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thetaoofzoe · 4 years ago

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Fic: A Wild Woman 1/1

Title: A Wild Woman

Summary: By Victorian Standards, you are considered the dreaded Wild Woman! Your aunt and uncle threaten to disown you and turn you out into the streets unless you agree to a little re-education on how to be a proper lady.

Rating: Mature, fluff, Soft Dom Sherlock!Henry, sex, unconventional

Pairing: Sherlock x YOU

Note: This was inspired by "A wild woman brought up a wild child. We'll make her acceptable for society." from the EH trailer.

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Your Aunt and Uncle had had enough of you. They were fed up with your lack of female decorum and your absolute insistence to star gaze, associate with male aeronauts and start fires from chemistry experiments gone awry. But you couldn't help yourself. After the scandal of the woman who attempted to join the Chemistry Society a few years back, you had been forever changed. Women could do anything and you were intent on grabbing that elusive gold ring. If that meant attending boisterous underground resistance meetings, or not wearing your corset, then so be it.

Unfortunately, your family did not see it that way. To them, you were a wild woman who had no place in decent Victorian society.

One gloomy autumn evening, when your uncle returned from the gentleman's club, he sat both you and your aunt down at the dining room table for a talk.

Your uncle then gave you a choice.

Well, it was a choice between scylla and charybdis, but a choice nonetheless.

You were either to be turned out into the street to fend for yourself, with no money and no prospects and definitely no husband, or you were to travel to London to be kept, re-educated and made acceptable to be returned to society by a pair of reputable brothers who promised to produce reputable ladies.

What could you do, but agree to the latter, as the former was a nightmare you never wanted to experience.

So you made the long involuntary train-trek cross country to London.

The man who met you at the train station was tall, and slim with a well-manicured moustache that curled up at the ends in the most fashionable way. When he reached for your single suitcase and turned to walk away, you followed without protest.

Baker Street was a short narrow avenue that seemed unnecessarily busy for so early in the morning, and when the Hansom slowed, your companion opened the door and hopped out. He offered his gloved hand, which you took and followed him to the ground.

The cab rode off and gently taking you by the arm, the man guided you across the road. He walked up the steps to a dark painted door with the numbers 221b etched on a half-moon of glass above it. He led you inside and up the stairs to a room at the end of a long corridor.

It was a well-appointed room. Against the wall was a large bed with a patchwork cover flanked by two low dark wood tables upon which sat twin lamps with beaded green lampshades. To the left, a tall window brought in the hazy morning light and illuminating the small writing desk beneath it. There was also a large wardrobe stood in one corner opposite a bookshelf which was crammed with books.

'Your room, for the duration of your stay. I expect that it will be maintained without clutter.'

He then looked at you and slowly perused your form. You felt scandalised! No man had ever dared make his inspection of your body so plain before. Scandalised, yes, but a slow simmer of heat in your belly belied your inner outrage.

He humphed, and his eyes moved to meet yours again.

'Sloppy,' he said. 'That you expect to be taken seriously, dressed like this is insulting.'

You opened your mouth and he lifted his brows, waiting for you to speak.

'I expect, sir, for you to watch your tongue when addressing me.'

He laughed quietly.

'My brother will be home shortly,' he said ignoring your protest. 'I believe you will be spending the evening in his company. Granted, he is less strict than I am, so don't get used to his...'

The man pinwheeled his hand in the air as if searching for the most appropriate word, but the opening and then the closing of the front door distracted him.

'Ah,' he murmured. 'He's come home early. Please wash thoroughly and change your clothes. I expect that you have something better than this?'

You narrowed your eyes.

'I will give you one hour and then come downstairs and into the study for inspection. The study is to the right at the bottom of the stairs. Have you... questions?'

'Do you intend to stand here and watch me wash and dress?'

He smiled and wordlessly turned to leave you to your task.

'We'll break you of that attitude,' he promised and closed the door behind him.

You wavered on your feet and collapsed on the fainting couch at the foot of the bed. You were breathless, excited, astounded that you were aroused by the man's quiet dominance.

'This is ridiculous girl!' you chided yourself aloud. 'This whole thing is ridiculous.'

But at least you were in London. You had promised your aunt and uncle that you would be 're-educated' and that you were going to come home the niece they always wanted so that you could be married off to the local farmer's son. What they didn't know, was that you were going to use the little stipend they'd provided and run away into the arms of the big city.

In the meantime, this was what you needed to do to get to where you needed to go.

You got up, stripped out of your travel clothes and inspected the pitcher and basin on the wash stand in the corner. There was water in the pitcher and a clean cloth hanging on the railing. There was also a lump of lanolin soap sitting on the side of the basin and you went about washing the dirt from your travels off of your skin. You didn't bother with a corset, or your stockings. You merely shrugged into your chemise, dress and shoes and went down to the study.

You stood at the closed door, humming with excitement and terror. What if this brother was a hunchback, with a mutilated face and was only gentle because his looks terrified everyone. What if he was old and decrepit and smelled of liniment! You wrinkled your nose at the thought and opened the door.

The study was beautiful, quiet and a fire burned in the small hearth. The walls were covered with dark tapestries and old maps. Books and newspapers were stacked everywhere, but it did not appear to be done in a chaotic manner. There was an order to this room and your heart clenched when your eyes fell on the man who was rising from the high wing-backed chair.

If Gods walked the earth, on a regular basis, you would not have been surprised by his appearance. He too was tall, like his brother, broad across the chest with a narrow waist and sturdy thighs. He was in his shirtsleeves with a high starched white collar and dark brown tweed waistcoat and matching dress trousers.

And the curls. Oh the soft mass of chocolatey brown curls were stylish and clipped short and nicely complimented his handsome chiselled face.

'Turn around, please,' he said, his voice all honey and milk and you obeyed immediately.

'Face me again.'

You did so and he approached, hands clasped behind his back. He shook his head.

'You know this is unacceptable, don't you.'

It wasn't a question.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go, you thought. You had practised on the long train ride to London. You knew exactly how you were going to respond and exactly what you were going to say. But your mind had gone blank and only silence came out of your sweet quivering mouth.

You lowered your gaze.

His dark shoes were buttoned neatly and had been shined carefully. He was obviously a man who cared about his appearance.

'I expect things from you, when you're under my roof. This shabbiness and unruly nature will not be permitted and if you continue to pursue these avenues, you will be...'

He trailed off, and began to walk in a slow circle around you, prowling, like a sleek beast and you couldn't help feeling helpless.

Like you were prey.

He stopped after one revolution and stood at your back. He was so close that the heat and scent of him engulfed you. You closed your eyes, and sweat broke out across your upper lip and brow.

He 'humphed', sounding just like his brother and stuck a finger against your side. You didn't dare squirm away from his examination and you held yourself taut.

'No corset,' he said, finding you soft and unrestrained beneath your clothes. 'And I wager, no stockings or combinations.'

You were silent and it seemed that the very silence was a living creature, pricking your skin.

'Answer me.'

'No, none of that.'

He took in a long breath and let it out slowly.

'Upstairs, now. Gather your undergarments and bring them here.'

You turned so fast that you nearly banged into him. But you managed to scurry round him, and dart up the stairs as fast as your legs beneath your full skirts would carry you. You blindly grabbed everything that you had and nearly tumbled back down the stairs in your haste to please this man, this stranger, who within moments of meeting him made you want to drop to your knees and worship his masculinity.

He was still standing in the same place where you left him, back straight, head up, elegant hands clasped behind his back.

Out of breath, you stood before him, arms full of undergarments and he smiled. That smile took your breath away. He directed you to dump your clothes on the nearby desk.

'Now,' he began, scholarly. 'The makings of a society appropriate lady, begins at her skin. Do you understand?'

You swallowed hard and nodded.

'Good. Now, remove your clothing. We have to start from the skin.'

There was heat in his voice, filled with a demand that brooked no argument, and with trembling hands, you unbuttoned your waistcoat, unpinned your skirt and shrugged out of your rough collared shirt until you stood there bare beneath your chemise.

You worked your hands together in front of you feeling damp between your legs and ready to show him everything that was private about you.You unlaced the chemise at the collar and let it fall.

He looked at you for a long time, appreciating you, drinking you in and he was very obviously pleased with you.

He pointed to the combinations lying in a heap on the desk.

'Combinations.'

Your combinations were in two pieces so you stepped into the split bottoms and pulled on the top.

'Now corset.'

You went back to the table. You had two corsets, and you looked to him for his opinion.

'Blue,' he said. 'It laces in the back.'

Normally, as you dressed yourself, your corsets (when you wore them) laced in the front. But this one, he chose purposefully. He wanted to have control over dressing you.

The blue one was already partially laced so all you had to do was pull it over your head and hold it in place. You turned your back to him and waited. He began to slowly tighten your laces, starting from the top and working his way down, one after the other after the other he pulled the narrow fabric through the eyelets closing the boned corset around you, trussing you like a tart and stealing your breath.

The corset was tight, but not overly so, just enough to make you realise that you liked it. He tied the remainder of the cord round your waist and tucked in the excess.

'Will you take it off me when it's time?' you breathed, lightheaded with arousal.

And he hummed a soft response.

Then followed your simple cream and blue coloured dress, which you stepped into with his help. It buttoned up the back and he took his time doing so.

After what seemed an eternity, he stepped away from you and mourning the loss of his heat, you watched him walk to the chair, turn and sit down.

'Come here, and bring your stockings and ribbon.'

Like a puppy, you followed and stood at his knee.

He took the stockings and thin blue ribbons and laid them across his lap.

'Right foot,' he murmured and patted the spot on his thigh where he wanted you to put it. 'Balance yourself on the chair if needed.'

You put a hand on the top of the wing back and sighed softly when he rolled up the first stocking and slid it on your foot and up your leg. You bit your lip, but you couldn't look away from the deft fingers that trailed fire along your skin. He tied the ribbon just below your knee and folded the top of the stocking over it.

'Left.'

You switched legs and he repeated the process, only this time after he had tied the ribbon and folded the stocking down, he held your calf with both hands and looked up at you.

'Now you are finished. Is there anything that I did that you did not understand?'

You shook your head, not trusting your voice to come out as anything but a squeak. He nodded to acknowledge your answer, paused, and then slid one hand up your calf, to your thigh and over the material of your combinations to where they split to reveal your tender sex. He lightly brushed his fingertips over your naked mound and you made a noise that was quite unbecoming of a society lady. Clapping a hand over your mouth, you did the only thing you ever wanted to do the moment you laid eyes on him; you widened your legs.

'I prefer an unruly woman,' he said, sliding one finger into your slick wet cunt. 'I think they have spirit.'

Whining, you grabbed onto the other side of the chair and leaned on it for support. He stroked your clit slowly, carefully, pushing back the swollen little hood and pinched it between his fingers. You squeezed your eyes shut and stars burst against the darkness. You were going to scream if he continued.

'Please,' you whispered, jerking your hips forward, encouraging his further exploration. 'Please... just please!'

He slid his fingers out of you and with his eyes still on your, he put those same fingers into his mouth.

A cry of frustration escaped you. You hiked your skirts and climbed onto his lap, giving him just enough room to unbutton the opening of his trousers and draw out his leaking cock. You took him in hand and he grabbed your hips and pressed back into the chair as you positioned yourself enough to sink slowly down onto him.

You leaned back into his hands, tipping your chin up and moaning loudly, voluptuously, clenching tightly around him, circling your hips to feel all of him filling you completely. He groaned quietly, much more subdued, but no less aroused and he looked up just as you looked down at him. You grabbed his exquisite face between your hands and kissed him, lapping eagerly into his delectable mouth, letting your body rise and fall as your cunt greedily devoured him.

You pushed your fingers into his soft curls, and held his head up, kissing and biting at his plush lips, riding him slowly at first, and then faster as the crescendo of desire and lust and pleasure crested then exploded inside you. Every part of you clamped down hard on him and you rocked and back and forth, milking the shuddering orgasm out of him.

It took a moment before the two of you finally relaxed from your shared high. Still holding his face, you kissed his cheeks and his forehead and his lips over and over until his softening cock slipped out of you. You sat back on his thighs and imagined his cum leaking out of you and onto your combinations. You giggled at the dirty thought.

'I'm Sherlock,' he said after a long silence, looking up to meet your gaze.

'I'm... smitten,' you answered.

Maybe a little re-education wasn't such a bad thing.

-End

I hope you enjoyed it. Please like, share comment reblog all that good stuff. :)

#henry cavill #henry cavill smut #sherlock!Henry #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x you

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codenamed-queenie · 5 years ago

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#BatsInQuarantine

I am going insane. So I poured my restlessness into one long and very detailed post and got super into it. Please enjoy this hot mess.

The Justice League, being the well-meaning virus-proof Super Friends that they are, took one good look at the news, one good look at their non-powered friends Ollie, Bruce, and their families, and collectively decided that these normal humans must be Protected At All Costs.

Now, keep in mind, Bruce is never one to roll over when it comes to being benched.

However, he understands the importance of social distancing. He knows he needs to set a good example for his kids, and keep up appearances as Gotham’s Most Responsible Multi-Billionaire.

So. Quarantine it is.

But how are his kids handling it?

Dick -

100% on board in the beginning. Gotta do the Responsible Thing. Gotta set a Good Example. Besides, guys, this is gonna be Fun. Quality Family Time is always a Must.

He lasted 2 days.

Then he started to get twitchy.

And as everyone knows? A Trapped Dick Grayson is a Feral Dick Grayson.

He bounces off the walls.

Literally.

“I have to climb.”

“Dick, no.”

“I have to climb everything.”

Has scaled the manor 16 times already. Has climbed the chandelier. The banister. Bruce. The roof. The Cave. Anything in the house that’s been bolted down and especially anything that hasn’t.

Duke found him clinging to the wall 10 ft off the ground like Spiderman and screamed so loud it shattered glass.

Desperate for news of the outside.

He thrives off of it like a starving man.

Was the one to suggest he and Barbara take a break to Social Distance from each other (”Sorry, babe, kissing spreads germs”) and experienced Instant Regret(TM) approximately 5 minutes after.

The Family has labelled him a Flight Risk Level 1 (Most likely to say f**k it and make a break for the outside world)

Jason -

Accidentally got trapped inside the manor with the others when Bruce called Shutdown. If he had his way, he’d be chilling in his favorite safe-house right now, binging The Witcher with Roy and Artemis, and not worrying about finding a stray brother in his sock drawer.

But he’s nothing if not an opportunist.

The way he sees it, Jason has 3 options:

Self Improvement

Self Isolation (See Duke, Cass, and Damian)

Descension Into Madness (See Dick and Steph)

And, well, he always wanted to try a few things. Now he’s got the free time to do it.

So he settles on baking.

Alfred’s got enough food and raw ingredients stored up to feed an army. (Not because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder in times like these. But because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder all the time. Just try feeding 11+ teenagers sometime.)

Uses recipes he finds off Google.

His first few attempts are, in a word, ‘tragic’.

Alfred slips him a few of his recipe cards, and Jason suddenly starts seeing Results.

Turns out he’s pretty good at this baking thing once he gets the hang of it.

Hope everyone’s okay eating nothing but pie, macaroons, biscuits, and whatever else Jason whips up.

Cause that’s gonna be the only food left by the time he’s done.

Barbara -

Self-quarantined with her dad.

They’ve been binge-watching classic black and white movies together.

It’s a fun time, but she’s started to get a little antsy. Loving her dad and wanting to be around him 24/7 are, understandably, mutually exclusive.

Calls the manor to video-chat every day.

For her sanity just as much as theirs.

Gives everyone little challenges to film on their phones and send in. She makes compilations of everyone’s submissions so they can all watch and laugh together.

Bonus points for Creativity

One comp shows the family trying to drop Mentos into coke bottles.

Dick did a handstand, and dropped his Mento from the second story balcony.

Tim did it wearing the Batman cowl. The soda exploded into his face, and the rest of the video is just Bruce’s Shrieking.

Stephanie tried it, but the bottle tipped. Everyone on camera screamed as the bottle rocketed through the front window.

She spends most of her calls having one-on-one convos with Dick.

They’ve come up with little code phrases so they can be Cheesy even with family members lurking in the background.

She thinks the way he clings to the monitor is cute.

Almost like he’s giving her a hug through the screen.

(It’s easier than letting herself worry about his mental state, at least)

Tim -

Oh this boy.

Freaked out for the first five minutes before he decided ‘hey wait, Bruce is letting me stay in my pajamas all day? Noice.’

Now he’s just vibing.

The rest of his family is Low-Key shielding him.

He Has No Spleen, you see.

Steph: “Someone could cough on him and he could die!”

He just goes about his day, playing Animal Crossing like there’s no tomorrow, tinkering on projects, taking naps, etc. Living his best life.

Meanwhile there’s always someone lurking behind him, keeping watch, keeping him safe.

Dick sneezed within 5 feet of Tim once (the fact that he was on top of the dusty bookshelf Tim was perusing is irrelevant)

Jason still full-body tackled him the second Tim’s back was turned.

No one with any symptoms--

Like, any symptoms. They don’t even have to be Corona-related.

--is allowed within 10 feet of Tim.

Tim has been wandering the manor for weeks, now, without seeing another human being.

(He sees Dick on the ceiling sometimes, but that doesn’t really count)

He’s been trying increasingly drastic pranks and shenanigans to draw someone, anyone, out.

But it doesn’t matter how many times he steals Damian’s sword, or sets fire to Jason’s brownie bites.

