#but a season of them being at odds? with the tension and the longing stares and the ACTING?? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

phatburd · 23 days ago

Text

Title: The Marshal’s Court

Genre: Romantic Dramedy (In the style of Bridgerton)

Setting: The First French Empire, Napoleon’s Marshals as the central characters

Season 1, Episode 6: “Explosions, Eclairs, and Confessions”

Episode Synopsis:

Tensions explode both on the battlefield and in the hearts of the Marshals in Episode 6 of The Marshal’s Court. Davout and Bernadotte’s feud finally reaches a boiling point, threatening the unity of Napoleon’s forces, while Junot teeters on the edge of a mental breakdown, though Soult’s surprisingly kind gesture gives him a brief moment of calm. Meanwhile, the Bessimu ship officially sets sail as Murat and Bessières share a long-awaited kiss—but the aftermath is anything but smooth as Bessières is overcome with guilt and runs to confession. In a comedic subplot, Eugène reappears yet again, but the Marshals (and viewers) are still puzzled by his presence.

Opening Scene: Davout vs. Bernadotte – The Confrontation

The episode opens with Davout and Bernadotte in yet another heated argument, this time in front of Napoleon and several other Marshals. The tension that has been building throughout the season finally erupts. Bernadotte, feeling threatened by Davout’s increasing influence over military decisions, accuses him of being too rigid and controlling.

“Perhaps if you weren’t so obsessed with perfection, we might actually win these battles faster,” Bernadotte snaps.

Davout, ever the ice-cold professional, glares back. “Or perhaps if you spent more time preparing your troops and less time playing politics, you’d understand what it takes to win a real campaign.”

Napoleon watches with growing amusement, but when Bernadotte takes the insults too far, accusing Davout of being a “soulless machine,” Davout finally loses his cool. The usually composed Marshal lunges forward, and the two are only barely separated by Lannes and Ney.

Masséna and Augereau, watching from the sidelines like the show’s own Statler and Waldorf, exchange snide remarks.

Masséna smirks, “At this point, we should just let them fight. It’d be faster.”

Augereau shrugs. “My money’s on Davout. The man’s a walking cannon.”

Fan Reactions: The long-awaited Davout vs. Bernadotte confrontation does not disappoint. Fans are thrilled by the intensity of the scene, with #TeamDavout and #TeamBernadotte trending again. One fan tweets, “Davout would have ended Bernadotte if Lannes hadn’t stepped in, and you know it!” Another meme shows Napoleon smirking in the background, captioned “Just another day in the life of Napoleon’s drama factory.”

The Masséna and Augereau commentary remains a fan favorite, with fans calling them “the MVPs of snark” and flooding social media with gifs of their sarcastic remarks.

Junot and the Eclair: A Sweet Moment in a Storm

Junot is clearly struggling, his mental state continuing to decline. He’s been erratic throughout the episode, mumbling to himself, pacing in circles, and staring blankly at walls. His friends, particularly Lannes, are increasingly concerned, but no one seems to know how to reach him.

Enter Soult, who, in a surprising twist, decides to send Junot an éclair as a small gesture of kindness. He has noticed Junot’s odd behavior but doesn’t press him—he just sends the pastry along with a simple note: “You looked like you needed something sweet today. – Soult”

When Junot receives the éclair, he pauses for a moment, looking down at the pastry with an expression of confused gratitude. After a few beats, he takes a bite, and for the first time in the episode, a small, contented smile appears on his face. It’s a brief moment of calm in the storm, but it’s enough to suggest that Junot hasn’t completely lost himself—yet.

Fan Reactions: Fans are touched by this unexpected moment of kindness from Soult. Memes of Junot smiling while eating the éclair quickly go viral, with captions like “Sometimes, all you need is an éclair.” One fan tweets, “Soult didn’t just bake an éclair; he baked a lifeline for Junot.” The #SaveJunot movement picks up steam again, with fans hoping that Soult’s gesture might be the first step in turning Junot’s fate around.

The Kiss: Murat and Bessières Finally Kiss

The Bessimu ship sails gloriously in Episode 6, as Murat and Bessières finally share the long-awaited kiss that fans have been clamoring for. It happens during a quiet moment after another formal event, when the two Marshals find themselves alone in the palace gardens. Murat, ever the charismatic and daring one, moves in closer to Bessières, who seems torn between his feelings and his sense of duty.

“Murat, we can’t,” Bessières mutters, his voice shaky.

But Murat gives him that roguish smile and replies, “I think we already have.”

The tension builds as Murat gently touches Bessières’ cheek, and finally, the two share a passionate kiss under the moonlit sky. It’s tender, heartfelt, and everything fans hoped it would be—until Bessières pulls away suddenly, his face stricken with guilt.

“I… I can’t,” Bessières says, almost panicking, before running off toward the palace. Murat is left standing alone, clearly frustrated but not surprised.

Fan Reactions: The Bessimu kiss breaks the internet. Fans flood social media with reactions, artwork, and theories. #Bessimu trends immediately, with fans celebrating the moment while also expressing heartbreak over Bessières’ reaction. One fan posts a meme of Bessières running to the palace with the caption, “When you kiss Murat but remember you’re Catholic.” Another meme shows Murat watching Bessières flee, captioned “Murat: ‘What did I do?’ Bessières: ‘What did I just do?!’”

Bessières’ Confession

The aftermath of the kiss sees Bessières spiraling into guilt. Overcome by his religious convictions and internal conflict, he rushes to a nearby church and immediately seeks out a priest for confession. The scene is somber and intense, with Bessières kneeling in the confessional, his face filled with torment.

“Father, I’ve sinned,” Bessières whispers, his voice heavy with emotion. “I’ve let myself be led astray.”

The priest listens quietly as Bessières pours out his guilt, but the scene ends with the priest offering no easy answers—just silence. Bessières leaves the church, still deeply conflicted.

Fan Reactions: The confession scene adds layers to Bessières’ character, and fans react strongly. #ConflictedBessières trends as fans debate whether Bessières will ever reconcile his feelings for Murat with his deep Catholic faith. One fan tweets, “Someone get Bessières some therapy because he’s not okay!” The kiss and the confession create a whirlwind of fan theories, with many speculating that Bessières’ struggle is far from over.

Eugène: Still Here, Still Confusing

In another comedic subplot, Eugène appears yet again, wandering into the Marshals’ strategy session with no apparent reason for being there. As usual, the other Marshals barely acknowledge him, except for Lannes, who shoots him a confused look.

“Why are you even here?” Lannes asks bluntly.

Eugène shrugs, clearly unsure himself, and responds, “I thought I could be of help.”

No one responds, and the scene cuts to Masséna and Augereau once again, exchanging glances.

Masséna mutters, “Does anyone actually know what he does?”

Augereau grins. “I’m starting to think he’s a ghost.”

Fan Reactions: Fans love the ongoing mystery of Eugène’s presence. Memes flood social media with captions like, “Eugène: The man, the myth, the mystery,” and “Eugène: Here for moral support and… what else, exactly?” The character’s repeated but unexplained appearances spark a fan theory that Eugène is a stand-in for the audience, someone just as confused by the Marshals as the viewers are.

Closing Scene: Tensions Rise

The episode ends with a tense scene between Napoleon and his Marshals, where he addresses the growing fractures within his inner circle. Davout and Bernadotte stand on opposite sides of the room, glaring at each other, while Bessières looks deeply troubled after his confession, and Murat avoids looking at him altogether.

“I need unity,” Napoleon declares, his tone sharp. “Not petty squabbles. Remember, gentlemen, we are here to conquer Europe, not each other.”

The camera lingers on the strained faces of the Marshals as the tension in the room builds. The episode ends on a cliffhanger, leaving viewers wondering how long this fragile unity will last.

Fan Reactions: The ending leaves fans buzzing with anticipation. Speculation about the growing tension between Davout and Bernadotte is rampant, with many fans predicting an all-out confrontation in future episodes. The Bessimu kiss dominates online discussions, with fans debating whether Bessières will be able to reconcile his feelings for Murat or if this will tear them apart.

One meme shows Napoleon watching his Marshals with the caption, “Napoleon: I didn’t sign up to be a babysitter.” Another popular theory suggests that Junot’s situation will soon become central to the plot, with fans eager to see how the Marshals will handle his decline.

Teasers for Episode 7:

• Junot’s mental state worsens, and the Marshals must decide how to intervene—before it’s too late.

• Murat struggles with his feelings for Bessières, while Bessières seeks guidance on how to move forward.

• Davout and Bernadotte’s rivalry takes a dangerous turn, and Napoleon is forced to step in with drastic measures.

• Soult faces an unexpected challenge that threatens both his military career and his newfound role as the group’s resident chef.

The teasers leave fans on the edge of their seats, eager for more drama, romance, and the inevitable conflicts that are brewing within The Marshal’s Court.

#napoleonic shitpost #napoleon bonaparte #napoleon's marshals #ai hell #napoleonic era #i think it was at this point i kind of gave up trying to direct the narrative #the marshal’s court

3 notes · View notes

kiroenthusiast · 2 years ago

Text

The Essence of Youth - Chapter 1

A slice-of-life romance/drama that takes place in the fictional nation of Rito.

[Chapter 1: Return]

As Kiara stares up at the old house, a mixture of emotions collide together inside of her, to the point where she can't even identify how she truly feels coming back to this place. To this abandoned house she once called home, along with the abandoned memories and feelings of a life up until four years ago.

Rito -- once her home, then only her past. And surprisingly, now her present as well.

She refrains from looking at the house next door, that of the da Silvas, all the while chastising herself for being so self-conscious about it. It's been four years, Kiara tells herself, things have changed. When she and her family had moved from here, she had lost any and all connection to this place, the only remaining proof of their life being the old house that still stood in front of her, which they never ended up selling off.

She notices the big mango tree with a swing attached to it in her former neighbour's front yard, and her mind takes her to memories from a decade ago, where she sees herself playing with a pair of twins, the same age as her, a boy and a girl, Luke and Lucy da Silva. She remembers them having the same kind of laugh and the same kind of eyes - honey brown - and yet completely different personalities.

For as long as she can remember, the three of them were always together, since the time they were toddlers... until she had to move away four years ago.

And three and a half years later, Lucy passed away, along with their parents.

Kiara's chest throbs painfully. She tries to shake off those memories and walks to her front door, getting out her long since unused keys and inserting them into the key hole. Upon opening the door, the sudden smell of dust and must that hits her makes her physically cringe and she mentally prepares herself for the long and arduous task of cleaning ahead of her.

By the time she's done, it's close to midnight, and Kiara's spent by the time she gets into the shower. The pleasantly warm water soothes her aching muscles and she almost wants to throw herself onto her bed and go to sleep once she's out, but her stomach prevents her from doing so.

She heads to the kitchen for a light dinner, making herself some slightly moist scrambled eggs, fried seasoned vegetables and two well buttered slices of a baguette. As she sits alone in the dining area, surrounded by silence, she goes over the recent events and how things lead to her coming here. The toxic environment back home, the surmounting stress, and the desperate need to break free...

Simply put, she's running away.

Feeling the need for a change of pace, Kiara came here, a place familiar enough for her to live by herself. And yet, she wonders if she's just walking into another landmine by coming back. After all, when she left, she had to let go of the one thing she never dreamed of being apart from.

Her two best friends.

Luke and Lucy. The twins that lived next door, as well as her companions that had accompanied her since the three of them were in dippers. They'd share everything together and always be there for each other, through thick and thin, like the Three Musketeers, all for one and one for all. And being an only child, Kiara had valued their friendship more than anything.

All that changed in middle school, though.

During their second year in middle school, a fisure seemed to form in their relationship, especially between Luke and Lucy, but at the time, Kiara had been too busy submerged in her own feelings to have noticed the odd tension between them. After all, they'd constantly fight even before then. But while time passed, Lucy seemed to dislike her brother more and more. And as for Luke... he seemed to have a lot on his mind to even care.

Before she knew it, she had been spending time with both of them separately. She'd spend lunch and class hours with Lucy, while she'd find herself walking home with Luke after school since Lucy would be busy with class rep work for extra credit. But the three of them were rarely caught together since then.

And while they were in the height of that mess, struggling with themselves and their feelings, her father had received a promotion and a job transfer to Canada. And without saying a proper goodbye to either of them, she'd left.

Kiara pauses and glances at her now empty plate where only food stains remain. She wonders if it all started because of her; the distance and alienation; because during that time she'd been wrapped up in feelings she'd never experienced before. She'd often find herself sighing and catch herself day-dreaming on more than one occassion.

Such was her state after falling in love.

And falling in love with someone she never should have loved.

Not love, Kiara convinces herself. It was just a tiny hopeless crush... And it doesn't matter now, anyway. She thinks that if she repeats those thoughts over and over again, it would somehow become true.

After washing her dish and brushing her teeth, she heads back to her room and turns out the light, throwing herself onto the matress almost instantly. Her head sinks into the softness of her pillow and she breathes out a soft sigh of relief.

She almost fails to notice to lights still on in the house next door, but even in her heavily fatigued state, when she finds sillouettes of illumination projected on her bedside curtains, she feels her heart rate quicken at the possibility behind it.

He's... here.

Her body tenses. She almost forgets to breath.

She pictures him as the boy from her memories: a slightly tall, lanky kid with an impossibly beautiful smile who always had a sweet, yet sincere thing to say to anyone he met. Hardworking, calm and mature, yet always outshined by his twin sister in every aspect. She wonders if he knows she's there, and wether he even cares.

The thought of having to face him now that she's this close to him again scares her. She ponders if he... hates her. After all, she couldn't even make it to Lucy's funeral.

She realizes her thoughts are spiraling again, and so she wills herself to think about anything else except the boy next door, and as her thoughts lull her to sleep, she asks herself if she'll ever find the courage to stop running away.

The next day, her mind is clear again, and she spends that weekend resting, the jet lag still preventing her from doing anything productive for the day. She tries not to think about Luke as much as possible, but living right next door to him makes it difficult. She feels like she did when she was fourteen, and she wants to slap herself for it.

That night, she has her first dream since coming back to Rito. In her dream, the sky is overcast, filled up dark clouds, like overhanging gloom. Not a single ray of sunlight, but not a single drop of rain either. The air is hot and humid - the worst kind of atmosphere on this island - and beads of sweat form on her brow.

In front of her lay an open casket with a beautiful girl lying there. She has dark, ebony hair and her otherwise rosy skin is now completely pale and lifeless. Human figures surround her, covered head-to-toe in black. Their heads are bowed; whether in prayer or in mourning, she can't tell, but the sight appears miserable all the same.

Her heart freezes as she realizes where she is.

A figure comes forward. A young man with messy, yet beautiful dark hair, practically identical to that of the dead girl's. She is unable to see his eyes through the bangs covering them, but she doesn't know if she wants to. She stands there, tense, waiting on baited breath, for a word to come out of his mouth and put the final nail in the coffin.

And then it does.

"You--"

He starts, but before he's able to finish, she wakes up.

0 notes

symbioticsimplicity · 2 years ago

Text

I'm going to combine all of my favorite thoughts together and no one can stop me

Billy doesn't die at the end of S3, and Eddie doesn't die either. Steve grows into a pretty little punk and the three of them have the most confusing dynamic in the entire group. The kids mostly find it entertaining, but Nancy and Robin are slightly worried.

Billy has gotten better, he really has. With him having been dragged into the kid's lives more, he caught Hop's attention more and the man had immediately realized what was actually going on in the Hargrove household. Hop won't suffer an abuser, especially one server enough to producer Billy and has his father arrested shortly before the start of season 3. Billy is still a bit of a dick, but there isn't nearly as much bite behind his bark.

Billy and Steve have an antagonistic relationship that keeps both of them on their toes. Its not exactly playful, they've got too much baggage for that, but they're not really enemies either?

Steve and Eddie get along like long lost soulmates. There's no real reason that they should, bur they see each other in a way no one else really sees them.

Billy and Eddie cannot and should not be left alone together under any circumstances. Too much chaos and not enough braincells. They're smoking buddies, they've got similar taste in music and Eddie intimately understands the rage that lives in Billy, knows he probably would have been just like him if not for Wayne.

When the three of them are all together, its madness. Billy and Eddie act mostly on impulse with Steve being the only thing keeping them from killing themselves on a dare from one another. If Billy gets too hyphy, Eddie can and will tackle and wrestle the violence out of him. Eddie loves listening to Steve and Billy banter back and forth, its one of the few times he just listens rather than rambling on himself. Steve appreciates not being the only person in the group who didn't spend their high-school years being a goddamn nerd even if Eddie looks crestfallen when he and Billy give him twin blank stares when he launches into a DND rant.

The others are happy these three don't seem so isolated and miserable anymore, which is the only reason they're willing to put up with The Tension. They all capitalize it in their heads because its That Bad.

Billy is an incredibly pretty man, everyone knows that. Steve Harrington is also incredibly pretty (more so when he grows into himself) which everyone knows. Eddie Munson is incredibly gay, although not everyone knows that.

Eddie gets distracted by Billy all the time. His eyes are gorgeous and his lips are hypnotizing and hes never wearing enough clothes. Hes also got this fucking thing he does with his tongue when hes ready to fight that Steve is sure has nearly gotten him killed because he was staring at it. Then there's the way Eddie looks when he's shredding on his guitar that makes Billy feel some kind of way he tries real goddamn hard to ignore. Or fuck forbid Steve is wet for any reason.

They're all a mess, and they're all clueless that the others feel the same and it really is painful to watch.

It boils over though when Steve goes punk. Thats the last fucking straw for Billy, who has the impulse control of a newborn. He takes one look at this man in his revamped letterman and his torn jeans, lips glossed and hair artfully tussled, and just loses it. He pins him to the wall of Eddie's trailer and kisses him half stupid.

Eddie stands there awkwardly, feeling a little lie he's dying inside, unable to decide who hes more jealous of and about to to go to the woods for somewhere private to have a smoke and a cry, when Billy pulls off Steve and turns right around to haul Eddie in next. Both Eddie and Steve are baffled, pinned to the wall between Billy's arms.

When he finishes with Eddie, he glances between the two of them with a "Go on, we all know you want to" and waits patiently as they have a silent conversation before falling into each other.

Its odd, definitely, and it takes a lot of talking about (and maybe a bitching match that turns into a kissing match) but they find a way forward, the three of them, thanking God for Billy's shit impulse control every step of the way.

#stranger things au #stranger things #steve harington #eddie munson #billy hargrove #harringroveson #harringrove #steddie #mungrove #LISTEN I JUST THINK THEY ALL DESERVE LOVE #GAY LOVE WITH BOYS JUST AS PRETTY AS THEY ARE

437 notes · View notes

gggoldfinch · 2 years ago

Text

Cherry Kisses

Alexei “Smirnoff” x GN!Reader

A/N: Knee deep into the new season, a lovely anon suggested I repost this after having deleted it a while ago. The new characters are great and all, but I think we’re all missing sweet Alexei right about now

Warnings: gn!reader, no usage of y/n or pronouns, angst & fluff, clumsy make-out sesh, kinda spicy but not really, references to past injury/ recovery, friends to lovers

Word Count: 2,854

{AO3 Link}

Summary: Several months after saving the life of a charmingly goofy Soviet scientist who’d been left for dead at a carnival, you find yourself with a major crush. You’re afraid to act on it, lest your feelings be unrequited and your actions ruin your carefree friendship, so instead you resign yourself to suffer in silence. Fate has other plans, it seems.

