may be an unreadable stone wall, my – er, acquaintance, but do you really think I can’t tell when your uncle is upset? Me, of all people?”

This was a good point.

“And if your uncle’s upset at you, again, of all people, and you haven’t apologized or made up to him yet, that means you’re the one that’s angry,” Nie Huaisang concluded. “And anyway, why else would you agree to stay for so long at the Lotus Pier if you weren’t angry? You and Jiang Cheng must drive each other up the walls.”

Lan Wangji relaxed minutely. That was a reasonable explanation.

A moment later, he tensed up again – he was abruptly convinced, albeit without any logical basis, that the explanation was too reasonable, meant to put him at ease, designed to allow him to move on with the conversation without thinking too much or questioning too deeply. No one else had put the facts together the way Nie Huaisang had, and, most notably, Nie Huaisang hadn’t yet asked a single question about Lan Sizhui, who was, without making an appearance, the main subject matter of the day.

But then, a moment after that, he relaxed again, somewhat unwillingly – this was Nie Huaisang, who’d been born useless, grown up useless, and remained useless. It was a little absurd to suspect him of having figured out something that had duped the entire rest of the cultivation world.

As Nie Huaisang said – of all people…

“What do you want?” he asked, shaking his head a little to try to clear it. It must be the oppressive atmosphere of Koi Tower, gilded and rotten, that was affecting his thoughts.

“What do I always want?” Nie Huaisang asked philosophically, and then helpfully answered his own question: “Attention.”

Lan Wangji was starting to remember why he’d avoided Nie Huaisang so thoroughly in their youth.

“I’m not telling you anything about Sizhui,” he said.

Nie Huaisang pouted at him. He was still clinging to Lan Wangji’s arm, and Lan Wangji wondered whether it would count as ‘losing the sect face’ if he threw him out a window.

(He wished Jiang Cheng were around so that he could mention the thought to him - he suspected it would make the other man turn purple with suppressed laughter, and probably get some sort of comment about it being the only sort of flying Nie Huaisang could manage, with or without a blade.)

“Fine,” Nie Huaisang said sulkily. “Turns out you’re still no fun, even after all these years. I’ll have you know, Jiang Cheng’s a lot nicer than you. He appreciates all the things I bring to the table.”

Lan Wangji seriously doubted it – unless perhaps if Nie Huaisang was speaking literally, referring to fine foods and liquor – but his mood improved a bit nonetheless at the compliment. Given the Jiang sect’s relatively isolated political position, with all the smaller sects looking at it hungrily, just waiting for it to trip up and give them a chance to snatch away the title of being the fourth Great Sect, it was only good that the second young master of Qinghe Nie had a positive impression of the ever-prickly Jiang Cheng.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Nie Huaisang said, and dug something out of his sleeve. “Give this back to er-ge for me, will you?”

Lan Wangji stared blankly. “His passage token for Koi Tower?”

He had planned to ask his brother later if he could borrow it – perhaps not that night, since it was the first day of the discussion conference and he suspected his brother would want to visit with his sworn brothers, but in the next day or two. That was the only reason he had agreed to go to Koi Tower at all, agreed to visit Lanling at all: so that he might try to steal away at some opportune moment to visit Mo Xuanyu unattended, before anyone noticed where he’d gone, and talk to him about the request for safe harbor that he had made of Jiang Cheng.

Lan Wangji had still been thinking over how he would phrase the request for the token without giving away his suspicions of the boy’s mistreatment, which his brother would likely take as a slight against Jin Guangyao even though it was fairly obvious to everyone that Sect Leader Jin was keeping Mo Xuanyu as a weapon against Jin Guangyao. He hadn’t yet managed to think of a way to do it.

And now – how had the token ended up here, in Nie Huaisang’s hands?

“Well, yes,” Nie Huaisang said. “I wanted to talk to you privately, without everyone eavesdropping, so I asked him for it. Da-ge never lets me use his, he says I’m a menace to both people and property, and for some reason san-ge never lets me take his. Probably because he’s always so busy all the time.”

That sounded – very much like all three of them, in fact. Nie Mingjue, bluntly refusing; Jin Guangyao, politely eliding; his brother, yielding in utter capitulation to the first bit of begging, confident enough in his own righteous reputation to not worry about the consequences…

An idea appeared in Lan Wangji’s mind.

It was not the sort of idea that might naturally come to a member of the Lan sect. Perhaps his uncle was right in saying that he’d been lingering at the Lotus Pier for too long.

“Nie-gongzi,” Lan Wangji said, looking at the token. “You are right.”

“I…what?” Nie Huaisang frowned. “Are you getting sick, Lan-er-gongzi? I’m never right.”

“I am angry at my family,” Lan Wangji continued, deciding to ignore him. He did not specify why he was angry – let Nie Huaisang assume, as everyone else assumed, that it was because they had not retrieved Lan Sizhui earlier, and for sticking him with the ‘compromise’ of having to stay at the Lotus Pier, no matter how far that was from the truth. “I have not had the opportunity to vent my feelings.”

Nie Huaisang blinked at him. “You…vent feelings?” he said, sounding doubtful, but a moment later he brightened, as Lan Wangji had expected he would. “We could play a prank on somebody! That always makes me feel better – something petty and ridiculous, so that they won’t get really angry, but still know that you’re upset.”

Lan Wangji nodded.

Nie Huaisang appeared somewhat dazed by his agreement. “We could do so many things,” he marveled. “I mean, the possibilities are countless. We could throw paint at something, we could put water on top of a door, we could…”

“I do not want to be publicly associated with it,” Lan Wangji said.

Nie Huaisang pouted, but tapped his fan against his cheek, thinking. “That makes things harder, but not impossible, I suppose…oh, I know! Why don’t we pretend that you’re your brother? You two look like peas in a pod, but for the color of your eyes and your expressions – if I’m hanging around and calling you er-ge and no one looks too closely, they would have no idea it was you involved.”

That was precisely the idea Lan Wangji had hit upon, and the one that he had hoped to lead Nie Huaisang towards suggesting. He had gotten to the point much quicker than Lan Wangji had thought he would; it seemed, useless as he might be, Nie Huaisang was still apparently capable of accepting at least some guidance.

(Unless perhaps...but no. It was Nie Huaisang.)

“This evening?” he suggested, and Nie Huaisang nodded.

“That’ll give me time to think of a proper prank,” he said happily. It was as if he’d never encountered a care in his life, Sunshot Campaign or no. “Don’t you worry, Wangji-gege! Leave it all to me!”

Lan Wangji returned to the main hall, the token tucked into his sleeve, and said nothing when his older brother smiled at him, faintly apologetic, nor when his uncle turned his face away from him. By that point, Jiang Cheng had arrived, scowling as usual, and he was mingling, speaking with the smaller sect leaders with a stiff and stern expression that said please don’t talk to me – Lan Wangji really would have to see about convincing him to invite Chifeng-zun to the Lotus Pier, politics or no politics – and he and Lan Wangji stared at each other briefly before turning away from each other, whispers sprouting up around them like grass.

Why must we put up with people? Jiang Cheng’s expression eloquently conveyed, and Lan Wangji didn’t disagree in the slightest. Life was so much easier in his little room back at the Lotus Pier, where he could shut the door and not let in the world – sometimes he wondered if all of this was really worth it.

Later that evening, he was reminded that it was.

Mo Xuanyu had been invited to the opening ceremonies, sitting in the main row with the important people of the Jin sect – directly beside Jin Guangyao, as if everyone didn’t know his purpose already – but he hadn’t spoken at all, keeping his face down and demeanor as withdrawn as possible. Sect Leader Jin had found an opportunity to praise him for his humility and obedience, and even Lan Wangji, who did not like Jin Guangyao, was indignant on the man’s behalf in the face of such obvious humiliation.

Etiquette dictated that no one could intervene in another man’s family affairs, but Chifeng-zun had rather loudly remarked to Lan Xichen – as if only just remembering – that it must be good to have his brother (subtext: notable for being humble and obedient) out of seclusion at last, inquiring as to whether Lan Wangji was planning on attending any night-hunts in the near future and, if so, whether he would be bringing his son, for whom he cared so deeply, along.

Lan Wangji was accustomed to being the other person’s child, held up as a positive comparison to the annoyance of the person being compared, and it took Jiang Cheng’s eyes crinkling with barely concealed laughter for him to realize that the person he was being compared favorably against this time was Jin Guangshan, absent father extraordinaire, and not poor Mo Xuanyu.

Later, when his brother slipped away to meet with his sworn brothers, as Lan Wangji expected, and Jiang Cheng was gone reluctantly to take Jin Ling to visit with his grandfather, Lan Wangji headed out with Nie Huaisang, who had come up with some prank involving feathers and glue that Lan Wangji wanted nothing to do with.

“But it would be funny,” Nie Huaisang argued.

Lan Wangji blamed Jiang Cheng for the fact that he even considered it.

“We can simply walk around in the guise we agreed,” he finally said, banishing that unhelpful part of him that loved chaos a little too much – the Wei Wuxian part, perhaps. “That will be confusing enough.”

“Oh, all right,” Nie Huaisang said. “But the feathers are hidden in the linen closet off the main guest hallway if you change your mind.”

With Nie Huaisang complaisant, it was easy enough to gradually make their way through Koi Tower, seeming to stroll without any apparent goal but in fact edging closer to Lan Wangji’s destination: the Jin family quarters.

“Wangji-gege – oops, I mean, er-ge,” Nie Huaisang said after he had exhausted at least three other pointless topics. “Why don’t you trust me?”

Lan Wangji looked at him, surprised by the question.

Nie Huaisang was pouting. “You clearly have a goal,” he said. “I know I’m not much, you know, but I’m not nothing. I could still help. If you wanted.”

Lan Wangji opened his mouth to refuse on instinct – the idea that Nie Huaisang could be helpful to him in any way seemed utterly absurd, utterly impossible – but then he paused.

Attempt the impossible, he reminded himself. After all, was it really so long ago that he himself had done what he had never dreamt he could do and chosen to leave his sect behind?

For a life at the Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng, no less?

Maybe even Nie Huaisang could overturn expectations.

“I want to speak with Mo Xuanyu,” he finally said. “And, if he is unhappy, remove him from Koi Tower. Is that something in which you think you can assist me?”

Nie Huaisang blinked at him, just once – he did not appear nearly as surprised by the request as Lan Wangji thought he probably should be – and then smiled.

#mdzs #lan wangji #jiang cheng #nie huaisang #my fic #my fics #delight in misery

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pride-moth · 3 years ago

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If you were church, I'd get on my knees [Stolitz Week Day 4 - Wedding]

Ao3 Link

Event Info Link

The paparazzi are everywhere. They sit in the trees, in the windows of neighboring buildings, in the cars on the adjacent streets, some have even made their way onto the premises. They’ve been taking pictures of everything all morning. Of the seating area, the flower arrangements, the early guests, even the waiters. They’re prepared to fill the tabloids with the most scandalous wedding in hell. A Prince and an imp. The highest and the lowest. It’s gossip pages simply filling themselves.