Nobody wants to risk it.

Cass -

No one has seen her since quarantine started.

Everyone is approximately 87% sure she’s somewhere in the manor though

Because she does eat the meals Alfred leaves out for her.

Or at least someone does, at any rate.

(Jason and Santa top the running suspects list)

Santa was Steph’s suggestion. For some reason it snowballed.

It’s assumed that Cass misunderstood the meaning of ‘social distancing’ and took it too far.

But no one knows for sure.

She is Tim’s Guardian Angel.

People who so much as clear their throats a little too loudly anywhere near him suddenly wake up on a different floor of the house four hours later.

Duke came closest to spotting her while he was up in the attic.

Either that, or there’s another Creepy Sister everyone forgot to tell him about living up there.

She is silent, and watchful, sticking to the shadows, but she does leave the occasional note out to brighten her siblings’ day.

Things like ‘helo i love u’ and ‘hop u ar ok’ mostly.

She is bound and determined to protect her family from this invisible threat, no matter the cost.

Steph -

Like Dick, she was Super Pumped at first.

(Just kind of showed up at Wayne Manor before quarantine was enacted. The original purpose of her visit is unclear, but regardless, she’s Trapped.)

Also Like Dick, her descent into madness was swift.

She is impossible to pin down.

Not like Cass or Damian, who’ve stayed off the grid, and are therefore Untraceable.

No. She’s impossible to pin down, because she never stops moving.

Switches seamlessly between Zumba on top of the Giant Dinosaur in the Batcave, and furiously knitting Alfred (the Cat) a sweater with a pair of Tim’s used chopsticks.

Braided everyone’s hair while they were asleep.

Even Bruce’s.

She tried to do Tim’s, but somehow blacked out and regained consciousness in the attic.

When she woke up with a scream and a furiously twitching eye, she startled Duke out of his Makeshift Fort he built out of old cardboard boxes and antique furniture. He’s had to resort to finding a new hiding place.

Sometimes, on the rare occasions she does sit still, staring off into the distance, she’ll suddenly start laughing hysterically. This may last between thirty seconds and thirty minutes, depending entirely on how long it’s been since she’s knitted a cat sweater or done cartwheels through every room in the house.

Blew up the greenhouse out back, somehow.

Everyone has agreed not to talk about it.

Some people were built to handle prolonged time inside their homes.

Stephanie Brown is not that way.

Damian -

Damian Wayne Cannot Be Contained.

At least not inside the house.

He took off thirty-six hours into quarantine.

Thanks to the security equipment around the borders of the Wayne Estate, he can’t escape the grounds.

(He’s tried and failed multiple times. Jason and Bruce have a running bet on how many times the perimeter alarms will go off per day.)

(Jason is winning.)

He wanders the grounds with Titus as his only companion.

The two of them run laps, practice drills, and find ways to occupy their time.

No one’s entirely sure what those ways are.

In fact, nobody knows exactly where Damian is at any given time.

Only that he is Out There.

And he’s the best security system Wayne Manor’s ever had.

So far, he’s stopped five groups of civilians scaling the perimeter walls before the lasers and electric nets even have a chance to deploy.

They were trying to break in and steal supplies.

(Even ones they already had in surplus. Like Toilet Paper.)

He’s also stopped Dick from escaping twelve (12) times.

Drags him back by his shirt collar and deposits him on the welcome mat.

Usually with a note for Alfred/Jason, requesting more fruit tarts.

Duke -

Did not leave the attic for two weeks.

Then Steph discovered his hiding spot (read: was dumped there by Cassandra) which forced him to relocate to the basement.

Yes, it turns out Wayne Manor does have a basement.

This was a surprise to Duke, who always thought that the Batcave was Bruce Wayne’s basement.

Alfred keeps him supplied with all the necessities:

i.e. food, magazines, assorted pastries from Jason’s latest batch, usually straight out of the oven.

Duke also snagged the Manor’s Alexa.

She has become a sort of ‘Wilson’ to Duke’s ‘Chuck Noland’.

She is his only comfort. His only ally.

He’s determined to wait out this quarantine, doing his best to avoid the others.

Duke has seen these people under pressure.

He knows exactly what he’s dealing with.

Duke: “Alexa is the only motherf****r in this madhouse I ever respected.”

*offended butler noises from the other room*

Duke: “And also Alfred.”

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fanfic-me-up · 4 years ago

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One For The Books || Midoriya Izuku

Synopsis: Kissing you in the middle of a bookstore was worth being late to his own party.

Pairing: Midoriya Izuku x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: None

A/N: This is for @bnhabookclub Celebrating Deku event and bingo event! Prompt: “Kiss me, quick. I promise I’ll explain later.” Bingo Slot: Bookshop AU Thank you @hawks-senseis @todoscript for beta reading! Tagging: @pixxiesdust

-----------------------------------------------

Izuku stumbled into the bookstore by happenstance.

The breeze was particularly strong that day, coming in from the east, and Izuku is naturally attracted to the scent of wilted parchment. The voices of the great authors from before entice him to take a peek into the homely shop. The size and location suggests it’s a family owned business, a hidden gem amongst a sea of overly flashy boutiques. It is the definition of grassroots and Izuku loves patronizing these types of down to earth businesses.

Izuku’s been an avid reader his whole life. He believes everybody has a story to tell and every story is worth being read.

The bell jingles upon opening the door and the place, though small in size, reminds Izuku of a never ending abyss filled to the brim with an infinite amount of stories. He can't wait to dig his fingers into the pages of each and every one of them. He already feels a sense of home with the purposefully decorative clutter - wooden knick-knacks and potted plants mixed with soft acoustic music playing in the background gives the place charm.

He greets the clerk who smiles politely, greeting him by his hero name. Izuku doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to being treated as a hero. The fame and fortune never appealed to him, preferring a simple life where he’s free to be himself without the weight of expectation. He feels bad for thinking this, and hasn’t told anyone because he doesn’t want to appear ungrateful. Please don’t misunderstand, he loves being a hero and saving those in need, but sometimes he needs to get away.

Izuku peruses the numerous aisles, his finger grazing the spines of books waiting to be opened, when he freezes right smack in the middle of the aisle. You’re tucked in the corner with a book in hand, he can’t make out the title no matter how hard he squints. Izuku feels a bit creepy staring at you from the thin opening of the bookshelf, and you must’ve felt someone staring at you because you look up and meet his eyes causing him to whip his head. A flush creeps along the apples of his cheeks from being caught by you. Despite his embarrassment, Izuku chances a glance back up and he breathes a sigh of relief when your eyes have returned to your book. He doesn’t miss the fond smile gracing your lips now.

And that’s how a bookstore that’s two cities away became Izuku’s home away from home.

He tries to convince himself that he’s only going for the books, but he’s such a terrible liar that he can’t even lie to himself. It sounds ridiculous when he’s been on the train already for an hour, alone, on his birthday. He managed to escape for a few hours, finding time to catch a glimpse of you in between birthday traditions with his mother and hanging out with friends later tonight.

His heart skips at the thought of seeing you tucked in the same corner, a book in one hand and your usual coffee in the other. You dog-ear the pages instead of using a bookmark, and you gasp when you find a quote worth remembering. You dare not take your eyes off the page, like you’re afraid you’ll never feel the same magic you felt when you first read the passage. Izuku always smiles when he sees you have trouble finding your highlighter, feeling your way around the table even though it’s in the same position you always leave it.

He’s talked to you a couple times, if you could call it talking, it’s more like you ask him a simple yes or no question and Izuku proceeds to blubber like an idiot for the next five minutes; your face adorned with a small smile as you wait for him to string words together that make sense. He appreciates your patience. It’s rare to find that kind of patience anymore.

He also appreciates how you don’t openly acknowledge his hero status. Seems like everyone wants something from him nowadays. It’s hard to make friends outside of the hero industry. A part of him wishes to return to the quiet stability, back when he was just Izuku. Maybe that’s why he finds himself constantly coming back to this bookstore, because this is the one place he feels like nobody's watching him and you’re the one person who makes Izuku feel like he doesn’t need to be anything more than himself.

His stomach drops when he takes in the vacant corner. He hoped to catch you today before his party, perhaps he would’ve finally gathered the courage to actually talk to you. This wasn’t how he pictured today would go, but he figures he traveled all this way so he picks up a couple books anyway (a couple to Izuku means a pile that looks ready to tip over) and plops down in his usual spot across from you.

He barely gets through the first paragraph when the bell jingles, signaling a new customer, and you rush in breathless. The few people roaming the aisles turn their heads, including Izuku, and you look picturesque standing in front of the wide-open door, your hair swaying in the wind. Your eyes scan the bookstore, stopping at Izuku, and you walk briskly towards him. Wait, no, that can’t be right, but Izuku feels dumb glancing behind his shoulder because he’s sitting against a wall.

Izuku feels the breath rush out of him in one swoop.

“Kiss me, quick. I promise I’ll explain later!”

Izuku chokes.

“Huh? I- I’m sor-sorry- di-did you- you just- kiss- uhm, I’m sorry, what?”

Izuku misheard that, right? There’s no way… Yeah, he had to have misheard that. His mind tricking him into what he wants to hear. Strangers don’t normally ask other strangers to kiss. Unless it was New Year’s, but it’s the middle of July, so that can’t be right.

You bite your lip, and it’s the first sign of hesitancy you show since making your grand entrance.

“It’s stupid, I’m sorry, you’re right, it’s not New Year’s-”

You heard that?

Sweat prickles the back of his neck at being caught so openly. He’s always had a habit of thinking out loud, and it manages to happen at the worst times.

“I’m just gonna go now, oh god, I’m so embarrassed, pretend you never-”

Izuku never gets to listen to the end because he jumps from his seat and pulls you in. You gasp, the same way you do when you come across a melodic phrase on a page, when his lips touch yours. You’re frozen in place, eyes wide, like you didn’t expect the kiss despite being the one to ask. Izuku has only kissed a few girls, enough to count on one hand, but he gives it everything he’s got.

He traces your bottom lip, asking for permission like the gentleman his mother raised him to be, and he barely holds back a smile when you gain your bearings and shyly open up for him. He can tell from the way you kiss that you don’t normally ask random guys to kiss you in bookstores, and Izuku’s relieved at not being the only one feeling a little awkward about this whole situation.

Izuku explores the inside of your mouth, shyly meeting your tongue, and he feels you wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the small curls at the nape of his neck. Izuku doesn’t know how long the kiss lasts for, but long enough to feel like he might pass out if he doesn’t take a breath. He doesn’t completely pull away though - he makes it halfway, only to take a small gasp of air, before he goes back in to peck you one more time, trying to remember how your lips taste in case this is the first and last time he kisses you.

What is he saying? Of course this is going to be the last time he kisses you. You’re a stranger- a beautiful stranger- but a stranger no less. He doesn’t even know your name! He probably should’ve asked for your name before he stuck his tongue in your mouth. Maybe he’s not much of a gentleman after all.

You open your eyes slowly, still hazy from the kiss. Your fingers are still entangled in his hair, and Izuku doesn’t want to let go of you, but you’re both coming down from the high of kissing one another. You detangle yourselves, stepping back an appropriate distance. There’s a fair amount of quick glances and awkward silence before you both speak up at the same time.

“I don’t normally-” you say.

“S-sorry if that wasn’t-” Izuku says.

Both of you stop at the same time too, laughing off the awkwardness. Izuku rocks on the balls of his feet, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. You glance around, unable to stay in place, until you set your sights on the towering books in Izuku’s corner. Your eyes sparkle as you bounce over to pick up the current book he’s reading.

“I love The War Within!”

“Y-you do?”

The War Within is one of Izuku’s favorite books. His mother would read it to him all the time as a child.

“Of course! My childhood is in these pages,” you say as if you can read Izuku’s mind.

You flip through, careful not to lose where Izuku left off even though he’s still on the first page.

“This story seriously doesn’t get enough love,” you comment after giggling at a passage from the book.

Izuku couldn’t agree more, and the flutter of excitement swirls through him. He finally found someone he can discuss his favorite book with. Although a fantastic book, it’s terribly underrated and anyone he’s mentioned it to looks at him like he has two heads when he gets carried away talking about it, but not you.

“I couldn’t agree more! The struggle between following your head and following your heart is timeless and the author writes it in such a wonderful way, accessible to a younger audience. Everyone comes to that crossroad between choosing to do what is socially expected and going after what you personally want. I can’t believe more people haven’t read this book and-”

Izuku abruptly shuts up, biting his tongue when he realizes he’s rambling yet again to someone about his favorite book. He’s always been a smart kid, but it wasn’t until later in life when he fully grasped the depth of the message. He’s never related more to the protagonist than right now.

You’re not looking at him strangely like everyone else. Instead, your face is adorned with that same soft smile Izuku saw the first time he laid eyes on you.

“What’s the famous quote at the end again?” You skip to the end, eyes scanning for the passage Izuku already knows by heart. He answers your question in earnest at the same time you find the passage. You speak together for the second time today, words flowing in unison.

“To win a war within one’s self is the greatest victory of all.”

You lock eyes at the end. Izuku feels electric, adrenaline coursing through his veins, the same feeling as when he uses One for All. How did he get so lucky to bump into you that fateful day? The chances of Izuku choosing to get off the train when he did and stepping foot into the bookstore was slim to none, and for you to be here when he did…

What he would give to kiss you one more time.

The conversation dies, both of you too caught up in one another to say a word. All is left is the occasional murmur from other patrons and the soft music playing in the background. Izuku opens his mouth as do you, like you’re riding the same wavelength.

“I never got your-”

“Happy birthday!” You blurt, effectively cutting Izuku off.

He’s taken aback. He didn’t expect you to know today was his birthday. You never showed any sign that you knew of him, let alone take the time to look up his birthday.

Oh god. What else did you find about him? The internet is scary and there are plenty of not so pleasant articles about him from media outlets looking to cause a stir.

“Oh- ahem- I, um, heh…” He awkwardly trails off, a simple “thanks” unreachable to Izuku’s poor stuttering heart beating in double time.

He sincerely hopes only good things came up when you searched his name.

“Thank you,” he says, bowing his head slightly to hide the flush on his face.

Neither of you have a chance to continue the conversation when Izuku’s phone pings and he receives a text message from Uraraka that he better not be late to his own party again. Izuku glances at the time, eyes widening; he has to leave in the next five minutes if he wants to make the train home.

“I have to go.”

You glance down like you’re unsure of yourself, until you take a deep breath and face Izuku head on with fierce determination; the same look of a hero about to make a life or death choice.

“I wanted to kiss you.”

Izuku steps back. Not with distaste, but with admiration for your honesty.

“There’s really nothing else to it. I like you, and you probably get that a lot, and I know it’s crazy to say that when this is the first time we’ve had an actual conversation, but.. I thought I’d take my shot because, well, why not?”

You chance a glance up at Izuku who’s staring at you in awe. You shuffle under his intense stare, like you don’t know what to make of his silence after your confession.

Izuku will admit that even he didn’t think he’d have the courage to confess his attraction to a complete stranger; yet here you were in the middle of a public bookstore, putting yourself out there, and opening yourself up to the possibility of rejection.

Or opening yourself up to the chance of a lifetime.

Izuku’s terrified of the strong woman in front of him - and not because he feels his masculinity threatened, but because he knows you’ll push him out of his comfort zone in ways he needs most.

“What’s your name?”

Your eyes flash like you didn’t expect that in the least, but you give him your name like he asks.

“Do you wanna grab coffee sometime, Y/N?”

“Like a date?”

Izuku nods and your eyes widen before shyly replying, “I’d love to.”

He laughs awkwardly, feeling like he missed a step. Don’t people usually start out as friends, go on a couple dates, and then kiss? This happened out of order, and not the way Izuku ever expected an exchange with you would go, but for some reason it feels right.

Izuku counts it as a win when he saves your number and can finally attach your name. He has one more question before he takes off though.

“What if I didn’t want to kiss you? What would you have done then?”

You bite your lip in thought, looking around at the endless tales waiting to be read, before smiling at Izuku.

“It’d be a great story either way. One for the books.”

Izuku finds the way you giggle at your own puns absolutely adorable.

He bids you goodbye with an awkward handshake turned hug- he went for a handshake while you went for a hug. Izuku makes it to the door, ready to leave, but for some reason he stops. His body takes over, shutting off his mind screaming what a terrible idea this is, before turning back around. This time, he’s the one to walk towards you with purpose, with intent to open himself up like you did. You inspired him to risk it all for a single moment, and even though it may be the worst decision he makes.

There’s a chance it will be the best decision of his life.

Your small gasp is music to Izuku’s ears, a song he wants on repeat for the rest of his life, as he pulls you in once more. The moment your lips touch, Izuku can’t help the small sigh to escape him, because the risk is totally worth any rejection that may follow. You wrap your arms around his neck, like your body was made to fit perfectly in his, and you run your fingers through his curls. The kiss is rushed, but not sloppy, like you can’t get enough of each other because you both have no idea what tomorrow brings. It’s over too soon for Izuku’s liking, but he enjoys how a single kiss was able to leave you breathless. A tinge of heat graces your cheeks and your kiss-bitten lips are proof that Izuku didn’t make this up in his head.

“S-so coffee next week?” Izuku steps back, running a nervous hand through his hair.

You smile with that same sparkle glittering your eyes.

“Sounds great. Happy birthday, Izuku.”