Despite the occasional wince and hand pressed to his abdomen, Alexei’s healing process has come along quite nicely. Quicker than the doctors at the hospital had anticipated, too. In less than a month your new friend had bounced back, pacing bored circles in his hospital room until you'd finally caved and brought him back into the real world. You obliged only when the doctors said it was alright; you'd never seen a more thankful expression from anyone than when you'd tried your best to explain his release from the hospital.

In all your time alive, you’d never seen anyone so eager and bright and curious as he— not even the most enthusiastic of children. Everything seems shiny and new to the man, his deep brown eyes twinkling with awe at any given moment. It's honestly the most endearing thing you've ever witnessed. Anything there is to explore he's there. His particular favorite spots consist of the Arcade, the Family Video (conveniently next door to it), and the radio store down on Main Street. He always receives odd stares from the kids, teens, and irritated parents at each location, but never seems to let it phase him. In fact, you always take more offense to it than he does, carefully trailing behind him and sending them bitter glares to ward them off.

Sometimes, when you're not paying attention, his fingers intertwine with yours as he drags you to the next thing that piques his quick-to-wander interest. His warm hand in yours never fails to send the butterflies in your stomach wild.

Granted, he can’t go many places. Not on his own, at least. Especially not with Cold War tensions running high and a potential hit on his back after valiantly defecting. No— everywhere he goes you go, and vise versa. He'd even become your impromptu roommate after being discharged from the hospital. Apparently, none of his "American friends" (a group consisting solely of Murray Bauman, recluse; Joyce Byers, moved away; and Jim Hopper, recently deceased) where willing or available to take him in. That left you, the guardian angel who'd found and saved him, to look after his fugitive self. Not that either of you ever really minded not going anywhere without the other, being practically attached at the hip from the get-go. However, due to the rather difficult language barrier and lack of proper translator, communication between the two of you is still a continuous struggle. You still don't really even have the full story on what led up to the events of last Independence Day. On the bright side, though, you’ve both come a long way in understanding each other since you'd first dragged him into the hospital that fateful day. Admittedly, he’s advanced far further than you have in the language department— not that you haven’t been giving it your all, of course. It just seems to come much more easily for him.

Now, you sit together on a park bench beside the sidewalk, shaded by an oak tree overhead, people-watching the early afternoon small-town rush. A half empty lemonade cup sits beside your thigh, where drops of water bead on the sides and seep into the wood of the bench as they accumulate and trickle down. Alexei’s arm is slung casually around your shoulders, fingers absently drawing circles on your shoulder. You wonder if he realizes how intimate such a gesture is.

He stares off at the pedestrians, cheeks pinched in a small smile as he sips his cherry slurpee through its red straw. Upon hovering at his bedside for weeks, you’d quickly discovered it's his favorite beverage behind Coca-Cola. Nothing can compare the way the colored dye stains his lips bright red, making his grin all the more perfect your eyes. It is a bit of a hassle having to drive all the way out to the far-removed gas station to get him one every time, considering it's the only place nearby that has one of the machines to make the beverage, but you put up with it for the sake of his contagious jubilation.

You observe him observing the people. He'd blatantly ignored your fashion advice and chosen the most outlandish articles in the stores you'd taken him to, favoring loud patterns and bold, clashing colors. It's actually rather cute, and suits him well. His hair is a little longer than when you’d first met a few months ago, dark curls grown shaggy and even more voluminous. He’s insisted on keeping his face regularly shaven and sideburns well-groomed, though. Your fingers twitch in your lap, imagining how it would feel to run your fingers through his hair and ruffle his curls. Before you know it, you’re lost in another fantasy (a daily occurrence by now)— vividly picturing yourself clinging to him like a lover rather than a friend, holding him, touching him.

You blink back to reality when he tilts his head to look at you, stained lips pulling into a broad smile that illuminates the whole of his handsome face. His wire-frame glasses are slipped down the bridge of his narrow nose, and he swiftly pushes them back in place with his index finger to gaze at you properly. You love it when he does that.

“You enjoying your slurpee?” you ask with a chuckle, gesturing towards the mostly-empty novelty cup. He fervently nods, offering it out to you for a sip. You laugh and shake your head, gently pushing it back towards him. “You finish it, I have my lemonade.”

He shrugs, contently mutters an “Okay” and returns to peacefully watching the Hawkins residents pass by. You return to watching him, genuinely pondering what could be going on in that brilliant mind of his as he stares off.

A young couple pass by, no older than high schoolers; you'd heard them coming up from behind before you'd seen them. They giggle and mutter sweet nothings to each other as they stroll along. The girl walks with her arms hugged around the boy's waist, tucked snugly against his side under his protective arm. You can't help but feel a pang of jealousy, the pair looking joyous as can be and plainly expressing their love for each other to the world. Chancing a glance at Alexei, he seems enthralled— curiously observant of their affectionate behavior. You briefly wonder if such open affection is an uncommon sight where he's from, before turning your passive attention back to the couple. The continue to laugh with each other, the jovial sound only being broken when they move to kiss, fondly pecking each other on the lips over and over as they stroll past, giggling whenever they break.

You feel odd staring at them so you break your gaze, instead opting to tap your heels on the sidewalk concrete and stare at the cracks where plants haphazardly grow. It’s bad enough to see other couples happy, but feeling Alexei’s arm wrapped around your shoulders is a different kind a torture. You know you shouldn't feel jealous; it's your fault you fell for the man whose life you saved. The burden of your blooming feelings rests solely on your shoulders. You would never want to risk ruining your carefully crafted and nurtured friendship over something that might change your dynamic for the worse. You would never take the initiative, and never find out if your undying love for the goofy scientist is requited.

A tap on your shoulder draws you from your brooding. You perk your head up to glance at the man. His crimson-stained lips are pulled taut in that impish smile again as he tilts his head to get a better look at you. You feel blush prickling your skin the longer he silently watches you. You wait, anticipating a comment or question in that heavy and distinct (and oh, so lovely) accent of his, but it never comes. Instead he leans closer, free hand lifting to tilt your chin with fingers, chilled by the cool cup he's placed down somewhere. You’re speechless, no more than a hairsbreadth away from touching noses with the man you desire more than anything. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him, and from this perspective you can see every detail of his face up-close and personal, from the small scar hidden beneath the nose-piece of his glasses to the flecks of amber in his eyes.

Before you can fathom the events unfolding before you, he leans forward, closing the distance and planting his soft lips on yours. You can feel him smiling against your mouth. Adrenaline buzzes through every nerve and bursts like 4th of July fireworks in your head and the only thing you can think about is how strongly he tastes of sugar and cherries. The feeling is short-lived as he pulls away and releases your jaw from his gentle grip, still smiling like an idiot. When he hums gleefully and amusedly to himself and goes back to sipping his drink, the anguished realization that he may have only been fooling around hits you like a ton of bricks. Fighting the urge to smack him upside the head, you puff up in defense.

“What was that?” you bite out, adjusting yourself to sit facing him. He chuckles and shrugs, then replies in Russian. You can’t understand a word of it and only become more flustered at his complacent behavior.

“You think that was a joke?” You feel your face growing hot, both with anger and embarrassment.

You don't intend to be mean, but the abruptness of it has you wired. It didn’t feel like a playful kiss for you, nor do you want it to be in jest. It just makes your heart ache. He furrows his brows and turns to look at you, genuine confusion twisting his gentle features as he retracts his arm from around your shoulders.

“Joke? No...” he mutters, cradling the cup in his hands. His playful demeanor shifts instantly, and he hunches, shrinking under your fierce gaze.

“Why would you kiss me then?”

His confusion seems to grow exponentially and his eyes dart away. ��They like each other.” He meekly gestures towards where the couple disappeared off to, “I like you. Is that... not what you do?”

His mouth is pulled into the first real frown you’ve ever seen from him. Even through grueling physical therapy and the healing process of a bullet to the liver he’d never frowned. Your heart twists at his words, and you feel like you've been shot. Had you been wrong? Is this yet another miscommunication? Blush almost as red as his beverage creeps onto his face, beginning at his ears and spreading to his cheeks and nose.

“You... like me?” you whisper, hung up on that one sentence. You could care less about the rest. The crease in his brow softens as he nods.

“дa, yes, yes,” he mutters, sheepishly shrugging and shrinking away. "I thought... это было очевиднo."

You don't quite catch the last part, but his bashful confession is enough proof for any residual distress to melt from your system. He's taken aback when you burst into an enormous smile and throw your arms around his neck, laughing with your nose pressed into the curve of his jaw. The swell of happiness in your heart is almost unbearable. This is quite possibly the happiest you've ever felt, as you delightedly pepper kisses against his full cheek. He manages to wriggle out of your latching grip and place his slushee cup down at a safe distance. He peers down at you with brows furrowed and mouth slightly ajar in what looks like a mix of shock and relief. His dark eyes twinkle with curiosity and you finally feel confident enough to slip you hand up the back of his neck, twirling your fingers around his curls. His glasses have slipped down his nose again and this time you do him the favor of pushing them back up properly.

"You... like me?" he asks, a slight pout downturning his dyed lips. You lean up to touch your forehead to his, holding him close by the back of his head. Your other hand rests on his chest.

"I have for a while," you sigh, forehead still pressed to his. "Now, kiss me again." A devilish smile spreads on your face as you bite your lip. A wave of visible relief washes over him as the tenseness in his shoulders dissipates. He giggles joyfully, gleefully obliging your request. His hands find your face and dark eyes flick to your lips— the object of his desire. You lean to meet him halfway, his cherry-flavored lips sealing against yours once more. This time it's more serious (as serious as the man could possibly be, that is), and he puts thought into the way his warm mouth moves against yours. He's gentle and tender, but he doesn't do well to hide his enthusiasm as he fervently leans against you. His hands glide from your heated cheeks to the space below your ears, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones. Your own hands remain where they are, one tangled in his heavenly hair and the other sandwiched between your chests, gripping the fabric of his garish striped button-up.

He briefly breaks and you both take gasping breaths; the corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile before he captures your lips again. He tilts his head to get a better angle at you and a light moan is drawn from your throat, muffled against his plush mouth. He just about trembles with excitement under your hands at the noise. With every extra inch he eagerly leans into you, the further you're dipped backward, clinging to him as you're nearly laid out on the bench. His left hand separates from your head to grip the back of the bench, bracing himself so as to not tip you back too far. Your senses are invaded by his intoxicating scent; the cherry sugar of his lips mixed with the warm cologne that lingers on his form makes for a heady combination. Just as your lips part to allow him entrance, the small of your back bumps and subsequently topples something. Your hazy brain racks to think what it could be, when remember—

The lemonade!

You break with a surprised gasp and twist to find your cup overturned behind you, spilled all over the sidewalk and part of the bench. Alexei peers over your shoulder, resting his chin on the slope of your neck as he surveys the mess. His large hands find your waist and you turn back to him, pouting in disappointment at having wasted the rest of your refreshment. He merely grins and goes back to kissing you, gingerly pecking your smiling lips over and over.

After a moment you hear a huff somewhere to your left, and look up to see an older woman, frowning with arms crossed as she eyes the spilled lemonade splattered across the sidewalk. Her eyes trail to you in Alexei's arms, both red-faced and staring at her. She tuts in disapproval and steps over the dark patch.

"Delinquents," she mutters with a dramatic roll of her eyes as she passes the pair of you on the bench.

There's a pause as you and Alexei watch her walk away, amused and stunned speechless, before his face pinches in a grin and laugher roars from his chest. You follow suit, crumbling into giggles at the sheer ridiculousness of the event. You hook your arm around his waist to better hide your burning face in the crook of his neck, nestling against his chest. He presses his lips to wherever he can reach—your temple, the shell of your ear, the crown of your head—whispering in his native tongue between every sugary sweet kiss.

"I still have to sleep on the couch?" he mock-innocently asks in a low, accented whisper, audibly grinning with his lips against your ear. Though you choke out a surprised laugh and swat his hard chest, you can't help but feel pleasurably enticed by the suggestion.

Your grinning lips find his jaw and give him a quick kiss before slipping out of his hold, scooping up your empty cup in the process. You throw him a playful glance over your shoulder before skipping a few steps away.

"Come on, Lexi, we still have the rest of the afternoon!" you call behind you, laughing at the sound of him scrambling to collect his own cup and follow after you. You deposit your cup in the trash bin beside the sidewalk as you pass it, lingering to wait for him to catch up.

His hand finds yours as he returns to your side, fingers lacing with yours, and you look up at him. His warm eyes watch you from behind askew glasses, sipping through the straw once more. You've never been more overjoyed. Holding his hand feels different now as he cheerfully swings your joined arms. It's real now, and your love is requited. Warmth blooms in your chest, and you've never been more thankful to have gone to that carnival and saved a dying stranger.

#I used Google translate for that one line please forgive me #reposted after a long time #mwah ily anon who requested I repost this you singlehandedly got my act together #stranger things #stranger things fic #alexei stranger things #alexei smirnoff #alexei x reader #alexei smirnoff x reader #goldfinch writes

915 notes · View notes

lexosaurus · 3 years ago

Text

Transformation Troubles part 2

Description: Danny has to attend school while stuck as Phantom.

[read part one here]

[ao3 link]

---

This hadn’t been the first time that Danny spent a long period in ghost form. He’d spent his fair share of weekends in the Infinite Realm—especially after his revelation—and had found that the dense ambient ectoplasm in the Ghost Zone was enough to keep his body in ghost form even after he went to sleep.

But while this wasn’t his first time spending a few days in ghost form, this was his first time spending multiple days in ghost form on Earth. And just like how being a human in the ghost zone came with some odd quirks, so did being a ghost in the human world.

There were some minor ones, like how human food tasted a little bland to him, or that he didn’t really need to breathe which may have looked unsettling to those around him, or the fact that his hair seemed just a little too flowy to be human.

But the biggest problem he’d been having thus far was staying grounded.

Because just like how flying took effort for him when he was in human form, walking took effort for him as a ghost.

Staying on the ground, obeying gravity, obeying physics, it was just...weird. It felt off. And it served as a constant reminder to him that he was stuck as Phantom in front of a school full of average humans.

On the first day stuck as a ghost, he did pretty well in the “remembering to walk” department. He followed gravity during all his classes, he didn’t float at all during his group homework session that night, and overall he managed to keep up his human mannerisms as well as he could have asked for.

Day two? Just as good as day one. He floated around his room, true, but as soon as he was in public, he was fully grounded.

But now it was day three, he was running on almost no sleep, he had physics office hours that morning followed by a five-hour lab session.

Danny was exhausted. Frazzled. Sleep-deprived, hungry, and surviving on the kind of stress-induced adrenalin that only midterms season could bring out in someone.

So it was really only a matter of time before he slipped up.

“Hey, Danny!” A voice called from outside. “We’re getting dinner. You wanna join?”

“Uh...oh, yeah,” he said, realizing he hadn’t eaten all day. “Yeah, I probably should. Hang on, lemme find my ID”

He shoved his hand through his backpack, pulled out his wallet, and then phased through the door.

Carter, Star, and another student from their floor, Madison, stood on the other side, staring at him in shock.

“What?” Danny asked, his ghostly tail flickering below him.

There was a beat of silence, to which a familiar sense of anxiety began pooling into his stomach. “What? What am I missing?”

“Uh, it’s noth—”

“I forgot my key!” Danny slapped his forehead with his hand and phased back into his dorm. Ancients, what a day this was.

He jammed his hand into his backpack again and swiped the key from the front pocket, stuffing it into his hoodie as he phased back out into the hallway.

“Thanks for the reminder!” Danny sighed, the tension unraveling in his stomach. His tail formed two legs, and he planted himself on the ground. “God, that would have been so embarrassing if I’d been locked out. I would have had to call the RA looking like this. You know, I don’t think she’s seen me yet. It would be too weird to explain.”

“Yeah,” Star gave him a thumbs up. “Wouldn’t want you to, uh, get locked out.”

“Of course.” Carter had recovered from his previous look of surprise and was now grinning at Danny like there was some inside joke between them.

Whatever it was, Danny was too tired to figure it out or care. “So, dinner?”

“Let’s go,” said Madison, waving her freckled-covered arm forward. “I’m hungry and it’s mac and cheese night at the dining hall.”

They descended the stairs and exited their building. Even though it had been a few days, the novelty of Danny Phantom being on campus hadn’t quite worn off yet, and stares followed him with every step. No doubt phones were pointed his way as well. Though, by now everyone had heard about why he was stuck as Phantom, and so the initial shock at his ghostly appearance didn’t follow him quite so much.

The girls lead them down the sidewalk with Star and Madison chattering about skincare and some product launch. Danny didn’t know what hyaluronic acid was or why some brand was selling it, but he appreciated their enthusiasm nonetheless. As it turned out, ghosts still needed to eat. And regardless of what Spectra and her purists tried to preach, any strong emotion would do it. Including, thankfully, excitement about…skincare launches, or whatever it was.

Perhaps he was too caught up in the moment that he didn’t see—though he really should have—the gaggle of frat-bros who sprinted across the street and all but barrelled into their group.

“Phantom!” one of the guys shouted, his phone up and likely already recording. “Phantom, Phantom!”

Danny took an instinctive step back. Even though these were just human college students, he didn’t exactly have a great association with being surrounded in his ghost form.

He pushed down the wave of anxiety and gritted out, “Yeah?”

“Who is the hottest ghost?” the frat-bro asked.

Danny blinked. “What?”

There was an outbreak of laughter, followed by shushing from the students, before the one guy asked again, “Who’s the hottest ghost that you’ve fought?”

“I—I can’t—” Danny spluttered. “I can’t just say that!”

At that, the group dissolved into another outbreak of cacophony.

“Why not?”

“Just tell us!”

“We’ll say our vote!”

“Because!” Danny could feel the ectoplasm pooling in his cheeks. “They’re my—uh…I can’t just rank the other ghosts like this! I’ll never live it down!”

The frat bro holding the camera broke out into a grin. “It’s Ember, isn’t it?”

Danny’s face was blazing now. “I didn’t say that!”

Regardless, the bros broke out into a cheering roar, high-fiving each other as if they’d just won the Superbowl.

“Look at his face!”

“It’s totally Ember!”

“We were right!”

Danny stood there dumbfounded. He looked to his friends, who were also frozen in place wearing equally flabbergasted expressions.

But before anyone could open their mouth to cut in, the crosswalk light blinked on and the gang of frat bros sprinted back across the street, running through the archway that separated a line of buildings from the grassy common area, and disappearing from sight.

No one in their small group moved until the last bro went out of view. Then a moment passed, then another. And then finally Carter burst into laughter. “What the fuck was that?”

Star followed suit. “Jeez, Danny. What even is your life?”

“Is this shit normal for you?” Madison asked, twirling her curly hair between her fingers.

Danny’s eyes remained fixed on the archway. “I wish I knew.”

Carter elbowed him, jolting Danny out of his daze. “Welp, I guess we’ll see that trending on TikTok later. You still down for food or what?”

“Yeah!” Danny perked up at the mention of food. Ghost or not, he was goddamn hungry.

The group walked further down the street and entered a large building. The food hall was teeming with students, filling the air with chatter and swirling emotions of all kinds.

“Come on, mac and cheese station is down that way,” Madison said, tugging Star along with her.

“You heard the boss,” Carter said.

Danny shrugged and followed, ignoring the jolting halts and stares he got from the students around him.