They’re prepared for everything. Except for the ceremony not happening in the elaborately-staged venue. They will sit there for hours until dawn comes and there’s still nobody there, except the guests and waiters who have been roaming the place since the morning. “We’ve been duped,” someone will say eventually but nobody will have any idea what to do next.

Sometime in the afternoon, the real wedding congregation is happening in the I.M.P headquarters, with only a handful of people and a private wedding photographer. Everything is decorated in the crispiest shade of white they could find. It’s smaller and simpler than the fake venue they’ve coordinated, but it’s still stunning and gorgeous and perfect, and Stolas is slowly losing his mind in his little pre-room where Millie and Octavia are doing their best to keep him together. He picks at his white suit, wrings his hands and runs to the mirror every single minute to check himself.

“You need to calm down,” Via says, slightly exasperated considering Stolas hasn’t exactly been calm in hours, “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“What if it isn’t? What if the paparazzi come here? What if they find out? What if Blitz decides he doesn’t want to marry me after all?”

“Blitz is…” Millie says while fine-tuning her own hair, “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think he’d ever marry. Didn’t seem like the type. But he’s decided to marry you and that’s something, right. Plus, you’ve gotten married before, you know how it works.”

“That was so long ago, I scarcely remember.”

“The point is there’s no reason to be nervous, everything is going to run smoothly.” Millie gives him a hearty pat on the back.

“Weren’t you nervous when you and Moxxie married?”

“Oh, I wasn’t, Moxxie almost lost it, though. But do you know what I told him?”

“What?”

“That marriage isn’t that big a deal. We love each other before the big party and we’ll love each other after the big party, just with more tax benefits.”

“That’s not very romantic…” Via remarks from across the room.

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” Millie shrugs. “You’re just having a big party to celebrate how much you love each other. And to get tax benefits.”

“Maybe.”

“So, don’t worry about it! Also, there’s no paparazzi, they’re still swarming the fake venue, Moxxie has CCTV on them.”

“Thank you, for organizing this whole thing, I just… Didn’t want to do this with the press present. It’s… I don’t know, it feels less special when everyone gets to watch, you know?”

“No problem, and now get out there and marry my boss!”

Stolas takes a deep breath and his daughter by his hand and walks out of the room.

He walks in with Blitz already waiting in bated breath, wearing a matching white suit that makes him look just obscenely handsome and when their eyes finally meet, it’s as though all worries fall off him in an instant. It’s going to be fine, Stolas thinks, maybe all of it is going to be fine. Forever.

“You look great,” he says shyly and takes both of Blitz’ hands.

“You are absolutely smoking hot,” Blitz responds. Stolas chuckles.

Next to them, Loona, their impromptu officiator, clears her throat to get their attention. “So, uhm, again, can someone explain to me why we’re doing this all proper and pseudo-Christian??”

“Because I like to spite the establishment which I’m marrying into. Also, Christian weddings have a very good aesthetic, we’ve been over this, now ask us for our vows, Loonie,” Blitz replies sharply.

“Okay, sure, uhm, vows please?”

Stolas breathes in deeply. “Blitz, when you came into my life, I never could have imagined standing here with you now. You were loud, abrasive, vulgar and… Well, you still are all of these things, but now I love you for it. Now I want to listen to talk about nothing and rant about your least favorite fruit all day. I want to hear your voice from morning to evening and I won’t tire of it. When I met you… I thought you would be nothing but a tiny speck on my night sky. Seen once, but quickly forgotten. But now I know you’re the brightest star of them all, always leading my way. I love you and I wish to always find my way to you.”

There is some sniffling in the room, though someone is probably also throwing up.

“Wow, okay. Dad, would you like to go next?” Loona says, then, her voice shaking just the tiniest bit.

Blitz looks around and takes a deep breath. “I’ve never been lucky with relationships before, they were… Yeah, they were all pretty terrible. And I didn’t even plan on having one with you for a long time, frankly. But… You know, sometimes you don’t really have a choice. You don’t want to fall in love with the weird bird prince. You just want to get his book and you have sex with him to do, but… It becomes more than that and that’s why we’re here now. Because I love you, even though it took me a long time to accept that. And I can’t wait to be married to you and rail you in the Hellton Hotel honeymoon suite.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence for a moment. A silent, disturbed “What?” comes from Octavia.

“What?! Do you think I’m not gonna fuck my husband harder than ever before in our wedding night? Fucking prudes.”

Loona clears her throat again. “So, uhm, right. Stolas, do you wish to take Blitz over here as your husband?”

“Yes, of course I do!”

“Great. Dad. Blitz. whatever. Do you wish to take Stolas here as your husband?”

“Hell yeah, let’s go!”

“Good, then blah blah something something by the power of whatever is going on here, I pronounce you two married. But please wait until after the party with whatever you two want to do to each other…”

“And…?” Blitz says.

“Oh, right, yeah. You may now kiss. As if you need my permission for that. ...Wait, we didn’t even do the thing with the rings yet!”

But they’re already kissing. And so they share this, their first kiss as husbands, it feels exactly the same as always in the best way possible. They’ve kissed before, hundreds upon thousands of times, and this time is no different, it’s an intuitive motion, a well-practiced one, carried out with pure trust and comfort.

And yet, it absolutely is different because that kiss now carries a promise. A promise for many, many years of more kisses, years of just them, together.

The party goes into the dead of night, people dancing and drinking all in celebration of their love, it’s an almost surreal concept. Octavia gets drunk for the first time and that’s a whole piece of work, but Loona is there for her, them being sisters now and all.

But in the Hellton Hotel honeymoon suite they’ve booked for the night, nothing much actually happens because they’re drunk and tired and exhausted, so all they do is cuddle up against each other in the gratuitous pink bed and fall asleep soundly, secure in the knowledge that there’s more than enough time for everything else during the rest of their lives.

The next day, the tabloids will be filled with only one picture, the one their own wedding photographer made, the one they actually want the world to see on their own terms. It shows them, in their matching white suits, Stolas with one hand on Blitz’ hips and a content smile on his face while Blitz has his tongue out and gives the camera the middle finger.

#helluva boss #stolas x blitz #stolas x blitzo #stolitz #stolitz week #fanfiction #my writing #wedding fic

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pinkrelish · 3 years ago

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The Night Bird's Plea

Chapter Summary: Skin contact. Bare fingers tracing his palm. That's all it took and he was done for. The cursed seal warned him, time and time again, but as frequent customer of misery, Obito ignored it until it was too late.

Kotori looked on in horror.

Chapter: 6/13

Words: 6.3k

Read: AO3 / FFnet

Chapter 6: Coincidences

Across the lifespan of a single human, events are bound to repeat themselves. Coincidences happen. Select words or phrases spoken elicit a sense of deja vu. Memories play tricks on those susceptible to seeking where things should not be sought. Actions contributed to one are faulted for another; brain growing fatigued with age and not recalling as sharply as it once did.

Thus, Kotori dismissed Tobi’s exact replications of scenarios from the past as innocent spur of the moment nonsense. Nothing to be examined further. He wasn’t aware they were another knock on the door of her heart. Asking permission to open a world of regret. Tobi wasn’t to blame for her sudden disappearance, either.

She felt horrible about abandoning him there. Leaving him at the lake when they were both susceptible to staring off into the viciously white distance. Lost in memories after what he said. Deserting him when he mirrored her abject silence. When everything became too much.

Which is why she was in this position now, hunched over the counter in her modest kitchen in her unconventional teashop in her mystical town, kneading ground matcha pigment into mochi dough to be used for wagashi under the single dark eye of her suitor. If she were to believe she were being courted and not duped for the only person in entirety of the Akatsuki and their retinue who could withstand being in Tobi’s vicinity for more than two minutes.

The man in question leaned against the counter next to her. Dressed in his usual black garb. Orange swirl mask freshly polished with citrus peel. Scarf resting on his chest, under his folded arms. Head tipped watching her work, legs crossed at the ankles. Exuding a casual, calm demeanor she was growing accustomed to. Getting the idea he did not show it often. And ignoring the delightful twinge in her core at the implication of her being special for seeing this side of him.

“Sorry about leaving you the other day,” she apologized for not the first, nor the second time.

Tobi lowered his voice to a soothing tone, “I said it was okay-” He ducked out of the way as she wrenched open the cabinet door behind his head.

Any excuse to stop the hunger in her blood when he spoke to her that way.

Kotori rose to her tiptoes and curved her body around his, scoping out the containers on the shelf. Hands foraging, filling her arms with the items she needed. Loading the ingredients one by one. Not touching him. Never touching him in this space where they were alone without interruption. Maintaining a barrier of understanding between their bodies.

He kept his hands to himself. Reserved. Restrained. Because one of them had to be, so he bore the responsibility of denying themselves the temptations they could not succumb to.

Tobi may not have meant to create such visceral responses to the things he said, and the soft touches he gave her, but the nightmares were all the same.

Sure, she fraternized with the Akatsuki, but falling for a criminal who could not devote his time to her--could not make her a priority--and the constant worry he could be dead and she wouldn’t know was not a life she was willing to lead anymore. Not since the accident in her youth..

A destined spy, Kotori’s espionage skills granted her a rank in the ANBU as soon as she graduated the Academy. Secured her the ability to protect the village, which in turn meant protecting her friends. Ensure their safety. Except for the one she loved--left one night on a standard mission during the war times, never to return.

The shattered ANBU mask was placed before the Hokage’s desk the day she learned of Obito’s death through whispers of gossip, not from the mouths of adults feigning to care about her. Resigning from her duty with as much respect as she was shown; she left the village and never looked back. Damned to roam from country to country in search of a purpose. Something to occupy her time until her very end.

Attachments weren’t worth it.

They never were, but especially not now.

Spending mornings, noons, and nights with Tobi was a mutual agreement that it was a fun waste of time. Nothing could come of it. They could never be. Entertaining each other until he could no longer come see her; body bloating in some far off country, then decaying, feeding the earth.

She wasn’t wise as to why he experienced the same apprehension in regards to growing close to her, but it was apparent--screaming loud--when their chakras touched in the snow. So familiar, so wanting, yet so repulsed when they met.. If you ignored the seedy undercurrent of longing before the disgust slapped at their joined fingers.

He had his secrets, painful secrets, that kept him from connecting to anyone. Or at least her.

It was unfortunate she found him so curious, so enchanting, and so unwittingly disastrous to those vows she made about never falling for anyone again.

These dates, these scheduled meetings, weren’t like the others she experienced over the years with incompatible men who hardly kept her interest for more than a night.

These felt different.