Izuku’s breath catches at the sound of his first name caressing your tongue. He bids you goodbye for good this time before taking his leave. The clerk winks at Izuku who flushes, ducking his head down, but the beginnings of a fond smile grace his own lips.

Kissing you was definitely worth being late to his own party.

#midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku #midoriya izuku x reader #bnha x reader #midoriya fluff #mha x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #bnha #mha #bnha imagines #bnha fluff #midoriya imagine

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mickeymouse-moshpit · 4 years ago

Text

street lights, people

A/N: Hello, kind readers of this fic that I have taken entirely too long to update. I’m so sorry for the wait! And I also have to apologize because there is a whole first part of this that is stored on my computer, which is currently in the mail for repairs. I will post that part as well once it’s back, just please hold on and know that 1) there’s definitely context to being on Fennec’s bike in it and 2) there will be spicy things in the next part. Anyway, uh, if there’s typos I’m very sorry, and enjoy!

Description: Fennec and peds!Reader go on a date

Warnings: Some brief verbal harassment, brief description of dissociating, a little angst if you squint hard enough, Fennec and peds!Reader doing their thing

Rating: T

Word count: 2.7K

January 24th

Read part one here

You followed her out and down the lined path, hands sitting in the pockets of your jacket to keep warm. She threaded her arm through yours, and led you down the street to a book shop of all places.

“I remembered you telling me about that new series you wanted to read, something about gay witches? And you’re always talking about how much you want to go to the bookstore but you never do. So, go browse. I want to see what your process looks like.”

“Th—that’s really thoughtful. I don’t know that I really have a true process, but yeah let’s go look!” You opened the door for her, a light going on inside you as you got your first waft of bookstore smell: the paper, the ink. You got the first wave of the noise: the low music playing in the background, the people there talking in hushed tones. You couldn’t make out any conversations happening, could barely hear that there were lyrics in the music. You stopped for a moment, scanning the layout of the room. Your eyes landed first on the display of bookmarks and postcards, making a mental note to get one or two of each to remember this little town so you could find it one day. But then your train of thought halted: could you come here alone?

Best not to dwell.

Your eyes resumed their scanning, noting the different sections. You wandered to the right, letting your gaze drift over the painting beside the door. It was line art of two bodies intertwined, splashed with color to resemble a galaxy where they met. The notecard below it gave the title and artist’s name. And a price. You were struck by how nice it would look on your art wall. But that was for another day.

You started your first pass through the stacks, letting your eyes skate over the spines of the books, pausing to read the note cards when they gave a recommendation from one of the workers. Your fingers started to take on a mind of their own, catching on books here and there, bringing them out for you to investigate. Every couple of them, you would open to the first page, let the author’s words try to entice you. You put most of them back, but a green paperback one with a bent cover stayed behind. You held it close as you continued on, pacing with no purpose at all. If someone didn’t know you, they would think you had a system, but really you were just letting yourself be on autopilot. That is, until you got to the section that housed the series you had read about and wanted.

“This is it!” You hoped your whisper would convey your excitement to Fennec. You had been watching book recommendation videos and this series had come up, promising both a love story and adventure. “I hope th—they do! They’ve got both!”

You plucked both the paperback and hardcover from the shelves, adding them to your little stash. Your small smile would not leave your face.

Fennec watched as you dragged yourself away from the section, mentally patting herself on the back for this idea. You looked so happy, at peace. If she was a part of that? She would consider herself both clever and immensely lucky. As she followed you back to one of the sections you had drifted through, she watched your perusing turn into a hunt. You furrowed your brow as you sank down to kneel and scan for what she wasn’t quite sure. She pulled two more books from the shelf.

“Have you read this one?” She held up a copy of a book called Circe.

“No, but someone at work was talking about it the other day.” She hoped you wouldn’t be disappointed, and wasn’t disappointed when you slid the book back into its place with a mischievous look. Fennec’s mind went straight into the gutter for a moment, imagining you in a very different situation but with the same look.

“Good, you’ll borrow my copy.” There was no arguing, it was a fact. She would.

You stood up again, still holding onto the other book. You were off again, and while she thought you clutching four books to your chest was possibly the cutest thing she had ever seen, you were going to drop one if you kept getting distracted. When you stopped again, she held her hands out.

“Here, let me carry them. You use your hands to browse.”

You nodded once and sank down again, grabbing one of the recommended titles and popping up again. You paused, before setting it on the pile Fennec was holding, warmth building in your face as she gave you one of her smiles.

You set off with one more stop in mind. The waiting room library at your office was lacking in chapter books as of late. You let your feet carry you to the children’s section.

“What are we doing here? I didn’t take you for the Warrior Cats type. “

“The selection of chapter books in my waiting room is looking a little sparse here lately. I want to see what the kids are into so I can update the wishlist.”

Fennec looked at you like you had suddenly turned purple with polka dots and sprouted antennae.

“I have a bookshelf in the waiting room, and I always make it clear to kids and parents that the books on it are meant to be read, cherished, read again, both while waiting and when they go home, with no expectation of return. The Little Golden Books usually do come back, just like most of the other books meant for the teeny-tinies. The chapter books get sparse and don’t tend to come back, but I like it that way. It means I’ve got another reader who gets to learn about the magic of words.”

“But where do the books come from?”

“Well, at first it was just me. There were some parents who made it very clear when I mentioned the shelf that they were perfectly capable of providing their kids with books and how dare I assume otherwise. There were others that you could tell were extremely grateful. There were also a few that had a problem with it but not for any good reason but I’m sure you know what kind of parents I’m getting at.”

She did.

“Then one day I was in the little shop in town and one of the little ones who had started on chapter books saw me and ran up, telling me all about how she had saved her allowance and she was able to get the sequel to the book she had gotten from me. The owner of the shop heard it, and when I went to buy the book I had picked out along with some chapter books for the waiting room, he told me he would let me start a wishlist and he would put it by the register for people to see and maybe buy one or two.”

“Do you usually get what you ask for?”

“It depends on the time of year. During the holidays people get more generous so it’s time to update the list. Hence the reading castle.” You gestured to the structure before you, an alcove that had a castle facade and was filled with still more books. “And the wall of chapter books.”

Before she could formulate a response, you had pulled out your phone and started making a list. Fennec watched you with an emotion she wasn’t sure how to name. The earnest way you took on your task had her pulling out her own phone while you weren’t watching to send a message to the garage group chat. When you had finished, you brushed a hand over her shoulder as you walked by.

You wandered to your last stop: the display at the front. You picked out a pack of bookmarks that were little magnetic trees before turning your attention to the display of postcards. You chose one that was a picture of the gazebo in the middle of town at night, surrounded by twinkle lights with “wish you were here” in small text at the bottom.

You walked up to the register and Fennec plopped your pile of finds on the counter.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” The older salesperson behind the register had half a smirk on his face as he queried you. “I haven’t seen someone quite as methodical as you, even covered the section for children.”

You weren’t sure if the sarcastic tone was real or meant as a lighthearted joke, but either way you felt your cheeks warm again, and not in a good way. You wondered for a moment if the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You felt Fennec’s arm wrap its way around your torso again as the salesperson started ringing up the books.

“Being thorough is one of the best things about her. And this is just me, but I think it would be kind of nice if my kid’s pediatrician knew enough about what their media looked like to be able to talk to them at their level about things other than their health.”

“Oh so she’s a big kid is what you’re saying? What, does she play with dolls, or are toys more for the bedroom?” That definitely wasn’t meant in a kind way.

Fennec’s arm tightened around you before you got the chance to just slip away and out the door, as if she knew that was something you might do.

“I would stop talking about them if I were you.” Her voice was low, had taken on a dangerous edge that matched what others saw in her leather jacket.

He got the hint, hurrying up with the transaction. When the final total came up, you reached into your pocket, not really feeling anything for that moment or registering the number that flashed in your general direction. Before you could get your card liberated, Fennec was already sliding hers into the chip reader. You wanted to protest, wanted to tell her it was too much, but the interaction was a sea witch that had stolen your voice and you could only look on as the books and other small items were wrapped and put into a bag and Fennec was turning you in a circle to get you out of the shop.

You weren’t even aware that your feet had moved until you were in front of her bike and she had distributed the books into the two saddle bags. She faced you and put her hands on your shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

You looked at her, answering her question with the question mark that had seemingly etched itself on your face.

“Hello? Earth to Doc? Are you in there?” She gave your shoulders a little shake, before she wrapped you in her arms. You finally felt like you could take a deep breath again as you rested your head in the crook of her neck, letting the pressure she was providing ground you again.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the collar of her sweater.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. He should be sorry. If he hadn’t stopped talking, I would have made him sorry.”

“I wanted to stop you from paying, it was too much.”

“No. I wanted to do that, it was the plan from the beginning.”

“Really?” You pulled back slightly, peeking at her, searching her face but not having much luck in the low light.

“Yes really. Now, I had something else planned, do you want to know what it is so you can decide if you still want to do it?”

You considered it, but the phantom hollow in your chest and the way your arms and legs still didn’t feel like they belonged to you gave you your answer.

“I want to know, but not yet. Keep it secret, show me next time. I’ve got my own idea though. Will you take me home? I want to show you the Books.”

***

You didn’t want to let go of her, but you needed to if you were going to go inside where it was warm. So you did. When she had taken the books out and put them back in their bag, you headed for the three steps that led up to the door of your half of the duplex. You unlocked the door, nearly dropping the keys because your hands were so cold. You caught them before Fennec could tease you about it.

You clicked on the light in the entryway, lighting the way as she took a few steps inside again. You took the bag from her, and nodded to your left. Behind the stairs to the loft, there was a doorway. You walked through it and to the right, knowing the room in the darkness. You stepped on the clicker for the floor lamp, bathing the room in a soft glow. You walked over to the electric fireplace that added some extra heat to the room, switching it on.

You went back to where she was standing in the doorway, like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands. You took them in yours and brought her in.

Her eyes widened as she took in the space.

The room screamed comfort. All four walls were covered by bookshelves that reached the ceiling, with two interruptions. The first was around the fireplace, if you could even call it that. There was a painting in front of it, but her eyes were too busy wandering to take it in just yet. Her gaze drifted to the window, where either you or the previous owners had built a seat large and plush enough to recline in. While that should have been the star of the room, it wasn’t.

In front of the fireplace was a massive sectional sofa. She was sure it had to have a pull out option you were taking advantage of because it looked more like a bed-sofa hybrid with the way the middle was seemingly filled to the brim with throw pillows and faux-fur blankets.

You stood watching her take it in, as she eventually started looking at the books lining the shelves, punctuated by the odd piece of memorabilia. There was such a variety, all alphabetized, with the only delineation by genre she could see being poetry and prose. As she browsed, you placed your books on the window seat, and from under it produced two stamps: one to mark the books as yours, and one to put a place for people who borrowed them to sign. Others always asked if it was to make sure they came back, but you always replied with no, it was to make sure people could see if they had borrowed them before. You put the books onto the rolling cart that already had a small pile to be put away. Some of them were new, some you had reread and needed to return.

Task complete, you perched on the back of the couch to watch her.

“I should start referring to you as a dragon. You’ve got quite the hoard, baby.” Her words were quiet, wrapped with kindness. “It’s impressive. Thank you for showing me this part of you.”

“I just really like them.” Your smile was growing as she got closer to you. You stood and wrapped yourself around her again. “Does that make you the maiden in need of rescue?”

“Oh, no, you can keep me here as long as you want. Besides, don’t you know the dragon needs saving too sometimes?”

“In that case…” You paused, stealing yourself. “Would you stay a while? I can make tea, we can read, if you’re okay with you could do that pressure thing again?”

“You mean will I hold you close, let you hide your face in my neck for a minute again? Let you whisper things you don’t think I’ll hear but I will anyway?”

You nodded once.

“In that case, I’ll do ‘that pressure thing’ for as long as you need me to. But you have to let me try out this couch nest thing because it looks amazing.”

“Of course, but the first rule of the dragon’s lair is this: no jackets.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More author’s notes: if you’re curious about what series peds!Reader was looking for, it’s These Witches Don’t Burn and its sequel by Isabel Sterling. She wants Fennec to read Circe by Madeline Miller, and she bought The Song of Achilles, also by Madeline Miller

Tagging: @phoenixhalliwell @promiscuoussatan @maybege @jangofctts

#street lights people #Fennec Shand x reader #fennec shand #biker!Fennec #biker au #the mandalorian fanfic #star wars fanfic #wlw #the mandalorian fanfiction #Star Wars au

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ohshit-itsyagorl · 4 years ago

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Four Dipshits and a Michelle

Part 7

Part 1, Writing Masterlist

Read on AO3 HERE

Summary: Michelle never believed in soulmates. But what happens when she turns seventeen and gets her mark? What happens when she inevitably finds the person with the matching tattoo? And what is she supposed to do with Peter Parker. Her best friend in the whole world. Her crush. Someone she feels drawn to for some inexplicable reason.

The next day was the first day of senior year, which meant Michelle had to get up at the ass-crack of dawn. She practically fell out of bed and trudged to the bathroom, dragging her feet with every step, and when she looked in the mirror, she cursed quietly under her breath. She looked like death. To be fair, she hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. A few hours after Spider-man left, Peter had decided to take a shower, and his mark had flared again. She couldn’t really blame him—he did a pretty good job controlling it for the most part, and to be fair, it still happened to her, too.

She brushed her teeth and ran her fingers through her hair, deciding she would just leave it loose today. Throwing her clothes on, she went out into the kitchen and made herself a bowl of cereal.

She greeted Betty and Cindy when she got to home room. Home rooms were split by gender: girls in some rooms, boys in others, so there was never a chance that Peter or Ned would be in her home room. Thankfully, that also meant that there was no chance that Flash would be in her home room either.

Ms. Winninski handed out schedules to all the students, and MJ looked down at hers.

“What classes are you guys taking?” Cindy asked. She was already opening her messages to the group chat, furiously typing away under her desk as phones were not permitted in home room.

“Creative writing—I think Ned is in that class,” Betty said, blushing furiously. “AP Calculus is second period, which will be rough, but then I have theatre, so at least there’s a break. I opted to take dance/health instead of gym/health, and then I have lunch—god, I really don’t want to eat cafeteria food for the next nine months. After lunch I have French, then AP environmental science—oof, those are on opposite sides of the building—and I finish off with AP Econ.” She looked up from her schedule.

Cindy rattled off her schedule next. Then, they were both looking at MJ expectantly.

“Peter and I have AP Chemistry first period.” MJ looked up to find Betty waggling her eyebrows. “Shut up,” she said. “Then I have AP Calc with you and Cindy. AP great books, gym/health—I usually just read in that class anyway—then lunch, Spanish, art, and AP Psych.”

Cindy looked up from her phone and gave the report: “We actually have a few classes with Ned and Peter this year, not just PCB like in years past.”

MJ wanted to look and see but it was too risky with Ms. Winninski prowling around the classroom answering questions and confiscating phones. She sighed and pulled out her sketchbook.

Home room ended a few minutes later and soon Michelle was off to AP chemistry. She smiled at Peter when she saw him, then she remembered what he had done last night and her face reddened.

They sat down at the same lab table and sat in awkward silence, each not really sure what to say to the other.

On days like this, when they were just a bit out of sync, MJ just wanted everything to go back to normal.

Normal—what was normal these days? Michelle wasn’t really sure she knew anymore.

That entire day was exactly like every other first day of school, with teachers taking attendance, going over the syllabus, playing name games (seriously, they weren’t in kindergarten anymore), and every teacher assigning the same getting-to-know-you packet for homework, which meant that MJ had to talk about herself seven times.

She guessed that part was normal, but everything else? She was part of the 0.02% of the population that had a true mate, she knew who he was, he didn’t know who she was, she loved him, he didn’t love her, they both had this annoying habit of getting aroused at the worst times, and neither of them could shower in peace ever again.

When she got home, she quietly opened the door in case her mom was sleeping in the sitting room. The light filtered in through the windows in a way that basked the room in a golden glow, she thought maybe she would paint it sometime.

Her mom was, in fact, asleep on the couch. MJ tiptoed past and flopped onto her bed. She groaned thinking about all the homework she had—none of it even remotely knowledge-related. She knew she should get started, but she really didn’t want to.

She pulled her bag toward herself anyway.

——————————————————————

Two hours later, Michelle was done with all the getting-to-know-you questionnaires and was perusing her bookshelf. She had quite a few new books checked out from the library, she just didn’t know which one she wanted to read next.

Tap tap tap.

Her head whipped toward the window. There was a masked face hanging upside down outside, red hand tapping on the glass.

MJ rolled her eyes, walking over to the window and opening the latch. She heaved the frame up enough for Spider-man to crawl in and drop onto the floor in a crouch. He stood up. “Fancy seeing you here, Michelle.”

“Hmm, I wonder why that would be,” she quipped. “What do you want this time?” She went back to looking at her bookshelf, running her fingers along the spines until she grabbed one randomly.

“I read The Assistant,” he blurted, reaching a hand up to run his fingers through hair that wasn’t there.

Michelle raised her eyebrows. “What did you think?” She hadn’t much liked the book, to be perfectly honest, only reading it because it was a critically acclaimed story about a jewish deli.

Spider-man shrugged. “I don’t know. It was okay, I guess. I had a really hard time getting behind Frank. There isn’t a sequel, but if there was I don’t think I would read it.”

She looked at him. “You’re a superhero.”

There was a long pause. “…Uh, yeah?”

“And a high schooler.”