At this point, he was used to it. He got those same stares at Fenton too, though not as much as now. Danny presumed it was easier to pass over him when he wasn’t literally glowing.

Even so, he tried to appear as unsuspecting as possible in his beanie and baggy hoodie. Anything more than this, and it would have been too obvious. That, and Star would have given him a full fifteen-minute lecture on being confident in who he was and respecting himself enough to not go out dressing like someone who had never seen clothes before.

Which is a lecture that Danny, unfortunately, had been the recipient of once before.

They took their place in line, and Carter shot him a grin. “The shock still hasn’t worn off, I see.”

“What shock?”

He gestured around the room. “Of everyone seeing you in this form.”

“Of course not,” Star stated as if it was a matter of fact. “He’s Phantom. Which, speaking of, hey Danny? How the hell do you eat?”

Danny fiddled with his beanie. “Uh, I have a mouth?”

“Yeah but ghosts run off cores, right? So what does human food do for you?”

At Danny’s look, Star huffed. “You can’t expect me to be friends with Paulina and not know about ghost shit.”

“Still,” Danny said.

“Wait, cores?” Carter asked. “The hell are those?”

“Uh…they’re like ghost hearts, kind of? It’s basically a concentrated ball of ectoplasm that emits and dictates the flow of ectoplasm around my body,” Danny explained.

“Oh, that’s pretty sick,” Madison said, grabbing a tray of mac and cheese.

Danny followed suit. “Yeah, it kind of is. But I still have like all my other human organs and stuff. I have to, or else I would just be a full ghost.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Carter gripped his shoulder. “So, full ghosts don’t have organs?”

“I don’t think so?” Danny paused, plucking silverware out of the plastic cups propped throughout the hall. He followed his friends to an open table. “I mean, that’s what all the ghost researchers say. I…try not to get too involved with that sort of thing.”

“Why not?” Madison asked.

“I’d rather not be on the receiving end of their experiments if you know what I’m saying.”

Carter looked horrified. “You mean your parents would experiment on their own kid?”

Danny blinked, and then laughter bubbled in his throat. “No! Oh my god!” He coughed, choking on his own breath. “No, I meant the government researchers! But I don’t really ask my parents anything not directly related to me because once you get them started, they can go on ghost tangents for hours. Seriously, one time I sicced them on Vlad—this creepy weirdo I hate—and they literally rambled to him about ecto-radiation for like two hours. It was awesome.”

“Well, I guess not all your enemies have to be defeated by violence alone,” Star said.

“Nothing beats the power of being bored to death.”

“I’ll remember that next time we get hit on at the bar during girl’s night,” Madison quipped.

“If only.” Star took a bite from her mac and cheese. “Does this still taste good though in ghost form?”

“It’s alright,” Danny said. “Ghosts run pretty acidic though so weirdly enough, fruit tastes like candy to a ghost. I have a friend Dora who grows ecto-berries on her island in the Zone. They’re fucking awesome.”

“Huh. How bout that,” Carter said.

The rest of dinner passed without much fanfare, minus a few less-than-obvious phones pointed his way which Danny tried his best to ignore. He knew it wasn’t every day that humans got to see a ghost eating. But he could only imagine the texts he was going to get from Tucker later that evening.

That goddamn troll and his Reddit memes…

It wasn’t until they were heading back to their dorm after dinner did they run into problems.

It started with a couple of paparazzi, who had staked outside the dining hall, presumably having seen the Instagram stories and TikTok videos already from the students inside.

Danny had hoped that people would wait to post until after he’d already left the dining hall, but apparently that was too much to ask.

“Phantom,” one of the paps said, shoving a camera into Danny’s face. “How has it been as a ghost attending college?”

Danny didn’t slow his pace. “I don’t know. I imagine it’s no different than everyone else here.”

“Do you feel like you’re pretending to have a life you’ll never get to live, though?” a different one asked.

Despite Star’s tugging, Danny halted. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re dead, right?” the paparazzi said, flashing his camera in Danny’s face. “Don’t you feel like you’re just pretending to be human? Is it hard to keep up the act? How does it feel now that you’re facing the truth?”

“Keep walking,” Star hissed in his ear.

Danny shrugged her hand off his shoulder. He glared at the pap. “How am I pretending to be anything?”

“This is the first time you’ve gone out in public casually as a ghost, and it’s only because you have to.”

“So what?”

“Danny…” Carter warned.

The paparazzi smirked. “So, that means you’re always in human form because it’s easier for you to pretend you’re just a regular person than to admit that you’re a ghost. So has it been hard to finally face the truth?”

Danny felt ectoplasm pool in his fingertips. His glare deepened, and it took everything in his power to keep from blasting the camera right out of the pap’s grubby hands.

“No more questions!’ Star exclaimed, cutting in front of Danny.

Madison threw Danny’s hoodie over his head and shoved him down the sidewalk. “You have your pretty pictures, now go home.”

“Wait! Phantom! Phantom!” They ran after him.

“I’m gonna fucking call the cops,” Carter grumbled.

“Danny, keep your hood up,” Star ordered.

Danny shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at the ground. He stepped over a puddle and watched as his bright green eyes reflected in the surface below.

“Phantom! How do you feel about congress’ proposed ecto-control legislation? Would you still be allowed to continue your education if it passes?”

“It won’t pass,” Danny said.

“No more questions!” Madison repeated.

“Hey!” A drunken voice popped up from a group down the sidewalk. “The fuck? Is that the ghost?”

Star cursed.

“Go back to the GZ, ghost!” the drunk man shouted, passing them by.

Giggles erupted from his friend group. “Daryl! Shhh! He’ll melt you!” one of the girls scolded.

“Fuck off!” Star yelled over her shoulder.

That only elicited more laughter from the group.

“Phantom!” the paparazzi yelled, shoving a camera inches from his face.

Danny stopped, turning around. His heart pounded in his ears, and he tugged his beanie further down his head.

He was too cocky to think that nobody would cause him problems after it was publicly known that he was trapped as Phantom for days. He shouldn’t have gone out so haphazardly, he should have predicted that this would happen. Especially since this was a city campus, there were no gates around the University, anyone and everyone could come and go as they pleased.

The paparazzi had surrounded him again, and Danny mentally swore. He felt Star try to tug him away, but his feet were frozen to the ground. He couldn’t move.

He needed to.

He had to get away.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, his core acted on its own, tugging invisibility and intangibility through his bloodstream and over his skin. He heard shouts from around him, but his sights were already elsewhere. Without thinking, he launched himself into the sky, releasing the intangibility as soon as he was a safe distance from the crowd below.

Maybe it was a dick move to leave his friends like that, but he had a feeling they would understand. After all, he was…

He stilled, floating in the sky, looking down at the tiny people below him.

He was Phantom.

A halfa.

But that was fine with him, wasn’t it? He’d gotten past all his insecurities years ago, hadn’t he?

So what if he didn’t really feel cold anymore? So what if he could fly and shoot ecto-blasts from his fingers? So what if he didn’t really follow the laws of physics, if he blushed green, if he had a heart and a core regulating his body?

He was fine with that. He’d accepted this.

Hadn’t he?

So then why, a little voice in the back of his head said. Why have you always avoided being in ghost form around your human friends? Why is this strange for you?

That was easy, he thought. He was only in human form with humans just like he was only in ghost form with other ghosts. It was because of convenience. It was just…easier, right?

But that’s not the same.

He knew it wasn’t the same.

Being in ghost form around ghosts was about power and status. The ghost hierarchy was based on respect, and they didn’t follow human customs. If Danny wanted to establish himself as a worthy ally, then he needed to present himself accordingly.

But for humans, it wasn’t like that. No one cared about how well a human protected their haunt. So then why? Why did he feel so naked as Phantom?

Why was he still afraid?

Were the paparazzi right? Was he just afraid to admit the truth? Is that why he was being so careful not to be too ghostly, too inhuman around everyone?

He was sure that sometimes, in moments of fatigue and frustration, his eyes flashed green while doing problem sets with his classmates. And none of them had ever pointed that out, had they? And this evening…

Danny felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He had gone through his door to get his key earlier! Oh Ancients, that was why everyone was looking at him like he had three heads, wasn’t it?

And yet, they didn’t appear scared or disgusted by him. None of them ran in terror or told him he was some freak of nature. They just looked amused that he hadn’t noticed his error. Even Star, who maybe once upon a time back when they were still figuring out how to survive in the social hell that was freshman year of high school would have made a face at him, now didn’t even question it. Hell, she was the one who had had hardly blinked when she saw him as Phantom on the first day. She just told him to suck it up and get to class.

So if he was holding himself back, then that was on him.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. Because maybe the paparazzi was right, in some twisted sort of way. Maybe he was afraid of being the freak, the weirdo halfa. But he’d also already been in ghost form this entire week, hadn’t he? And his friends didn’t seem to mind.

Hell, they still ate together every night. Of course they didn’t care.

Duh.

A breeze tickled his face, and Danny realized that he was still hovering over the same spot. He hadn’t moved, though the crowd below him had long since dispersed. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Though, the setting sun was a solid indication that it was starting to get late.

He needed to get back to his dorm. No doubt that his friends had already informed the RA’s about the incident. If he didn’t return soon, they might call the campus police on him or something.

So if he phased through his door instead of unlocking it like a normal person when he got back? And then went to their floor’s common room and laid his body out in a classic floating “I’m dead please dispose of my lifeless body” position when Carter walked into the floor’s common room that evening?

Yeah, sue him.

“Oh, you’re back.”

“Yeah.” Danny avoided eye contact. “Sorry about that before.”

“No sweat. They were being assholes, man. It’s actually probably better that you left. If you wanna report them to the campus police, I’ll come with.”

“If they come back, then maybe.” He sat up, hovering in the air cross-legged, and took a sip of his drink.

Carter leaned against the wall. “Whatcha got there?”

Danny took a long sip from the drink he was holding. “A smoothie.”

“Still hungry?”

“It’s ectoplasm,” Danny said, his nonchalant tone surprising him. Needing to consume ectoplasm by proxy of not living in the Ghost Zone was still somewhat of a touchy topic for him. But he had just promised himself he wouldn’t be so self-conscious around his friends. He couldn’t back down now.

Carter stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. “Oh. Well. Sure, what the hell.”

Danny waved his hand lazily in the air. “It’s a ghost thing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Sounds good.” He walked over to the table and dropped his notebook on the surface. “You ready for the p-set tonight?”

“Nope.”

“Same. Star and the others should be here in a few.”

“Okay.”

Carter sat down and drummed his hand against the surface. His brows threaded together, and he seemed lost in thought. But for a normally talkative guy, his silence was unnerving.

“You okay?” Danny asked.

Carter squeezed his lips together as if still debating whether or not to speak, before finally relenting. “I hope this isn’t weird to say, but seeing you as Phantom is pretty trippy.”

“No, no. I get it.”

And he really did.

“I guess…you know, it’s sometimes weird for me to be in ghost form around other people,” Danny explained. “A lot of times, I think people are okay with it in theory, but then get uncomfortable when they see it in person. So, I don’t know. I try to be as discrete as I can.”

“That’s fair. But like, Danny no offense, but sometimes you’re really bad at acting on the down-low.”

He snorted. “Yeah. I know.”

“But honestly.” Carter turned to face him. “I haven’t known you for that long, but after this week? I don’t think anything will phase me.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Also, you know the other day, Star was telling me that they had no idea you were Phantom until the story was published.”

“Hmm…” Danny took another sip of his drink. While the previously deemed A-List group and the trio had mostly made up by the time graduation rolled around, there were still some untouched skeletons in the closet that neither Danny or Star had been willing to bring out until now.

“We weren’t that close,” Danny finally settled on. “We knew each other, but we didn’t hang in the same circles. And that was before anyone knew that half-ghosts were even theoretically possible, so it was way easier to stay under the radar. If no one’s really looking, you can mess up and nobody will notice.”

“Yeah, I feel that,” Carter said, leaning back in his chair. “So nobody knew back then? Not even your parents?”

“As far as I know, no one knew except me and my two friends that were there when it happened.”

“Huh.”

Danny shrugged. “Yeah, it’s kind of weird. I know.”

“No! I just think it’s impressive,” Carter said. “Like, you had to figure all this shit out on your own, you know? That takes some balls.”

“Yeah, I really didn’t want anyone to ever find out. I mean, I figured someday I’d tell my parents, but that was pretty much it. I had no idea that the reporter was even there when I de-transformed. Well, I guess that’s on me for getting kinda lazy about not checking my surroundings.”

“A hard lesson, for sure.”

“Definitely. But it’s okay. I’ve…gotten used to it. For the most part.”

“Still, it’s not fun to have cameras pointed at you all day, I’m sure.”

Danny lowered himself until he’d settled on the couch. He placed his now empty smoothie cup on the floor and leaned back into the cushions. “No, but what can you do?”

Carter shot him a mischievous grin. “Well if it’s any reassurance, I promise to only use you a little bit for Tiktok clout.”

“Very funny.”

“Just one stupid dance with me!”

“Full offense but I’d rather die again.”

“Come on! It’ll be fun! You don’t even have to do anything, just sit there looking annoyed like you usually do and I’ll do all the work!”

Danny gave him an incredulous look. “Carter, one of my allies is an ancient and omnipotent ghost of time. Try anything and I’ll sic him on you.”

“You know, sometimes I really can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”

“Try me.”

“I can’t tell half the time, either,” Star said, rounding the corner into the common area. “Kathrine bailed, so it’s just the three of us tonight.”

“Good!” Carter brightened. “That means I get to hog you as my personal Chemistry tutor even more tonight!”

“Lucky me,” Star said in a deadpan tone. She dumped her bag on the floor and slumped in her seat.

Danny pushed himself off the couch and joined them at the table.

“Oh, by the way, Fenton. Sorry about the drama either. If they harass you again, let me know and I’ll fucking fight them. You good?” Star asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Danny said. And for the first time all week, he actually felt it.

“Cool. Ready to start this? I wanna be done in two hours so can actually get eight hours of sleep tonight.”

“Fine by me!” Carter said.

Star grabbed her pencil and calculator out of her pink pencil case and shot Danny her signature determined look. “Let's do this.”

#danny phantom #transformation troubles #this WIP has haunted me for a year #i was determined to finish it #and now i have!!#woo!!#my writing

154 notes · View notes

bloodycassian · 3 years ago

Text

LEATHERBOUND - Reader x Cassian - (I think I missed this request but I think someone req’d something similar) Reader is a librarian in Illyria when Cassian comes in asking for help finding something.

Cassian's favorite time of year in Illyria was the winter days where the sun was out. The winds were harsh enough to stun his wings, but the rays from the sun were warm enough for a perfect contrast. Not letting him freeze, but not letting him get too hot either.

The muddiness also became packed ice instead of the mess it had been over the summer. It was still messy in the more trafficked areas, but not nearly as bad. He couldn't hide the joy that rept into his heart at the sight of so many Illyrians taking joy in the season. Small winged children threw snowballs at passerbys from a ledge. A broad winged male scared them off with a flyover. Cassian entered the small shop, the smell of dust and worn carpet whirled around him. It was comforting in a strange way. It reminded him of being a child. Innocent and curiously exploring different shops at his home.

The bell above rang in a dull tone. He looked up and saw the shotty repair job on the ringer. Not exactly as it had been when he was a child, it seemed. "Stay right there!" You called from the back, putting away the stack of books you held. They clattered into the bin loudly. The sound of rustling made him curious.

"I'm just here for-" He called, starting to step further into the room. The books lined the short walls, and the stacks in the middle looked percaiously stacked. They were organized, but the bottom of the stack seemed stained. He doubted the resources for another bookcase were available.

"I know, just dont move. I just cleaned the carpet." You brought a towel from the front desk over and placed it beside the small outcropping of hard wood you had laid out for anyone first entering the store. "This is the last building in Illyria with carpets. I'd like to keep it that way." You said when the dark haired male gave you a pinched look. He bent and began taking off his boots. Boots that looked far too new for the likes of an Illyrian.

Watching him do so, you noticed the two Siphons on his hands. Then the one on his knee. Your head went fuzzy. What had you done to deserve a visit from the Lord of Bloodshed? He noticed your stare and gave you a wolfish smile. You didn't flinch away from it. The wind howled at the gaps in the stone, and you cleared your throat.

"So what do you need?" You asked, crossing your hands behind your back. Ready to be of service. Hopefully he wouldn't demand too much of your small store.

"You said you knew. So you tell me." He said with a sly smile. You stammered, sweat slicking your palms. "I didnt mean- We have several ah..." You looked away, at the different categories of spellbooks and history of Prythian. Shame fell in your gut at the bottom layers of books that made the stack in the middle of the room.

"I'm looking for a cookbook. One with Illyrian recipes." He stepped to the carpet, his dark socks immaculate against the worn pattern.

"Is the high lord a fan of home made treats?" You laughed at the odd request. Then covered your mouth, the embarrassment turned your ears red. "I'm sorry-" "No, its fine." Cassian chuckled, pulling a book off a shelf. It was of the first war, and was bound in dark leather. "He does. But the book isn't for him. The high ladies sister, actually."

The one of hellfire and stone or the one that seemed to be a ghost? You dared not question him. "A solstice gift?" You asked, showing him over to the small cooking section you had obtained over centuries. They weren't of much use in Illyria, but the few travelers found them fascinating.

"Yes, she's had a rough year." His voice was somber, but the hope still lingered in his eyes.

You let the words sink in. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, his presence was warm and welcoming, actually. As if he was putting off a vibe of 'I'm safe.' You handed him a complete cookbook full of basic recipes and baking. The cover was so worn the title was unreadable. Dark spots stained the inner pages, you knew because you'd borrowed the book several times. "We all have." He flicked through it for a moment, smiling. His teeth were immaculate, and a bit extra pointy on his canines. The sight of them sent a thrill through you.

"I recommend the sweet dough. It's spice free, the only thing you need for it is pine needles and sap." You flicked the pages to one you had bookmarked. The opposite side was full of different types of cakes to make with minimal ingredients.

"I'm too familiar with it." He laughed, shaking his head. Some fond memories from long ago lingered there. He could recall the scent of the bread with full accuracy. The way it the needles would char on top of the dough if there were too many.

"How much do I owe you?" He pinned the leather under his arm and pulled a satchel from his pocket. Your heart raced at the glimpse of so many gold coins there.

"Ah- it'll be Twenty silvers." You said, embarrassment coating your tongue. He didnt even look like he was carrying and silver. He eyed you speculatively. "Twenty silvers for a full book?" He asked. You nodded, trying not to wring your hands. He fished a gold coin from the pouch and held it out to you. "Let me get you some change... it may take a second." You fumbled to the desk where you kept your coin inside a spellbound box.

"Dont worry about it. I'll be back another time." He called, setting the book on the floor to pull on his shoes. "Lord Cas-" You began to protest.

"Just Cassian." He corrected, grunting as he pulled on the boots. "Call it a tab." He winked and eyed the ripped, hole filled curtains of the front window. How they swayed in the breeze that drifted in from the rocks.

"I'll be seeing you." His eyes scanned you, and you nodded. "Be seeing you." You said back, your mouth dry. He was intimidating in the ways you'd never thought of. Not in a scary way, but in a sly way that made your heart race. The bell over his head dinged hollowly as he exited, shoving the book into his backpack. You tried not to stare as he left.