Different, and unfathomably right.

~~~

For a long while, Obito watched her decorate bite-sized squares of spice cakes, alternating between holding in shallow breaths and blue-faced sighs as the cursed seal rinsed his heart of blood.

She was having a fierce stare down with the stencils on the cakes. Peeling back the edges, they left a knife-sharp outline of a maple leaf in powdered sugar. Except a speckle here and there ruining the image. Still, somewhat satisfied with the result, she wiped her hands free of crumbs on her linen half apron cinched snug around her waist and started on the next project, spinning around for her piping bag. Frantic. Like a busy bee buzzing about a hive. A streak of flour on her cheek from when her bangs tickled her and she swiped at them without thinking. Looking so domestic and attractive and alluring in the most horrible ways.

Taunting him with a life he couldn’t have.

“There’s a gift exchange with the Akatsuki tomorrow night,” he said. “Do you want to go to Yugakure with me? I drew Konan’s name from the hat.”

“And how do you suppose I’ll be of any help?” she asked, piping a swirl of white icing on chocolate wafer cookies in the shape of trees.

“You’re a woman. You’d know better than me what women like.”

“You’re a man. What do men like?”

Bent over like that in form fitting pants, he could think of a few things, but chose sinlessness. “Tobi likes sweets. Tobi would appreciate lots of snacks! Cakes, cookies, ice cream-”

“Okay, Tobi,” she consented, plopping down her piping bag, dripping icing from the tip and solidifying her playful annoyance by cocking her hip.

Awareness coiled between them like a viper ready to strike, looking at each of them with almighty glassy eyes, imploring them to heed their warnings that this was a bad idea. It would only end in heartache. Disaster. They should stop now. Stop the inclination to spend more time.. all their time together.

“How do you suppose we get to Yuga?” she asked, crushing the viper’s head despite its wisdom and certainty. “Even with my speed that is, uh, a journey, and I have to finish these desserts by tonight.”

“I have a way.”

One step and he was at her side. Another step and he was at her back. A skip in her heartbeat and his gloved hands were over her eyes. Depriving her of her skill. Her ability. Her gift.

The world he gave her was pitch black.

“Tobi?” The wobble of uncertainty in her voice matched the one in her knees.

“Kotori,” Tobi shushed her gently.

Unrivaled heat etched itself over her eyelids, her forehead, the top of her cheek. She memorized it not in fondness, but in the fevered stress of adrenaline signaling danger.

Tobi shushed her again. “You can let go.”

Words so loud in her ear, she couldn’t help but listen. Listen and drop her strained fingers from clawing at the pressure point in his wrist. Not realizing she was doing it in the first place.

Acute panic rose in her throat. “Why are you-”

“I’m taking us to Yuga,” he answered.

The room tilted under her feet. Then the floor disappeared. She stood on nothing but air. The rush of wind on her face. Landing on solid ground. A pause in time. An area with no temperature. No smell. No sounds other than Tobi’s breathing. Nothing to gleam of her other senses. Hollow, except the body heat at her back. A waiting room. Purgatory.

Overwhelmed. Disoriented.

Kotori stumbled back. Away from whatever this was.

Tobi caught her with his entire chest, squeezing his arms around her. Leather gloves creasing as if he too wanted to solve this puzzle if it meant consoling her. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he promised her, breath flowing from under his mask, cooling the sweat on her nape.

“Sorry,” she exhaled. “I know, you’re.. you’re just playing. Being you,” she stated the lie to comfort herself. Buy her time.

She was rusty, but the gut instinct to contract her important muscles and relax the rest kicked in. Pretend she wasn’t afraid. Conserve energy and then explode in power on her assailant. Ambush them with trickery, because that was her strong suit. Being dressed down in her kitchen meant she didn’t have blades on her, but he didn’t know that. Regardless, her fists were fine weapons. Her muscles--still able to shield her organs to some degree. Tracking rogue-nin for Kakuzu came with minimal hand to hand combat, but her taijutsu could impair him long enough to-

“Kotori.”

She went pliant.

Tobi enveloped her, rocked her steadily, enshrouded her in all the sweet things the rational side of her wanted to reject. Repetition of what he’d done before at the festival, in the snow. Holding her while her mind was in contention with her very self. Needing to draw the line between their intimacy; remove herself from becoming attached. But she couldn’t.

He felt right.

How nice it was to be hugged to his chest. Falling into it. Shunning the rational side. Greedily wrapping herself in his warmth. Inhaling his unique scent carried by the citrus on his mask. Able to discern the minute twitch of his right thumb over her cheek before he moved it more purposefully. Stroking the expanse of her cheek bone to rid her of the dusty flour. Lulling her into his embrace.

The expanse of his firm chest swelled with a question asking the world of her. His taut jaw went lax and he whispered, strong arms drawing her in, “Trust me.”

The unknown world tilted, floor disappearing, but not falling away. It was replaced by the crunch of frozen grass, chilled under drops of morning dew. The smell of sweet pine sap. Humid air mixing with frigid temperatures to create a chilly mist clinging to her skin.

The telltale signs they arrived in Yugakure; the tourist village consisting of more hot springs than you could imagine uses for.

“We’re here,” his words were muddled, lips pressed to his mask, mask pressed to her hair. Nose mashed to the facade. Wishing it wasn’t there. Wishing he had the bravery to dispose of it while her eyes were incapacitated.

Above all, wishing their circumstances were different.

“Do you trust me?” Kotori asked.

Tobi didn’t answer.

Unknotting her hands from her apron, she reached up. Slow, so as to not scare him. The length of muscles holding her up went rigid. Biceps pinned her upper arms to her sides. Thumb no longer stroking her cheek. Bent legs bracketing hers. Readying themselves for defense, suspicious of her next move.

Gentle fingertips grazed his gloves.

He went weak in the knees.

Kotori traced his long fingers hidden under the thick leather. Admired the intricate stitching over his wide hand. Trailed her nails over his knuckles jutting out, poised to stop her, yet they didn’t. He didn’t resist; and when he didn’t dissuade her, she proceeded with her modest desire.

With featherlight urging, she persuaded one hand to peel away. Cloudy daylight burned through her eyelids, turning her dark world piercing orange for the briefest moment before his other hand slid across her face. Covering one eye with the heel of his palm and the other with his fingers. Each digit twitching and settling to obscure her from the truth once more. Relapsing into the darkness.

Without sight, she rested his obedient hand in both of hers. In the midst of his uncertainty, that’s all he could allow himself to give, one hand. To Kotori, that was wonderful. She cradled it in the nest of her palms like an injured bird. Delicate and patient in her discovery of what laid beneath the leather. She ran her thumb under the glove, testing his fortitude, his willingness to let her explore, and he gave no objection.

But would he let her give in to a temptation?

Tobi’s breath came heavy. His shoulders slouched forward, forcing the expanse of his chest to bend around her frame. Legs and arms on either side of her. All of him around her like a cloak, keeping her from view like she was the one with an identity to veil. Leaning on her like she leaned on him. Relying on each other to keep themselves upright through sheer tension.

He buried his cold mask to the crook of her neck, hoping she would think he was looking over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t up to no good, but the gentle sigh that escaped made it all too obvious his endeavor was not of the distrustful kind.

“You can take it off,” he murmured. His fingers fidgeted over her eyes. Her fingers fidgeted with the glove. Fumbled. Clumsy with anticipation. Tamping down the urge to rip it off and throw it away; she instead collected what patience she had and undressed the bottom of his hand.

A simple gesture being met with a not-so-simple backstory.

“Why does it feel so..” She struggled to find a non-offensive adjective to describe what she was discovering, but gave up when words evaded her.

She slid her nimble forefinger further up his glove and dipped it between his ring and middle finger, running it down the middle of his palm to his wrist like she was finding her place in a book. A marvelous tale of mystery in which the male lead had the most intriguing hand she had ever not seen.

His hand appeared to be two lost puzzle pieces shoved together with odd curved edges puckering below her fingertip where they met. On one side, his thumb twitched when she prodded the muscle below his warm skin. The other side, it was dense. Lacking heat. A bit rubbery to the touch and had little give. Smooth, hairless. Unresponsive to her investigation.

“You can think of it as a skin graft,” he mumbled the string of words like he was under a spell she unknowingly cast. “It- It is a skin graft. From an injury. It covers a lot of me.. Scar tissue too.” Substantial information coaxed with each pass of pacifying brushes of her thumb in the center of his palm, circling his feeling and unfeeling skin. Massaging away walls between their converged bodies one humble graze at a time.

“That sounds painful, whatever caused it. I’m sorry you went through that.”

“Don’t be sorry.” His hand slipped from her eyes. Wandered down her face to cup her jaw. Unpossessive, weak. Anchoring himself to her. Body failing. No longer able to stand. Going slack in his last moments. Black curtains in the corner of his eye drawing in. “Never be sorry for me,” he said. Exhausted.

Obito would remember the one word that crossed his mind when Kotori’s bare fingers made contact with the naked, sensitive side of his palm: joy. Turbulent joy that spread elation through his feeble body in the frigid mountains bordering Yuga. Giving him a second wind to combat his heavy lid from his final blink to survey her beauty like it was a gift bestowed upon him. The side profile of the one woman he disappointed time and time again. He didn’t deserve her kindness. Not back then, not now.

Summoning his ebbing strength, he concentrated his chakra to their joined palms. Smiling when she squeezed his hand and sighed, lulling her head to the column of his neck, mouth hung open in pure bliss.

Hopeless as ever, Obito spent his final shallow breath to indulge in what the cursed seal forbade. He placed a chaste kiss to her hair, his mask acting as a barrier between them. An unremarkable kiss for someone he owed much more.

Still, he remained brave when faced with his imminent demise.

She was happy.

All was well.

He was happy.

“Tobi?” Kotori yanked his glove back on. Her feet were starting to slide out from under her, thighs burning in effort to stand as he bore down on her shoulders. He had brought her to a hill and she was on the slope.

“Tobi?” she asked more urgently, patting up his arm, feeling her way to his mess of hair and ruffling it playfully. Misconstruing the situation as one of his jokes. Until it very much wasn’t.

“I’m opening my eyes,” she warned. Desperate to keep herself talking, interacting. Anything to distract herself from the horror lurking in the back of her mind. Unconsciously keeping track of the fact he hadn’t spoken, hadn’t drawn a breath in some time. In reality it may have been fractions of seconds, but her brain couldn’t process that. Not when he was slumped over like a fresh corpse.

Twisting under the weight piled on her shoulders, she came face to mask with his unresponsive body. Zeroing in on the closed eye in the blur of orange. Softened wrinkles at the edge. Long black lashes fanning skin with a slight tan, no puffiness nor a dark circle in view. Just the tapered ends of scars tearing through the tissue in the same pattern as his mask.

His chakra dimmed.

She bit her inner cheek to silence her terrified whimper and fought his body from sending them both down the hill. Flattened her palms to his chest and pushed with all her might. Shoes slipping, digging in the balls of her feet for purchase, ripping out the dead brown blades of grass, snapping their roots in clumps. Forehead pressed to faux forehead, pleading for the eye to open.

Shouts became pitiful cries. “Tobi? What’s wrong? Are you hurt somewhere? Please tell me. Please tell me what’s wrong. I’ll go to the village and find help, just wait here. Just-”

Kotori was beyond herself.

His eye darted behind the eyelid, but hers were shut. Owlish eyes closed, rejecting all that they perceived. Shut off from the world of truths and facts. Lips merely moving to mumble things to occupy herself from the trajectory she was headed, spiraling into memories she wished she’d forget.

“Please, Tobi,” she whispered, balancing his weight on her forearms to prop his face between her palms, careful to not knock the mask. “If you faint and break your neck on those trees down there, what am I supposed to tell the Akatsuki, huh?”

The eyelid lifted, showcasing a glazed over eye. Charcoal black. Pedestrian and unassuming. Ashes covering secret embers.

“What sort of present would Konan like? Does she take baths? Like candles? Does she read a lot?” she rambled, grasping at anything to fill the void.

“She likes paper.”

Kotori snapped out of her miserable spiral to stare into the single eye very much alive, and awake, and mocking her.

“Konan likes paper,” he clarified.

“You fucking moron,” she gasped out. Rearing back, she thumped her forehead on his mask in a weak headbutt, her hands falling from his cheeks to smack his chest; intending to shove him away, but she lingered too long. She was further down the slope than she realized and her hands were stuck catching him until he gained his footing. Trying her best to appear nonchalant about her face flushed with frustration at the imbecile, the absolute provocateur, who had the gall to pull one over on her after such a tender--to her--moment. Who insisted on taking his time to find his balance, hovering so close they could be mistaken as lovers about to share a kiss with their bodies pressed together like that. “That wasn’t funny.”

Tobi edged backwards more than necessary to put distance between them and rubbed the back of his neck to rid him of nervous energy. “Tobi is sorry! Just playing a prank on Miss Kotori.”

“You scared me.”

“Tobi is sorry.” Her face softened from its sternness, but the glint of unease reflected in her narrowed eyes, and her mouth wrung in wariness. He lowered his voice to his natural register, “I’m sorry, genuinely.”

“Don’t do that again.”

“I won’t.”

Drained from the waning adrenaline, she didn’t have it in her to confront the metaphorical and literal uphill battle, continuing her dispirited descent to the woodland edge of Yuga. Not having the energy to explain why she couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop the panic from intertwining itself in her words, nor the streaks on her cheeks from the stir of emotions she kept locked away behind the door of her heart. Excruciating reminders of another year without him. Another year drumming up an excuse to not visit his grave in Konoha; if he had one.

Ignoring the past like she ignored the guilt and regret.

Kotori mindlessly puttered through spiderwebs refracting frozen droplets, tromped on waterlogged twigs, and pulped inedible mushrooms in her daze weaving in and out of the hazy fog to the city of hot springs.

The hill was warmed in the stunning sun, surrounded by a forest of pines casting her desertion in shadow. A squirrel dropped its acorn to follow Kotori, sensing beyond its natural senses that she needed a companion.

Obito watched her retreat with wicked mirth.

He watched her leave. Because he could.

She was upset and he was alive to see it.

The curse did not kill him. It was beatable. He could endure it. Conquer it. Master it. Deconstruct Madara’s contingency plan and reassembled it to his liking. Madara’s benevolent seal was insurance on his life; allowing him to live because he had no other choice, no other disciples. No other wolves in sheep’s clothing.

It hurt like hell--dying, that is. It was far from pleasant, but the temporary pain proved worthwhile once more.

Obito could touch Kotori. Hug her, stroke her hair, dare to press his ungloved hands to her skin, invite more and more intimate acts between them knowing it was survivable. Confirming his threshold for pain was a mere hurdle to be jumped if it meant perfecting his vision for the Infinite Tsukuyomi.

The crescendo of his life plunged to a faint stutter of off tempo beats missing the fineness of rhythm only to be swept into the gradual growth of another climax.

He took a step towards the direction Kotori left in. A hearty one, stamping his foot down with renewed vigor. Taking leaps down the hill. Swinging his arms wide through the forest. Slapping water off the low hanging branches. Breathing his collapsed lungs full of sickly sweet scent of sap. Turned his face up to the clouds and laughed. And laughed. Maniacal. Insane.

Victorious.