“That is also true,” he said tilting his head to the side. “Are we making observations now? Because if we are, that shirt looks good on you.”

MJ rolled her eyes. He was either a shameless flirt in general or the mask made him cocky. Either way, she wasn’t interested. She thought of the way Peter’s cheeks dimpled when he smiled—no, she was definitely not interested. “How do you have time to get through these books when you’re always off saving people—helping the little guy, or whatever the fuck you call it.”

He shrugged. “I read them between ‘helping the little guy’” he said, waving his arms dramatically. “On rooftops and billboards and stuff. Or at school when I’m bored.”

She hummed. “Well, I need to choose another book. Want to help?”

He nodded vigorously, and practically tripped over himself trying to get to where she stood by the bookshelf. For a superhero, he wasn’t very graceful. She smiled to herself, shaking her head, and turned to look at the pile of new books again.

He pointed at a thick, grey one and said, “This one looks cool.” MJ pulled it from the shelf and read the title Six of Crows followed by the description on the back. His white eyes narrowed at her. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a fantasy reader.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to branch out a bit,” she muttered, cheeks glowing red. She didn’t know why she was embarrassed—she had no reason to be embarrassed—but something about him threw her off. For some reason, she wanted to impress him, and somehow reading a young adult fantasy novel, highly rated or not, seemed like a weak choice after A Secret History or The Assistant.

His eyes followed the blush down to the top of her chest, then flicked back up to her face, which only made her flush more deeply. “Sounds like a great read,” was all he said. “I’ll check it out from the library.”

She looked down at her bare feet, flexing her toes against the soft carpet. When she looked back up, Spider-man was looking around her room. “Nice room. Lots of books.”

She felt herself flush again. God, what was going on with her today? “Yeah, it’s my safe space. You know, I don’t actually let anyone in here—you’re the first person besides my mom or me to set foot in here in years." There was a long pause, then, "What does your room look like?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “just another normal room. Bed, desk, closet, bathroom—the works.”

“What side of the bed do you sleep on?” Michelle asked. She didn’t know what made her say it, but for some reason she wanted to know—maybe it was a way to make him seem more human, less… other.

“The left, why?” He glanced over to her bed which she realized, somewhat belatedly, wasn’t made and had a lacy bra strewn across it.

“No reason,” she muttered. Then, “I sleep on the left too. So does my best friend, but when I sleep over I kick him to the right side.” She chuckled. “His side of the bed smells like him.”

Spider-man coughed, and rocked onto the heels of his feet. He tilted his head to the side. “I have to go,” he said, moving to raise the window again. He slipped out and crawled out of sight.

MJ looked at her bed again, at that black lace bra, and cursed under her breath.

#spideychelle #spiderman #peter parker #peter x michelle #Peter Parker fanfiction #Peter Parker soulmate #soulmate #soulmarks #fluff #angst #best friends #Smut #eventual smut #michelle jones #Four dipshits and a Michelle

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blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk · 5 years ago

Note

Oh, and pretty please also some happy Alois scenario's? Like, he's with Luka and Hannah and they're all happy and healthy. No pain nor any spooder demons, please. (You're a godsend. I've literally been following blogs like yours for years and not many write for the characters that I like. I hit the jackpot with your blog. Thank you~)

Ah man… words cannot express how much I needed to write this

and how much I would love to write more things like this!!

Alois needs so much love!

And you know what, bby? I’m more than happy to keep writing all these characters! They’re ones I love deeply, with my whole entire heart!

Everyone seems to write Ciel, Sebastian, the Reapers… and, of course, I love them too, absolutely! But if I can be a source of content for the characters that people can never find content like this for, then I want to do that as much as I possibly can. It seems that the characters few people write for are often my favorites, so I’m all too happy to oblige!

Because we’re doing a pain-free spiderless Alois AU, but I still wanted to have it make sense for these guys to be in the manor – he and Luka eventually got picked up by the old Lord Trancy, but it was because Alois was tracked down as the rightful heir, and, well, the old Lord Trancy suddenly died about a week after they arrived, leaving Alois to be the new head of the household. (thank you, Hannah!)

NOW, LET THE BOY ENJOY HIS HAPPY ENDING!!!

“Missed me, missed me! Now you have to kiss me!”

Laughter rings out in the manor as (Name)’s fiancé chases after her nearly as soon as she walks into the parlor where he seems to have been waiting for her. It’s perhaps strange of him to say something like this when she hasn’t yet made a comment that she missed him while she was out… then again, they know each other so well. That she’s told him before that she’s always overjoyed to see him after they’ve been apart may also have something to do with it.

As soon as ALOIS catches her, his arms tight around her waist, he twirls around with her once before bending her backwards ― dipping her so low the tips of her hair brush the floor. It’s then that he comes in for a kiss, despite the fact that both of them giggling makes their lips very misaligned.

“You silly boy!” She hooks her arms round his neck in an attempt to hold on for dear life. (Not that he’d ever drop her. Of course not!) “You think I wouldn’t have greeted you with a kiss even if you hadn’t said that?”

It’s a little hard to believe, with his rounded face and mischievous personality, that the young earl is pushing twenty. Even though he’s been like this since she met him a few years ago, he finds new ways to woo and surprise her with every passing day. “Yes, but… you know I’m impatient! And your kisses are just so sweet, I can’t resist taking one before you even offer it.”

She shakes her head at him, pulling herself up a bit so she can nuzzle the tip of her nose against his. “Oh, of course. Who am I to keep the most handsome man in the world waiting?”

“The future Lady Trancy, that’s who!” Finally he straightens them both up; he steals another kiss as he does, of course. He glances past her toward the doors, and when he looks back, he’s raising an eyebrow, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “… Oh, dear. Have you lost Luka?”

(Name) scoffs with a grin and gives Alois a playful smack to the chest. “No, I would never! Hannah met us at the door and mentioned something about fixing him a snack. I’d imagine he’s halfway through a roast beef by now. Speaking of, I already bought him a caramel lollipop while the shop owner and I discussed my order for the wedding. I’ve never seen a boy with such an appetite! He eats more than I do, and he’d probably still fit into my dress.”

A snort is Alois’ answer as he heads into the other room. “He’s still growing! Now that you mention it, though, I could picture him wanting to wear your dress. While you were out, I was nearly tempted to try it on myself.” He pauses to thread his arm through hers. “Ultimately I decided I had best leave it, though. You’ll look much lovelier in it than I would.”

The two of them don’t get very far when the triplets appear out of nowhere on the stairs. “She will, yes,” Thompson quips. “In fact, I do believe the Lady’s beauty will outshine the dress itself.”

“No offense,” Timber titters, “but Lord Trancy will look so plain next to his bride!”

“Goodness, what shall we do?” Canterbury adds. “Perhaps he should wear a dress as well.”

Alois rolls his eyes. The trio speak so bluntly and outlandishly, it really is a wonder he hasn’t thrown them out entirely yet. Hannah is just too fond of them, considering them as brothers or friends, and they do their jobs fine. It would be too quiet without them, at least, so might as well keep them around for now.“You three have no idea what you’re talking about! We’ll both be stunning! Now, care to make yourselves useful and direct us to where Hannah and Luka have gone? Are they in the kitchen?”

Timber clicks his tongue. “No, no. They’ve retired to the young master’s room.”

“He took his second sandwich up there with him.”

“Oh, dear. We’re going to have ants.”

“Alright, enough!” Alois snaps, more annoyed than truly mad. “Can you three ever shut your mouths??”

(Name) sets her hand on Alois’ shoulder to help ground him. “Oh, love, did Thompson say Luka’s taken his second sandwich with him? By God, the boy works fast!”

Immediately the earl’s temper is calmed as he glances toward his fiancée. Her remark is enough to bring a smile to his face. “We should catch up with them, then.” He reaches up to grab her hand with both of his, darting up the steps. “And, Timber! Do make sure you and your brothers are prepared to do battle with the invading ants!”

The two of them laugh once more as they race through the halls like children, clutching hands, without a care in the world. When they reach the door, Alois pulls (Name)’s hand back from opening it. He puts a finger to his lips, gently leading her to one side. “Shh, stay quiet,” he whispers. “I’m going to pull a trick on Luka.”

“Hehe!” She covers her mouth with one hand. “Of course!” Big brothers like to play around with their younger brothers, after all, don’t they?

Alois bites down on his lip in an effort to keep himself from just bursting out in laughter. He can’t give himself away before he’s even done what he wants to do! As soon as he’s gotten composed, he opens the door and sweeps into the room in such a way that neither Hannah nor Luka can see his fiancée. For added effect, he paints a concerned look onto his face. “Luka!! Oh, my god, Luka, where’s (Name)?! Did you leave her all by herself in town?!”

True to the triplets’ word, the teenager is sitting on his bed, holding half a sandwich that he seems to have just taken a bite out of. With his mouth full and his eyes wide, he stares in shock at his older brother.

“Whhht?!” Luka throws the sandwich down on the bed and immediately jumps to his feet. “I-I swear, Alois! She was right be’ind me, ‘onest! We rode back in the carriage t’gether, then I got out ‘n’ came inside, ‘n’ she was ― I swear ta ‘igh ‘eaven I ‘eard ‘er ‘eels be’ind me!!”

It’s a miracle how Alois manages to hold back his laughter. “We ― well, I can’t find her!”

One can practically feel the panic rolling off of Luka. “O-oh, my God!! We ‘afta search ev’rywhere! ‘Annah! ‘Annah, g-get the triplets! They can split up, ‘n’ we’ll cover all the manor ground, ‘n’… ‘n’ I don’t understand! How could she ‘ave jus’―”

Hannah, who up until now has rather silently been perusing the bookshelf in the corner of the room, clearly thinks Alois is being too cruel. “Luka, calm down. It’s okay. Alois is just having a go at you. (Name) is right outside the door, and she’s safe.”

As if on cue, Alois pouts and opens the door for his fiancée. “(Name), come on in! Hannah ruined everything!”

“(NAME)!!!” Luka has his arms around the woman like lightning, a relieved smile taking over his face. “I’m so ‘appy y’ didn’t go missin’ fer real! What was that all ‘bout, y’ two, givin’ me a ‘eart attack?!”

(Name) giggles and returns the hug. “I’m sorry, Luka! It was Alois’ idea!”

Luka lets go of her before falling back on the bed, throwing an arm across his face. “Me own brother, stabbin’ me in the back! Oi, Jimmy, ‘ow d’you live with yerself, ‘uh?”

“Oi, yourself, don’t call me that!” All at once Alois is removing his coat in one flourish so he can pounce on the bed. He wrestles around with Luka for a moment, both of them laughing and trying to pin the other down. “You’re next, (Name)! You sold me out!”

Hannah walks over to stand by (Name), having finally picked out a book. “Our boys,” she sighs. When she glances over at the other woman, there’s a hint of a smile playing on her face.

(Name)’s smile is unabashed, warm, and full of love as her eyes focus on her soon-to-be-husband and her about-to-be-brother.

“Yes,” she agrees softly, “our boys.”

#Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji #Alois #Hannah #Luka #The Triplets #Thompson #Timber #Canterbury #scenario #romantic #fluff #domestic #Pain-Free Alois AU #LET MY BOY HAVE HIS GOOD ENDING!!!!!!!#queued

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years ago

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Shadow’s Birthright | MYG

Chapter 05: Two Way Mirror

Plot: Riding in on thunder and lightning, two princes are born. But a crown cannot be shared. It can only be worn by one and one alone. The hands of man have separated the brothers, allowing one to live in wealth and comfort inside the palace while the other grows up among commoners. But Fate cannot be destroyed by the hands of man. A shared destiny reunites the brothers; one to become a king who descends into madness and the other will rise as a dragon whose journey has only just begun in order to claim a crown he does not desire to have.

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Pairing: Min Yoongi (Lee Yoon) x Female OC (Kalina Shuri)

Warnings: Historical setting, caste system, magic/sorcery, graphic violence, disturbing graphic images, religious tones, angst, slow burn, smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 01 02 03 04

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,784

Tag List: @luxekook, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @stillcopingxx, @taevkimchi, @aroseforyoongi, @vivpurple7, @happilystrongthroughthedark, @sw33tnight, @nikkitane, @mini-coop25, @shrimpmsg,

AN: Just a reminder that this series is going to be updated slowly. Please be patient with me. I promise you that it will be worth the wait. If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to drop me a line!

P.S. Please bear in mind that while the historical accuracy will be mostly correct, I am setting this in a time period in Joseon history where there was no such thing as a king who had a twin brother. Obviously that’s where the fiction/creative freedom is going to come in. Everything else will be period accurate, trust and believe.

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

“You have to look beyond the mirror to see yourself.” - Kimto Oche Emmanuel

The palace was full of so much noise. Servants were running around, preparing for the banquet that would take place later that afternoon. Yoon wasn’t overly fond of all the fuss and fanfare, but he knew it was something that his parents preferred to indulge in for his sake. He would be making a long journey soon and it would be weeks before he would be able to return home. While he had no doubt that he would be able to reside in comfort at the embassy in Ming, there was the off chance that he would be homesick.

Sighing, he lowered the philosophical text he was perusing in order to give his eyes a break. The weight that sank in the far corner of his heart was knowing that he would not be able to see Kalina as he pleased. Sure, he could send word for her and the sorceress would most likely appear like he wished. But he also knew that she was not a being that would come at every beck and call. She was no pet and he was not her master.

“Cheo-ha! Minister Jang has arrived.”

Lifting his head up, Yoon sat up properly and closed the book. “Show him in.”

The doors to his chambers slid open and he watched the Minister enter. Yoon pulled himself up to a proper standing position, waiting for the minister to bow before he lowered his own head respectfully. The Minister was a fairly tall man, largely built and with a long beard that was well-groomed. Wearing his lavender and opal silk robes, Yoon was curious as to why he was in the palace without his official robes on. It went against palace etiquette and put a hamper on security.

Simply put: it was pompous and disgraceful.

Yoon then eased himself back down on his silk cushion, a polite smile forming on his face. “Father-in-Law, what brings you to my palace so early in the day?” Yoon peered at his attire, raising his brows in question. “You aren’t wearing your official robes today. Was the Royal Advisory meeting not held this morning?”

Minister Jang stroked his beard and chuckled. “It was, Your Highness. We adjourned early in light of your banquet this afternoon.”

“I see.” Narrowing his eyes, he continued to smile. “Are you stepping out of the palace before the festivities begin?”

“Indeed. I have to retrieve a few things from my estate.” Minister Jang grinned. “Gifts for you, Your Highness.”

Yoon smirked, leaning back until his spine was straight. “What is the occasion? Surely it cannot be because of my trip to Ming?”

“There are other things to celebrate, Your Highness.” Clearing his throat, he placed a hand on his knee. “Things such as golden opportunities.”

The Crown Prince bit back the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he placed his hand on his desk, drumming his fingers along the surface. He wouldn’t humor his father-in-law with posturing or feigned curiosities. He was sure the Minister appreciated these things as well. Subtlety was a skill Yoon excelled in, but one Minister Jang sorely lacked.

Taking the hint, the Minister continued. “There are a few merchants in Ming that will attempt to make contact with you a few days after your arrival. They have advice that Your Highness might be eager to hear.”

Yoon’s smile fell slightly. “What makes you so sure, Father-in-law?”

“Cheo-ha,” he said through his smile, “I know how intelligent you are. Even more than everyone else in the palace. You are not ignorant of the strained relations between Ming and Japan.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Yoon expelled a bit of breath from his teeth. “Is this not something that is already in discussion with the Privy Council? Why bring me into this?”

He already did not like where this conversation was headed. Yoon was merely a Crown Prince, the heir apparent. But he was not king. Having these talks without his father present was borderline treasonous.

Because it was these sorts of conversations that led to bloodshed within the palace walls.

“Your Highness, don’t you see that His Majesty is testing you?” Minister Jang leaned forward, bracing his hands on both knees. “This is the first step to slowly granting more power into your hands, determining if you are prepared to rule this country.”

Yoon frowned but said nothing.

“If you do well during this trip, then His Majesty will place foreign relations with Ming entirely at your disposal!”

Suddenly, Yoon slammed his hand on his desk, causing his father-in-law to shrink back a measure. The Minister may have been his elder and also his relative through marriage, but he wouldn’t stand for this underhanded way of speaking to him. This was blatant disrespect to the crown.

However, he didn’t let his anger come unhinged. Not yet. Taking a moment to slowly inhale, he canted his head to the side as a smile returned to his face. It must have unsettled his father-in-law greatly, seeing as how he leaned back away from Yoon.

“Forgive my rudeness, Father-in-law,” Yoon spoke slowly, his voice dropping a full octave, “but do you intend to use me to secure financial gain in Ming?”

The Minister balked. Having never heard Yoon speak to him in such a manner, his surprise was well-warranted. “S-Seja Cheo-ha!”

Drumming his fingers along the desk, he averted his gaze to peer at the bookshelf on the other side of the room. He removed all expression from his face, save for boredom. Yoon didn’t want to believe the rumors of how sickeningly devious his father-in-law was. But he now heard it straight from the horse’s mouth.

“You married your daughter off to the Crown Prince, the future King of this country. Doing so allocated you wealth and even your position in court was elevated at the behest of the Crown Princess and out of obligation from the King.” Yoon cut his eyes back to look at the Minister. “And if that wasn’t enough, you now want me to enable you access to Ming’s trading circuit?” A slow smile spread over his lips as he narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, Father-in-law, are you not fond of your head being attached to your neck?”