+ The Solstice party was a success as it normally was. Nesta kept to herself in the corner with Amren while everyone else exchanged gifts. Elain's eyes lit up at the book, and she hugged Cassian with heart. "I'll be making you something tomorrow." She promised. Cassian felt the flicker of cold over him and shot Az a look. They glowered at one another.

Rhys leveled a look at both of them that got them to straighten up. Feyre handed out mugs of hot cider. Mor brought around a bottle of liquor to mix with it. The night was warm with friends and joy. Besides the cold corner where Nesta sat. Cassian did his best to ignore it. As did everyone else.

He was nearly the last to leave. The cider had effected him more than he thought. But it warmed his insides against the cold wind of Velaris. He wrapped his wings around himself to shield from the cold. He thought of the librarian who had given him the book. His mind drifted to the rest of that day, how Devlon had even seemed cheerful.

He wondered if you were doing anything, if you had any family celebrating with you. If you had a mate that spoiled you. His heart kicked up at the thought of it. He hadn't noticed a ring...or any tattoos to signify a mating bond. He couldn't recall much else. He had been stunned by the beauty and simplicity of you and your shop. He couldnt remember if you had wings.

The frustration ate at him. He had to know more. He needed to know if you had a good solstice. He made a plan. "It would be good karma" He told himself, entering one of the several shops on the way to the townhome. His excitement made it nearly impossible to sleep that night. + "Happy solstice." A voice called from the front door. You hadn't heard the bell chime.

You rushed to the front, making sure that the carpet hadn't been ruined. The curtains whipped from the wind outside. The enormous Illyrian shut the door with a firm gentleness that made your heart race. His hands wrapped around a small wooden box. Well, it was small in his hands.

"It's the day after solstice. Happy late solstice." You corrected, striding over to him and giving him a look about the shoes. They looked incredibly clean. "You still need to take them off."

"I know. You need to open this first." He forced the box upon you and stooped to begin unlacing the boots. "What-"

"Just open it." He stood and followed you to the counter. Heat flooded your cheeks, you hadn't gotten him anything. Not that you could afford it, or even knew what he would want. "Why did you get this?" You asked, trying to hide the tension in your voice.

"So you dont have to cook that sweetbread again." He said with a grin, staring at you. At how your hands delicately removed the lid from the box. Then at your stunned reaction at the waft of spices that spilled from the box. "Cassian-" You breathed, utterly speechless.

"I have a request too...So you can't say its too much. It's for me too." He went to the shelf where he'd gotten the cookbook for Elain. "Make us these, and we'll call it even."

"Cassian... I'm not a cook. I dont bake." You laughed when he pointed at the spice cakes in the book. "Maybe ask the sister-" You pushed the box toward him, the heaviness of it screamed 'expensive' to you. Guilt marred the joy of receiving the gift.

He pushed it firmly back to you, locking eyes. He noted the way you tensed at that stare. He eased, trying to ignore the scent mixing with the smell of leather and spice. "I want you to make it, using these." He patted the top of the box.

You debated with yourself. The male carried around more gold than you'd ever seen. And he wasn't worried about it. You figured if it was a gift then he genuinely wanted you to have it. You sighed and took the box, placing it under the shelf beside your bag. Your wings pinched at the movement.

You ignored how his eyes lingered on your scarred members. You were used to it from some males, but never one as important and high ranking as him. He shook himself and refocused, pulling himself out of the rage he was feeling at the sight of your ruined wings.

"Any other requests?" You sighed, feigning annoyance. His toothy grin made your stomach do flips.

#acotar fic #reader x cassian #acotar #cassian

65 notes · View notes

evebestt · 3 years ago

Note

Hiya! Since I really adored what you did with my last request I was wondering if I could send through another prompt for a Farah dowling x female reader where Farah and Queen Luna have this sort of unspoken but very clear competition for readers heart and when Farah sees what she thinks to be queen Luna inching towards the finish line she gets envious/cold but really Farah had readers heart all along❤️

Thank you so much by the way. I really appreciate what you do. Sending peace and love and happiness your way xx.

Hi there! Sorry this took a bit, I rewrote it a couple of times. But I love the prompt! I hope you enjoy 🖤

Send me an ask or a message to request a fic. Search my blog for "prompts" to see lists of prompt ideas.

A/N: honestly unless explicitly stated, just assume that in all my fics, the season one ending that we don't talk about didn't happen. Farah's not even napping, she's still alive and awake and being her wonderful self.

To Find Your Truth

Since the Alfean battle with the Burned Ones, Solaria had indeed dispatched a troop of soldiers to be permanently stationed at the school. Between that and the continual growth of Alfea, it soon became clear that a new position would be needed to coordinate the Alfean and Royal schedules. You had been hired in that position, working as a liaison between Farah and Luna, meaning that you worked very closely with the both of them. You’d been a little overwhelmed by your work at first, working not just with the Headmistress of a powerful school and the Queen of the entire realm, but with two of the most powerful fairies – if not the two most powerful fairies in the realm – but Farah and Luna had both made you feel comfortable in your work.

The women were very different. Farah was quiet and calm, her power cool and still under her pristine surface – but undeniably there. Luna, however, was like a fire, sharp and calculating, her power exuding from her and filling every room she entered, even if it was superficially masked in sweet pastels and warm light. You liked them both, despite the differences, and whatever rumors you heard about them.

And they liked you too. Farah often offered you sweet smiles that she didn’t give to everyone, and your meetings with her would sometimes drift into personal conversation, especially if you had them over lunch together. Luna too made her affection for you known, soft touches on your arm that lingered just a moment longer than a friendly touch would, or heartfelt remarks on how she’d never be able to function without you, all of which never failed to make you blush.

You weren’t quite sure when it became a competition between the two of them. It might have happened the day when Luna astral projected into your office, interrupting a lunch meeting with Farah that had gone long with conversation. You’d both been laughing with Luna’s form had appeared, Farah’s eyes bright with affection as she gazed at you fondly, and although you’d both become entirely professional when Luna appeared, you knew she’d seen the way you looked at each other just as clearly as you’d seen the possessive gleam in her eye.

Though your meeting with Luna after that had gone smoothly, as well as all of your other meetings, you could sense that tension in both of the women, like they both had something to prove.

Or more likely, you realized, like they were both trying to win your heart.

Luna became even more bold with her gentle touches, even going so far as to lay a hand on your cheek one night, smiling softly before she retreated and wished you goodnight, offering you a room in the castle if you didn’t want to make the trip back to Alfea. Even Farah, as composed as she was, was more forward in her advances, eyes flicking to your lips when she paid you compliments, or when you rolled your neck to try and ease a headache, she would merely reach out and touch two fingers to your temple, the pain melting away in seconds.

You could admit that you liked the advances of both of them women, feeling as though you could preen under their attentions. Not only did you have Farah — a legendary fairy in her own right — showing you affection, but the Queen of Solaria as well, making you feel like the star of a period piece, your two handsome, wealthy suitors courting you in their attempts to win your hand. You were content with the flirting and the fantasies of both women, not thinking much about where relationships with either of them would go in fear of complicating things. But one afternoon in your office at Alfea, you realized you’d have to decide just where your heart lay.

Instead of her normal astral projecting, Luna had come to your office in person, needing to update her calendar for you and reconcile her schedule with Farah’s and find time for their combined meetings.

“My quarterly inspection of the troop’s preparations here at Alfea needs to happen in the next couple of weeks — hopefully those can drop to biannual next year — Farah will need to be present for that. It will take an afternoon, when can I make that happen?”

You flipped through the large planner on your desk, Farah’s meetings written in blue, Luna’s in red. “Both you and Ms. Dowling have a free afternoon in two weeks on a Friday — though you have an event that night, ma’am, that you’ll have to—”

“Please,” Luna interrupted with a smile, “how many times have I told you to call me Luna?”

You smiled back. “Too many to count… Luna.” It still felt odd to use the Queen’s given name, but her self satisfied smile as she sat back in her chair did make the odd feeling worth it.

“Good,” she praised. “Now, that’s the Benefactor’s Gala, correct? I’ll only need to make a short appearance and give a speech towards the end, so I’ll have plenty of time to dress. Though—” she came around your desk to study the planner herself, standing so close that you could smell her sweet perfume, “that lunch meeting may run long.” She dropped to her elbows on your desk, hips, clad in a dusky rose pencil skirt, cocked in a tantalizing fashion near your head, and you had to fix your eyes pointedly on your planner. “What about this Wednesday here?”

You went back and forth for a while, pencilling in various events. You couldn’t help but let out a sigh as you wrote the last one, feeling your back ache with the strain of both the work and of feigning nonchalance with Luna’s body so near to yours.

Luna seemed to feel the same, straightening to roll her shoulders, but then surprised you by perching on the arm of your chair, somehow looking effortlessly graceful as she crossed her legs, leaving her balanced on the toe of one of her stilettos. “A queen’s work is never done, hm?”

You laughed softly, not letting your eyes linger on the smooth expanse of her legs. “You wouldn’t be a very good Queen if it was.”

Luna laughed too, rich and smooth, and she looked down at you for a long moment before reaching out and tracing the line of your jaw with one finger. “Lucky I have you, then. To help keep me a good Queen.”

You felt yourself blush, jaw tingling where Luna had touched you. You felt your eyes drift to her lips unconsciously, tracing the smooth, sharp lines. Those lips curved into a smirk, and you blushed further, eyes snapping up to meet Luna’s again, who’s glinted with mirth. She traced the line of your jaw again, slower this time, her hand coming to cup your cheek as her eyes flicked over your features, staring as though she was memorizing you.

Lighting zipped in your stomach when you thought you saw Luna lean towards you, just an inch, but your breath caught, eyes flicking to her lips again as she stroked your cheekbone with her thumb.

A clearing of a throat came from the doorway making you spring back, back hitting the arm of your chair. You blushed even further, your cheeks on fire as you tried to get as far away from Luna as possible, who for her part kept her composure, still perched comfortably on the arm of your chair as she stared at Farah in challenge.

“Farah,” you said, trying to pretend Luna wasn’t there, which was difficult considering where she sat. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t realize we had a meeting today.”

“We didn’t,” Farah said smoothly, still staring cooly at Luna. Her gaze shifted to you then, still cold, and you felt your stomach drop. “I thought I’d stop by to see if you were still here. But if you’re otherwise occupied…” she trailed off, looking at Luna again, and your blush which had started to recede came back in full force, feeling like a student she was disciplining.

“No worries, Farah,” Luna said brightly, looking smug as she stood from her perch. “I should be going anyway.” She turned to you then, giving you a radiant smile. “Thank you for all of your help, dear. You are truly a blessing.” She gave you a wink and then headed for the door, passing closer to Farah than was strictly necessary, and you thought Farah’s hackles would have raised if she had any.

A horribly awkward silence fell over the two of you, and you picked at the edge of your desk, unable to meet Farah’s eyes. She cleared her throat again and you then met her eyes, fighting what felt like the permanent blush in your cheeks.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Farah said softly.

“No, no, it wasn’t interrupting,” you insisted, still feeling like you’d done something wrong, but why? There wasn’t anything owed between you, but still you felt like you’d been caught. “Is there, ah, something I can help you with?”

Farah opened her mouth like she was going to speak, but then closed it, smiling at you. It was a warmer smile than before, but it still didn’t reach her eyes, and you felt your stomach drop again. “No, it was nothing. Have a good night.”

And she turned and left, leaving you alone and still blushing.

Why did you feel so horrible? It was a little embarrassing to be caught nearly kissing the Queen in your office with the door open, but the waves of shame and regret rolling through you seemed unwarranted. You and Luna were both adults, as was Farah, and each was entitled to their fun.

Deep down you knew why, and the longer you thought about it, the more sure you were. Flirting with Luna was fun, sure, but with Farah it was something more. With Farah, it was a beginning, the promise of something more, a calling from somewhere in your soul that told you there was something there, something that could be beautiful if you both just took a chance.

You were in love with Farah Dowling. You’d been a fool to not see it for so long, but now that you did it was undeniable, and you couldn’t bear not to tell her, for her to think a moment longer that you didn’t feel for her the way she must feel for you.

It was late now, and after finding her office empty you headed towards Farah’s cottage, not wanting to wait until the morning to find her. As you waited at her door, you thought about what you’d say, rehearsed several confessions, but when the door opened and Farah stood there, hair loosely braided and face bare of makeup, all words left your head.

“Can I come in?” you asked after a long moment, and Farah nodded, stepping aside.

You were both silent again, Farah obviously waiting for you to start as she moved around you into the living room.

“I, uh, wanted to apologize for… earlier,” you started hesitantly, unsure how receptive Farah would be.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. You and Luna are… close. You shouldn’t have to hide that.”

Her words were kind, but Farah held something back, something in her eyes that belied more hurt than she let on. Sorrow pulled at your chest, and you had to clench your fists to keep from going to her to comfort.

“No, that wouldn’t be something to hide, but I meant that… I just wanted to clarify— and what I wanted to apologize for—“ Hell with it, nothing sounded right but the truth. “I’m in love with you,” you blurted, and Farah’s head popped up, staring at you in surprise.

“I love you,” you continued, “and I need you to know that, because what I’m really trying to apologize for is that it took me nearly kissing Luna to realize it myself. I think my heart has always belonged to you, Farah, and I’m sorry that I played this game for so long when I could have been with you.”

You stopped, taking a deep breath and studying Farah. She looked at you cautiously but otherwise unreadable, and for a moment you thought you’d misread her attraction to you, utterly destroying whatever friendly relationship you had.

And then she smiled. Slowly, but it was a real one, and it lit up her eyes so that you couldn’t help but smile yourself.

“I—“ Farah started, and then trailed off, still smiling. And then, deciding better of words, she closed the gap between you in three steps, took you into her arms, and kissed you.

Luna’s touch had been thrilling, exciting, but Farah’s touch, oh, Farah’s touch felt like coming home. You leaned into her, gripping her waist to keep yourself upright as you melted into the kiss, feeling her warm and soft underneath you. Your head swam with dizzying happiness, feeling like a puzzle whose last piece had just clicked into place — full and complete and radiantly beautiful. You could nearly feel Farah pulsing with the same happiness as she kissed you, making a small noise against your mouth, to which you sighed and opened your mouth to her, tasting her sweet and tender on your tongue.

You stayed close when the kiss ended, Farah running her hands lightly up and down your back, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

You smiled, feeling as though you might overflow with happiness, and bumped your nose with hers. “Me too. Even if it took me a while to realize how deeply I felt, I always knew I wanted to kiss you.”

Farah smiled again and then gripped your hips, pulling you closer to her. “I thought, when I saw you and Luna, that I’d waited too long to make the depth of my feelings known. I’m sorry for how brisk I was earlier.”

You shook your head, leaning your forehead against Farah’s. “Thank you. Though I can’t blame you. I don’t know how I would have reacted, in your position, though I know I wouldn’t have liked it.”

“It was certainly a shock,” Farah said, and then huffed out a laugh, pulling your hips closer to her. “I’d been coming to ask you to dinner tonight. Not just as colleagues, but as… friends. Maybe something more. Then seeing you together, I… jealous is too weak a word to describe what I felt.” She shook her head then like she tried to banish the thought, and squeezed your hips gently. “I’m glad you’re here.”

She said it simply enough, but the weight behind her words had you wrapping your arms around her neck. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, and no one else I’d rather be with. I mean that.”

Farah let out a soft, contented sigh, and gently cupped your cheeks before kissing you again, filling you with light and love, speaking just as clearly with her kiss as though she’d spoken it in your mind.

I love you, too.

#farah dowling x reader #farah x reader #farah dowling #eve best #ftws #fate the winx saga

120 notes · View notes

peachypascal · 4 years ago

Text

work for it

summary: tensions are running high between you and mando, and after a long day, he loses his patience with you.

warnings: unprotected sex, oral (m+f receiving), choking, condescension, possession i guess?, very lowkey dom/sub vibes, one (1) spank, spoilers for season 2, unedited

word count: 5.3k

you can barely even look at him anymore.

if you could get to his face, if he wasn’t such a skillful fighter, you reckon you might have hit him already, but instead, you’re forced to push all your irritation under the surface. it’s already such a tense environment; there’s no point in making it worse.

he’s been fighting with everyone since the moment you had landed. he’s unhappy. it’s understandable, given what he’s lost recently, but you had lost, too. you had lost the child, and you had lost a piece of yourself. you hurt, too, but he won’t allow you your moment to grieve. for the first time since the two of you met, your mandalorian expects you to stand up. you are meant to be the strong one this time. before he had begun taking his upset out on you, that had been fine. you had been okay with that.

din has lost more than you have. you lost grogu and you lost the ship, but he had lost his child, his home, his creed. din had lost his way. you ache for him, really. it’s unfair that such a good man should live a life so wrought with tragedy and tribulation.

it doesn’t stop you from bristling at the way he talks to you, like you can’t take care of yourself anymore. the two of you had always worked so well together before now. now, he’s pent-up. he’s angry. about his losses, about his mere proximity to bo-katan, who seems to have her mind set on defeating him every step of the way, about the fact that he can’t find a moment alone, not with you staying in the same room he’s in, one hardly big enough to hold the two cots you’ve been sleeping in.

he thought getting off the ship was what he needed. solid ground and natural light and someplace where looking out the windows doesn’t make his head spin, but now he’s even closer to you than before. lately, something that was once so comforting now only reminds him of one more thing he’s bound to lose. against all great odds, he had managed to survive his losses. you, he’s not so sure he could handle losing. you’re the last thing keeping him hanging on, the single thread keeping him where he needs to be, and without you, he’s gone.

after the days that you have been living, all you want is a nice, luxurious bed to fall into after your perpetually long days, but you and mando are barely able to scrounge enough extra credits together for the dingy little box they call a room. you would call it a scam, but after traveling with mando for so long, you’ve grown used to the seedier parts of the galaxy, and you’ll only be here a few days while everyone regroups. it’s a much-needed break from the only person you want to punch more than din and even with your mounting annoyance, it feels nice to listen to the chatter of a city while you sit in your room, watching them from above.

behind you, the door opens. you don’t bother turning around—you fear that seeing him might set you off and vice versa. a deep breath holds still in your chest, waiting, wondering if he’s going to say something to you. right as you begin to let your guard down, your shoulders dropping, he breaks the silence.

“we’re leaving tomorrow.”

they’re the first words in days that he has spoken without malice behind them, but the sound of his filtered voice still grates on your nerves. the two of you have been living in a powder keg, your explosion inevitable, but you had hoped it would stay intact until you left this planet. with the irritation that burns you now, you’re unsure you’ll make it through the night. it fills you with a great sense of dread. no, you aren’t sure you can stand another moment sleeping three feet away from him, but you hate even more the idea of the two of you not even speaking.

you don’t hear him move, still by the door, still in his armor. with a quiet sigh, you glance back at him only to give him confirmation that you’ve heard him. even through the modulator, you hear his disgruntled huff. he begins removing his armor, shaking his head at you. you purse your lips at the sight of him. before grogu was taken from you, it felt as though you two were finally getting somewhere. you had been traveling with them long enough to feel as though you were a part of a small family. you had finally managed to break down din’s walls, to almost get close enough to touch. all your travels had led up to this, all the nervous glances and tentative touches, and now, you can barely look at him. you want to reach out for him, but even in the tiny room, he feels too far.

finally, you sigh. “great.”

din stacks his armor noisily beside his bed, hiding his blaster under his pillow and kicking his boots off. he’s being loud. after so many nights of hearing him take off that armor in the crest, you knew he was always careful not to let it clang the way it does now. if you could see his eyes, you would see the light that flickers in them, just waiting for an excuse to start a fire.