~~~

Obito took the most direct route through the village. Bumping the shoulders of those in his way, pushing aside vacationers with arms full of excess consumerism, barreling through the town like a menace with one goal: following the trail of chakra leading him to his opulent gem hiding in plain sight all these years. Under his nose. Incensing him for turning down the numerous opportunities he had to travel with Kakuzu to her indistinct village, never imagining his spy contact would be her.

Now, he could throw caution to the wind and make up for lost time.

Take the plunge and treat her as he always wanted.

“Hey,” Obito whispered into her ear as a precursor for his phantom-like reveal in the small bookshop. She did not appreciate his exuberance. Nor his sleight of hand tucking a red maple leaf into her braids.

Kotori paid him little mind, surveying the options for gifts on the table in the middle of the walkway when entering through the door. She chose two things out of the array after eyeing the spread: a tanned leather journal, and a cloth bound novel.

Perturbed at being brushed off with a short, frustrated hum so mute it hardly disturbed the dust catching the light from the store’s windows, Obito made his intentions known.

Finally, he could act upon repressed desires spanning over a decade.

Obito placed his arm around her shoulders. No need to facilitate an excuse. He was simply acting on an impulse he no longer denied. He wanted to put his arm around her like she was his girlfriend, so he did.

Kotori shifted her weight, accepting her position as the personal stoop for his arm, letting it rest there without dispute. In fact, she leaned into his latch on reality. Flexed her bicep under his curious grazing fingers. Breaking down the steel in his muscles when he prepared himself to be told off like a scorned woman ought to do. But of course, she was full of surprises, and having the face of someone who dried their tears on their sleeve before entering the public and still managing to offer him a remorseful smile to soften his guilt, to console his feelings when he was the one who hurt her, was exactly how he should’ve predicted she’d respond.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” he whispered amongst the unspeaking books and mouthy patrons perusing the shelves behind them.

“You said Konan likes paper,” she said, “whatever that means. Were you talking about collecting books?”

Understanding she did not want to discuss what had her so fraught when, in her eyes, he fainted at most, Obito followed her lead. He usually did in his happier memories.

“She keeps track of stuff for our leader in notebooks. Writes in diaries. Collects journals with markings of the occult.”

“Alright.” Kotori returned the novel to the stack of similar ones and tilted the journal at him, rocking it back and forth to show him the gold foil moon and stars on the cover. Gazing up at him for his approval.