Genuine fear glossed over the Minister’s eyes as he visibly shuddered. Yoon knew that this wasn’t the normal demeanor he showcased to Minister Jang. In fact, he hardly revealed this side of himself to anyone. He wore the face of a calm, kind and understanding Crown Prince. He was sincerely objective in discussions and open to all manners of opinions to help broaden and strengthen his worldview. He wasn’t the sort to resort to violence to solve problems, preferring diplomacy above all else.

But a fool the Crown Prince was not.

Anyone who thought otherwise would be in for a world of pain.

And like nothing happened, Yoon put on a happy smile and laughed heartily. “Do not take my words so seriously, Father-in-law! You look as though you are ready to jump off the Golden Mountains as we speak.” Again, he laughed, and the Minister gave a half-hearted chuckle to accompany the pleasant sounds. Once their laughter subsided, he looked pointedly back at the older man. “Ming may be our ally now, but that could always change. It has been proven time and again throughout this nation’s history, has it not? Do not be so quick to join hands with people who have always thought of our country as beneath them.”

The Minister lowered his head. “Forgive my loose lips, Crown Prince.”

“All is well.” Yoon rose from his seat and the Minister quickly followed suit. Gesturing toward the door, he stepped out from around his desk. “I’m sure you haven’t visited the Crown Princess yet. Why don’t we go greet her together before you return to your estate to conduct your business? I’m sure she will be elated to see you.”

“O-Of course, Your Highness.”

Exiting his chambers, they walked side-by-side as the rest of the Crown Prince’s attendants followed closely behind. It truly was a beautiful day and he could only hope for the weather to be just as pleasant for the start of his journey tomorrow. But Kalina predicted that his journey would be fine, so foul weather shouldn’t have been an issue.

“Are you looking forward to the festivities today, Your Highness?”

Yoon peered at the Minister with a curious expression. “Isn’t it just like any other banquet held within the palace? I would have figured you would be bored of them by now.”

Minister Jang chuckled as he stroked his beard. “It is a chance for the people to take a break and celebrate with you.” He placed a hand behind his back. “And there are a group of performance troupes who are going to compete for a slot to perform regularly in the palace.”

The Crown Prince lofted a brow. “Is that so?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the Minister said while nodding, “so it will be exceptionally entertaining today.”

“Will I have a hand in this?” He hoped not.

“They will be judged on how well you like each performance, Your Highness. You needn’t do anything extra.”

Yoon smirked, folding his hands behind his back. “Good.”

Taking a deep breath, Yoongi kept his arms extended so that he could balance himself on the tightrope. The other members of the troupe seemed to be holding their breaths, anticipating what he was going to do. Clasped in one hand was a paper fan, unfurled to showcase the black calligraphy stroke for the character “Fate”. The morning sun beat down overhead and a single bead of sweat slid down the bridge of his nose, dangling from the tip and threatening to fall.

Even though he was several feet off the ground, he could hear the whispered conversations playing out beneath him. Well, for the ones who weren’t focusing on holding their breaths anyway.

“Wow,” a voice said from below, “I can’t believe that he’s never been part of a performance troupe before.”

“He’s good at martial arts though, right? That means he’s got some acrobatic skills naturally.”

“...but how long is he going to just stand there?”

“He hasn’t moved in the last ten minutes.”

“Do you think he’s scared of heights?”

“Idiot! If he was scared, how the hell did he get up there in the first place?!”

“No one helped him?”

“Not that I know of. I think he jumped up there all on his own.”

“Honestly, I can’t hold it in anymore. I’m going to pass out if he doesn’t do something soon.”

“Ya! Min Yoongi! Are you taking us for a ride or are you going to actually do something?!”

Yoongi craned his neck so he could glare down at Seokjin jumbled amongst the troupe. Snapping the fan closed, he pointed it directly at them and everyone grew silent. “Shut your mouth, will you?” He unfurled the fan roughly again and steadied himself. “I’m trying to focus.”

“Oi! Hyung-nim!” Looking down, he saw it was Park Jimin calling up to him this time. There was a bright smile on his face as he gave him two thumbs up. “Just do whatever feels natural. Don’t worry about anything else, alright?”

Sighing, Yoongi nodded and then focused his attention back in front of him. Jimin was right. There was nothing to this. If Namjoon could do it, why couldn’t he? It didn’t matter that he’d sprained his ankle walking up the mountain. The point was that Kim Namjoon could make this tightrope obey his command.

Yoongi would be no different.

Sliding his foot along the rope, the world came to a raw tilt for only a split second. Using his back leg, he launched himself up into the air. He ignored everyone below as they all gasped at how high he sailed into the sky. Throwing his arms back, he felt the warmth of the sun’s rays on his face. Kicking his legs up, Yoongi back somersaulted twice before landing safely back on the tightrope. His entire body trembled as he attempted to stabilize himself.

The cheers from below encouraged him to keep going. Kicking off the rope, he did a double front flip before he fell onto the rope in a crouched position. He continued to keep his arms extended, the fan perfectly held open as he wobbled back and forth on the tightrope. Rolling forward, he curled his legs under him and bounced back off the rope again, curling his body and angling it to the side until he did a perfect dismount off the rope and onto the grass. The speed of his descent was used to roll his body until he was safely brought to a halt by his right knee.

Taehyung screamed in delight as he raced over to Yoongi’s side, Hoseok and Jungkook not far behind him as they began patting his shoulders furiously in praise. He scratched at his nose, feeling a soft warmth creep around his cheeks as the rest of the troupe members all crowded around him, telling him how wonderful of a job he did.

“You’re a natural at this, Yoongi-ah,” Seokjin said as he patted his head, causing him to frown slightly, “maybe you should convince your father to let you come off the mountain and join the troupe.”

Yoongi batted his hand away as Jimin took the fan from his hand. “Quiet, you.”

“Seriously, he’s not wrong, Hyung-nim!” Taehyung was practically beaming. “You’re a natural at this!”

He didn’t know what to say in response to his words so he cleared his throat loudly instead.

Namjoon clapped a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, giving it a gentle shake. “You’re a lifesaver, Hyung-nim. We would’ve been in big trouble without your help.”

His brows furrowed slightly as he eyed the bandage around Namjoon’s ankle. “Are you going to be alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” said Namjoon, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, “keep it up and they’ll replace me with you in no time.”

Hoseok laughed loudly. “We could never replace you! You’re important!”

A sigh escaped Namjoon’s lips as he shifted his eyes toward the grass. “I feel like I let you guys down.”

Jimin placed a comforting hand on the back of Namjoon’s neck, giving it a firm shake. “Stop that, Hyung-nim. These things happen.” He lifted his gaze to peer at Yoongi who blinked back at him in mild surprise. “Yoongi Hyung-nim is here to pick up the slack just for today.” He turned to face Namjoon. “But you have to make up for it as soon as you’re all better, okay?”

Namjoon said nothing. He only gave a weak smile until Taehyung came barreling through, his arms draping over Jungkook and Yoongi’s necks. They both stumbled forward, grunting at how hard he threw his own body against theirs. “Practice is done, right?” Everyone mumbled something akin to ascent and he flashed his trademark boxy smile at them. “Then let’s hit the city and get a drink!”

Seokjin rolled his eyes as he folded his arms across his chest. “You haven’t even performed yet.”

“Aw, c’mon. Nothing wrong with a little pre-performance celebration, right?” Taehyung shook Jungkook and Yoongi's shoulders again for good measure. “It’ll loosen us up.”

Hoseok pouted. “You just want an excuse to drink. You’re hopeless.”

Managing to pry himself away from Taehyung, Yoongi was about to catch his breath until something fell on top of his head. Suddenly everyone else was obscured from view, save for the few slivers of light that managed to peek through the straw. Tilting his head, he craned his neck to see Jimin was now bent over, peering up at him from under the hat.

“What’s this?” Yoongi removed the hat off his head, taking note of the wide and angled brim.

“It's for when we’re walking around the city streets.” Jimin smiled. “You’re worried about running into your father while in the Capital, right?”

Eyeing the hat for a moment, Yoongi replaced the item back onto his head. It was wide and dipped low, which meant that it would perfectly conceal his face. Until he could securely cover his face with the mask during the performance at the palace, this would ensure that no one could recognize him while they were meandering through the crowds. Tilting the brim back, he flashed a small grin toward Jimin who merely laughed at how embarrassed he probably appeared.

“Thanks, Jimin-ah.”

Leaving their horses to graze in the fields, they all raced toward the Crown City gates - mentally preparing themselves for what excitement lay beyond.

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ghostwise · 5 years ago

Text

Zevran deals with ghosts of the past every day. He regards them with an aged nostalgia, remembering clearly when they were more solid, more substantial in their influence—not the gauzy and transparent feelings they are today.

Things have changed. The world has changed.

Today he can pour coffee, unhurried and uninterrupted, even as an unexpected tapping sounds at the window. He briefly thinks to reach for a weapon, any weapon, even the letter opener on the desk—but there’s no need for that. There hasn’t been, not for years. Not for decades.

Zevran finishes pouring his coffee. Then he goes to investigate.

The tapping is persistent, but any worry he might have felt vanishes, upon seeing what it is. Who it is.

Behind the glass a raven peers up at him with golden eyes, bright, inquisitive, and Zevran opens the window to let a man clamber in, all draped fabrics and feathers and furs, and familiar eyes, and an even more familiar laugh.

“Hello! Thank you for letting me in! It was freezing out there!”

“Kieran!”

Zevran chuckles warmly, returning his embrace. He’s tall and angular. He takes after his mother in that. “How fortunate that you arrive just as I’ve made a fresh pot of coffee. Come, sit, will you?”

“Coffee,” Kieran gasps. Ah, but he takes after his father in some regards, too.

They drink their coffee, Zevran seated at his desk, and Kieran pacing restlessly around the office, draining two cups before Zevran has finished one. There is not much talking involved with this activity, just Kieran reading the titles of the volumes on Zevran’s bookshelf. He picks up a book of love poetry, and holds it up to Zevran, eyebrow raised.

“One never outgrows love poems, my boy,” Zevran says, gesturing with his cup.

“If you say so,” Kieran hums, setting it back. “I myself see little use in such things. ‘Tis an awful lot of effort, no?”

Zevran smiles and shrugs. “Your father liked them.”

“Oh, no.” Kieran shakes his head and shuffles away from the bookcase.

Zevran feels an urge to laugh. It is Morrigan and Hamal, talking to him in turns.

The thought makes him wistful. He is barely prepared for the feeling, and all he can do is let it claim the moment, and finally pass with a quiet acceptance, sipping at his coffee, patiently regarding Kieran.

“I always enjoy your visits,” he says finally. Kieran blinks up at him, beaming, as he continues. “To what do I owe today’s?”

“Oh, you know,” Kieran waves a hand elaborately. “I was in the area. I wanted to check in with you.”

“Ah, truly?”

“Quite!” Kieran all too quickly drops into the seat across from his desk. He steeples his fingers, looking at Zevran intently. “You have been well?” he asks.

“Never better.”

“And things in Var’myathan, things are going smoothly?”

“I stay away from politics in my advanced age, but from what I hear, yes. Very smoothly.”

“I hear whispers, you know.” Kieran leans forward, unblinking. “Change is coming to the world. Not at our bidding or our involvement, but then, these things never are. I should like you to be… prepared.”

Zevran cannot help but smile, the lines around his eyes deepening in amusement. “Again?” he asks. “You don’t say. Seems the world is changing all the damn time. It has changed, what, three times in my lifetime? And I with it. You need not worry so about me.”

He pauses, and with that said, takes another sip of coffee. “How is your mother?”

“Well, I presume,” Kieran shakes his head. “Haven’t seen her.”

“Is that her choice, or yours?”

Kieran hops off his seat, giving Zevran the distinct impression that it’s the latter. His ominous warning delivered, he simply stands there, fidgeting. Always nervous in closed spaces, much like his father.

“I just wanted to check in on you. I am glad you are doing well.” Kieran sets his empty cup on Zevran’s desk. “I should be going soon.”

Zevran almost thinks that is all. But then Kieran sighs, and his voice softens. “I would like to see him, before I leave. Accompany me?”

Zevran Arainai, hahren, retired ambassador, ex-Crow, ex-assassin, widower, absent step-father to this strange man who is no longer young himself… none of these titles or roles seem to help in this moment. He simply nods, feeling a small ache under his chest, masking it with a smile.

“Of course,” he says.

Together, they descend through Zevran’s modest and homey estate. Kieran, already clad in layer upon layer of rags and finery, has no need for a coat, but Zevran bundles up before they leave.

Snow falls in flurries upon the ground outside, catching in Zevran’s silver hair. The coffee had been well-timed. It’s a silent walk, and a long one.

“Dalish cemeteries are so beautiful,” Kieran breathes as they turn a corner, and a canopy of trees comes into view. It is as if a small forest has taken root within the city.

Back when the clans wandered—and as is still the case for those who opted to remain nomadic—the fallen were buried where they died. Here, each tree represents a deceased citizen of Var’myathan. It is like walking through an arboretum.

Some plots are adorned by small statues or signs. Some of the trees have ribbons strung along the branches, or names and messages painted upon the trunk (never carved, for to damage a funerary tree is disrespectful).

Finally, after passing by dozens of saplings and oak trees and even a few fruit trees, they arrive at the Hero of Ferelden’s grave, an alder tree standing ostentatiously with a plaque and a monument at its base.

Kieran hurries forward quickly, but Zevran hangs back. It has been too long since his last visit, and it almost shames him, but—no, nothing about Hamal could shame him. He would certainly understand.

The artist did a good job capturing his husband’s likeness. After a moment, Zevran smiles and draws near, reaching up to brush dirt and snow off his beloved’s statue.

“Hola, amor,” he says softly. “No sabes cómo te extraño.”

Kieran has wandered off, circling his father’s tree, humming some wordless tune.

Zevran, tired, sits at the base of the tree and closes his eyes to remember.

Being old is surreal. It almost feels like a dream at times. He has a veritable encyclopedia of moments and memories he would rather peruse, than to live through more. This is especially true here, at Hamal’s resting place, where he cannot help but remember their times during the Blight, their long years in Antiva, their wedding days—plural! For they were married in an Antivan chantry first, then bonded in a traditional Dalish ceremony later.

It has been far too long, and many of their companions are gone, too. Alistair ventured to the Deep Roads many years ago. Lavellan passed this summer, and her daughter, Paloma, sent word through mail. Zevran remembers that funeral, and his husband’s, too.

Bad memories, good memories. More good than bad, though.

When Zevran opens his eyes again, Kieran is sitting, cross-legged, in front of him.

“Good! You’re still alive,” Kieran quips.

Zevran frowns, annoyed. “Of course I’m still alive! Amor, mira, do you see your son? Do you hear this?” he whispers aside to the statue. “Terrible. As if I could not still strike down any foe, with my stealth and daggers.”

Kieran and Zevran then laugh despite the cold.

“I like to think he can see us,” Kieran offers finally. He takes a breath, continuing shyly. “I really wanted to visit and tell him—you, as well—that I am going by his name now. For a few years, in fact.”

The news does come as a surprise. Zevran blinks and smiles as Kieran continues.

“Kieran Mahariel. Do you think that’s alright? Is there something, I don’t know, formal I should file? I doubt my birth records exist anywhere, but… I never had a surname. Morrigan said it would be fine. I think she likes it, even. I should go see her next I suppose. Father would agree.”

“He would be proud of you,” Zevran tells him, listening to him ramble. Kieran fidgets and smiles.

And here, the visit hits on one of those unseen emotional snags. The brink of a goodbye, the need for assurance, perhaps. Zevran looks at Kieran and takes inventory.

Eyes, Morrigan’s. Mouth and nose, Hamal’s. Powerful magic, a need for solitude, Morrigan’s. Vallaslin, over his left eye, at his own insistence. Ears, softly pointed.

“Everything will be fine, Kieran,” Zevran Arainai says. “I’m doing well. Your mother will be happy to see you, as I am happy, and thankful, for you coming to see us.”

“I know,” Kieran agrees, though he sounds uncertain. “Creators. You and my parents had already done so much by the time you were my age. How did you figure any of it out?”

“Poorly,” Zevran laughs. “You must play these things by ear. That’s the nature of living.”

“Then I hope I continue to make you proud,” Kieran says, and he pulls himself out of the snow, casting one final look at The Hero of Ferelden’s tree. “I’ll try to write more often,” he adds, and Zevran nods, though he knows it is unlikely.

With a smile, Kieran flits into the branches as a raven once more, and Zevran calls to him.

“Safe travels, d’alen.”

#rinnywrites #dragon age #zevran arainai #kieran mahariel #hi sorry i don't... know what this is?#the whole scene popped into my head yesterday and i wrote it out with such abject confusion #this is set so far into the future kieran has to be like in his 30s at least...#my brain gently nudging me: hey start writing dragon age 6 while you're at it...#but i spent time on it so here it is :) great

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imaginedisish · 6 years ago

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Bizarre Love Triangle (Chapter 2) (Bandersnatch) (Colin Ritman x Reader) (Stefan Butler x Reader)

|Chapter 1|

A/N: Fun fact I started this around 6 o’clock, and now it’s 11:03 pm where I am. I was hoping to put out the Stefan smut I started early today, but now I’m totally not finishing that lol! Here’s Chapter 2 of Bizarre Love Triangle AHHHH!!!! Enjoy guys :) Also...I just hit 400 followers...I actually have 402 now so THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! I LOVE YOU ALL!!!!!!