“what did you do today?” you ask quietly, skin burning with the tension and your need to diffuse it.

he sighs, shaking his helmet minutely. “nothing.”

a crinkle forms between your brows. “nothing? you’ve been gone all day doing nothing?”

his shoulders square in irritation and the sight nearly sets you off. “does it matter?” he scoffs, settling his hands on his hips.

your jaw sets and you turn to face him. “no, i suppose not.”

the air is thick between you and a heavy shiver runs down your spine, desperate to get away from him. you stand, in need of a moment of fresh air, but din grabs your bicep before you can pass him, the stoic flat of his helmet tilting to look at you. “where are you going?”

your mandalorian is a man of pride. he would never admit it, especially not after he had sacrificed that pride so much in the time that you had known him, but it was true. that pride means that asking the very question makes him cringe beneath his helmet. perhaps it’s your anger with him, or your inability to keep your mouth shut, but in a quick moment of spite, you sneer back at him. “does it matter?”

before you even have a chance to change your facial expression, one gloved hand wraps firmly around your throat, forcing your gaze up to meet his. you choke, not because he’s holding you too tightly but because of your surprise, eyes wide as you look up at him. “watch it.”

you stare at his visor, hardening your expression. your shock wears off quickly. instead, you find it much easier to concentrate on the fury that has been building for days. “or what?” you spit. “i’m not fighting with you, din.”

the use of his name catches him off-guard. he had only heard it fall from your lips in the most intimate of moments, quiet, long conversations in the cockpit when the child was asleep. then, it had calmed him. it soothed his soul to know that you knew him. now, it fuels the fire already burning in him; it only feeds the need settled low in his gut at the sight of you. it sets him off.

he takes two, long strides and takes you with him, backing you against the wall with his hand tightening around your throat, ignoring your confused squeak. “you don’t talk to me like that,” he cuts out, voice low and tight, and you laugh mirthlessly, still impassioned enough to fight him even with his hand around your throat.

“and you don’t treat me like dirt. deal?”

the two of you stand in a long silence, your nose an inch away from his visor; you wonder if mando will say anything, defend himself, but he seems as though he doesn’t even hear your words. he takes in a slow, deep breath before his fingers tighten around your throat, and you can’t help your quiet moan, eyes fluttering closed. his mouth goes dry at the sound, legs weak at the sound he’s been imagined every single night. even with anger still pounding through you, you can’t deny that you like the position. after traveling with him for so long, always at arm's length, this is all you think about anymore. him, touching you, holding you so close like he does now.

you shudder under his hand and blood rushes in his ears, seemingly amplified under his helmet. his breathing is heavy, pondering his next move cautiously before he finally says, “turn around.” you’re so headstrong, you have been since he’s known you. you don’t take his commandments without question or pushback, which is why he expects you to spit a curse back in his face. you don’t.

instead, for the first time ever, you obey without question.

din feels like the breath he takes is gasping, his mouth open like a fish as his hand falls down to his side, eyes tracking down the arch of your spine. it’s as though you’re presenting yourself to him, the subtle look over your shoulder telling him all the words he wants to hear. take me. i’m ready. the wait is over.

“mando,” you whisper hoarsely, pressing your warm forehead against the wall. “please.”

he’s unsure exactly where to start. after a thousand fantasies, they all seem to blur together until he wants everything, no way to figure out what he wants the most. as he pulls off his gloves, he takes a moment to deliberate, admiring the sight of you waiting for him. all those fantasies and din can only decide on one thing: he’ll take as much as he can.

his bare hand glides over your hip, his touch relaxing your tight muscles as his arm wraps around you, palm pressing to your stomach and his chest pressing to your back. “you’re okay?” he asks, voice tight with barely-restrained need.

your answer is breathy and needy. “yes,” you sigh. “please.”

din tightens his arm around your ribcage with an impatient grunt, his other hand already reaching into the waistband of your sleep pants. your skin is warm under his palm and not for the first time, he’s cursing the helmet on his head. he wants to be closer to you, to bury his face in your neck and breathe you in until you’re all he knows, and just as he begins to toy with the band of your underwear, he pulls away.

you give a frustrated groan, leaning back into him, but it’s fruitless. he’s already crossing the room, bare hands drawing the curtains and turning off the lights. “mando.” it shocks you to hear how your voice sounds, whiny and small while you turn back to him. “what—did i do something?”

“no,” he answers shortly.

there’s a moment where all you hear is the pounding of your own heart and the faraway chatter of the crowd on the street below you before he returns to you. you breathe out gently in relief when his large hands grip your hips tightly again, squeezing once before one travels up and the other goes down. your eyes flutter closed, reaching to grasp at his wrist when he cups your breast.

and then he leans down and presses his lips to the shell of your ear. you jump in surprise at the feeling, at the idea that he would take his helmet off in such a vulnerable position, and your eyes fly open. “mando!”

din shushes you. “it’s okay,” he murmurs, fingers slipping into your pants once again until he’s cupping your pussy, an unfiltered moan vibrating against your neck. “maker, you’re already soaked.” your hips jolt into his hand, desperately searching for any sort of friction. his teeth sink into your earlobe. “needy,” he growls. “always so needy.”

a quick retort is already on your tongue, but his nose nuzzles against your temple and two of his fingers find your clit, lips stretching into a small smile when he hears your soft moan. your head falls back onto his shoulder, sinking into the pleasure he’s building within you. he’s always worked so well with his hands but you have a newfound appreciation for the dexterity of them as he rubs deep, slow circles into you.

din buries his face in your neck, tongue laving over your pulsepoint and teeth biting at your collarbone, savoring the way you take over all of his senses. he grinds against your ass, the thick duraweave of his pants grating against your threadbare sleep pants. “feel that?” he murmurs, just below your ear, and you moan, grinding down against his fingers. you certainly do. it shocks you, at first, just how hard he is, how big he is. he’s always been so broad, so big in every other sense that it shouldn’t surprise you, but you find yourself daunted by the thought of him already.

“fuck, mando,” you whine, unable to decide where you want to be more, grinding down against his fingers or back against his cock, and you let out a frustrated groan.

“what’s wrong?” he coos mockingly, hand sliding from your breast to your throat. “you want more?”

“i want to come,” you beg.

“you want to come?” his grip around your throat tightens. “work for it.”

your knees almost buckle, a loud moan falling from your lips, one that makes din’s cock twitch. you press back against him, grinding shamelessly against your mandalorian with your brow furrowed in pleasure. his fingers work faster against your clit, the arm across your chest keeping you tight against his, and his low moan rumbles against your back.

it’s just out of reach, right at your fingertips; you need just a little bit more. you reach back for him, your fingers tangling in his hair. “din,” you gasp, voice choked. “i’m so close.”

he hums against your hairline, long fingers slipping further into your underwear to circle your entrance just once before he’s sinking one in, enjoying the bliss that washes over his body when you lean back against his chest. “stars, y/n, you feel so good,” he breathes, his eyes falling closed when he adds another finger.

your jaw clenches in preparation for your orgasm, already burning you up when din presses right against your sensitive wall. with a tug of his hair, your stomach tightens, the prettiest moan he’s ever heard in his life falling from your lips. din curls his fingers, breathing heavily when you clench tight around them. it takes over you without warning, your strangled cry of his name forcing his own rough groan against your hair. your thighs shake around his hand as you come, pulling on his hair until he’s hissing.

it’s the first time you’ve come in weeks and by the time din stops pressing against your g-spot, there are tears running down your cheeks. your hips jerk away from him fruitlessly, desperate to get away from the stimulation. din can’t help his soft smile, guiding you to your bed as well as he can in the dark. “c’mon, you need to rest.”

“no,” you insist, eyes wide and searching for him in the black. “no. sit down.” the thought of you on your knees for him, between his legs, it nearly makes him sweat, so he searches for your hand, entwining your fingers. “please.”

you trap your lip between your teeth as you sink down to your knees, listening to your mandalorian remove his clothing before he sits on your cot. your palms find his knees, brushing over the hair scattered over his skin, grinning at the sound of his exhale. you hum, running your hands up and down his thighs, over his hips, appreciating the feeling of his skin against yours until you wrap your fingers around his cock, stomach flipping at his quiet moan of your name.

all you want is for him to feel good, to feel a fraction as blissful as he made you feel, and it’s hard to pace yourself, so you lean forward and take him in your mouth, your lips closing around his head and your eyes fluttering closed. it’s a scene you’ve imagined a thousand times over, but none of your daydreams compare to the real thing. he’s so vocal, his loud moans and quiet murmurings filling the room, and he’s intoxicating you, his scent and taste and the feel of him under you, it already has you ready for him again. you moan around him, tightening your grip slightly, and his hips stutter.

“fuck,” he hisses, grasping the blanket beneath him. your eyes open, desperate to see him, but the way this man, this warrior, whines when you flick your tongue a certain way, you think that’s just as good as seeing his face.

din’s hips jolt at a particularly strong suck at his head. you hum at the taste of him on your tongue, distinct and so uniquely him, taking him deeper to taste more of him. when he hits your throat, your gag makes him cry out, voice thin from the pleasure, and in an attempt to calm himself down, he pulls you off of him, panting loudly. it had been far too long, not just since relief but since he had started fantasizing about this very position, and it’s not unlikely that if you continue, this will be over far too fast for his liking.

wordlessly, he pulls you off the floor and into his lap. strong arms wrap around your waist, and you gasp when he grabs the nape of your neck, guiding you into a kiss. it’s sloppy, a little unpracticed, but you’ve never felt so worked up. you wrap your arms around his neck, eagerly rolling your hips against his. “more,” you insist, grinning against his lips at his silent chuckle.

“what did i say?” his grip on the back of your neck tightens and his voice drops, suddenly serious. “needy.”

without answering, you reach between the two of you, fingers wrapping around his cock again before you drag it through your folds, pleased with the impatient grunt that falls from his lips. his fingertips dig into your waist and his teeth dig into your lip, trying to will you into giving him what he wants and you’re in no position to deny him this; you’re just as worked up as he is. with another long kiss, you sink down slowly, pressing your forehead to din’s. the room echoes with the relieved breaths that fall from both of you, with the increasingly passionate kisses the two of you share as you begin to adjust to his size, and with the lewd sounds of him filling you. he’s panting, holding you close in an effort to not drag you down on his cock. you’re barely halfway and already whining against his lips, and maker, he’s going to leave bruises to show his restraint, a sweat springing at his hairline every time you take him just a little deeper.

finally, with a high, quiet moan, you sink fully down on him, settling on his thighs for a moment of rest, adjusting to the way he stretches you. “din,” you breathe, tugging on his hair. you clench around him, your heart leaping when you feel him shudder. “you feel so good.”

“you’re so tight,” he huffs, thrusting up into you gently. “sweet little thing. i’ve been waiting for this.”

the admission makes you whimper. you kiss him hard, rolling your hips against his in an effort to get him just a little deeper and din’s head falls back, taking in a shaky breath before he’s thrusting into your again. leaning forward, you nip at his jaw. only he will see the marks you leave on him, but you’re unsure what happens when the two of you are done. you don’t know if it will ever happen again. you’re determined to leave your mark on him. you want him to remember this night when he looks in the mirror tomorrow, and the day after, and as long as your marks last. it sets a new fire under you, holding desperately to him while he fucks you, your teeth littering marks on his neck.

“mando,” you whine, sensitive clit rubbing over his pelvis. you want to say more. you want to tell him exactly how he’s making you feel, dizzy and hot and intoxicated by him, but you can’t exactly find the words. instead, you hang onto him like you’re going to lose him. he has you stuffed full and near tears with how deep he’s fucking you and for the first time, you have him. all of him. you feel him all over, breathing his scent in, finally pure and strong without the obstruction of his armor between the two of you. it’s a scent you never want to get rid of.

the way you squeeze him nearly has him coming, hands shaking even when pressed against your skin. he wants to pull you off him—needs to pull you off him—but you feel too good. his eyes roll back, jaw tight when you circle your hips just right, and with no warning, the same way he had pulled you on his lap, he rolls you off onto your cot.

“no, no, no,” you cry, reaching out for him. your fingertips barely brush his bare skin, and he shushes you quietly, grabbing your ankles as though he can see you perfectly well.

“you’re okay, mesh’la,” he says softly, pressing a sweet kiss to one of your calves. “i’m going to take care of you.”

din sinks to his knees, pressing his cheek to the inside of your knee, and you take in a sharp breath, his facial hair scratching pleasantly at the sensitive skin. “din,” you breathe, sitting up on your elbows. he only hums, soft lips pressing a line of sweet kisses up your inner thighs.

oh, he had been waiting for this. all of it, really, but this is his favorite daydream. his mind had worked up the most elaborate fantasies about what you would sound like, feel like, taste like, and his heart pounds at the idea of finally finding out. he’s not in the mood to tease you, not anymore, and his eyes flutter closed as he wraps his arms around your thighs and leans in, dragging his tongue through your folds with a satisfied hum.

you keen, reaching down for his hair without hesitation. the sharp tug makes him moan into your cunt, savoring the taste of you with nothing but pure delight. for a few minutes, all he wants is to taste as much of you as he can, but your quiet, little moans are no longer good enough for him. he licks a thick stripe up your slit and wraps his lips around your clit, tightening his grip around your thighs.

“oh, fuck,” you mewl, pulling on his hair harder. he flicks his tongue before he sucks your clit into his mouth, basking in all your needy little sounds.

din pulls away despite your desperate whine. “can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me, sweet girl,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses to your clit.

your back arches, pushing your hips further toward him. “please.”

as though he hasn’t even heard you, he continues, “but this pussy is mine now, isn’t it?”

those words are enough to have you clenching around nothing, the idea of din wanting you longer than just a night. “yes!” you cry, digging your heels into his back. “it’s yours. i’m yours, din. please let me come.”

his fingertips dig into your skin and his eyes roll back. he ducks his head down and the fervor with which he licks into you has your hips rolling against his face, so close to your release. the room echoes with the lewd sound of him between your legs and your eager moans, teetering right on the edge of another orgasm. your legs struggle against his hold as you writhe around on the cot, voice getting pitchy as he sucks your clit again, humming into you. whatever sound you’re making gets caught in your throat, your whole body tensing around him as you come again. you sob his name out, pulling his face closer and pushing your hips away, unable to decide whether you need more or rest.

din works you through your high with sweet kisses and quiet praises, nuzzling his bare cheeks against your inner thighs as you whine. “c’mere,” you slur, trying to pull him up by his hair.

he complies, allowing you to pull him into a tired, sloppy kiss in the haze of your orgasm. “can you give me one more?” he asks quietly, lining kisses across the bridge of your nose.

his wide hips settle between your legs, grinding his cock against your sensitivity and you shiver, scratching his scalp gently. “yeah,” you breathe, searching for his lips again. you smile against his lips at his sharp intake of breath, hips rolling toward yours in an effort to get him back inside of you.

din sinks his teeth into your lower lip, tugging gently. “roll over, cyar’ika.”

you barely feel like you can get the strength up to do it, even with his hands on your hips. with your hips raised in the air, you rest your forehead on your folded arms, pushing your hips back toward him eagerly. “i need it,” you huff, jumping when one of his large hands settles on your hips. “need you inside of me.”

“so impatient,” he mumbles, the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance. your whole body wracks with anticipation, pushing back against him and grunting when he pulls back. “you are not in charge here,” he hisses, slapping the swell of your ass sharply.

your yelp echoes throughout the small room, the sound fading into a low hum as you push your hips back. “i’m sorry,” you respond smally, reaching back to grab his wrist. “i’m sorry. please.”

his chest burns against your back as he leans over you to slide inside, choking out a moan into your ear. “perfect girl,” he spits, wrapping an arm around your waist. “take my cock so fucking well.”

you brows furrow, hips shifting until he’s brushing that perfect spot inside of you with every single thrust. still sensitive from your last orgasm, you can’t help the way you cry out at the stimulation. “right there,” you wail, your head falling from your arms as you grab helplessly at the blanket.

it feels so good that it nearly hurts, the tears that had dried after your first orgasm springing to your eyes again. “right there,” he repeats. “is that what’s going to make you come again? hm? is that the spot that’s going to have this pussy squeezing around me?”

your head feels foggy, unable to focus on anything other than the way he feels, not just inside of you but around you, too, his hot breath fanning over the side of your face, the heat of his skin warming you everywhere. one of his hands slithers between your body and the cot, finding your sensitive clit and drawing lazy, tight circles around it. “i— fuck, din,” you blubber. “it’s too much.”

“too much?” he asks gruffly, teeth sinking into your shoulder. you think the lapse in his movement will give you some relief to that unbearable ache growing between your thighs, but when his hips slow, his cock nestled as deep as it will go and your fingers still rubbing your clit, your hips jolt in a dazed panic. you can’t afford for him to stop, not when you’re so close again. “are you done yet?”

“i can take it,” you sob, fingers tightening in the flimsy blanket that covers your cot.

he’s beginning to lose control, his thighs slapping against yours as he fucks you, your face buried in the mattress as you blubber. din desperately tries to hold on but the way you cry for him leaves him reeling, counting backwards in his head to keep from coming too soon, and he’s unsure how much longer he’s going to last while you squeeze him so tight that he has to clench his teeth.

“c’mon, mesh’la,” he whispers in your ear, voice tight as he staves off his orgasm. “let me hear you.”

“din,” you whine, your thighs aching with how tight your muscles are. he hums, kissing the shell of your ear. his orgasm is already taking root in the pit of his stomach, so he pinches your clit gently.

“can you come for me? one last time?” he asks, but you’ve already clamped down on him, a broken moan falling from your lips as you come around him, inconsolably shaking around him, and there’s not a single bit of hope for him. he comes—hard—calling out your name and clutching at you, both of you riding out your highs in the darkness of the room.

after a long moment of nothing but the two of you breathing heavily, din pulls out with a broken moan, rolling to lie beside you on the cramped little cot. he’s never been good at this part—the after effects. he never knows exactly what to say, whether or not to cuddle, or if he should leave. in fact, he he’s already working himself up wondering exactly what he’s supposed to say, or if he should say anything. his eyes move in the black of the room, fingers reaching for you tentatively, ready to take the leap and pull you into his chest.

in the heavy silence, you finally give a tired laugh, rolling closer to him, right under his already open arm. “wow.”

“wow?” he repeats softly, and he can hear the mirthful lilt in your voice. it makes him feel a little better, a little more hopeful that he hasn’t entirely ruined your relationship.

“i’m just surprised that this is what all our fighting was leading up to.” it’s a joke, really, but it makes his lips turn down in a frown. after so many long, unbearable days of fighting, his heart sank at the reminder of how short the two of you had been with one another. the way that he’d treated you. he had never treated you that way before, and he had never wanted to, and even through the veil of post coital bliss, regret begins to eat at him.

“i’m...sorry,” he finally whispers, fingers intertwining with yours.

you smile, lifting your hands up and pressing a kiss to the back of his. “i know,” you assure him. “i am, too.”

and then he’s quiet again. it usually means that he’s searching for exactly the right words, so you allow him his time, pressing your cheek to his chest and breathing him in, waiting for him to finally sort out whatever is going on in his head. “i don’t—i dont want you to think that this was...something i did…” he stumbles through the idea, but you exhale softly, opting to put him out of his misery.