Not once had he looked away from her face since entering the store. “It’s perfect.”

~~~

Paper bag in tow hanging from the crook of his arm, Obito walked hand in hand with Kotori. A little convincing was had in order to win her over with his charm. First they argued in hushed tones over who would pay for the journal. Then they had an altercation over who would carry it--precisely why one of the handles were torn. After that, it became too difficult to walk side by side with his arm around her shoulders all thanks to their mismatched heights and off kilter gait. So, as a compromise, she stuck out her hand like she stuck out her pouting lip at his insolence and laced their fingers together without waiting for his participation.

He snickered at her darkened cheeks when she realized her eagerness was as obvious as his pining was. An image he’d hold dear to his still-beating heart.

“Wait!” Kotori yanked him back a couple of paces to a food cart. “Two stacks please!”

Obito grumbled in bewilderment why she would want two whole stacks of those nasty things being handed over to her. “When Tobi said he wanted cookies, he didn’t mean those kind.”

“They’re not for you-” She sealed her lips shut before she added a mean name at the end of her sentence. “They’re for the animals.” Accepting and paying for the two handfuls of sugarless wheat crackers, she dragged him back to the forest. Shamelessly tuning out his whines for the village’s famous persimmon cheesecake, or the sour apricot daifuku, or even sharing a hot pot with him if it meant satiating his sweet tooth afterwards.

But no, Kotori wanted to giggle at the deer nibbling crushed crackers out of her hand in the dark creepy forest and then return to her cramped kitchen without adequate lighting to finish her Christmas sweets for the residents of her weird town.

“Oh, come on, have some fun,” she said, rocking on her heels, laughing in a mirthless, empty way. Putting forth her best attempt to convince him that her behavior was normal and not the desperate act of someone distracting themselves from the haunting inevitable. Trying to find some happiness in the little things as her brain drowned in sorrow she couldn’t spill with him around.

Crumbling the last fourth of a cracker in his upturned palm, she lost herself in the black pool of stitched leather. Eyes welling with tears. Nose running. Pretending for his sake. Turning away and smoothing out her apron to give her something to do.

“Kotori..”

“The squirrels are waiting,” she whispered.

He glanced at the substantial gathering of vermin skittering down tree trunks, heads bobbing as they got a whiff of the delicacy in his hand. Obliging, he crouched and fed them; their nails scratching at him in a frenzy while she idled there, twisting her fingers in worried tandem.

“My friend passed away when we were kids and I guess it still gets to me around this time of year,” she said, sharing a slice of truth with him, yet still downplaying the impact of overhanging dread evident in her daily life since his death.

Obito clapped the crumbs from his gloves and stood, watching the squirrels scurry over one another for their pitiful offering. “Kotori?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve carried the burden of a broken heart for this long?”

She tilted her head, studying the side of his face. “Of course I have. He was dear to me.” Intrigued by the profoundness of his question, she pried into his private life, “Have you never lost anyone before?”

Turning his mask up to the branches blotting out the sky, shrouding them in their dark boughs bowed with melted ice, he contemplated many things. “I have.” A droplet plummeted to his mask. Splashed. Dribbled a line over the carved swirls beneath his eye, traveling to his ear.

Their thoughts coordinated in harmony once again. Coming to a consensus that their preconceived apprehensions towards their increasingly muddled relationship could be analyzed some other day.

Obito righted himself at the first sound of her footsteps crunching fallen leaves. He extended his arms on instinct, becoming accustomed to his role as boyfriend--even if he would never live to see the fantasy actualized.

Validating his compulsion to seek comfort in completing their bodies in an embrace, Kotori molded herself to fit in his safe haven. Contouring the softness of her body to his firm one. Wrapping her arms viciously tight around his middle while he cupped her nape, circling his thumb over the curly baby hairs escaping her braids. Gentle, calming, befitting of a pillar.

Legs gone wobbly like the jelly she still needed to chill for her desserts, she leaned into him for support. Submitted to the nagging yearn itching to have her face nuzzled into his scratchy scarf, burying her nose there and pressing her forehead to the warmth of his neck. Chests exchanging swells of content sighs.

Obito worked his hand from the back of her neck to her face. Tucking her closer under his jaw and affirming her eyes were shut from perceiving his insidious truths with the tender swipe of his thumb.

The forest floor disappeared from under them, replaced by the lilac blocks of his domain, then the rickety tiled floor of her kitchen.

He dismissed his Sharingan from existence.

Kotori teetered, toes straining from making herself cozy in the nest of fabric around his neck. Extending herself as tall as possible, and still coming up short. “I should get back to work. Thank you for taking me out again, Tobi.” She tore herself from his clutches and smiled. It wouldn’t last, but she was in better spirits for now. Until he left and the loneliness settled in the empty space her arms created.

“Come with me tomorrow.”

“Where?”

“Headquarters,” he said, casually nodding at the present on his arm. “You bought it anyway. Come with me to the gift exchange.”

“But I’ve.. It’s not like I’m part of the Akatsuki. I’ve never been there.”

“You’ve met a lot of us-”

“Most of you end up dead, I have no idea who’s in the Akatsuki now-”

“It’ll be fine,” he expounded his confidence, grasping her by the shoulders and rectifying her worry, using his charming vocals to his advantage to render her to putty in his hands. “You’ll be welcomed there. Besides, Konan would figure out I didn’t pick this journal by myself.” When the anxious pinch between her brows didn’t cease, he drew closer, running his fingers down the dormant muscles in her arms and taking her hands. “I don’t want you to be alone tomorrow.. I don’t want to be alone either.”

She looked away from his endearments. “You don’t have to invite me. I didn’t even buy a gift for you! I can’t show up giftless--that’s rude. And what if Pain doesn’t want me there? What if something happens here while I’m gone? I have a job you know, and I cannot let my--or my yam manju’s--reputation be besmirched because they were thirty seconds under-steamed. They would come out all gummy and gross and-”

He collected her face in the center of his palms. Thumbs stroking sweet lines across everything within his great reach. His mask pressed to her face; forehead and mouth. Compelling her distraughtness to focus on the textured swirls and not at all on the longing growing in his pants as she sealed their bodies together.

Obito cleared his throat and adjusted his stance. “Your company is my gift.” Enunciating each word millimeters from her soft lips brushing his mask. Somehow, he continued on without ripping it off and taking her then and there. “Trust me, we’ll have fun. And if you don’t, I’ll take you somewhere else; whatever you want to do, even if it’s dressing me up in an apron and forcing me to bake cookies. I’ll do it.”

The sun was pitiable compared to her face lit in joy. Overshadowed in the way she roared the embers in his core to flames under the coaxing of her fingers at his sweater’s hem and the coy swish of her hips. Eclipsed every worry, doubt, and guess in his head as to what in the fuck he was accomplishing by dividing his time between the Infinite Tsukuyomi and her. Giving one of them scant milliseconds of fleeting thoughts, and the other, his world.

Kotori was at the center of it all. His sun. His purpose. What he did in the meantime between mastering his puppets and creating his perfect world were his moments to waste. So what if the fourth Mizukage was breaking his genjutsu and alerting his advisors to the demon with the glowing red eye who appeared in his bedroom late at night? The plan wouldn’t fail. It wouldn’t. Obito would live to see it through, and in turn, live in his perfect world with his perfect wife in their perfect home, full of love and happiness and justice. What he should’ve had if it wasn’t for the shinobi system ripping it from his soft fingers.

“Fine,” Kotori’s slurred speech awakened Obito. “I’ll join you for the party tomorrow.”

Hungry eye boring into rings of gold, he stopped the tender movement of his thumbs and found a better use for them; tipping her head up. Smashing his face to his mask, and her face to the other side. All eyes sliding closed. Aware of what this meant.

The torment of a goodbye kiss.

Obito twisted his scarred lips, a far cry from how she would’ve remembered them. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon.”

She answered somewhere in the fluttering of her lashes and gripping herself where he once did, watching him turn away and disappear out her kitchen door without another word. Begging his warmth to stay. Asking the traces he left on the back of her neck to burn themselves there. Nothing compared to his touch–and they’d hardly explored that sense.

If he braved more.. If he removed his gloves and entrusted his bare hands to sketch her body. If he disposed of his mask and treated her sensitive flesh to his lips. If his tongue discovered her likes and dislikes with parallel enthusiasm to his endless questions on their first date. If he rewarded her as delicately as his body wanted to. If he rewarded her as shamelessly as his body wanted to do.

Kotori tripped over her own feet. Scuffing the kitchen tile. Wandering backwards, catching herself on the countertop. Experiencing a heat wave, she rolled her head and trailed a finger down her throat, dragging down her shirt collar to reveal a peek of dewy cleavage. Chilling the sudden sweat overtaking her body. Grinning at the ceiling.

“Look at me; a third date.”

#obito #obito x oc #obito uchiha #naruto #obito smut #naruto fanfic #naruto fanfiction #obito x reader #tobi x oc #tobi x reader #uchiha obito #obito uchiha x oc #uchiha obito x oc #christmas fic #tobi #obito uchiha x reader #tobi smut #akatsuki #the akatsuki

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karlyfr13s · 4 years ago

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Helping Destiny Along

A fluffy CS one-shot for the lovely @teamhook

Thank you @veryverynotgoodwrites for being one heck of a beta, and @the-darkdragonfly for your brainstorming powers!

Summary: Henry Mills has a theory: for each Captain Hook, there must be an Emma Swan. Well, he found Princess Emma Nolan at long last and is determined to bring her together with Killian Jones now that he's back in the Wishverse version of the Enchanted Forest.

Read it on AO3

At nineteen, Princess Emma Nolan believed in True Love. After all, her parents had found each other, and everyone knew theirs was a legendary love worthy of poetry and song. She watched for a prince from the high windows of her tower bedroom, waiting for someone tall, dark, and handsome to sweep her off her feet. He would be bold, romantic, dashing, and kind-hearted—she just knew it.

At twenty-two, she concluded that such a love was rare and that her parents may be the only two people with a Capital-T, Capital-L True Love, so she started looking for the more run-of-the-mill variety. Instead of waiting for someone to ride up to the castle gate and court her, she took a more active approach and sought her love by traveling and meeting new people. When that didn’t work either, Princess Emma tried for mutual attraction, which was fun at twenty-four, but grew stale by twenty-five. So she resigned herself to loving her kingdom and her people.

At twenty-eight, a man knocked on the door and utterly transformed her life. To be clear, she did not love that particular man. Henry came from a faraway land and told her fantastic tales that seemed beyond the reach of even her magic, and while she did not love him, he told her somewhere out there in a world beyond her grasp there was an Emma Swan who was his mother, and who loved him ferociously. For days, she and her parents welcomed Henry to stay in their home and share meals at their table, and for days he regaled them with stories of his world and of other versions of each member of the Nolan family. They were spellbound by his narratives. He was a gifted storyteller, and as if he’d known this was too fantastic to be believed, he came with something called photographs that showed a still window into his world. She saw a version of her mother, Queen Snow, but much younger and with close-cropped dark hair instead of the silvery tresses she was accustomed to. Her father was another surprise--he looked barely older than Emma herself, sandy hair where now there was gray, and while she knew her father was still a strong and capable swordsman, this version of King David seemed able to challenge even the mightiest ogre.

Princess Emma Nolan even saw herself, but not herself. They looked identical, she and Henry’s mother, and while her style was different from this unknown twin’s, she couldn’t help but notice some similarities. Emma Swan was often pictured in a short red leather coat, while Princess Emma Nolan’s favorite doublet was a rich blue leather. When she commented, Henry told her they both wore them like armor, gesturing to the bruise on his shoulder from their earlier sparring session in the yard. Emma Swan liked to pull her hair back, wearing it high on her head much like Princess Emma Nolan when she wasn’t expected at court or in her regal finest. Henry even had a picture of his mother with a sword--is she trained as well? She’d asked, and Henry grinned at the question, answering with another tale of his mother besting a pirate in single combat!

“I’m pretty sure that fight was rigged though,” he admitted as they walked the castle gardens one afternoon. “And that’s part of why I’m here.” He stopped and faced her, saying he hoped she could believe one more outlandish story before he had to return to his world.