Warnings: Language!!!! Some angst ahhh! Some fluff kinda?

Word Count: 2,349

I can’t do it, I really just can’t do it, You think to yourself, staring down at the phone in your hands. You shake off your thoughts of self doubt, and dial the phone number you knew better than any other in the world.

“Hello?” You hear the familiar, groggy voice answer on the other end.

“Hey, Colin! Are you busy?” You ask, nervously scratching at the hand that held the phone to your ear.

“Well, my schedule is filled to the brink with regretting the decisions I made last night, but I suppose I can cut out some time for you,” Colin says jokingly.

“I’ve got to tell you something, can you come over now?” You ask, swallowing harshly.

“Yeah, yeah of course. I’ll be over in a minute,” Colin says back.

“Okay great, see you in a bit,” You say, hanging up the phone before Colin could say anything else.

You pace frantically around your apartment, waiting for the cursed knock at the door you desperately didn’t want to hear. Still, you knew that it was inevitable.

You had to tell Colin about your feelings for Stefan sooner or later, and you realized that it had to be sooner rather than later. If you waited any longer, it could ruin your relationship with Colin, and that was the last thing you wanted. Colin was a constant in your life, a constant that was too valuable to simply let go of just because of a silly crush.

Butterflies pound violently against the walls of your stomach, and you decide to put some music on in order to calm your nerves. You rush over to your bookshelf, searching through your extensive record collection.

This one, You think to yourself, pulling Transformer, by Lou Reed from your shelf. You thought it would lighten the mood, especially since Colin had just given it to you yesterday. Record in hand, you make your way over to your record player. You carefully place the record down, sliding the needle over as the vinyl begins to spin.

The guitar riff starts, and Lou Reed’s voice fills your ears. “Vicious! You hit me with a flower!” Your hips rock side to side as your nerves fade away into nothingness. For a second, you forget the problem at hand. You strut around your flat, feeling the music, letting off steam.

“Oh babe you’re so vicious!” You sing with him, turning the music up so loud that it drowns the noisy chaos of the city streets below. You jump up and down as you play your best air guitar.

“Well it’s good to see you’re enjoying the record!” A familiar voice shouts from the other side of the room. You quickly turn around, shocked to see Colin standing in your flat, army green messenger bag at his side, hand anxiously scratching the back of his neck.

“Colin! How’d you get in?” You question, walking back over towards the record player, turning the volume down as Andy’s Chest begins to play.

“Door was unlocked. I tried knocking…” Colin slides his hand in his pocket, pulling out a joint. “But I guess the music was just a tad bit too loud.” He laughs, lighting the joint and placing it precariously between his thin lips.

You awkwardly laugh with him, remembering why you had invited Colin over in the first place. “So…” You trail off, sitting down on your couch. Colin walks over to you, sitting down on the loveseat across from the couch.

“So…you wanted to talk about something?” He asks, propping his feet on top of the coffee table that separated you two.

You nod your head. “Yeah, about that…” You trail off nervously. You don’t know how to start the conversation. Your knee bounces up and down. Collin quickly catches on to your anxiousness as a look of concern spreads across his face.

Colin takes his feet off the table and stands up. He makes his way over to you, sitting down on the couch. Colin softly puts a hand on your knee, rubbing over the area with his thumb. “Is everything alright?” His voice is calm, and heavy with concern.

“Everything is fine, I just have something that I need to tell you,” You say as Colin’s blue gaze meets yours. He nods, waiting for you to say something. “It’s about Stefan.”

Colin takes his hand off of your knee.

“Why aren’t I surprised,” Colin says, running a hand through his spiky, platinum blonde hair. “Well what about the bloke?” He gets up from the couch, and walks over to your bookshelf, fiddling through your records.

Colin pulls out a dusty copy of Three Imaginary Boys, by The Cure, a record he gave you. “He asked me on a date,” You respond, your words rushed.

Colin drops the record, stumbling as he reaches down to the ground to pick it up. “Sorry,” He mumbles, standing back up and walking over to the record player.

“Well?” You ask, waiting for some sort of response as Colin casually exchanges Lou Reed’s voice for Robert Smith’s.

“Well what?” Colin replies harshly, taking a hit from his joint as he walks back to the loveseat, sitting down and placing his feet on top of the coffee table once again.

You shake your head. “You clearly don’t like the idea of me going out with him, so I wanted to make sure it was okay with you before we did anything.” Colin takes his joint out of his mouth, and stares directly into your eyes.

“Do whatever the hell you want, mate.” Colin’s words are cold and sharp. The sarcasm in his final, “mate” stabs at your very core. Colin angrily smashes the end of his joint into the ashtray on your coffee table. He stands up, and walks towards the door.

“Colin, wait!” You shout, running towards him. You grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “What’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big deal? The big fucking deal? My god you’re oblivious!” Colin yells, pulling apart from your grasp.

“I guess I am,” You mumble, tears rushing to your eyes. You and Colin had never fought before. This was new, and it hurt like hell.

Colin looks down at the ground, saying nothing. Robert Smith’s voice echoes in the background. Colin steps a bit closer to you, closing the gap that separated you from him.

“I-I’m sorry, (Y/N),” Colin says, bringing his thumb to your cheek, wiping your tears away. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He wraps his arms around you, pulling you tightly into his chest.

“I don’t want to lose you over a crush, Colin,” You mumble into his chest. “Now tell me what the big deal is.”

He pulls you apart from him, his hands resting on your shoulders. “It’s nothing, and I’m sorry that I made it into something,” He says calmly, moving a hand up to the back of your head, pulling you in slightly as he plants a kiss on your forehead.

You were so confused. Just seconds ago, Colin had lashed out at you. It was the angriest you had ever seen him. He screamed at you. You and Colin shared your first fight, and it was terrible. But now, all of a sudden, Colin was fine. Everything had seemingly blown over in a matter of seconds.

Something isn’t right, You think to yourself.

“Colin, I need you to tell me why you got so mad,” You demand, pulling away from the blonde boy in front of you. You search his ocean eyes for some sort of an answer, but there’s nothing there.

“Like I said, It’s nothing, and I made the mistake of making it into someth-,”

You cut him off. “No, Colin. I need a real answer.” Colin quickly breaks eye contact, and walks back towards the bookshelf, perusing through your record collection once again.

“When did you get Diamond Dogs? I didn’t think you had this one?” Colin says, nonchalantly pulling the record off the shelf, inspecting the front and back of it thoroughly.

“Colin, don’t change the subject,” You say, walking over to him and grabbing the record from his hand. He slips a hand into his pocket, pulling out another joint.

“Don’t worry about it, love.” Colin says, lighting the joint as he places it between his lips. You shake your head.

“Too bad, because I’m thoroughly worried about it,” You say back, grabbing the joint out of his mouth and taking a puff from it. “Now you’re going to tell me what the big problem is, Ritman. Whether you like it or not.” You hand the joint back to him.

Colin swallows harshly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. You can see how anxious he is, which is strange to you. Colin rarely ever gets anxious. If he does, it’s usually about something quite important. He was anxious the morning when Kitty left with Pearl. He had a panic attack that morning, in fact.

But this, what about this is making him so anxious? You ask yourself. It was mind boggling to you.

“I don’t want you to…” Colin trails off, his eyes working hard to avoid your gaze.

“To what?” You ask, patiently waiting for some sort of answer.

“T-to be with him,” Colin stutters quietly. There was something so different about how he was acting. Colin never stuttered. He never paused between his sentences in order to collect his thoughts. He was always assertive, witty, and sarcastic. He always knew what to say.

This time, however, he clearly did not. He struggled to get his words out, choking on them even. Colin was acting childlike, and it puzzled you.

“Why?” You question, stepping a bit closer to Colin.

“You really don’t know, do you?” Colin says, a soft smile spreading across his face. He always smirked, but it was rare to see a genuine smile on Colin’s face. For some reason, it made your heart flutter in your chest.

“No, I really don’t know,” You say back. Colin takes another step towards you. He’s inches away from your face now.

“We’ve known each other for how long, (Y/N)?” Colin asks, his eyes meeting yours. You think about it for a minute, reminiscing back on the years you’ve spent with Colin. You two had been through everything together. Every good year, every bad year, you had truly been through it all with each other. You had known him since you were around ten years old, and Colin was twelve. Now you were twenty, and he was twenty two. So much had changed since then, but the bond between you and Colin remained the same.

You smile. “Practically for as long as I can remember.”

He takes another step towards you.

“Well,” He pauses, his eyebrows furrowing with nervousness. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve loved you each and every day that we’ve known each other, and that’s been exactly 3,650 days, (Y/N).”

You knew that, though. You and Colin have always loved each other. It was just a fact. “Colin, I love you too, you know that.” Colin shakes his head.

“I don’t just love you, (Y/N)…” Colin looks deeply into your eyes. “I’m in love with you.”

You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing.

“I’ve been in love with you for a while. I was in love with you while I was with Kitty. I think she knew, and I think that’s why she left.” Colin looks down at the ground, patiently waiting for you to answer.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. You look over to the clock.

6:00 PM, it reads.

“Shit!” You mutter, walking over towards the door.

“What?” Colin follows behind you. You twist the knob slowly, and open the door.

“Stefan!” You say, flashing a smile towards the adorable, soft boy. He smiles back. There is a colorful bouquet of lilies in his hands.

“You look beautiful,” He coos. Your heart flutters in your chest, and heat rises to your cheeks at the sound of his words. “Are you ready to go?” He asks kindly.

“I’ll be going, then,” Colin interrupts, pushing past you, and then pushing past Stefan as well.

“Colin, wait!” You shout. “Stefan, just give me one minute.” The sweet, brown haired boy nods, and you chase Colin down the hall.

You finally catch up to Colin, and you pull him into the corner where the vending and ice machines stood, so Stefan couldn’t hear or see you two.

“Look, just go on your date. I don’t expect you to feel the same way, (Y/N),” Colin says softly. His tone is dissonant and cacophonous, making your heart sting for some reason you didn’t quite understand.

That is, until realize why.

He didn’t give you a real chance to answer. You weren’t given the opportunity to say that there were so many times that you questioned if you had feelings for him, but shook them off because you assumed that he would never feel the same.

You didn’t just love Colin, you were in love with him too.

“Colin, I think I might feel the same way…” You trail off nervously. “B-but Stefan is waiting, a-and I’m so confused.”

Colin steps closer to you, intertwining your fingers with his. He presses his forehead against yours.

“I’m willing to wait for you, (Y/N),” Colin whispers. “You can go on as many dates as you want with Stefan, but I’ll be right here, waiting.” Colin pulls apart from you, leaving you wanting more. He walks down the hallway, and out of your sight.

You make your way back to Stefan, who’s still patiently waiting outside your flat.

“Sorry about that,” You say to him. Stefan waves it off.

“No worries! Ready to go?” He says, hooking your arm with his. You nod, looking up into his emerald colored eyes as you begin to walk down the hallway.

What the hell am I going to do? You think to yourself.

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dream-beyond-the-fantasy · 5 years ago

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Prompt #17 - “I Can’t Sleep, Can I Stay Here?

Requested by @curiousdamage for Jimmy & Julie

A/N: Another drabble that ended up being longer than intended. This is over 2000 words. Some parts probably could or should have been cut out, but this is completely unedited. It may end up as part of the larger work, Is This Love aka the Jimmy Fic. I may or may not post this to AO3. I did modify the quote/prompt to better suit the narrative.

It’s late. He should be in bed by now. But is he? No. Jimmy thinks that anxiety and adrenaline are keeping the exhaustion that he knows he should be feeling at bay. He has spent the last two days working mostly from home and nearly rearranging his apartment to move Julie in.

Even before that, Jimmy has been driving himself crazy. For the last three weeks, Jimmy felt like he has done everything and gone everywhere, even though he knows it isn’t accurate. Since finding out that he was going to be a father, he has been in planning mode. Jimmy decided that marriage and raising the baby with Julie would be best, as it would be easier to support them, especially if something were to happen to him. He has met with officials at the Los Angeles County Clerk’s Office to find out about what is needed to apply for a marriage license. He even checked what days each branch is available for civil marriages. Jimmy wants to get married sooner rather than later, definitely before the baby is born and preferably before she starts showing too much. This is mostly because he wants to avoid further embarrassment for both Julie and his parents, especially his very Catholic mother. He has called his insurance provider to add Julie to his policy. Jimmy even chatted up the women in his office to get some answers about how to find a good OB/GYN for Julie. He’s called a few up, trying to see who could meet with her as soon as possible. Julie’s prenatal care is a priority, even if she isn’t making it one. But he should cut her some slack. She was right in the middle of final exams until a few days ago. Jimmy has made a list of items that he knows the baby will need (car seat, crib, stroller, high chair) and compared price tags for what appear to be the top brands in the department stores.

And that doesn’t even cover his reading list. A self-imposed reading list. The last day of November had been pretty depressing for Jimmy. Thanksgiving dinner had turned into a disaster. Julie hadn’t spoken to him for two days. Nor would Johnny allow him to even try to talk to her. In order to cheer himself up, Jimmy decided to stop at the bookstore to pick up the latest Stephen King and Wheel of Time books that he hasn’t had the chance to buy. And yet, he felt himself drawn to the section where the pregnancy and parenting books were located. Jimmy ended up buying a whole stack, completely ignoring the disapproving look on the lady at the checkout counter’s face when she noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

For the last two hours, Jimmy has been perusing one of the many pregnancy books. There is a tentative knock at his bedroom door. His eyes worriedly flick from the page to the door. He lays What to Expect When You’re Expecting on his nightstand. Jimmy scrambles to the door, taking a moment to compose himself before opening it.

Jimmy is greeted with the sight of Julie in a simple white cotton nightgown that falls right above her knees, her hair cascading over her shoulders, with one hand up, poised to knock once more. She looks beautiful, he thinks. By the look in her eyes, he clearly startled her. She stares at him, entranced, her mouth agape, breath caught in her throat. Julie’s eyes drink him in, trailing down…

Oh, right. I’m only wearing boxers, Jimmy realizes, seeing his affect on her.

He clears his throat. “Julie, my eyes are up here,” he teases her, using two fingers to tilt her chin up. His blue eyes hold a mischievous glint with a playful grin to match. Knowing that she’s been caught, Julie flushes a deep pink. She turns away from him.

No. Please, don’t look away. Jimmy’s smile fades. As she starts to back away, he steps out into the hall and reaches for her arm.

“Julie, wait! Don’t go. It was a bad joke, I know. I’m sorry.”

She stops, peering at him through a curtain of dark hair. Jimmy pulls her closer, brushing her hair from her face.

“Julie, look at me, please. What is it? What’s wrong?”

Finally meeting his eyes, she appears mildly confused. “What?”

Jimmy leans forward, placing his hands on her shoulders. He tries to ignore the knot that is forming in his stomach. He wants to appear calm and not upset or increase any fears that Julie may already have.

“It’s late. You wouldn’t be knocking on my door if something wasn’t wrong. Are you okay? A-are you feeling nauseous? I-is there any pain or cramping? Julie, if you thought you were having a miscarriage, you’d tell me, right?”

Her jaw drops. She splutters a bit, trying to form a coherent thought or word. Julie takes a moment to collect herself. When she has recovered from her shock, Julie reaches up to caress Jimmy’s cheek. Unshed tears are threatening to fall.

“You thought that I was losing the baby? Oh, Jimmy. I’m sorry that I made you think that, even for a second. And of course, I would tell you!”

She takes his hand and places it on her bump. “As far as I know, the baby and I are fine. We’re okay. Don’t worry.”

Jimmy looks from her to where his hand is situated over their unborn child. He starts to smile again. “Don’t worry? Yeah, I think our days of worrying are just beginning. And I don’t think we’ll stop after eighteen years.”

They share a little laugh. Then he directs his attention back to Julie. “So, why did you knock on my door? You still haven’t told me.”

She clams up and avoids his eyes again. Jimmy cocks an eyebrow.

“Julie.”

She cringes hearing the warning tone in his voice. Julie shakes her head and starts to back away. “I-it-it’s nothing,” she stammers. “I, I’ll go back to my room.” As she turns on her heel, Jimmy clasps her hands, pulling her back to him.

“Julie, please talk to me.”

She sighs in resignation. Looking down, Julie replies, “It’s nothing. You’ll think it’s silly, especially after what you were thinking.”

He runs his hands up and down her arms in a soothing manner. “Just tell me,” Jimmy pleads. “I promise I won’t laugh. I won’t get upset. Just talk to me, babe.”

She rolls her eyes, finally meeting his gaze.

“I can’t sleep. Can I stay here, with you?”

Stunned, Jimmy blinks. He can barely say one word: “What?”

“I can’t sleep. It’s not for lack of trying, as I have for hours. But I can’t sleep. I don’t know how or why, but I just can’t. I am tired and I know it. I had no problem yesterday. Of course, that could have been from the stress of finishing my exams, packing, moving out of the dorms, and moving in here. Whatever the reason, I can’t sleep and it’s driving me crazy!”

By this point, the poor girl is in tears. Jimmy, taking pity on her, embraces Julie tightly, kissing the top of her head.

“I came to ask if I could sleep with you,” she continues. “The best sleep that I’ve ever had has been when I’m in your arms. I just really need you right now!”

At her words, Jimmy’s brows shoot up. He flashes her a suggestive smile. “Really? All you had to do was ask.”