“mando,” you cut him off, turning your head to kiss his shoulder gently. “i know better than anyone that none of your decisions are careless.”

din chuckles quietly, relief flooding through him and relaxing all his muscles. “still, i shouldn’t have treated you that way,” he insists. “this wasn’t how i imagined this happening.”

a smitten smile pulls at your lips. “well, you’ll find some way to make it up to me,” you hum. he rubs a large hand over your back, goosebumps following as the cold air of the room rushes back to your skin. you lean away from him only to tug on the blanket. “in the meantime, i’m exhausted. let’s get some sleep.”

for the first time since he can remember, din sleeps through the night.

#din djarin imagine #din djarin imagines #din djarin x reader #din djarin oneshot #din daren oneshots #din djarin smut #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian imagines #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian oneshot #the mandalorian oneshots #the mandalorian smut #ellie’s words

413 notes · View notes

newtonsheffield · 3 years ago

Note

Hard to believe but I think among the some 300 fanfics out there no one did a what-if Edmund never died. Probably because the premise of the whole story was edmunds death and what wld be the conflict if not that? However, I think it would make a brilliant story since I am pretty sure Anthony as Mr. Bridgerton wouldve been an even bigger rake. So, maybe you can write it? Pretty please with cute corgis on top? Preferably set in the regency era, it can just a Drabble, nothing more. But I want to see it take some form. Who knows maybe someone else will get inspired to write it if not you.

Okay So... Apparently I couldn't bloody help myself.

You owe me two cute Corgis anon. (Please forgive me for how bad I am at writing in regency)

Anthony sighed to himself as he stood in the corner of the ballroom in his family home. Not Hiding per se, That would be undignified for a future Viscount, Anthony reasoned, merely keeping a low profile. He'd promised his mother he would attend, and at least pretend to look interested but really, it wasn't to be born. Anthony saw Mrs Featherington set her sights on him, tugging her daughters in his direction, Anthony bit back a groan, casting around for someone with whom he might enter conversation, panic rising slightly as she drew closer.

"I do hope you're not attempting to sneak out early, Anthony." Anthony sighed, turning towards the voice. "I wouldn't dream of it father." Edmund, Viscount Bridgerton's face lit up as he laughed jovially, clapping his son on the shoulder. Anthony huffed as his father said. "You did promise to indulge your mother tonight I believe, I heard it was in penance for being rather late to the house party last week." His father said pointedly. Anthony flushed slightly at the light admonishment from his father. "I arrived in time for the final day." He muttered shame faced. His father chuckled. "And I'm sure whatever detained you was very amusing, son. However we have a duty to honour our commitments as gentlemen. Do we not?" He asked, his tone firm. Lord Bridgerton was speaking now. Anthony nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"And that rather includes humouring your mother where dance partners are concerned, I'm afraid." He said, Anthony's father once more. "I hope you're not telling your son to be as cheeky as you are, Lord Bridgerton." A voice said to their left. Anthony rolled his eyes. She'd found him. "Oh I'd never dream of it, Lady Bridgerton." Anthony watched his parents closely, their eyes sparkling as they looked at one another, the picture of marital bliss, and something deep inside Anthony ached. Ached to be so happy and settled and sure of one's partner.

His eyes drifted around the room his parent's voices filtering into the background and then he saw her. A striking woman was standing, some distance across the room, her skin glowing in the candlelight bouncing off her high cheekbones, her spine straight and proud. Beautiful Anthony's subconscious echoed. And he couldn't help himself. "Who is that?" The words had left him before they'd fully formed in his mind. His mother's head spun in his direction, her eyebrows raised. "Who, Darling?" "The young woman, with dark hair, by the Featheringtons." Mrs Featherington had retreated from her pursuit but was still casting hopefully looks in his direction.

Lady Bridgerton sighed "A Miss Edwina Sharma. Newly arrived with her mother and sister from Somerset." Yes, Anthony could see her talking with another pretty young woman, and a woman who must be her mother. "Her mother is an earl's daughter, married a tradesmen, who has since passed. Rather a popular young Lady this season." His mother finished pointedly. And the look on her face was unbearable, but Anthony couldn't help himself. "Excuse me, Mother, Father." Anthony said, turning away from their identical grins, his most charming smile working it's way on to his face as he picked his way through the crowded ballroom.

"How Do you Do?" Anthony heard his voice ring out and two pairs of dark eyes turned in his direction, and then, much slower, the woman, Miss Edwina Sharma he corrected, slowly turned towards him, her eyebrow raised, Surprised. Lady Sharma spoke first "Very Well Sir. And You?" "Very Well. Forgive the intrusion, Lady Sharma. My mother, Lady Bridgerton, mentioned you were newly in town for the season and I thought to introduce myself." He said politely, his eyes flicking in Edwina's direction, she was casting an odd, almost exasperated look at her sister, who appeared several years younger. Lady Sharma smiled politely, gesturing to her daughter's in approval. "Mr Anthony Bridgerton." He said, smiling his most charming smile, the one that always made ladies flutter their eyelashes at him. "And you must be Miss Edwina Sharma." He finished, "I am, Yes." She replied politely, although, it was the wrong she. Miss Edwina Sharma was standing to his intended's left, her younger sister apparently. Anthony cursed himself.

Edwina Sharma for her part, looked a little surprised at having ben addressed at all. Anthony floundered, a little unsure how to continue. He recovered quickly, turning back to the woman who had stayed silent, her brow furrowed slightly. "And might I enquire after your name, Miss?" Anthony said, refusing to allow himself to be ruffled by the odd turn of events. And still the woman stayed silent, her eyes narrowing. "Might I present my elder daughter, Mr Bridgerton? Katharine." Katharine. That certainly seemed to fit her better. Regal. His smile grew. "Miss Sharma." He said with a small bow. "Mr. Bridgerton." A curtsy. Her voice firm, unemotional.

"Miss Sharma, I wondered if I might engage you for the next? Have you permission to waltz?" He kept his voice light, maintaining eye contact. One of her eyebrows was in danger of disappearing into her hair altogether now, she opened her mouth "Kate would be delighted." Her sister cut across her, a broad warm smile on her face. Kate the name seemed to echo through him. Kate seemed to sigh, resigned, taking his proffered hand as he lead her to the floor.

His hand light on her back, electricity coursing through him as the dance began, moving in time to the music. "Forgive me for my forwardness, Miss Sharma but I-" Anthony started, desperate to know something about her. "And I hope you'll forgive mine in return Mr. Bridgerton when I ask you to keep your distance." Her tone stiff, Anthony's heart stuttered even as her foot stomped on his. "You see, your reputation proceeds you, sir. And I'd rather my family not have their reputations linked with one such as yours." Her tone was clipped, her eye contact defiant. And he should have been angry, indignant but dear god, What a woman. Her eyes seemed to go on forever, layer after intelligent layer. Anthony scoffed. "I assure you, Miss Sharma, my reputation has been vastly exaggerated." It had been slightly. Miss Sharma laughed as the dance came to an end.

"I'm not sure I care to find out, Mr. Bridgerton. Merely being in your presence this long has surely tarnished me in some way." Her eyes were shining with her own joke now. And she was witty as well, something deep inside Anthony burned. "That rather sounds like a challenge." Her eyebrow raised again. "And do you enjoy those, sir?" "Why don't I call on you tomorrow and you can find out?" He couldn't stop the smirk from his face at the surprise written plainly on her own. Tension seemed to build between them, their eyes locked together. Her breath caught oddly. "I shan't hold my breath Mr. Bridgerton." And then she'd dropped his arm, stepped back from his presence and was making her way back through the throng leaving Anthony staring after her.

"Careful, brother. Mother's planning a wedding breakfast." Benedict's amused voice said in his ear. Anthony finally took a breath. "Perhaps she should."

Again there will never be any more of this, but what a thrill

#that's all there is #there isn't any more #edmund lives au #bridgerton fic #kathony #anthony x kate #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #kate sheffield #molly's asks and answers #the viscount who loved me #TVWLM

123 notes · View notes

stephspurs · 3 years ago

Text

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

BESTIES!! PART 10 IS A HOT ONE!! Enjoy reading it as much as I did while writing it (and re-reading it because its probs one of my fav parts of the whole series) Love Always, Steph xx

Part 10 | parte dieci

warnings; heavy-petting, almost-smut, and a hot jack grealish - read at your own risk ;) word count; 2469. writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. next update; Monday 16/08 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)! tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven link to fic masterlist here

Longing glances and shy smiles. That was how Amelia and Ben both spent the next morning at Cobham together, prior to travelling to Stamford Bridge for the fourth match of the season against Aston Villa. The two had spent the rest of the evening relaxing on the couch; no additional kisses were shared between them as they had both agreed to keep things friendly, and no matter how hard Ben tried, Amelia had no intentions of going any further just yet. She had admitted to him something that she had never uttered out loud before: she still needed to work out how to exist without Fede.

While their situationship had been as unconventional as it was, it was still something that Amelia had grown to live with and love. Fede’s personality was unlike no other she had come across, perhaps closest to that of Jack Grealish. Friendly, flirtatious, charming, to the point where she found herself blushing sometimes - not many people had been able to make her shy enough to blush, but Fede had, and now Jack was too.

hot boy grealish

mornin mils, can’t wait to see ya today.

I’ll be the hot one with the good hair and even better ass.

hot gal mils

morning my dear jacky, looking forward to seeing you too.

Is Tyrone not playing?

His bum has always been my fav bum to stare at.

hot boy grealish

cut it out, you.

Banter-filled texts had been a constant stream of entertainment throughout the days leading up to the match. Jack has been preparing Amelia for the possibility of her losing, constantly picking on the girl for being an overachiever and saying that she needs to be brought down a few pegs, having been quite some time since her team had lost a match. Amelia however, with enough self-confidence to rival that of the villa boy, wouldn’t even let him finish his sentences. Far too superstitious for that to happen.

The girl believed in superstitions, and she was not about to tempt her fate. She even went so far as to have her family name and a small Italian flag embroidered onto the inside of her collar of every polo shirt she would wear for match days. She did it at Juventus and organised for it to be done to her new Chelsea uniform. It was a personal choice, something that happened to run in her family also, her father and brother also having the White family name stitched to the inside of their kit. It was a way of keeping them all tied together, no matter what side of the pitch they were on. The Italian flag was there to remind her of all that the country had given her: her grandparents and a chance to be brilliant at what she loves most.

Arriving at Stamford Bridge off of the team bus, Jorgi had insisted she sitwith him and they spoke exclusively in Italian for the 30-odd minute drive from Cobham. Despite Amelia purchasing a new car a few days prior, Jorgi insisted they continue to carpool. It worked out well because now Amelia wouldn’t have to catch the team bus back to the training ground after the match. She had spent the better part of an hour out on the pitch with some of the boys, running through the plays she had in mind before she ushered them back into the changeroom, allowing the Aston Villa men to have their time out on the grass.

______________________________________________________________

“I would know that bum anywhere.”

“Hello Jack, nice to see you too. I’ve been well thanks, so has my bum. I’ll let my face know you said hello, too,” I spoke as I stood up from my crouched position, where I had been tying my laces.

“Just kiddin love, actually no I'm not - I love your bum. But I am happy to see your beautiful face too!” Jack spoke, as he pulled me into a hug - wrapping both of his arms around my head, effectively pushing me further into his chest.

“You saw my face a couple days ago when we were on FaceTime!”

“I saw your bum a few days ago on FaceTimetoo, doesn’t mean I'm not happy to see it!”

“So that's why you like helping me do my laundry, so you can see my backside as I reach into the machine!”

“Now I’m not a religious man, but I have prayed to God a few times that you drop a sock or two riiiiiiight in front of the camera.” He laughed back at my shocked expression.

“Jack! You are ridiculous! Stop being such a perv! No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend” I play-shouted at him as I smacked him with my rolled up matchday program.

“I’m holding out for you, my love.”

“Always the joker, Jack. Get out there and prepare for the worst match of your season.”

“Dream on Mils, we’ve got this in the bag.”

“Sure thing Jacky, sure thing.”

I walked further up the tunnel towards the changeroom, getting ready to deliver my strategy talk to the boys.

“Stop looking at my ass, Grealish!” I shouted without turning around. The boisterous laugh that followed my exclamation was enough to know that I was correct. I didn’t need to turn around to be able to predict what the laddish lad was already doing.

60 minutes of football later.

Amelia was correct in saying that Chelsea were going to win the match, her quiet confidence only getting louder and louder as each premier league match went on. She was apprehensive at first to see if her tactics were going to work in the Prem, or if there was to be some compromise on skill due to the fast-paced nature of the game. So far, however, the Chelsea men were quick learners and even quicker to execute.

One thing she wasn’t prepared for, however, was the absolute worldie that Jack had scored just before half-time at the Bridge. There was an element of familiarity in his goal, recognising the play as one of her own. A small smile crossed her face after he scored, running to celebrate with the away fans before jogging down past the bench and mouthing a quick “all you baby” at her as he moved back into position. She must have told him about it back when she was in Italy, knowing that there was no chance she would have exchanged her trade secrets to an enemy in the same league. It warmed her to know he paid enough attention to her to be able to practice that on his own with his team and execute it flawlessly in a live game.

What Amelia also wasn’t prepared for was for anyone else to recognise the play. Behind her on the bench sat an oddly-inquisitive Ben. He saw the tactic as it was playing out, recognising the run that Jack had to make to put himself in the box at the exact moment that John McGinn crossed the ball. Better yet, he saw Jack run down the sideline, nowhere near where he should have been, and mouth those words to Amelia. He wanted to know what was going on, was that why she wasn’t ready to commit to him?

Later that same evening.

After a hot shower, Amelia was curled up on the couch, ready to continue the docuseries she was watching the night before when she had an unexpected visitor pop round and confess his feelings to her. Thinking back on the night prior, she was happy that things ended up working out the way they did. Of course she wasn’t exactly thrilled with just how they happened but she could forgive the sweet boy. His intentions were pure and that's not something she was used to. It made her giddy to think about him, and about where things may go in the future.

A ring of her doorbell, almost to the exact hour that it had the night prior, made her get off her couch and walk down the small hall to the front door with a smirk on her face. Expecting to see the same brown-haired, blue-eyed boy that seemed to enjoy ringing her bell after hours. What she saw on the other side, however, was not what she was expecting.

“Jack, what on bloody God’s earth are you doing here?! You should be halfway back to Birmingham by now!”

“Are you gonna let me in love, it’s bloody cold out ‘ere tonight. Come on, shove over,” The slightly-less-than-6-foot-tall footballer commandeered her hallway, shutting the door behind him and locking it. This, coupled with his overnight duffle bag hanging off his shoulder let Amelia know that he had no other plans but to stay with her.

“Sure, Jack, I suppose you can come in and spend the night crashing in my spare room.”

“Now now, don’t pretend that you’re not happy to see me, love. And a spare room? I believe you promised me a cuddle.”

Rolling her eyes, she couldn’t help but smile at the charming young man. Feeling the blush start to spread from her chest up her neck and across her cheeks, she quickly turned and walked into her kitchen, calling out over her shoulder to ask if he wanted a cup of tea. Feeling a sense of deja vu from the night before, she shook her head and reminded herself that this is nothing like the night before. How could it have been - there was no kissing involved.

“Was that a blush I saw? Do I make you nervous, Amelia?” Somehow, Jack had moved to be right behind the girl at her kitchen counter. Hands on her hips, chest to her back, lips to her ear. Amelia felt herself freeze, and then relax into his hands.

“Jack, please, I don’t think we should do this.”

“Why not, Mils? You can feel it, too. The tension through the screen’s enough to force me into a cold shower most nights.”

And just like the night before, the whistle of the kettle was the only piercing sound resonating around the townhouse. Whilst all she saw was truth behind Ben’s eyes, Jack's eyes were clouded with lust and affection. Just once, she could give in, right?

Leaning her head back to rest on his right shoulder, he attached his lips to the left side of her neck. Hands rolling from the side of her hips, to underneath her shirt, feeling the small navel piercing between his fingers and smirking.

“Didn’t take you for being the kind of girl to have a piercing, Mils,” He spoke into her collarbone, a small nip to the sensitive skin as the girl continued to focus on her breathing.

“Piercings, Jack. I have more than one” She breathlessly spoke, knowing exactly what she was doing now. The admission of having more than one piercing that he could not see was all of the consent Jack needed to continue his exploration of her body.

“Are you going to let me see them, darling?”

“If you’re lucky.”

“I’d say I'm the luckiest guy in the world right now, especially in this position.”

She was unsure how it had happened, but Jack had pressed her further into the countertop. With her back still to his chest, his waist was at the perfect height to press into the small of her back. His leg had settled between both of her own and his hands had found the bottom of her bralette and were gently caressing her rib cage, desperate to get closer to where he presumed her other piercing was.

“We shouldn’t be doing this Jack,” she breathed out into the air, hot air escaping her lungs to resemble what she felt brewing in the pit of her stomach. Desire.

“Why the bloody hell not?” he mumbled into her sweet spot, where her jaw met her neck.

“Because I've been here before. This is bad.” With her eyes shut, he continued his way down her neck. The fabric of her top shifted so he could slide one of her straps down her arm.

“If it's bad, why does it feel so good? '' Whilst his lips got to work on her collarbone, and his hand was busy toying with the elastic line of her bralette, his other hand began to fiddle with her fingers. Entwining them with his own, the kind of strength she needed to feel to make her next decisions.

Pushing back off of the counter, meaning her ass had pushed right into the part of his body where he wanted her most, Amelia turned around and faced Jack. The two stood there, slightly panting, staring at each other. Amelia being the kind of girl that she is, decided that she wanted to have a little slice of the dominance pie. Maintaining eye contact, she lifted the bottom of her t-shirt over her head and dropped in on the floor, that second piercing now very clearly visible through the sheer fabric of her bralette.

“Come on Jack, aren’t you an athlete? What’s got you so out of breath? I thought you’d be able to last a little longer than some heavy petting.” She taunted at the smirking man, wanting nothing more than to mess up his hair as he nestled himself between her thighs. That's exactly the position that they found themselves in not more than 5 minutes later, this time upstairs in her bedroom.

Throughout the multiple rounds of passion that the two so-called friends shared that night, not once had their lips touched. Of course, her lips had touched parts of him and he had definitely been all over a completely different set of lips a few times (and from a few different positions), but face to face, eye to eye, nose to nose - their lips had never met. That told Amelia enough to set her anxiety on fire. Had she just gotten involved with a carbon-copy of the man she left behind in Italy?

The regret seeped through her bones and settled into her heart by the time that the Villa boy had fallen asleep next to her. What had she done? This was not the girl Amelia wanted to be anymore. She was done being the girl that was loved only when the lights went out. She wanted love under the sun, she wanted breakfast by the river, double dates, family parties. She wanted the kind of love that you could never try and hide even if you wanted to. She knew that this wasn’t what Jack was able to offer her. She was grateful for their friendship, she truly was, he made her laugh more than most people but for the first time in a very long time, she was certain that that's all she wanted from him.

Part 11. | parte undicesima

60 notes · View notes

killian-spey · 4 years ago

Text

Death Would Be Kinder [Ch. 2]

Prev. Ch.