“You seem to come well-armed with evidence, Henry. I don’t see why I should doubt you at this point.”

“My mother, Emma Swan, is an incredible woman. It took her a long time, but she found her True Love, and I think you can find yours. When I learned there was a version of her--of you--here, I had to find out if you were with him too, and when you weren’t…” Henry trailed off, frowning at the ground. He was quiet for a long while, and Emma ran through his words over and over. Henry thought he knew who her True Love was? How? How could he know that his mother and whoever she was with were one another’s True Love?

“I know he’s here now--I’ve met him before, and back in my world--”

“What? Then how can he be my True Love if he’s from your world?” None of this was making sense, and for the first time she doubted Henry. It seemed he could see the uncertainty within her, and he steered them to a bench to sit and talk as he clarified this man was not from his world, but had been brought there by a curse. The same curse that separated Henry from his own family.

“I know you understand curses and magic,” he began and she nodded at his words. “So when I tell you he was swept up in a curse and brought back in time to my world, that should make sense, right?” She nodded again, wondering who could have cursed two men from different worlds at the same time. Someone powerful and dangerous. Henry sighed and continued. “His name is Killian Jones, and he’s the best man I know. He’s my father in every sense of the word, and while there’s a version of him who is my mother’s True Love, I know there is one who is also yours. He has to be.”

Henry told her a lengthy story about a witch who ensnared a group of people from this kingdom, trapping them in a place called Hyperion Heights. He spoke of a coven leader who cursed Killian Jones so he could never be in contact with his daughter—a child she had abandoned him with after tricking him into spending a night with her. “But you see, Emma, you can break that curse. Your love--yours and Killian’s will break that curse. You will have each other and Alice--hell, and Robin! I haven’t even told you about Robin,” he was lost in thought again after that. Emma waited and tried to make sense of all she had learned.

Is it possible? In some way, his tale made sense. If what he said about the curse was true, it would explain The Gap. Emma had never mentioned The Gap to Henry, though he may have learnt of it through other means. It was rarely spoken of, but everyone in the Enchanted Forest shared one simple truth: there was a block of time no one could account for. Whenever Emma or her parents tried to focus on that space, thinking back to her twenty-sixth birthday, there was a strange void where there should be at least some memory of the year. She could remember the celebratory ball and the night of her birthday, but every time she tried to focus on what came next it only earned her a persistent headache.

“Please don’t hate me, Emma,” Henry put a hand on her shoulder, bringing her back to the present. “I told him to meet me here three days after I arrived. That’s tonight. He’ll be here, and he knows what I believe about you two because he also knows my mother and her Killian. He’s, uh...not entirely convinced. He’s been through a lot, but…” He shrugged and gave her a lopsided smile.

“It’s his story to tell, so I won’t go into detail, just...go easy on the guy. He might be a little gun shy—uh, guarded,” he quickly clarified when he saw her blink in confusion. “I don’t think he’s seen anyone since that witch who duped him, led the coven, and tried to destroy Hyperion Heights. Think that might do a number on a guy.” He looked so sincere, so much like he did when telling all his other tales that Emma chose to believe. Henry hadn’t lied to her before, so what would the motivation be to do so now?

She chewed at her lip, fretting over what to do and how to greet someone who might be a part of her very soul--someone who had been through tricks and curses, and had suffered real loss. She couldn’t simply turn him out in the night, that was unthinkable, but what do you say to the other half of your heart? If that is what he is. This had to have been simpler for her mother. At least she’d simply caught her father in a net after robbing him. That seemed easier than calmly welcoming fate to dinner and introducing the man to your parents on day one.

“Well,” she got up and dusted off her breeches, “I suppose we’d best let my parents know we’re expecting another guest. And I may need to change as well. I think I’d rather not smell worse than the stables when I meet him.” Emma faltered on the last word, not knowing how to address Killian Jones. Henry smiled and followed her lead.

-----

One thorough and contemplative bath later, Emma emerged in a blush pink gown that shimmered softly in the waning sunlight. It had taken her three other dresses before she settled on this one. It was simpler than what she wore to galas and State events: tea length and embroidered in sheer flowers. She knew it would glow softly under the lights of the candles and torches at dinner, and Princess Emma Nolan found herself hoping he would like it.

When he arrived, it was Henry who greeted Killian Jones first, clasping the man’s hand and giving Emma a moment to simply observe. His smile was warm, a bright white flash of teeth and Emma noticed the slight creases at his eyes as well. An authentic smile, she noted, enjoying the genuine moment between the two men. He was dashing there was no other word for it--dressed in black and rich crimson, rings and charms gleaming in the firelight, their glimmer echoed in the silver strands that threaded here and there through his otherwise coal-black hair. Where his left hand ought to be, Emma found instead a polished silver hook and she remembered whispered gossip of a pirate captain referred to only by the moniker Hook. Once a fearsome leader of a brutal band of thieves, he had all but vanished into lore years ago. She realized too late that she’d been staring, and cleared her throat softly before curtseying to cover the awkwardness. Henry took the moment to introduce them, “Captain Killian Jones, may I present Emma Nolan, Princess of Misthaven.”

She offered her hand and Killian took it up, placing a chaste kiss across her knuckles. His eyes met hers, their brilliant lapis blue making her breath catch in her throat. Regardless of the formality of their meeting and the fact Henry, her parents, and several serving staff looked on, she felt the pull immediately. From the moment her hand was in his, it felt right. She wanted to keep hold of him more than she’d wanted anything in her life, wanted to memorize the rough calluses formed by his years at sea, but she forced herself to maintain propriety and brought her hand back to her side. Emma reminded herself they did not know one another, to not get swept up in Henry’s notions without evaluating the truth of the situation. Though she saw in his gaze a strange flicker of recognition, a brief knitting of his brow that asked a silent question she could not interpret, she let the moment pass and returned to her expected duties.

Emma introduced him to her parents, watching her father’s scrutinizing gaze contrast with her mother’s brilliant smile. No doubt her father was riddling out Henry’s purpose in inviting this man to dinner, though she couldn’t fathom him guessing the truth. All through dinner, Emma could barely take her eyes off Killian. He shared a few stories from his days at sea, talking of far-off kingdoms and uninhabited islands, and Emma felt a longing take hold of her as he spun a tale of a snow-covered northern kingdom where they carved elaborate ice sculptures, held firelight festivals, and celebrated the beauty of winter rather than fearing its chill. His voice was low, its velvet warmth wrapping around her and pulling her from all sense of time. The evening passed quickly, and long before she was ready, Emma’s parents stood to signal the end of the affair.

“It’s far too late for you to make a return journey, Captain Jones,” Queen Snow spoke. “We welcome you to stay as a guest in our home. We will have a room made up for you at once and hope you will accompany us for breakfast in the morning.” At his thanks, the Queen turned to Emma, “Oh, and Emma, darling?”

“Yes, Mother?”

Emma approached and her mother drew her in for a close hug, whispering softly, “See to it that Captain Jones can find his way. Most of the staff have already retired and I’d hate for him to get lost in search of rest.” With that, the Queen turned and gently tugged her husband toward their own chambers, leaving Emma to escort their two guests.

She could hear her father grumbling about leaving Emma unchaperoned, but Snow’s voice echoed back, “David, she’s twenty-eight, not sixteen, she’ll be fine. Our daughter is perfectly capable--” Their voices were lost as they rounded a corner, and Emma suppressed a smile. It didn’t matter that she was a full grown woman, her father would always be protective of her.

When she turned around, Emma realized Henry had vanished. Someone seems to think himself a matchmaker, she mused and as her eyes fell upon the man who waited by the fireplace she could understand why Henry had made himself scarce. Deep breath, Emma. He’s simply a man like any other. If she tried very hard, she just might convince herself of that. Well, unless she stopped to listen to the way her heart raced when the corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile.

“Did you want--that is,” she faltered and tripped over her tongue, coming to stand near him where he leaned against the back of a chair by the hearth. “I don’t know how long a trip you made today, and so…” Why was this so hard?

“I’m quite alright, Princess. Would it be terribly inappropriate of me to ask you to keep me company and perhaps share a drink?” She smiled in response, slipping a large book from a shelf over the mantle after pointing out where her father kept a set of glasses on a shelf nearby.

“He thinks I don’t know about this,” she opened the volume to reveal a bottle. “Rum he had imported from the south--is that acceptable, Captain?”

“Aye, that will do nicely. Bit of a pirate in you isn’t there, Princess? Pinching a man’s rum while he’s fast asleep.” They shared a conspiratorial grin as she poured and each took up a chair near the fire. “To what shall we toast, love?”

She hummed in thought, considering the man before her. The pull was still there like some invisible thread entwining the two of them and she hoped it wasn’t only she who felt it. “To new beginnings,” she offered, holding her glass aloft. He echoed the sentiment and crystal clinked as their eyes met over the rims of their glasses before both looked away shyly and took a sip. The warmth and spice slid down her throat, settling in her stomach and making her shiver. They were quiet for a time, simply sharing the space while they glanced at one another, eyes never quite meeting, nor acknowledging they were both performing the same dance.

“I take it dear Henry shared his theory with you?” Killian broke the silence, addressing the weight that had settled in the room. She confirmed he had shared that along with several other stories, asking if it were true he’d been swept away to a land without magic. “Aye, and for some time I had no memory of myself or this place. When the truth finally came back to me it was...difficult to deal with. Did he...mention Alice?” He swirled the rum in his glass, eyes flicking up to meet hers.

“Yes, he also mentioned a curse is keeping you apart,” she reached across the small distance that separated them, hand resting on the brace that held his hook. “Killian—if I may call you Killian,” she felt herself flush at the informality and he nodded encouragingly. She said it once more, feeling the musical quality of it as she continued. “What kind of monster keeps a father from his daughter like that?”

His shoulders sagged as he said the story of Gothel was one for another day, that it was a story filled with dark shadows he dare not conjure without the sunlight to dispel them. “I only mention Alice because...well, given what Henry has told both of us I have been...” his brow furrowed as he searched for a word, and she leaned forward, absently running her hand over his sleeve and feeling where the firm leather of his brace ended and the warmth of his arm began. His gaze dropped to where her hand rested and she looked up, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “Concerned,” he finished at last. “That is, I’d thought perhaps because I have a child with someone else, and because I am obviously older than you are, that you might feel...or not feel a certain…not that I think Henry is necessarily right…”

His words tapered off and she became very aware they were both leaning in now, the distance between them nearly closed. She could see the silver in his hair glinting in the firelight, the strands at his temples more greyed than the rest. Greedily, she took in all she could in this moment. The heat that radiated from where her hand still rested atop his arm, the scents of leather and petrichor that clung to him were so close she could nearly roll them on her tongue. When she searched his eyes she saw a lingering hurt, but behind that was what appeared to be cautious hope. Setting her glass aside, Emma brought her hand up, allowing herself to do what she’d been wanting to all evening and running her fingers through his hair. He held her gaze, eyes wide and uncertain and she realized his past hurts ran deep enough that he wouldn’t act on that hopeful glint she’d seen moments ago. She would have to be brave for both of them.

With a whisper of his name she closed what little distance remained between them. She’d intended a light brush of her lips, had simply wanted to know what may lie between them, but the moment their lips met Emma knew she would never be satisfied with so little. She poured herself into the moment, moving to grip the front of his shirt and pull him tightly to her. He followed her lead, their kiss deepening as he tilted his head, the two of them moving as though they had done this a hundred times before. She heard her pulse pounding away in her head, felt his breath ghosting over her lips as they breathed into one another for a moment before he captured her lips again. Something shifted then, like the single beat of a massive heart, a shockwave rippled outward, though neither could be bothered to break this moment. Finally, the two pulled back, eyes searching one another.