It is only then that Julie realizes what she said. She flushes pink again, covering her face in embarrassment.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” she cries.

Jimmy laughs again as he pries her hands away. “Julie, it’s okay. And yes, you can stay.”

He kisses Julie’s forehead before bringing her in for another hug. She still looks miserable and embarrassed beyond belief, but it doesn’t stop her from leaning into the embrace and resting her head on his collarbone.

“When I say ‘sleep’, I actually mean sleep,” she mutters. Julie turns to him. “I’m serious about us not having sex again until after the wedding,” she says emphatically.

“C’mon.” Jimmy leads her to his room.

Walking into the bedroom, he spots What to Expect When You’re Expecting on his nightstand, causing him to freeze. Knowing that she will see it the second she enters, Jimmy steps in front of her. He honestly doesn’t know how Julie will react to him reading pregnancy books. They haven’t talked too much about the pregnancy itself or how they intend to parent their child. While he knows they need to discuss these things in depth, Jimmy knows that two sleep-deprived people should probably not have that kind of discussion in the middle of the night.

“This is the first time you’ve been in here, right?”

Julie nods.

“Then you should check out my bookshelf. I remember how much you love to read. I know that you’ve perused most of my books in the living room. But I keep my favorite books in here.” As he talks, he ushers her to one side of the room.

While Julie is thumbing through his collection of books, Jimmy rushes over to his nightstand. He tosses the book into the drawer. Looking up to see that Julie is still occupied, he moves over to his dresser where the rest of the stack of pregnancy and parenting books sit. He grabs an armful of them, hoping that she wouldn’t turn around. Jimmy picks them up and throws them onto the floor of his closet. As soon as he slides the door closed, he sees Julie behind him in the mirror. He whirls around.

“Shit!”

Jimmy falls back against the glass, his hand over his heart. Julie stares back at him, one eyebrow raised and her arms crossed. She can’t keep the mix of suspicion and amusement off her face.

“A bit jumpy, aren’t you? Shouldn’t I be the nervous one?”

Recovering from the surprise, Jimmy tries to walk her backward, in the direction of the bed. Julie tries to look over his shoulder, hoping that he didn’t get the closet completely closed. Indicating the closet with a nod of her head, she asks, “Whatcha hiding?”

“Nothing.”

Jimmy receives a skeptical look in reply. He sighs, “I didn’t notice that my room was a bit of a mess. So, I was putting a few things away before you saw them,” he lies, a bit more convincingly this time.

Julie looks around the room. “You’re kidding, right? What mess? This has to be one of the cleanest bedrooms I’ve ever seen. Especially for a guy’s room.”

Jimmy puts his hands on his hips. “Oh, been in many boys’ rooms, have we?”

She shoots him a mock glare and gives him a light slap on the arm. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. You know I used to sleep in Johnny’s room sometimes when I was a kid. Whether as a teenager or an adult, none of his rooms have looked this good. And I was in Bobby’s room once. It was very neat, but it didn’t look this nice.”

“What were you doing in Bobby’s room? And did he know about it?”

Julie plays with a lock of her hair. “Uh, I don’t remember. I just know Becca wanted me to play lookout while we snuck into his room.” She tilts her head to the side. “No, I don’t he ever found out,” she yawns.

Jimmy smiles at her. “Okay, I think it’s time you went to bed.” He pulls back the covers, lifting them for her to get in. Julie can smell that he washed the sheets recently. As she is getting comfortable and snuggling in, she notices that Jimmy isn’t getting into bed. In fact, he is headed toward the door.

“Hey, where are you going? Aren’t you going to stay with me?” she asks, pouting.

Jimmy stops, turning to face her. He points up to the ceiling. “I thought it might be easier for you to sleep with the lights off.”

“Oh!” Embarrassed, Julie lies back and pulls the blanket up to cover her face. Though muffled, she can hear his chuckling. The next thing Julie knows, he is climbing into bed beside her. He pulls the blanket from her face, leaning over her. She practically melts at the look of adoration that Jimmy gives her.

“C’mere,” he says, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer to him. Jimmy kisses her.

Within fifteen minutes, both are asleep. Julie’s head has migrated from the pillow to his chest. Jimmy has one arm holding her to him, while the other rests on the slight swell of her abdomen.

#curiousdamage #jimmy fic #jimmy x julie #jimmy karate kid #julie lawrence #prompt 17 #fluff/angst prompt #is this love #i can't sleep #can i stay here #karate kid fanfic #karate kid drabble #excerpt from my fic

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ilianquisition · 5 years ago

Text

It wasn’t so unusual for people to react… poorly to an inquisitor’s presence; Curran was plenty used to it. And an entire town of cultists? They’d be crazy to not give him some distance. Not that Curran himself was going to take any action–the whole experience seemed to have scared them out of whatever questionable practices they’d been up to. Getting turned into living books for a few weeks was probably punishment enough; he’d just have to collect enough information to report back to the Church.

Which meant returning to Hethiwood once again. The Prince and his pals all return to the Halidom, after a bit of persuasion--Curran insists that they’ve done enough, that he really just needs to handle the red tape part of the job now. Heinwald is still… well, Ilia only knows what he’s doing in that damn library.

And then there’s Lathna.

He’d felt sorry for the kid when he thought she’d been too traumatized by the whole ordeal to so much as speak. The truth, it turned out, was much more alarming. Once everyone had filtered back into town, Lathna had very politely asked “Mister Curran” to walk her home, and--hey, those puppy eyes were too damn cute for him to say no to. Besides, maybe he could get a few answers to sate his own curiosity along the way: why Nyarlathotep had picked Lathna to impersonate--as opposed to any of the other children in town, at least.

His first assumption was convenience--it became evident fairly quickly that Lathna was an orphan, with no one in town coming to reunite with her once the spell had been broken the way many of the other families had. (Ouch. Talk about hitting home.) It probably would have been easier for Nyarlathotep to assume the guise of someone without many belongings or much of a family for Heinwald and Curran to properly investigate.

It didn’t take long for a wrench to be thrown into that conclusion.

He only vaguely recognized Lathna’s home from when he and Hein had first scoured the town for clues: she opens the door, giving him a clear view of a simple little cottage, only one room, with the kitchen partitioned off from the bedroom by a folding screen. He found it hard to believe a child lived here, much less all on her own. It wasn’t until his second glance around the room that he noticed the bookshelf--and the glaring empty spot between densely packed novels.

Ah, fuck. He remembers this place now. They’d been wandering around town for any clues they could find once they’d realized (the false) Lathna wasn’t going to be saying much, and had come up disappointingly short. A few odds and ends in the Church the priest that had been sent here established, but little of consequence... then they’d stumbled on this cottage. It seemed like yet another normal old house, if more modest than some, until Heinwald perused the bookshelf. This had been where they’d picked up that copy of the Liber Grimortis.

Talk about a red flag. If only they’d known the house’s occupant sooner--it would have saved them a lot of trouble, wouldn’t it? But neither of them had suspected a child lived here; there was a pretty stark absence of toys, or anything else suited for a child Lathna’s age, for that matter. They hadn’t bothered to peruse the closet--the Grimortis was plenty for Heinwald at the time--but, fuck, that raised even more questions now--

“...Mister Curran?” Lathna’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. “Did you hear me?”

“Er--no, I didn’t. Sorry, kiddo, I’m kind of tired.” Does he sound hoarse, or is that just his imagination?

“It’s okay. I said thank you for bringing me home, and good night.” She punctuates the goodbye with a little curtsy, which, frankly, tugs on Curran’s heartstrings even despite the world-shaking realization he just came to.

“Oh. Y-Yeah, of course. But, if it’s okay if I ask, are you gonna be alright staying on your own? What about food?” Leaving her doesn’t quite sit right with him. There’s no way she’s old enough to cook for herself, right?

“Oh! Don’t worry, everyone in the village takes care of me!” She assures him with that little dreamy smile. “I’m not very hungry right now anyway, but someone will come with breakfast in the morning.”

Funny, that did the exact opposite of reassure him, but what the hell is he supposed to say? “Ah... Alright. Well, you get some rest. You’ve had a pretty rough day. I’ll be around town for a few more days, so if you need anything, you can always come find me.”

Needless to say, he doesn’t sleep particularly well that night. Hethiwood’s one and only inn isn’t exactly top-of-its-class to begin with. Paired with the general horror of everything that had occurred that day, the stress, and the new questions bouncing around in his head, it didn’t make for a restful evening. But, hey, if he was going to take the high road, at least it meant he was able to get up bright and early to start wrapping up the investigation.

So around town he goes, collecting whatever information he may need. Picks up the priest’s diary, takes a few accounts from the townsfolk whenever he can catch them before they conveniently have “something else” to do--that sort of thing. He keeps finding himself drifting back towards Lathna’s home throughout the day, checking to see if anyone has paid her a visit. Nobody. Not one, all day--he tries to dissuade his worries about the kid by telling himself he’s probably just checking at all the wrong times, that surely someone dropped in to make sure she didn’t starve--but he can’t even buy his own story. It’s not until sunset that he finally gives in and goes to check in on her, abandoning any pretense of believing anybody had paid her a visit all day.

He has to restrain himself from practically pounding down the door. “Lathna? Hey, kiddo, are you still in there?”

The response comes a few moments later when the door opens not to, say, an adult, but the same pale little girl he’d walked home a day ago. Except this time her face was a blotchy red and cheeks still damp with tears. It’s clear she tries to toughen up when she sees Curran, quickly wiping her face clean with her arm and tilting her chin upward in some attempt at feigning courage.

“Lathna!” He quickly drops to a kneel to meet the girl at eye level. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“N-Nothing.” She says quickly, sniffling away the remainder of the tears. “It--Nobody has--n-never mind, it’s nothing.”

“...Are you sure? You can tell me the truth, you know.” Even if he’d already figured it out for himself.

She avoids his gaze, staring instead at her own two feet as she shuffles back and forth. “I’m really hungry. Nobody has come to check on me all day.”

Yeah, he’d thought so. Now for the question he was dreading the answer to: “...Couldn’t you have gone to get somebody?”

She shakes her head. “I’m not allowed to go out on my own.”

The proverbial alarms were blaring in his mind. Just what the fuck kind of life was this kid leading?! He’s not sure how he’s maintaining a straight face right now, but it’s about all he can do to nod knowingly.

“Well, we can’t have you going hungry, can we? How about I take you to get supper, then? That way you won’t be going out alone, right?”

Lathna looks up at him, equal parts surprised and... alarmed? He can practically see her doing the mental math on whether or not that was acceptable, before--

“Okay.”

In a town of barely 200, the options for meals were fairly slim. Sure, it probably wasn’t the best, but some bread and cheese would do better for Lathna than nothing. The inn he’d been staying at had food, right? The walk there, however, only raises more red flags in Curran’s head.

Again, Curran wasn’t a stranger to a few cold stares and closed doors--the reputation came hand in hand with being an Inquisitor, and he’d come to accept that over the years. A “close your shudders, lock your doors, and hide” sort of reaction, however? That was new. Anyone passing seemed to flinch away. Mothers clutched their children and scurried to the other side of the street. A couple of them, honest-to-Ilia, turned and ran. They were reacting to Lathna, and Curran could see she was noticing. She looked... distressed. Confused. Like she genuinely didn’t know why people seemed so afraid of her--but she still knew it was her that was making them afraid.

He tries not to let it bother either of them. Food first, mysteries later.

Nothing in his life was ever really that simple, was it? The barmaid has the same reaction when they arrive to the inn. She disappears for a moment and fetches the owner while Curran and Lathna, ignoring the frigid welcome, pick out their seat. Both the barmaid and the owner seem to be trying to slink into the back. Curran tries to tolerate it for about ten minutes before he’s had enough.

“Lathna, can you stay here for a minute?"

She nods and Curran rises from his seat, making no attempt to muffle the harsh screech of wood-on-wood as he shoves the chair back. The one nice thing about an Inquisitor’s reputation: people tended not to argue too much when you demanded something. He makes his way past the bar and into the backroom, catching the door as the owner tries to swing it shut.

“Hold on a moment.” He puts on a sickly-sweet tone, far too aggressive to be truly polite, and claps a hand on the owner’s shoulder with just a bit too much force as he shoves his way through the door. “I’d like a word outside, sir.”

“I--I---I swear, sir, I didn’t do nothin’...! I was jus’ caught up in what everyone else was doin’ with the whole--r--ritual thing, but I didn’t ever really believe in it none--”

“Funny, that’s what about two hundred other people have told me. But that’s not what I’m here for.” He jerks his chin in the direction of the inn, not loosening his grip on the man’s shoulder. “The little girl. Tell me about her.”

“That--That thing ain’t no little girl!”

Oh, great. Once again, it was the same answer he was dreading. He’d been piecing together in his head the details of it all for a while now--trying to figure out why the villagers were reacting as if they knew Nyarlathotep had been posing as Lathna when logic said they shouldn’t? IT had only assumed her form after the fact... right? But the more he thought about it, the more he began to suspect that no, maybe that wasn’t true. The priest’s journal had implied the “ritual” took place before the whole town had been sucked into the library--meaning its purpose must have been to summon Nyarlathotep in the first place. All he needed was confirmation of his suspicion.

“Well, fuck, she sure looks like one! Explain to me what that’s supposed to mean.”

“Okay! Okay--jus’ don’ hurt me!” (By the Goddess, what a coward. Curran hasn’t so much has made a move towards him.) “She ain’t a kid anymore--s-she’s the Emissary--”

“How do you know that? What, you see her turn into a goddess-damned dragon?”

Ah, that’s the winning question, isn’t it? The guy’s face goes pale and he stammers, searching for words that - presumably - won’t implicate him in whatever the hell this town did to the poor kid. “W--We--”

“We? So now you’re involved?”

“We--Th-They! They--She was raised for it, a’ight?! The girl was bad luck, nobody knew who her pa was, and she killed her mother--”

“She what?”

“When she was born! Her ma’ died when she was born, that’s bad luck! She was born cursed, but w--th’ town decided she’d be a good--” Gulp. “A--A good sacrifice--a--a vessel for the Emissary.”

Well, congratulations to Hethiwood for taking home the grand prize of “Most Fucked-Up Place Curran Had Ever Visited!” That would explain why they’d found the Liber Grimortis in her home, didn’t it? Why she wasn’t allowed to go out on her own? It explained the lack of toys, the distance everyone kept from her, the dense tomes on her bookshelf--they’d been grooming her to sacrifice to their fucked-up god her whole life.

“You sacrificed a child,” Curran spits, “for your own ‘salvation’?”

The innkeep doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. He’s too busy (quite literally) shaking in his boots. Bastard. What kind of person can even think that’s okay?! Hell, how does a whole town of people convince themselves that it’s okay?! And now that they’ve given up on their bullshit cult, they plan to just let the kid who’s life they’ve already ruined--what? Starve to death?

Curran releases his grip on the innkeep’s shoulder--finally--and gives him a shove back in the direction of the building. “Go. Just get us our fucking food and get out of my face.”

He happily obliges, leaving the inquisitor alone outside. Fuck. Now he knows he can’t leave her here. Lathna seems smart--and based on her reactions to how things have been going this evening, he can’t imagine she’d be too against leaving town for good--so trying to explain it to her is... somewhat less daunting. The question of what to do after that, though--an orphanage? Ilia, no, that would probably make things worse for her. He could always take her in, but--

...Shit. He was going to adopt her, wasn’t he? He really couldn’t see any way around it. Plus--who was he kidding? He couldn’t help but feel sympathy for poor Lathna--it was hard not to have a soft spot for orphans when you were one--and, well, she seemed like a nice kid, all things considered--Hein would probably have some choice words for him when he found out, but they could cross that bridge when they got there.

Curran returns to the table a few minutes later, and his expression must be enough to draw Lathna’s concern, based on the way she looks back at him. He sighs. It was going to be another long night--he could already tell.

“Hey, Lathna, when we’re all done eating, do you think we could talk? There are a couple things I wanted to know, if that’s okay with you...”

#drabble #wtf i don't have a specific drabble tag? whats wrong with me #the lord's gonna come for your firstborn son || lathna.#curran vc i've had lathna for five minutes and if anything (else) happens to her i will kill everyone in this goddess forsaken town

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aclamclriver · 6 years ago

Text

start from scratch

he can’t find a babysitter.

daniel’s spotted a cat sitting on the doorstep a few houses down though he doesn’t pull forwards, the enthrallment is enough to afford jude a moment to bunch the phone more comfortably next to his ear, his breath hurried out of him as he struggles to hold his composure. traffic is slow on the little street; the sound of leaves crunching underfoot heralds their pace as the father and son make their way home in uneven stride.

“ been talking about this for weeks, jude ”

“i know, i know you have, but you didn’t mention me and i need to be home to pick daniel up by three, i need to, there’s no one who can watch him ”

“one late night is not going to kill you, jude, considering how much this project means there’s a ton of daycares in the area alone that you can drop him off. you need to plan for these things. i’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

he can’t cuss in front of daniel, but it’s on the tip of his tongue the words curdle like spoiled milk as he shoves his phone back into his pocket, fumbling for his keys to unlock the door to their apartment. it’s a far cry from before ( but then, of course, wasn’t that the point? ), and it’s got more neighbors than he’s used to, but it was close to work, close to school, and far away from everything else.

“okay?” daniel asks; his voice is pitched soft, his eyes wide and inquisitive it discomforts jude, sometimes, to think of the baby who once was, and the young child just becoming.