[Drusilla/Spike/Calendar!Reader]

Words: 2276

Fic Concept: Jenny Calendar’s sister spends some “quality time” with the Season 2 Vampire Squad. This chapter takes place during [BtVS S2:E15]

TW/CW: violence, kidnapping, chains?

AN: Idea came from @prose-for-hire ‘s submission to the fic title game. Taglist is at the bottom, let me know if you want to be added!

You’d been sitting silently, watching Spike wheel himself back and forth across the factory. If you didn’t know better he looked like he was pacing. In reality, he was probably checking behind the pillars and corners of the factory for any sign of your friends. It seems the vampires were expecting Buffy to come looking for you. As the time dragged on, your suspicions became reality; Buffy had prioritized the threat of the Judge over saving you. You had to admit, it stung a little, but it was only logical.

Spike peeked his head into each doorway adjoining the main factory floor. You could tell he was getting restless. You contemplated your odds carefully before you decided on taking a calculated risk.

“You lose a sock?” you yelled.

“Did I what?” Spike wheeled back into the room, an odd expression on his face.

“I asked if you lost a sock.” You paused, his intense glare caught you off-guard. “You know… Because of all the pacing. And popping your head in and out of every room in the place. Somebody’s going to think you lost a sock.”

“Well, I didn’t.” He chuckled a bit before going quiet again and stalking around the factory in his wheelchair. You nodded to yourself, deciding to quit while you were ahead. After that, the only sounds left in the factory were the spinning of wheels and an occasional bumping of door frames and frustrated curses.

It had only been a couple hours of his pseudo-pacing before Angelus and Drusilla stumbled their way into the factory. Spike took one look at the state Angelus was in and hid a smirk under his hand by scratching his nose.

“Well, you’re home early. Slayer hasn’t even tried swiping the girl yet.”

Spike’s good mood vanished as he watched them come down the steps. Drusilla was beside herself, and for a moment you found yourself feeling bad for her. Then Angelus opened his big fat mouth and you remembered who these people were.

“Yeah, well things didn’t go exactly according to plan, Spikey.” He prowled the room, circling like a big cat before he gravitated towards you. Your nerves peaked and you swear you saw a glint of pride behind Angelus’ eyes as he heard your heart pick up. He stepped within arms’ reach of you and sneered.

“What I can’t figure out is, why would she abandon you like this?”

“Where’s your big blue friend?” You swallowed your anxiety and stared up at him in challenge, you weren’t going to tell him a goddamn thing. Might as well give yourself a fighting chance. If he figured it out, you were dead already. You were going to be careful, of course, but that didn’t mean you were going to let him win.

Angelus roared, grabbing your face by the jaw. He was suddenly wearing his game face front and center. ‘Buffy really rattled him, huh?’ You remained stoic, as statuesque as you could muster. If you had misjudged his mood, this might be one of your last moments alive.

Drusilla had floated her way over, leaning into Angelus and hugging his arm to her side. Your staring contest interrupted, Angelus pulled away from you. You took the free moment away from the spotlight to run your fingers against the grain of the armrests, trying to ground yourself in the feeling of the wood underneath you. Your panic was bubbling to the surface, tension and pressure building in your ribcage. You caught Spike’s knowing glance towards you as your eyes flickered between the vampires. You dropped your eyes to the floor, frozen as Drusilla subtly coaxed Angelus away from you. Before long, Angelus had stormed out of the factory again, mumbling about sending Buffy a message.

You were grateful and more than a little stunned. Drusilla saved your life. In her own, subtle way she’d dismantled Angelus’ rage and directed it somewhere else. She’d spun him out of the factory towards Buffy with little more than a subtle flirtatious gesture. You practically gawked at her as she made her way into Spike’s lap. She had these men wrapped around her finger and they didn’t even know it.

Well, maybe Spike knew, but he certainly didn’t mind. He was running his fingers through Drusilla’s hair, comforting her as he spoke.

“If you like the hostage so much, maybe you should have a little fun, Ducks.” He wrapped an arm around Drusilla’s waist to steady her as he wheeled towards you, continuing. “She was supposed to be the distraction for the Slayer, after all. That is what went wrong with the plan, wasn’t it?”

Drusilla lifted her head, gears turning as she looked between Spike and you. Your mind rushed with your fears of what she was contemplating. You didn’t put it past them for ‘playing’ to mean something rather unpleasant for you. Drusilla hummed under her breath excitedly, springing from Spike’s lap and practically skipping out of the room. Spike nodded at you, raising his eyebrows as if to say “Hey look, I fixed it!” and wheeled himself into a good position to watch from, a smug grin on his face.

Drusilla returned with two fistfuls of chains and your heart dropped. She fussed with them somewhere behind you and left the rest in a pile as she ducked off again to the other room. Spike flicked his eyes between the chains and his girl curiously, but said nothing as she flurried about the factory. When she returned, she was holding a long carrying case and a small over-the-shoulder bookbag. She dropped them beside the chains and left again without a word.

“Ducks, what is all this stuff?”

Spike called out to her and wheeled over to the bags. He unzipped one when she didn’t answer. You couldn’t see into the bag from your position and Spike’s exasperated reaction didn’t help you either.

Drusilla returned one final time, holding a large blank canvas in each hand. The left was maybe a 20”x24” and the right was maybe a 24” square. (50cmx60cm or 60cm square).

“Which one does the artist like best?”

You paused, unsure if there was a right answer. After a couple moments you pointed weakly to the left canvas. Drusilla smiled at you and put the square canvas down. Spike scoffed as Drusilla set up an easel from the carrying case and put the bookbag on a table beside it.

She dragged the chains over to your chair and kneeled, carefully untying the knots around your right leg. You studied her face; she bit her tongue lightly as she worked, pulling at the ropes with deft, perfectly manicured fingers. After she’d untied your legs and shackled them, she let your arms off the armrests.

She took your hands in hers and pulled you up to stand for the first time in almost a day. You scanned her expression and glanced backwards towards the easel, then back to her with trepidation. She glided you in front of the daunting white canvas and left you, sinking backwards and sitting in Spike’s lap.

You stood, dumbfounded at the prospect of Drusilla wanting you to paint, of all things. She seemed unimpressed by your inaction after a few moments, and had begun whispering into Spike's ear. He'd leaned into her, pulling her closer and snickered at what must have been a rather amusing comment. He flicked his eyes at you through his lashes, a predatory glint flashing behind his eyes as his smirk grew. He straightened in his seat with satisfaction, head held high.

“Paint for the lady or get eaten. Your choice.”

Drusilla’s eyes wandered back to you and provided no comfort, but then again, why should it? You turned back to the canvas, feeling both their eyes staring at you. A calming breath later, you assessed the materials on the table.

The canvas bag she'd brought had a full set of oil paints- far nicer than you'd ever been able to afford. You didn't dare think of the poor shopkeeper she'd probably killed for them. A person just like your Uncle. He was just another obstacle in these people’s way, and for that he was murdered. You shoved the paints to one side of the small table and began assessing the tools. A somewhat rudimentary selection of spatulas and brushes. You could make do just fine with these.

You set up a palette with some blue, red, white, and black to start. A color palette often was the first thought you gave to a painting. This painting would be mostly blues, purples, and grays. Without turning your head, your eyes flicked towards the vampires just off your left shoulder in the periphery. You had never really let anyone sit and watch you paint. It was hard enough showing a finished piece to someone other than family.

You mixed a deep lilac and raised a palette knife to the canvas. You paused, unsure where to place the landscape. The creeping feeling of being watched was throwing you. The white snow canvas was taunting you, paralyzing you. But you weren't about to let it win. Any of them. You closed your eyes and just swiped the palette knife confidently in a bold first stroke. Now you had a puzzle. How does this fit into a landscape? There was no going back now, it had to work.

It was a mountain slope. The hue you used was suitable for a distant fixture seen from a twilit glade. You could lean into that, thinking on how to keep the morbid whimsy of the piece consistent as a theme. You blocked out the clearing and plotted out the forest behind and around it. It fell silent in the factory as you worked, only the scraping of palette knives and brush strokes echoing in the room. Pieces fell in place as you added gnarled willows at the tree line, white ghost pipes and fungi crawling on the foliage, and sickly green fireflies in the weeping branches and crooked thorn bushes. You didn't like how the overall feel of the piece was so damp and dreary. It felt too muted, too blue for what you'd envisioned. You added nettles to the glade in a redder purple, almost magenta, to tie the piece back into the mystical tone you wanted. A few more touches, a ray of silver moonlight here or there, and you stepped back. You contemplated the piece, for some reason feeling unfinished. The glade felt completely untouched, too alone by itself.

You almost jumped when you heard Drusilla shift off Spike’s lap behind you. You froze, dropping your gaze to the floor, unsure of her intentions. With three clicks of her heels against the concrete flooring, she stopped just behind you. So close you would have felt her breath on your neck if she were human. She leaned forward and pulled your hair behind your ear. She placed one hand on your shoulder and raised your head with a finger under your chin, guiding your eyes back to your work.

“Don’t you like it?”

“It’s not bad, actually.” Spike wheeled forward a pace or so to take a closer look at it. Drusilla still seemed to be waiting for your own answer. You studied it again silently.

It did feel telling, in an odd sort of way. It was invisibly and indescribably alive, despite the darkness and isolation. Could be a good metaphor for vampires... Alive and free only after their own deaths. Sure, they may not exactly live up to society’s expectation of a good neighbor, but you couldn’t say they let being dead keep them from living.

Still, the painting felt unsatisfactory, felt incomplete. You shook your head and pondered. You drew up a couple new colors, a ghostly blue and a red-brown clay. You loaded a palette knife with the clay tone and hovered over the painting, indecisive. The central piece as of now was a large, twisting willow on a small inclined mound of earth. The whole painting felt like background to an invisible subject. Nothing tied the eye to the painting, there was nothing to follow. No movement in a living place.

Drusilla took the palette knife from your hand and set it down. She pulled you lightly to step away from the painting, lightly petting your hair.

“Let it rest, you’ll do more later. With a clear mind,”

You let a heavy sigh escape your lungs. She was right. If you kept going now, at the end of your rope, you’d risk doing something that detracted from the painting entirely. You jerked your head up at a loud scraping sound from above you. Angelus had swung the door open on the mezzanine of the factory. He had a vicious grin and a playful look in his eyes, leaning on the guardrail and looking down at the three of you.

“Did you have fun with the Slayer, then?” Spike called up to him.

“Oh, she makes it so easy!” Angelus threw himself at the spiral staircase and rushed down them with glee.

“I barely had to lift a finger to throw a wrench in her little puppy problem.”

Drusilla twitched her head and glided towards him. She was staring at his face, fixated on something you didn’t pick up on. She swiped her thumb across the corner of his mouth and brought it to her own lips.

“Did you bring any home, Angel? I taste a young one on you.”

“Not today, darlin’. Besides, you have that one.” Angelus gestured to you and sauntered off, calling back as he left. “She wasn’t really any use anyway.”

[Next Chapter Soon!]

Tags: @prose-for-hire @soggy-enchilada @misselsbells06

112 notes · View notes

lumina-rose · 3 years ago

Text

Tear You Apart

Chapter 3/4

AO3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32168824/chapters/80048179

Pairing:

Laszlo x Reader

Summary:

Mere months after the conclusion of the Beecham case, Dr.Kreizler and his associates are asked once again to solve a new series of murders that plague the streets of New York. They are joined by the alienist’s new assistant, who’s presence soon unravels startling revelations. Not only within the case, but also within the mind of one of their own.

(This story is set between the events of Season 1 and Season 2)

Warnings:

Murder Mystery, Graphic Description of Corpses, slight dark!Laszlo (kinda. Think Will “This is my design” Graham), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut (MINORS DNI), Minor Violence, Friends to Lovers,Assistant, Boss/Employee Relationship,Tension, Sexual Tension, Mutual Pining, Kidnapping, Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Abuse

(More Future Warnings TBD)

Notes:

Adding an extra warning for this chapter, just in case.

This chapter deals with themes of violence, kidnapping, captivity, non-consensual touching, non-consensual groping, and implied abuse.

Chapter 3: Lily

Dr. Kreizler was not a man who considered himself superstitious.

Ever since he was a boy, he clung to his curiosity, searching for answers through science rather than religion in order to understand the world around him, even if it left his reputation tarnished to the more traditionally-raised, God-fearing socialites of New York. Yet, even as a child, there had always been a darkness that surrounded him, drawing in trouble wherever he went. No, Laszlo was not superstitious, but there seemed no other term to describe himself other than cursed.

You had been missing for two days, and even logic and reason could not explain why history seemed destined to repeat itself.

Following your night at the opera, Kreizler had thought it odd that you had not appeared at the Institute the following day. You had not seemed unwell, during your outing- quite the opposite, actually- and yet the fact remained that your presence was notably absent. At first, the alienist pushed his worry aside. After all, you had spent what was supposed to be a night of rest by his side. He reasoned that perhaps you had simply drained yourself, driving yourself to exhaustion with both the investigation and the concern you had displayed for him. But what truthfully unsettled him was the lack of warning of your absence. It was unlike you.

Regardless, even with your absence, Kreizler quickly worked through the day's sessions and duties, leaving most of the day free to continue working on the investigation. Your theory the day before had intrigued him, and gave valuable insight into what the killer's motives and background could be. With a newfound momentum, Laszlo called for Stevie, sending the ward to gather his colleagues here at the Institute, in order to follow this new train of thought. He also instructed Stevie to find you, deciding that it would be best to check on you, if only to calm his own anxieties. With that, all that was left to do was wait.

Marcus and Lucius were the first to arrive, punctual as always. Not wishing to waste any time, the twins immediately went to discuss their new findings with the doctor, picking out bits of information that may be relevant to figuring out the killer's identity. Kreizler listened, drawing connections to their findings with the theory you had created. John was the next to arrive, quickly followed by Sara. The two had not had much to work with, in terms of narrowing down who the killer may be, but found a couple police reports and articles that had spoken about similar incidents. Laszlo nodded, giving his own opinions and comments occasionally, but his mind continued to drift elsewhere. He had pulled out his pocket watch, when he heard a new set of footsteps. Quickly, he looked up, only to see Stevie once again. Ushering the boy inside, he asked if he had found you.

"I tried, Dr. Kreizler, but I couldn't find her anywhere." Stevie explained. "Even went by the house a few times, but no one ever answered. Her door was locked, so I thought maybe she came back here."

Laszlo sighed, audibly upset by the news. "Right, thank you Stevie."

This caught the attention of everyone in the room. After the boy left the room, Sara turned to Laszlo.

"Has something happened?" She asked, sensing Laszlo's growing worry. "How long has she been missing?"

The alienist simply shook his head. "Since this morning. At first I thought I was simply overreacting, but now I'm not so sure..."

Saying his admission aloud, Laszlo realized how troubling the whole situation had seemed. He explained where you had been last night, and how Kreizler had made sure to get you home safely after the opera, only to find that you had not come to the Institute today. John stood up from his seat, sending a glance to Sara and the brothers. They stayed silent, throwing silent glances back and forth, as if talking through looks alone. Finally, Sara stepped forward.

"I believe we should go to her home, ourselves. If we find that she is safe, then we can continue our investigation."

"What're you saying?" Lucius interjected, stunned by Sara's proposal. "What would you have us do? Having the five of us show up unannounced to (y/n)'s home might be an overreaction, considering it hasn't even been a day."

"You may be right," Sara starts. "but I'd like to make sure nothing has happened to her. I won't be able to shed the guilt if the worst has come."

Laszlo's heart sank at her words, reminding him of the very same doubts and worries he had told you of the night before.

Moving quickly, Laszlo went to grab his jacket, placing it on as he spoke. "I'm going-"

Once more, Lucius was wary. "Dr. Kreizler-"

"-stay here if you must, Lucius." He turned, leaving no room for argument as he walked towards the exit.

Reluctantly, Lucius followed after Laszlo, with Marcus's hand on his shoulder. Sara and John were already standing, ready to leave with the doctor, the same memory of the Beecham case fresh in their mind. With that, it didn't take long for them to reach your home, a mere few blocks away from the Institute. It was a relatively small building, not like the towering apartments that surrounded it on either side. It was as though someone had taken a cottage from the countryside and placed it right on the streets of New York.

There were no lights on, by the windows. A fact that shouldn't have been strange, considering it was now late into the day. Even so, it caused a sense of looming dread to enter Laszlo's mind. It felt so similar when he had returned to his own home all those months ago, as though time was repeating itself. First with Mary, now with you. As the group called and knocked on your door, drawing the scrutinizing and curious stares of the people passing by, Laszlo concluded that he must have been cursed. How else could he explain the events unfolding? Truly, everyone that was drawn towards him seemed destined to either leave or be taken from him.

There had been one thing that gave him hope that it would be different.

With Mary, she had been a constant, comforting presence. What he felt towards her had not always been there, not until much later after their first interactions, but it had been a source of happiness and warmth. The feeling of being known so completely, without needing so much as a word being spoken. Mary had brought out a kindness in him that even he had feared he did not possess. It had been sweet and somewhat innocent love, regardless of the rather unusual dynamic.

With you, it was a similar feeling, but not entirely the same. Where his feelings for Mary were more subtle, there had always been an underlying want in his relationship with you. At first, it had simply been a need to understand you. How you could be so similar to him, sharing that same curiosity for the human mind, yet still be able to catch him by surprise with your insights. He wanted to know about you, every little detail. Learning what made you tick, what made you happy, and what parts of your mind you had not shown to anyone else. Yet, even that wasn't enough. It wasn't until much recently, had Laszlo deduced the source of this incessant need for you. Where his feelings for Mary had made him recognize the lighter side of him, you made him realize that perhaps the darkness there was deeper than he knew. But he welcomed that new feeling just as enthusiastically, after the events of the opera.

What he felt for Mary and for you were very different, but just as intense. He had hoped, foolishly, that those differences would change something. And yet it seemed as if history was playing out again, as it had before.

"Unlock the door."

Laszlo's words were met with hesitation by the group, before they noticed the clear distress in his expression. Marcus nodded, placing the bag he held down in front of the door, before crouching down to pick the lock. Once unlocked, Sara opened the door, leaning in through the frame to look inside. From what she could tell, the study and kitchen were empty, and she could hear no sounds of movement, even after she called your name. Slowly, one-by-one, the five of them entered your home.

"Marcus and I will check upstairs," Sara decided, earning a nod from the Isaacson brother. "I believe there are a few rooms further back."

As they split up inside the house, Laszlo found himself at a loss. Although he had stopped by a couple of times, he had never truly taken the time to examine the home. Outside of the paintings that decorated the walls and the furniture provided to you, the home was extremely bare. Only a handful of personal items were scattered about, as well as a couple of books he had given you to read. For each and every room the doctor passed, it dawned on him that you had not been exaggerating when you had told him you dropped everything to move to New York. He wondered just how much you had left behind.

"Dr. Kreizler!"

Marcus's voice called out, clearly alarmed, causing the air to still throughout the house. Rushing upstairs, John, Lucius, and Laszlo all went to join Marcus and Sara, only stopping once they saw the man exit what appeared to be your bedroom. A small bouquet of roses in his hands.

You awoke with your eyes closed. The only thing grounding you to reality was the steady, throbbing pulse in the back of your head, causing a dull ache to pass over you with every beat. With a low groan, you blinked, as you thought about how rough work at the Institute was going to be, if this headache was going to plague you. As you shot up from the bed, letting out a painful cry, you went to raise your hand to you head. Only for them to be pulled back harshly, by a binding pressure against your wrists.