“Was that?” Emma asked, not knowing how to complete the thought. Her parents had told her their story several times: the kiss that broke the curse. The kiss that radiated out from them in a burst of force and light. The kiss that sounded an awful lot like what she had just shared with Captain Killian Jones.

Killian rested his forehead against hers, breathing out slowly before replying in a soft voice, “Aye love, I think it may have been.” She asked how that was possible, neither naming it yet and both quaffing their rum before leaning back in their chairs. “Years ago,” he began, “I ran into a fortune teller on the docks. He told me I would find my happiness though it was presently locked away in a tall tower. So, when the time came and I found myself facing a witch and finding a woman locked away in a tower I had thought my moment had come. Instead, I found Gothel and her tricks. I brought a daughter into this world only to have her freedom snatched away by the cold-hearted woman who bore her.”

Emma watched him closely, he seemed far away and lost in another time. “Tonight,” he continued after several beats, “when I saw the westward tower of this castle I had to stifle my hope that perhaps after so long--what is that tower to you?” He leaned toward her suddenly, his sapphire eyes searching hers as though he could read the truth within them.

“My bedroom,” she admitted. “My parents thought it would keep me safe. With only one known entrance and exit, it was easy to post guards and easy to know who sought my attention. Of course, there is another exit, but no one other than me knows of it. I devised it when I was sixteen and desperately wanted a way out without the entourage of guards.”

He fell silent, his forehead creased in thought as he tapped a finger against the bow of his lips. The mantle clock’s rhythmic ticking was nearly deafening as Emma waited through each drawn out second. Mesmerized by the path he now traced along his bottom lip, her mind drifted back to the soft press of his mouth against hers and she wished fervently to undo whatever had him so lost in his own thoughts. Come back to me, Killian, she sighed aloud and he snapped to attention. “My apologies, love. I believe I may be in need of rest.” His explanation rang hollow and she leveled a gaze at him, knowing this wasn’t the full truth.

“I swear to you, Princess, I will make my theories known. I do not intend to hide anything from you.” He stood then, stretching languidly before offering his arm and waiting for her to rise. She acquiesced if only for the chance to feel the warmth of him once more before she retired for the night. She tried to stifle her yawn behind her hand and heard him chuckle low in response. “It seems I may not be the only one in need of sleep. Lead the way, love.”

She led him to one of the guest rooms not far from Henry’s. As she bid him goodnight, Killian leaned down to brush a featherlight kiss across her lips, wishing her sweet dreams. Emma felt as though she floated on air the whole way up to her room, content to leave him to his musings tonight and trusting he would speak his mind soon enough.

----- The morning saw Emma waking earlier than usual, calling a chipper “Good morning” to her sleep-rumpled lady’s maid before dismissing her and attending to her own routine. Still abed at this hour? It seems dear Tink has been keeping late hours herself. She let herself ponder whose affections might be persuading the spunky blonde to be less than punctual, smiling at her reflection as she brushed out her golden tresses.

Once ready, Emma hummed to herself, making her way down the innumerable stairs in search of breakfast, her parents, and Killian--the thought made her grin. His sudden shift into contemplativeness notwithstanding, he had been the perfect gentleman last night. Thoughtful in their discussion at dinner, genuine and curious without overstepping, and then there was the kiss. She flushed, pausing before the dining room doors to gather her thoughts and put on what she hoped was a soft smile rather than the doe-eyed look she’d undoubtedly been wearing since she woke.

Her parents, Henry, and Killian were already seated when she entered--the latter both rising and inclining their heads in deference. “Good morning, Princess,” they intoned in unison. She laughed, insisting they sit and continue the conversation she had interrupted, taking her place at her father’s right hand and quietly thanking the servingman who filled her cup with coffee and cream.

“Killian, you were asking about the tower, yes?” Queen Snow offered an encouraging half-smile before sipping demurely at her tea. At this, Emma heard her father mutter under his breath about the Captain inquiring about his daughter’s bedroom.

“Yes. You see, Your Majesty, I can’t help but notice it is nearly identical--from the outside,” he clarified at her father’s rapidly reddening face, “to one I encountered years ago. That particular structure was the residence of a rather powerful witch.”

“Gothel,” her father spat, and all eyes shifted to him. Emma saw Killian’s jaw clench at the name and he gave a single, curt nod in affirmation.

With her mother’s hand resting on his shoulder, her father began the story she’d heard many times over the course of her life. The story of how Gothel heard the regents were expecting and deduced there would be a child born of the most powerful magic in all realms: True Love. That she knew as well that child would have light magic, and that even if it never manifested there would be power in their blood. It was the story of why Emma’s parent’s fortified their home so heavily once word of Gothel’s covetous wish reached them, and why they insisted she train with sword and bow.

“It’s why my little girl was taught to ride like a soldier and not a courtier. Hell, it’s why I gave into her frankly dangerous wishes and allowed her to learn to sail--in case she needed to escape quickly.”

“Does it help to know Gothel can’t harm anyone anymore?” Henry offered helpfully, trying to lighten the weight that had settled on the group. There was general agreement at the table that, yes, it did help. Quite a lot, in fact, and it felt as though the sun broke out from beneath the clouds as they returned to their breakfast.

“Is that what you were concerned about, Captain?” Emma caught herself in time and used his title, not yet ready to have that discussion with her parents.

“The thought had crossed my mind, Princess, but it seems your own construction must have inspired hers for some reason.” He dismissed the thought, though she could practically hear the gears of his mind grinding away. The conversation returned to banal pleasantries about the weather and what game was in season. Her father consulted Killian on the conditions at sea, and in general the rest of the meal was like any other. Like any other meal you share with your family, a new friend, and the man you just shared True Love’s Kiss with less than eight hours after meeting him. Perfectly normal. Emma put on her court smile and commented politely, waiting for her moment to pounce.

“Join me for a walk in the gardens, Captain?” The moment arrived after a lengthy debate about the benefits of traveling by horse in comparison to ship. Thank the gods for the momentary lull as her father’s cup was refilled yet again - Emma didn’t think there was enough coffee in the whole of Misthaven to keep her alert on this topic.

“Of course, Princess.” He smiled bashfully, running his hand through his hair and standing as she rose. “May I?” He offered his arm and she accepted, the two making a long overdue exit.

The grass was still damp as they walked the grounds, the morning sun hinting at a warm day to come despite the slight chill that had Emma leaning in close, basking in the warm line of contact with Killian. “So, what was it you held back up there?” She broke the silence and watched the arch of his brow as he glanced at her. “I’ve always known when people are dishonest, or not fully honest in this case,” she explained. “It’s a feeling, sort of like a rock settling into my stomach. I don’t know if it’s part of my magic or something else,” she shrugged at this and watched his expression shift from curiosity to contemplation. No doubt he was thinking up a way to explain whatever was plaguing his mind.

He remained in that state as they passed her mother’s bed of crimson roses and all the way through the lilies that always made her nose twitch, their heady scent overpowering. Spotting the bench she and Henry had sat on—was that only yesterday?—she took the lead, turning to face him as they sat.

“There are some strange coincidences,” he began. Their knees brushed and she leaned into the contact, hoping her touch might ground him in the present. His past included darkness, and here in the bright morning sun amongst the flowers she hoped to keep those grim memories at bay.

“The tower is the first of them, and I’ve no idea which came first. Given Gothel’s numerous deceits, I’m not inclined to believe any of her tales nor any of Belfry’s—the woman who claimed to be the missing princess, Rapunzel,” he clarified when he saw her puzzled look. “Did you know the witch?”

She shook her head, “Only what my parents told me: that she was interested in my magic and had a reputation for taking what she desired by force.” He expressed clear agreement, and when his focus became distant Emma took hold of both hand and hook. “Whatever it is, that doesn’t change who we are to one another, Killian.”

That must have heartened him, for it earned her a gentle smile. “Aye, love, I suppose you’re right. You see, the other strangeness was Gothel’s impersonation. I’ve never given it much thought, but why should she play at being a princess? I’d no notion who the woman was, yet she changed her appearance, her voice, her name. Why?” He hypothesized then that either Gothel bribed the fortune-teller, planting the man in Killian’s path with a bogus story about happiness in a tower, or that she somehow knew Emma would be important and hedged her bets by occupying her own tower and putting herself in Killian’s path.

“You see, I’ve considered the strangeness of these overlaps and in part I wonder if one of the gifts she or a fellow witch of her coven acquired was prophecy. She seemed to know far more than anyone ought to, and perhaps thought to entrap me and use me to get to you.

“If she knew we were, uh,” he gulped, and flushed a charming shade of pink all the way to his ears. “Destined for one another, then it would be well within her character to exploit that. To make me think she could lead me to my happiness, then snatch you away for her own nefarious purposes. As well, I’m starting to suspect the unaccounted year the townsfolk allude to may well have been a longer span of time than any of you realize.”

It made sense in a way, and while they couldn’t be certain of Gothel’s intentions, Emma was definitely grateful the woman was gone and could do them no further harm. As far as The Gap was concerned, she supposed there was no real way of knowing how much time had passed, only that it seemed like a year. Had she slept as Aurora once had? Every answer seemed to lead to more questions, but Emma resolved herself to focusing on what mattered most first: reuniting Killian with his Alice.

“Despite her purposes, Killian, whatever they may have been,” she reached up and cupped his cheek. His eyes were blue as the sea and she let herself fall into their depths as she brought him back to the present. “Last night, Killian, True Love’s Kiss is potent magic and I think—I’m almost certain, actually—that we broke your curse. We can find Alice, and you can finally hold your daughter in your arms again.”

“We?” He grinned at her, nuzzling against her hand before turning to kiss her palm. “Then you’ll accompany me, love?”

“Of course! I know we’ve only just met, but I think it’s more than obvious how I feel about you given the fact we broke a witch’s curse with our first kiss.” They shared a laugh, shifting so she could rest her head against his shoulder as he draped his arm around her.

“She’s a bit different, my Alice,” he cautioned.

“And we aren’t?” she challenged. “Tonight at dinner, let me handle my parents. We’ll tell them what happened and make plans to seek out Alice. Henry said she’s with someone called Robin—does that name mean anything to you?”

“Aye, that’s Alice’s love. I know where to find them.”

“Then that’s our next course. Reuniting you with your daughter is the first step toward, well, I guess…” she paused, pulling back to meet his gaze again. “I guess toward becoming a family, right? I mean, my parents will have questions and all things considered, I guess we have other planning we’ll need to do in the future, but—“ he cut off her monologue with a kiss. It was sweet and slow, like he was trying to memorize the feel of her lips on his. His tongue flirted with her bottom lip and she twined her fingers in his hair.

Pulling back to meet her eyes, Killian smiled. “I love you, Princess Emma Nolan,” he whispered.

She felt warm all the way to her toes, grinning as she replied, “I love you, Captain Killian Jones.” The two shared a lingering kiss, the spell suddenly broken by a loud whoop of excitement.

“I told you both!” Henry hollered, emerging from his hiding place behind a large oak tree and performing some bizarre dance Emma had never seen. The three laughed, Henry congratulating them on their newly blossoming relationship while Emma and Killian thanked him for the unlooked-for but welcome help.

“What can I say except: you’re welcome.” His smile was bright at the sun and he slung an arm over both their shoulders, walking between them as the three returned to the house and, for Emma and Killian, toward the start of a new life together.

Tagging the usual suspects: @kmomof4, @teamhook, @veryverynotgood, @caught-in-the-filter, @hollyethecurious, @laschatzi, @donteattheappleshook, @lonelyspectator12, @the-darkdragonfly, @zaharadessert, @winterbaby89, @jrob64, @wefoundloveunderthelight, @ultraluckycatnd, @stahlop, @alexa-fangirl-forever, @superchocovian, @monosalvatore16, @snowbellewells, @batana54

#love4teamhook #cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fan fic #cs fluff #emma swan #killian jones #henry mills

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anjuschiffer · 4 years ago

Text

Amira Wayne - Chapter 7

:3c

I exchanged @biodad-bruce-month‘s Day 7: Fashion Show with Fight!

Chapter 7: Fight

P.Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo @elijahcrevan

Tag: @vixen-uchiha @we-want-mini-mini @ramos123 @bluesimani @redscarlet95 @greatcatblaze @promiswords

MASTERLIST | FIRST | PREV | AO3

Amira looked at the white board inside her walk-in closet, reviewing the new information she got last night. During last night’s patrol, Amira took a break halfway through, using the time to ask Tikki more questions regarding the miraculous.

They were earrings, which thankfully, can shift in design but can’t change its original form: earrings.

So here was Amira, sporting all black studs. Simple and hidden in plain sight. Amira also found out that the appearance of the earrings can always be changed as Tikki doesn’t have to use too much energy to do so. Therefore, Amira has been planning on changing its appearance after every akuma attack, an easy tactic to see exactly how much Hawkmoth himself knows about the Ladybug miraculous.

Next up, her yo-yo. Turns out that it’s more than just that. While it works as a tracker and phone, it only works when Amira is transformed. No yo-yo, no way to communicate with Chat. Because of this, Amira decided to get him a burner phone to make sure the two can communicate outside the suit. Will also help in case they have to communicate during an energy break while there is an akuma.

Her costume. Thankfully, Tikki had told her that it morphs into whichever design the holder has in their head. With more concentration on the design, the more the costume will have what the holder would want. After patrol, Amira made it her mission to get the utility belt in her design and after plenty of trial and errors, Amira got it.

Now she had smoke pellets, a taser, a small utility knife and a first aid kit at her disposal. Of course, the belt came with a price - her dagger.

Brushing out her hair, Amira looked at her reflection. She always hated having long hair. While Dick always told her that he liked her hair when it was long (because he liked braiding it for her), Amira never took a shine to having long hair.

It was a hassle to brush out, to clean. During track (even though she was only on the team for two years), Amira hated seeing other girls have their lucky amulets in their hair. A special pin or hair tie from their fathers and sometimes from their-

“-to Marinette!” Tikki yelled, snapping Amira from her trip down memory hell.

“Tikki, I live across the school. I won’t be late.” Marinette stated, continuing to stare at her reflection.

“I know that, but your phone has been buzzing nonstop!” Tikki said, showing her the multiple texts she was receiving.

Marinette took it, smiling when she saw they were from Wally and Dick, telling her to have a better day at school than yesterday’s disaster. “Are they from your friends?”

“You can say that.” Marinette said, tucking her phone into her pocket, looking at her reflection once again. “Tikki. Can you grab my fabric scissors on the table near my monitors?”

“It suits you.” Alya randomly told Marinette after the end of their first class. “Your hair, I mean. Don’t think I didn’t notice it.” Marinette simply blinked, wondering why people always said a compliment before bringing up their actual motives. “Name’s Alya-”

“-Cesaire. I know. Now if you excuse me, I have a class to get to.” Marinette filled in, getting up to leave, only for Alya to grab her wrist. “Let go.”

“Sorry!” Alya apologized, letting go of Marinette. “I just...I just wanted to tell you that you were a bit too harsh on Mlle Bustier yesterday. You should apologize.” Alya didn’t expect a scoff from Marinette.

“I’m not going to apologize for standing up for what I know is right.”

“Mlle Bustier-”

“-should’ve done her job correctly instead of enabling, especially now that Hawkmoth is a threat. But even with Hawkmoth out of the picture, Ms.Bustier shouldn’t have just assumed it was Ivan who instigated the argument. There’s always two sides of a story and we should always make it our job to figure out who is right. Sometimes, we even figure out why things happened the way they did. Sometimes, we find out we are wrong and when that happens, we have to accept it. If not, how else will we grow?”

With those words, Marinette gave Alya a little bow before going to her next class. Hopefully Marinette can find M. D'Argencourt during her break to try and convince him to let her join the fencing club...again.

“Well, that went easier than I thought.” Marinette told herself, walking down the school steps. M. D'Argencour had happily accepted her into the team, proceeding to tell her the team’s schedule.

While it took a while to hunt the coach down, Marinette was about to find him towards the end of the day.

“Why exactly do you want to know fencing?” Tikki asked her from the pocket inside her sweater.

“I just found it...interesting.” Marinette lied, knowing she couldn’t tell Tikki that her father never let her take up the hobby. While Bruce had allowed Jason to learn how to use a sword, Jason quickly dropped it. Dick was also taught how to use a sword, but he complained how annoying it would be to carry it around, hence the reason why he carries escrima sticks.

While fencing wasn’t the same, fencing will help her gain more skills she can use during her fights. You never know after all.

After greeting Tom and Sabine and squishing Bridgette’s cheeks, Marinette made her way to her room, only to find him in there...again.

“If it’s about the Miraculous, I’m still not giving it to you.” Amira said, throwing her school bag to the floor. She whispered the renouncing spell before reaching into her jewelry box, where countless dupes rested. Oh how she wanted to cackle when she saw her father look at her with wide eyes.

“Amira, hand them over.” Bruce ordered, stretching out his hand in hopes of Amira doing the correct thing.

“Why won’t you trust me?” Amira gritted, balling her fists. “Why don’t you trust me to do the right thing?”

“I do trust you.” Bruce said, taking a step forward. “That’s why I expect you-”

“I can’t just hand earrings over! The people need me! They need Ladybird to-”

“You don’t need to be running around Paris playing hero, Amira. Let Diana-”

“Must I remind you that I was given the earrings? It’s me who they want! Me! And no! I’m not playing hero! Hell, I’m not even a hero! I’m a vigilante! I’m doing what’s right by being Ladybird, by protecting the people the only way I can.” Amira reasoned, looking at her father. “And trust? Doesn’t that go both ways?” Amira set out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding in. “After all, when were you going to tell me about Batgirl? About...the new Robin?”

How Amira wanted to scream when Bruce remained silent.

“How did you find out?” Amira scoffed.

“Find out? The whole internet was talking about it! My class was talking about just earlier today!”

It happened during break. Just as Marinette was leaving the class, she bumped into the second surprise of the day in the form of teen model Adrien Agreste.

Adrien apologized for the accident when Chloe pulled him into the class and began to ‘teach’ him what it meant to be part of a school. The only reason Marinette even remained in class at that point was because she heard Adrien talk about this being his first time in a school...meaning that up until now, he had been homeschooled all his life.

Kinda how like she was up until she was around seven to eight years old. But to be homeschooled until 13? How lonely he must have been. Especially when she heard he was the only child at home.

You’re really ungrateful.

Marinette stiffened, feeling her heart pick up in pace upon remembering Jason’s words. She already knew that...she knew, but was it wrong of her to want something else? To want to have something different than what she currently had?

As Marinette was fighting off the beginnings of a breakdown, Alya’s sudden burst almost triggered it.

“Since when did Robin come back to Gotham?!” Alya yelled, rising from her seat.

Marinette didn’t need to hear any more, running out of the classroom and locking herself into one of the girl’s bathroom stalls. While she hated having breakdowns, Amira was glad to have had one, as it helped her gained more insight on how Hawkmoth’s powers worked.

He can’t control you if you’re in the middle of an emotional breakdown and can’t register his words. In other words, he can’t control you if you’re already out of control.

Guess it’s good to know that if Joker were to ever come to Paris, Hawkmoth wouldn’t be able to take over him.

Amira looked at her father, awaiting for his response. “Under different circumstances, I would have forgiven you for replacing Jason with another guy. But it hasn’t been a year since he died and you’ve already replaced him.

You know how Jason felt, you know he lived with the fear of doing a single thing that would give you a reason to kick him out of the manor. And while you always assured him you would never do that, here you are, doing just that.” Amira watched as her vision went blurry, wiping them away as she collected herself again.

“I wasn’t replacing-“

“You were. You are. And not only have you replaced Jason, but it seems you’ve also replaced me.” Amira looked at herself. “Batgirl? Really? You know that was the name I wanted to use if you ever let me fight crime alongside you. Of course, that never happened.”

“Amira.”

“At this point, I don’t care what you do.” Amira gripped all the turmoil inside her. “Right now. I just want you to leave.”

“Amira.”

“Leave! I don’t want to see your face Bruce!” Amira yelled, shocking herself at her outburst.

Bruce? Why did it feel so wrong, yet so right? She tried it again. “I don’t want you anywhere near me Bruce, so leave! Just leave!”

And he did.

As she watched Bruce leave her room with a heavy heart, she slumped to the floor, standing back up when she felt something approach her. “Tikki!” Tikki appeared before her. “Spots on!” A second later, an akuma appeared before her, Amira quickly capturing it. Before letting it go, Amira quickly searched for a glass jar and a box in her desk.

She let the now purified butterfly go into the jar, surprised to see that it didn’t phase through the jar. So it was just a normal butterfly after all. When coated in magic, the magic allowed it to phase through whatever it wanted to to ensure that it made it to its target.

Calling off her transformation, Amira quickly got to work, carefully placing a tracker on the butterfly’s wing.

“Are you alright, Marinette?” Tikki asked, looking at her holder with worried eyes.

“I’m alright Tikki. I’m alright.”

No, she wasn’t alright.

The next day at school, Chloe tried to stick gum in her seat as a revenge plan for once again chewing out Mlle Bustier for allowing Chloe to interrupt the classroom with another one of her stupid excuses. Not to mention Chloe using her father’s position to get away with said excuse.

It didn’t help when Marinette was stuck with Alya trying to ask her about her past in Gotham and Alya claiming to be her friend.

They barely knew each other and this girl was already clinging to her like a newborn chick.

While Marinette tried to avoid her at all costs, Alya always found her, Marinette hating it. Didn’t she know about personal space?

Her week got worse when Chat accepted the burner phone but refused to be trained by her. Something about him not needing it.

Thankfully, she was able to vent to Dick and Wally, although more to Wally since Dick was busy with university.

Days went by and even then, Amira knew she was never going to adjust to life in Paris.

It’s only been four akumas and this city already thinks they saved the world.

While technically they saved Paris, Ladybird and Chat have yet to fight off a Victim that can become a potential threat to the world. Bubbler and Mr.Pigeon weren’t exactly the worst to deal with, but they weren’t the easiest to take down either. As for Stormy Weather and Lady Wifi, Ladybird realized that it was Victims like them who posed a threat to France. Victims with intangible powers were a force to be reckoned with after all.

But just because the duo saved Paris four times, it didn’t mean their work was done. They had yet to find out who Hawkmoth was.

Oh, did she mention the ridiculous statue they made in her and Chat’s honor because of the four Victims they took down so far? Long story short, she didn’t go to the ceremony and Chat must’ve told the artist something stupid because here they were. Fighting a Victim all thanks to Chat and his loud mouth.

“Chat! Stop trying to regain your honor and let me-” Ladybird yelled, only to get pushed back by his bo.

“No! This is my fight!” Chat hissed, attempting to land a hit on his copycat. Copycat grinned as he parried all of Chat’s hits, flinging Chat’s bo to the side when he saw an opening.

“He’s good.” Chat said, landing next to Ladybug as he retreated. Ladybird scoffed, gaining an arched brow from her partner.

“He’s good? Got some pretty low standards there Chat. Have you ever seen Nightwing in combat? This guy is nothing compared to him.” With that, Ladybird charged into the fight, picking up Chat’s bo and using it against Copycat.

The two fought, Ladybird noticing Copycat starting to hit her with less force, more sloppily. He was starting to become more aggressive, half of his hits missing.

“Chat! Switch!” Ladybird yelled, knocking Copycat’s staff from his hands and throwing Chat his own back to him.

With Chat distracting Copycat, Ladybird waited for the perfect- there!

Chat had launched Copycat into the air, Ladybird using this to wrap him with her yo-yo and slamming him down. Holding him down, Ladybird turned to Chat.

“Where’s his akuma?”

“Here!” Chat said, taking out a photo from Copycat’s pocket. Ripping it, it released the akuma, Ladybird unwrapping her yo-yo and capturing the akuma. Now purified and having the tracker implanted, Ladybird released the butterfly.

“Miraculous Ladybug!” Ladybird watched as everything was returned and fixed. Turning to Chat, she glared at him. “I’ll be done here in a few minutes. Meet you at the rendezvous in a few.”

#maribat #bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #bio!dadbrucewaynemonth2020 #b!dbwm2020

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