You blinked, and suddenly the pain in your head was in the back of your mind. Your eyes shot to your hands, ignoring the sting of the sudden action. A bundle of knots bound you, as a rope dug into your skin, leashing you to the unfamiliar bed frame behind you.

No. no. no no no. You thought in a panic, realizing the gravity of your current situation.

You took in your surroundings, seated on a small bed in the center of a room. There were no windows, and only a small lamp by the door lit the small space. The walls were bare, save for the portrait of a young woman. The only exit was a wooden door, with cracks forming from the bottom. Your heart racing, you tried to recall your memory of the events last night. What had happened to you? Where were you? Who brought you here?

You remembered the opera, and your pleasant time with Laszlo there, and how he had escorted you back to your home. So why couldn't you remember falling asleep there? Why were you still wearing the same dress you had spent hours deciding on? You had watched the carriage ride far out of sight, Stevie at the reins. You had opened the door to your home, without the use of your key, as it had been unlocked already.

Unlocked. Despite having purposefully locked it before leaving for the night.

"Stupid." Your breath hitched, as you cursed yourself for not noticing such a mistake. You hadn't even realized. Too giddy and tired from the emotional events of the opera.

Your heart raced, as you grew more and more frustrated, causing you to tug at your bindings. But no luck came. You thought back to what you did after entering your home. You had placed a few things down, before retiring to your bedroom, in order to change into your night clothes and sleep. But you never made it that far. In a sudden moment of clarity, a memory returned to you. You had sat down in front of your vanity mirror, before noticing a flash of red in the mirror. A bouquet of roses. Perhaps it was the fear and shock of the realization that the killer they’d been hunting had been in your home that caused you to lose consciousness. However, the pain in your head suggested otherwise.

Whatever the case was, you were now trapped in a room, after being taken from your home by the very person you had spent months trying to find. But aside from the distressing predicament of your kidnapping, what unsettled you most was the sudden deviation in behavior. If you truly had been taken by the killer you were searching for, why were you still alive? Why did he take you? What did he plan to do to you?

You didn't want to wait to find out, but found that you had little choice in the matter. No matter how many times you tugged and pulled at your bindings, the restraint never weakened. You had tried untying the knots on the bed frame, in hopes that you may be able to escape, even if your hands were tied together. The knots however, were tight and overlapping each other, and no amount of strength that you possessed could undo them. In desperation, you looked at the wooden door, knowing that it was all that stood between you and freedom. If you only could unbind your hands. But even if you had escaped, you didn't know where you were, or who's home you were in.

The answer didn't come till what felt like hours later. You had sat yourself up into a more comfortable position on the bed, where the rope would not pull at your now-aching wrists, and jumped as the wooden door suddenly opened.

Your heart leapt to your throat, and all you could seem to do was stare at the figure in the doorway. You were shocked. Your were speechless. You wanted to deny it, to try and lie to yourself by saying that he couldn't be the one who took you. That his presence here was merely some miraculous coincidence. But you weren't that naive. Still, never had you thought the same man who would regularly stop by your house could potentially be a murderer.

"Mr. Arnett." You breathed out, finally.

"Good evening, my dear." He greeted, his tone just as casual as any other time you had spoken. As though it was normal, to have you tied up in a room against your will.

As he stepped into the room, you found yourself growing more and more anxious with each of his steps. He had asked you something, a question you couldn't recall. You couldn't even find it within you to respond, knowing that anything you said might make your situation worse. If Arnett truly was the same man who’d been killing the women of New York, then it’s likely he’d have no issue using that same violence against you. Although, he had already changed his behavior, choosing to attack you in your own home, rather than on the street. That alone revealed that he was unpredictable.

"What..what am I doing here?" You asked, fearfully. You wanted your tone to come off as more questioning, rather than upset. You knew that if Laszlo’s theory was correct, the only reason you weren’t dead yet was because the fantasy behind the murders relied on your acceptance of the man. Still unsure of his intentions with you, you shuddered at the thought of letting the man do whatever he wanted.

"I'm taking care of you."

The vagueness of the answer, and the emptiness in his tone, as he spoke sent a wave of fear over you. The man took a step towards you, right next to the bed you were tied to. You sat up, moving away from him, by instinct. You had hardly noticed the tray Arnett had been carrying, until he placed it down on the foot of the bed. A wide assortment of fruits, breads, and foods were placed onto the tray, along with a single red rose. Taking a seat next to you, he lifted something off of the item.

"A strawberry, from my garden." He explained, as though that was the cause of your nervous behavior.

You didn’t feel hungry, but felt a sense of relief at the act. Only because that meant he didn’t plan on harming you…yet. Once more, he placed the strawberry up to your lips.

Arnett's jaw tensed, as he spoke again. This time he sounded as though he were trying to restrain himself. "You don't need to be afraid of me."

Afraid to anger him, you took a bite, before attempting to distance yourself from him further, if that were even possible at this point. He praised you for the action, as an owner would praise a pet. Bitterness rose from your chest, creating a bad taste in your mouth. Whether it was the fruit he gave you, or the reaction you had to his words, you weren't sure.

"See, I knew you'd be good," He spoke, condescendingly. "just like my Lily."

You swallowed back a grimace. "Lily?"

Arnett blinked, as if confused for a moment, before giving a forced chuckle. His eyes turned to the portrait in the room, of the young woman. "I must apologize, it's rather rude of me to compare you to my wife- ex-wife. "

He quickly corrected himself, before looking back at you, his eyes falling to your wrists. More specifically, the red burns on them, from your previous attempts at escape. He reached out, without warning, before scolding you profusely. He spoke only about how should be more careful, as to not harm yourself further. In your upset state, you didn't even think before instinctively ripping your hands from his hold, not wanting him to so much as touch you.

Arnett's almost-caring expression fell in an instant, before revealing an angered scowl. He grabbed your arms again, only now his grip was harsh and painful. There was no doubt in your mind that you would have bruises later.

"Don't do that." He hissed. "Don't you ever do that!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" You gasped, shaking as you quickly apologized in an attempt to calm his sudden temper. Blinking, you searched for any excuse that might help you. "I'm sorry.. I.. It's inappropriate, I wasn't expecting you to.."

Once more, you cursed yourself for coming up with such a weak excuse. However, even as you closed your eyes, you felt the grip on your hand lose its hold. When you looked back at Arnett, his scowl had disappeared. He thought for a moment, before a slight smile crept over his lips.

"You don't need to worry about such things anymore, my dear." He sighed. "Now that you're here with me, you won't have to feign innocence for the sake of appearances. We can speak freely now."

As you stared into his eyes, you came to understand that in some twisted way, his mind had made up a lie: making him believe you held some form of silent connection with him. Twisting your interactions into subtle advances, when they had merely been polite conversations. Every small talk in the study of your home, he had taken it as a sign of reciprocated affections. Rather than what they were. And he truly believed that lie, which was what frightened you the most.

You were silent, as he ran a thumb over your injured hand. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, but you viewed it more as a threat. You knew that if you pulled your hands way, as you wanted to, you'd be met with more aggression. Eventually, his focus returned to the tray he had brought in, handing you the rose as he placed another fruit to your mouth. You were fighting back a mixture of emotions, as you attempted to process the situation. You wanted to snap, and tell him that he didn't need to feed you himself. You wanted kick and fight, if only to save your pride. But you knew that none of these actions would help you, and would more likely cause Arnett to harm you.

Instead, you tried to refocus your frustrations into questioning Arnett's plan for you.

"Mr. Arnett, I..I find myself at..at a loss as to why you've brought me here." You muttered, weakly. "Surely, it's not simply to 'speak freely', as you put it? I can't help but think there is another reason.."

The older man scoffed, as if surprised you even had to ask.

"Well, I've been left with no other choice, haven't I? You're forced to spend every day and night fretting over the little problems of a half-crazed alienist, who insists on keeping you by his side." He grit his teeth, looking around the room for a moment. "But that no longer matters. You won’t need to worry anymore about Kreizler taking his liberties with you, my dear."

The bruising grasp on your hand returned. His voice and expression reflected anger, though it didn't seem directed at you this time. His eyes were still staring off at nothing in particular, and it seemed as though he wasn't even aware of the venom in his tone. Ignoring your pain for a moment, you feared what he meant, upon mentioning Laszlo. Was he merely speaking his suspicions out of a jealous delusion? Or had he known- had he seen- your actions with Laszlo at the opera last night?

You let out another pained gasp, causing Arnett to release his hold on you. This time, he stood up, staring down at you with regret and fear. Almost dejectedly, he grabbed the tray once more, and made his way back towards the wooden door. But not without looking back at the portrait once more.

"Lily was as delicate as you."

A time passed before the door opened again.

You had fought to stay awake, in order to try and defend yourself against Arnett, even though you were essentially at his mercy. But the reality was that you were exhausted. Not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. The stress of the case, Laszlo, and your own current situation had left you utterly broken. As sleep came for you, your eyes fogged with tears, as you thought back to the happiness you felt just a night before.

When you finally awoke, you heard a loud thud, as though something had fallen somewhere in the building you were being kept in. Your heart pounded, half hopeful and half afraid. The wooden door to the dim room opened, your heart sinking as you faced Arnett once more, his face red with anger as he began yelling out, seething with every breath.

"He comes to my place of work, accusing me!"

Arnett raves, red in the face, as he circles around the room. His sentences slur together, his words coming out faster than you can understand them. You sit up quickly, bracing yourself, as it's all you can do in the moment. The man's eyes were wide and his gaze flicked from place to place, as if searching for something as he continued to ramble on. You noticed how his hands were clenched, his fingernails digging into his palms and his knuckles becoming a white color. Fearing what he may do, you kept your mouth shut, hoping in vain that he might forget that you're there.

"-Slandering my name and reputation!” He heaved out a heavy breath, before his stare finally finds its destination on you.

Whatever pleasant facade the man placed on for you before was gone now, overcome by his anger. He rushed forwards, pushing you back against the headboard of the bed, placing a hand on your face, pressing hard on your cheeks and jaw. Startled, you froze, unable to even move, except for the trembling throughout your body.

"Who is he to you?" He demanded, an accusatory glare cutting through you.

You choked out a reply, asking who or what he was talking about. That only made his grip stronger, squeezing against your bones enough to make them ache.

“That damned Kreizler!” He spat. “Is he truly so dependent on you, that he cannot go a single day without you?! Is your company so enjoyable that he cannot help himself?”

Arnett’s words were spiteful and insulting. Not only towards Laszlo, but yourself as well. It seemed that while Arnett did not seem to know the extent of your relationship to the alienist, the suspicion was enough to drive him over the edge. You only feared what would happen, should he learn what occurred at the opera. As your mind raced with your thoughts, you hadn't noticed how your captor now moved over you, trapping you under him. His spare hand trailed over you, his glare burning holes into you as he grabbed at your form. Your mind went blank, and all you could hear was the heartbeat that now pulsed in your ears. You twisted and turned, biting into your cheek as your body moved on its own, trying to do anything to get him off of you. A quick slap stunned you, causing you to recoil from the force.

Still, Arnett seemed lost to his ramblings. “He claims himself a gentleman! Tell me, do you enjoy the attention he gives you? Perhaps I’ve been mistreating you, perhaps you enjoy the way he takes advantage of you-“

Mistreatment was an understatement, but you dared not speak your mind in this moment. The feeling of his spare hand pushing a trail up your leg sent a wave of disgust and fear through you. Desperately, you spoke, saying anything that came to mind, hoping to calm the clearly unhinged man.

“No, no Mr. Arnett, please!”

You cried, gasping as your throat seemed to close off on its own.

“You’re- you’re right! He’s- He’s not a gentlemen, not like you. Louis-“

You barely registered what you were saying, only focusing on pleading for your life. You continued, speaking whatever you thought the man would want to hear. As soon as they left your mouth, you hated every lie you spoke about Laszlo. How you were catering to Mr. Arnett’s sick fantasy. It seemed to work, however, as the man paused his assault on you. His grip on your chin lifted your gaze up to him, making you stare through tears to look him in the eye.

Your voice shook as you spoke, going on and on about how you were being mistreated and how Arnett was a gentlemen, as much as it pained you to do so. You empathized the phrase, hoping it might somehow make him stop. His actions were abhorrent, yet he seemed to pride himself on being the gentleman he had tricked you into believing he was. You played into Arnett's fantasy, making yourself appear as some damsel in need of saving and that Arnett was the man who would do it. All you could do was hope your words satisfied him.

His hand released its hold on your leg, but you did not allow yourself to sigh in relief. The hold on your chin disappeared, as he gently placed his palm against your cheek. A soft smile met his lips, yet his eyes remained vacant and cold. His voice was distant once more, as if remembering something.

“You truly are just like my Lily.” He pressed his lips against you, holding you there. You didn’t move. When he finally parted, he gave a reassuring smile, something meant to comfort you, before saying: “He won’t mistreat you anymore, my dear. I’ll make sure of it.”

The older man stood up, smoothing a hand over his suit, before turning from you. Your heart sank at his words, leaving you in despair even as he left the room. Pulling your legs up to your chest, you cried into the wrinkled fabric of your dress, muffling the sound in order to keep Arnett from hearing you.

It felt like years, as another day passed. Your heart ached along with your shoulders and wrists, as you stared blankly at the wooden door. There were moments when you asked yourself if this barren room would be the last thing you saw. If the painted, empty eyes of Lily Arnett would be staring down at you, as you joined her in death. But there was hope.

Arnett’s outburst had been sudden and terrifying. But in his state, he’d given you the knowledge that Laszlo and the others were close, already questioning the man. Already suspecting the truth. You just needed to keep him satisfied, until your friends could figure out how to find you. If they found you.

When the wooden door opened once more, Arnett was bringing in another tray of food and water for you. As he came into the light of the lamp, your attention was drawn to the cut along the man's temple. Given your situation, this shouldn't have surprised you, but in all the time you've known the man you’d never seen the man with even a scratch on him, despite the violent attacks he had carried out. Before your abduction, you knew the man to be of good standing in the eyes of society. Someone obsessed with his reputation as a proper gentleman. Someone who’d never be caught up in a fight, not one that would cause such a wound.

You ask what happened, less out of concern and more out of curiosity, desperately wanting to learn what you could about the events playing out in the world outside of the small room. Your words seemed to fall on deaf ears however, as Arnett silently approached, not answering you. Instead, he lifted the food for you to eat. Slowly, you took a bite, not wanting to upset him further. After finishing the bits fruit and bread he initially offered, you found yourself growing more and more restless, due to his unsettling silence. As he lifted another fruit to you, you turned your head slowly, until eventually you found yourself looking up at the woman in the portrait.

Twice now he had mentioned his late wife…Lily. Some deep-rooted part of you felt as though her death had not been some random accident or illness, given how Arnett had consistently been comparing the two of you. No… By now, you suspected that perhaps the poor woman had shared your fate, falling victim to her husband's erratic behavior.

You opened your mouth, your throat dry as you carefully said: “I…I realize I never asked about your wife, before. If it is not too upsetting, tell me, how… how did she pass?”

Arnett blinked, as if snapped from his silence. A vacant expression crossed over his face, sending a frightening chill through you. It was identical to the one Laszlo had at the morgue, as the alienist was trying to gain insight into the killer’s mind. You had trusted Laszlo, but it was different now. Now you looked that very killer in the eye.

“I believe I told you. She was delicate." He paused, staring you down, before glancing away quickly. "Now eat.”

A horrible pit in your stomach grew, as your mind raced to create images of what you suspected befell the late Mrs. Arnett. If his lack of hesitation of using force against you was any indication…It was slowly becoming evident that perhaps she may have been the first. The catalyst that created the man you faced now. You swallow back the lump in your throat, speechless. In your shock, you had forgotten what Arnett had ordered you to do. It was too late to fix your mistake, as the man quickly took your silence as refusal. In an instant, the tray was shoved aside, slammed to the floor, as his form climbed over you.

"You ungrateful bitch!" His hands clamped down on your throat, using a strength that felt as though it would snap your life away at any second. You hands pulled down on the ropes, having enough length to allow you to claw at his grasp. “Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused me?"

You struggled for breath, your heartbeat becoming the only sound in your ears before a slam at the door snapped you from your panicked state. A voice- no, voices- spoke loudly. You didn’t process what was said, only that the weight of Arnett shifted. You found yourself placed between Arnett and the unknown parties, a sharp pressure against your neck. As you gathered your senses, you realized the pressure was a knife, one Arnett had kept hidden away. You weren't sure if he had it before, or if he had planned to use it against you before being interrupted.

John and Sara stood before you, the woman aiming a gun towards Arnett. Though, with you placed in between them, the weapon was also directed towards you. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. If you weren’t so focused on the knife’s weight against you, your heart surely would have leapt with happiness. They had found you! But the confrontation was not over.

"You have no right, breaking in here!” Arnett seethed. “I’ll have you arrested!”

Sara was quick to respond, not even flinching from his words. “Call them if you like, but I doubt the police would be interested with us, upon finding a woman unwillingly locked up on your property.”

Arnett shook his head, his breath coming out in heavy exhales. His voice was shaking. Out of anger, fear, and confusion. “No, you’re wrong! She..she wants to be here! Tell them!”

The knife pressed harder against you, as Arnett whispered unintelligible words against your ear. You gasped, closing your eyes, as if everything would disappear if you didn't watch. Another sound of footsteps grabbed your attention, forcing you to look up once more. A third figure emerged through the door, joining John and Sara. He stopped dead in his tracks, however, upon seeing the tense stand-off between them and Arnett. With you at the center.

“Laszlo!” You called, the name falling from your mouth before you could stop it.

A vice grip found the back of your neck, making you gasp in pain. His whisper was erratic but you could just make out: "How dare you say his name in front of me-"

The knife pressed harder, a small sting followed by a warm trickling feeling. His cheek pressed against your ear, speaking lowly. “Tell them you want to be here. With me.”Another pause of silence made him seethe. "Answer me, Lily!”

Arnett’s grip on reality, whatever remained, was slipping as the scene played out before you. Still, you refused. Laszlo was here, They were all here! You were so close to freedom that you couldn't bare the thought of him taking it away. Tears reached your eyes, as you glanced at the faces you've grown to know.

“There’s no where to go, Mr. Arnett.” Sara said, regaining your attention. She looked back at you, rather than your captor. She looked unsure, as she aimed her gun toward the two of you, in contrast to her confident words. “If you truly care for her, as I suspect you do, then let her go.”

“No, nonono..” Arnett’s breaths became erratic. “She belongs with me! Tell them, my dear, now.”

Still you remain silent, biting back a cry.

Arnett snapped, cursing you, as the knife lifted for a moment, before turning fully towards you, intended to pierce your throat. In that split moment, you heard the loud blast of gunfire, followed by the metallic smell of gunpowder. A ringing overtook your senses, followed closely by a burning in your shoulder.

Then...

thud

Your heartbeat signaled to you that you were alive, but you couldn't help yourself but think it was a trick. One last cruel joke for the entertainment of a higher power.

Your mind and vision seemed to blur, as each passing moment came by in flashes. You no longer felt Arnetts breath against your ear, yet the intense pain in your shoulder remained. You felt a pair of arms reach around you, as the restraining pull of ropes on your wrists disappeared. The cool breeze of air hit your face at some point, before the rest faded away to darkness.

#The Alienist #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo x you #Daniel Bruhl

57 notes · View notes