“okay,” jude replies, because he’s not going to unburden himself on his five year old son. the key is proving to be more elusive than he thought; he’s practically ripping his pocket inside out.

“i’ll stay at patrick’s tomorrow?”

“no.” it’s so automatic, so absolute, that he flinches, even as it snaps off his tongue mina couldn’t have done it better herself. in the one night where he lost damn near everything, he’s learned to be cautious; he can’t risk anything happening to daniel. not ever again. “don’t worry about it, i’ll where is my damn key!”

it bursts out of him, a flurry of anger that isn’t really anger; a cocktail of something he’s sick of, forcing him to drop daniel’s hand as he roots furiously through his pockets. it’s the hours, and his boss, and not being able to find a babysitter because he doesn’t trust anyone in this fucking city, can’t risk letting the one person he has left go with just anyone, and his goddamn key is missing

“hey, jude?”

his head snaps up to see the door to the right opened you’re already out on the landing. neighbors, though he’s only spoken to you once or twice; you always smile at him if you cross paths. there’s a pretty crochet owl on your purse that daniel always points out when he sees you.

“are you looking for your key? i think you dropped it this morning on your way out i found it after you left. it’s yours, right?”

and it is miraculously, fortuitously, offered in your hand like some gleaming artifact of religious significance. he wants to weep as he takes it from you, stammering thanks and apologies as he jams it in the lock, twisting it open far enough to let daniel scamper inside.

“you seemed to be pretty frazzled,” you say, when he pauses for breath. “is everything okay?”

( when was the last time someone asked him that? )

“i need to work late tomorrow,” he offers, hands fiddling with the strap of his bag. “and i don’t have a babysitter for daniel. my boss won’t reschedule.”

“that’s awful! he really won’t let you reschedule?” you lean against the doorframe of your apartment, frowning in sympathy; the action puts a tiny furrow between your brows, an expanse of emotion he has long forgotten. “getting a babysitter for a tuesday afternoon ... it’ll be tough, too.” you hesitate; he watches you tilt your head in thought, working on an offer that takes some time to reach your lips. “if you really need the help ... i can always pick him up?”

something in his expression has to give you insight to what he’s thinking: you’re hasty to add “i understand if you’re not comfortable with that, but since you’re in a bind i work from home, so i’m here all the time anyways. my cousin just had a baby, and we’re quite close, so the apartment is baby proof i know we’re pretty much strangers, but i’d like to help, if i can.”

beggars can’t be choosers, he knows; he’s out of options as it is.

he stills waits until the last minute next morning, to knock on your door, and take you up on your offer.

the whole day is a bust he can’t concentrate, beyond imagining what horrible things you’re doing to his son. visions of anti-nutritional oil and empty plates seem to dance behind his eyes, and when he’s finally released, jude sprints out. he’s home in record time, practically racing up the stairs to your door, heart hammering in his chest.

he’s shocked, in the split second before his fist hits your door, to hear laughter.

when you open the door, daniel is right at your heels; he shouts “daddy!” and throws his arms around jude’s legs, hugging tight. your smile is bright and reassuring, warm, as daniel immediately begins a detailed description of his day.

“he was just fine,” you remark, as daniel pauses on a breath. “picked him up with no problems, brought him here he’s been drawing for you all afternoon! i started making dinner, just because he was so easy to watch; did you two want to stay a while?”

and it smells so good in this little apartment, with the little lavender candles splayed out on a bookshelf, and your dinner cooking in the oven; it’s warm, and safe, and daniel is shifting through a number of drawings to show jude his latest batch.

“that’d be great,” jude says at last, and you two share a smile.

daniel is your biggest fan, now. he likes how soft your carpet is, how nice your paintings on the wall are. you help him with his homework, and read to him he brings you books that jude has started, and you pick up easily where he left off. you’ll even do voices.

he doesn’t mean for this to become regular, but his boss is demanding, and the hours are picking up, and you wave off his apologetic request with a smile and “you’re both welcome here any time.”

something in how you talk to daniel makes it easy to leave him, though it wrenches jude apart, every time. you lean forward, bend down you always talk to him at his own level. you offer your hand for him to take, but never grab his own; you laugh at every silly joke he makes, even if he tells it six times in a row. you run an editing business from home, and there are books aplenty on your shelves: jude never knows what he’ll find, if he were to go perusing.

smalltalk occurs, as smalltalk tends to do. you went to school here. you worked there. you joined up in editing because you loved words. you know italian, but you’re better at spanish. you like the idea of starting a garden, but love the vegetables in the farmers market.

( you’re not like mina. )

you ask him how his day was, as soon as he’s on the landing; you smile when he tells you. daniel is wonderful, engaging, funny, bright: he loves to tell you stories.

jude talks about mina. we were married. she’s dead. we were separated. i don’t know. daniel doesn’t really know. it’s a confession and a scrutiny: if he tells it enough times, maybe he can find where it all went wrong. married. pregnant. unhealthy. confused. separated. out of love? out of patience. out of time. out of options. we got married in a little italian diner. i sang for her. you’ll never believe how we met yeah, it’s as gross as it sounds.

you share your own. engaged, okay, but wanting more. broke it off two years ago. don’t fret for you! you don’t regret a thing. “when it’s time to move on, and you do, you know it’s the right thing. it’s peaceful. it’s good.”

he wonders what that must be like.

you’re worried about daniel one night, when his temperature is high; when jude comes to pick him up, you’ve already iced him for an hour. “it’s probably that bug going around,” you fret, wringing out the towel draped across daniel’s forehead, “but i don’t know. i wanted to take him to the doctor, but that’s your call, jude, really.”

they’ll go in the morning, jude reasons it’s late enough as it is. daniel offers a tired whine and a sniffle, once lifted in jude’s arms, and you can’t help but follow them back into their apartment, compelled by the tired little eyes that peer blearily at you from over jude’s shoulder.

somehow jude isn’t quite sure how he wakes up on the couch, sometime after midnight. daniel is sprawled out, his head resting on jude’s knee, fast asleep. he’s breathing easily, fever dissipated. on the floor below, your head tilted against the cushion, you doze. your hand is raised just enough for daniel to grasp it in his sleep.

his mother is furious.

“i didn’t go to prison so you can do all of this all over again!”

he knows what she’s thinking. he’s always been easy to push over, easy to cow; he let mina push too hard, too far. if he had a backbone, it never would have ended here but he shoves that thought away, as far as it can go.

“it’s not a romance,” he tells her, placating, the peacekeeper. “she’s just babysitting.”

and it’s the truth! he doesn’t need to justify that. he doesn’t need to quantify it: does it matter that the three of you have dinner, almost every night? that you ask him how his day was noticed when he got his haircut? does it matter that you have a key to his apartment? emergencies happen, and it’s best to be prepared he’s got one to your apartment, too. you know the name of his boss, his best friend; he even put your number on a form for school, surreptitiously listed under “emergency contact.” it’s just being prepared. he knows what book you’re working on, how you like your coffee; it’s just the nature of the beast.

“it’s not like before,” he says, thinking of the other night, when you and daniel baked cookies: he was smeared with chocolate and beaming, when jude came through the door. “it’s not like mina.”

and there’s no greater truth than that.

“i came in her,” he tells you one day, while daniel plays in the next room. “she told me not to. i fucked up. i knew she was leaving. i don’t know ... i thought maybe, if she had another reason to stay ... it was awful, what i did. it was stupid, and selfish, and awful.”

he hates that you think less of him he can see it in your eyes, the purse of your lips as you nod in agreement. somehow, the truth never gets easier, no matter how often he tries it; he knows that it’s followed with grief.

“goodbyes are hard,” you say at last, and your shoulders bunch forward as he watches you. “trying to hold off on them is harder. no one ever wants to let them linger.”

“i was never good at goodbyes,” he admits, and there’s more truth in that than he can fathom.

he misses adulthood. drinks in the bar down the street, with the dingy neon lighting, and bad art galleries with his friends where they laughed themselves sick. he misses casual conversation that revolves around nothing, and minutes you don’t have to count on the clock.

he’s lonely, is all: he can’t be faulted for that. daniel is his boy, but only a boy still, and when he’s put to bed, he falls asleep immediately. nothing wrong, jude reasons, with seeing you for a moment. you make him a cup of tea, and sit on your couch, and talk about everything and nothing, and jude finds himself laughing with his whole belly, like he hasn’t done in years.

he’s bold enough to ask about your fiance, the one you left behind; you correct him on the wording. “people change,” you explain, eyes out of focus, thinking on the memories. “but you don’t really know a person, really know a person, until you’ve seen them panic. he was everything i thought i knew, and then, one day ... he wasn’t. and i realized i didn’t know him at all.”

it’s the lateness of the hour, he thinks: the flow of good conversation, that urges him forward, has him saying, “i don’t know i haven’t seen you panic, and i know you pretty well.”

and everything is innocent until it’s not: that he’s suddenly so close, so close, with lips just an inch away from yours, heart hammering in his chest as he looks at you. you, and everything that isn’t mina, but more importantly is you: the laughter, and the warmth, and the way you smile when you don’t realize jude’s looking at you.

just you, and just him.

and suddenly, just is too much, and you’re on your feet; so discomforted is he, that jude doesn’t see your hand shake as you set your teacup down.

“i’ll pick up daniel tomorrow at three like always,” you say, and there’s distance there, a separation. jude doesn’t argue.

later that night, in his own bed, he thinks on how long it’s been, since he’s had butterflies in his stomach. it’ll be best to quash out every one.

this is how the story works: that daniel is the baby, and you the babysitter, and jude the father who longs to come home. mina is the mother, and that’s without change: you don’t pass stories and smiles with a man who lost his wife. you in your home, and jude in his, and daniel as the interloper, four times a week, and jude buys you a bottle of wine at christmas for your trouble.

but stories have a way of changing, and it’s only three days after tea on your couch that you call him from the hospital.

“daniel’s fine,” you say, adamant and reassuring. “everything’s okay, don’t worry. we were rear-ended coming home, and it was a minor incident. daniel is completely fine, but i got a tiny scratch on my leg, so they drove me in. can you come pick him up? he’s absolutely fine.”

and he believes you, even as jude breaks about every traffic rule in the book as he speeds to the hospital; believes you, even as he nearly smashes the doors off their hinges. daniel is fine, absolutely fine not a scratch on him. the miracle of seatbelts, and good driving besides.

your scratch is more a cut, is more a little more than nothing: you had to get stitches, almost as soon as you arrived. despite your protests, jude sits and waits for you to be signed out, with daniel snoozing in his arms; he drives you both home, hands at two and ten. he puts daniel to bed without fuss, and kisses his forehead goodnight; his boy is asleep before jude has even left the room.

in your apartment, the lights are off: you’re struggling in the kitchen. he finds you there, leaning against the counter, catching your breath as you move your crutches out of the way. it’s only for a week or so, but you already hate them they’re in the way more than anything else.

“i’m okay,” you tell him, with your eyes drooping from exhaustion. “i’m just glad daniel wasn’t hurt.”

in answer, jude cups your face in his hands, and kisses you.

are you cold? you can’t stop shivering: jude’s body presses against your own, careful not to jostle your leg as he holds you. he’s so much taller than you, so big and broad he leans in and tilts your head to better receive his kiss, nose brushing against yours. warm, and solid, and real.

“i panicked,” he admits, when at least you break for air. he rests his forehead against yours, hands sliding to your waist, offering you warmth as he stays close against you.

“so did i,” you admit, and pull him in for another kiss.

this is how the story works: a kiss changes nothing. two is irrelevant. you keep your promise to take care of daniel, and jude learns everything about you. dates are played out on the living room floor, as daniel shrieks with laughter from a flurry of tickles; it’s snatched in the kitchen as jude helps you with dinner.

daniel turns six and you bake him a cake: his friends gather in your living room, wild and excited. jude takes too many pictures; he only thinks of mina once.

i guess we did something right.

it’s the next night, when daniel is sleeping soundly in the other room, that jude slides his hands between your legs, and kisses your neck with an air of worship. he parts your thighs and curls his fingers inside your cunt, marvelling at the curve of your throat when you throw your head back. it’s everything to him, when you roll your hips against his; it’s everything, to hear the way his name falls from your lips, when he slides inside you with a groan. it’s too much, too much after too long, and he can barely focus on the rhythm of his breathing as he feels you tight around him: it takes a moment to realize how you’re kissing him reassuringly, warm and solid in his fluster. he makes love to you, slow and purposeful; he discards the condom afterwards with a little gleam of pleasure.

this is how the story goes: where the leaves are crunching underfoot, and there’s a cat on the front step a few houses down. daniel is singing about the man on the sea, and jude wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close enough to kiss. “i love you,” he whispers, and you smile at his touch. daniel starts another verse, dancing in the sunlight.

#jude #jude x reader #hungry hearts #I KNOW I'M POSTING THIS AT FOUR AM NOBODY @ ME #someone is going to @ me #i couldn't get the damn movie out of my head so i rushed this out it is SUPER unedited #why am i doing this !!!#they literally never name the baby in this movie so i'm sticking w/ daniel

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fragmentedshards · 5 years ago

Text

Eira, Chapter Two

When Loki reached roughly the middle of the main avenue of County Keldcaster, he stopped to take a look around. It had not occurred to him when Thor suggested rehabilitation in Midgard that he would have no idea where to begin or what to do. Where would he stay? How would he provide for food? What was he going to tell anybody he happened to meet about himself? He stood in the middle of the street, slowly looking around him at the shopfronts and trying to decide what to do next. Behind him to the right he saw a small, deep purple building with windows full of books and the words Pippin & Puddleglum written across the top of the doorframe in gold lettering. Wondering how he had walked past such a vibrant structure, he retraced his steps back to it and, hesitating a moment, stepped through the door to the interior.

The bell above the door jingled lightly, and two simultaneously different and similar smells flooded Loki’s nose at the exact same moment. One was the fresh scent of brand new books, barely thumbed through by even five people; the other was the musty scent of old books, with peeling edges on their covers and scars on their spines. For an instant his mind was transported back to the grand library in Asgard, reading books on magic as a little boy with his mother, both of them basking in a soft golden light. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light within Pippin & Puddleglum, he began to see the design of the whole place. Sturdy oak shelves absolutely stuffed with books stretched all the way up to the ceiling, two stories high, and a marvelous spiral staircase with intricate carvings in the wood ran up to the second story floor from the center of the building. In the far back against the right wall was a long wooden service desk. Dotted around the first and second floors were armchairs, couches, and coffee tables; all of them looked rather worn out and none of them matched. Loki could not see what the floor of the second story looked like, but as the floor beneath his feet was covered in shabby patterned rugs of all different colors he assumed the same for the top floor. There was a good deal of people scattered throughout, and a muted hum of activity permeated the building which came from the whispers of visitors to one another.

His thought in entering Pippin & Puddlelgum was to gain his bearings and make a plan. However, before he had fully taken in the entire scene, he was approached by a pale, portly woman wearing a light blue sweater and smiling brightly at him. She stood a full head shorter than Loki himself and beamed up at him from behind soft auburn curls that brushed her wool- clad shoulders. He noticed that she had smile lines on either side of her face, but only one dimple which resided on her right cheek.

“How can I help you?” she inquired, peering curiously at him. He knew enough about Midgard to recognize her accent as American.

“I... I’m sorry, I’m trying to find a place to stay and somewhere to work,” he stammered. He had not thought ahead this far at all.

“Oh, you’re a foreigner like Lisette and myself,” she laughed. “What brings you to County Keldcaster?”

Loki struggled to answer her question. He was not used to being caught this much off guard. “My family... they thought living here for a while would do me some good.”

“I see,” she nodded. “What did you say your name was?”

“L-Laurence,” he thought as quickly as he could as he spoke. “Laurence Royal.”

The woman stared at him for a split second, as if detecting his lie, before smiling once more. He had not noticed it before, but her eyes were a dark violet. “Well, I’m Eira, and this is my best friend and business partner Lisette,” she gestured at another woman who was emerging from behind the nearest bookshelf.

The woman named Lisette was just as pale as Eira, and their hair was roughly the same length and color, but the likenesses ended there. Where Eira was short and round, Lisette was tall and slender. Ezra's cheeks were chubby, but Lisette’s cheekbones were high and defined. Ezra’s deep purple eyes conveyed kindness, while Lisette’s peridot-green ones scanned Loki suspiciously from head to toe. She crossed her arms and leaned on the bookshelf, pursing her lips and furrowing her eyebrows.

“Now let’s see...” Eira clasped her hands together in thought while Lisette continued to stare unblinkingly at Loki. “The only inn in County Keldcaster is way up in the hills and is being completely rebuilt, it won’t be ready for guests for months... well, we can get to that later. As for work... what do you like to do?”

This question threw Loki for a loop. On Asgard he had spent most of his childhood and teenage years either playing pranks on Thor or else shut up in the library for hours. Everything he had done from then on had been centered on revenge. He realized he only had one answer that would suffice in Midgard.

He took a deep breath and answered. “Honestly... I love books,” he smiled sheepishly and gestured about them at the plethora of books. “I suppose that is what drew me in here to gather my thoughts in the first place.”

“Oh I see,” Eira laughed good-naturedly. “In that case I’m sure we can find something for you to do around here, right Lisette?”

“Sure,” came Lisette’s curt reply. She had raised an eyebrow higher up her forehead, but her eyes remained trained on Loki’s face. He shifted uncomfortably and did his best to pay attention to Eira. Listening to her go on, he smiled in spite of himself.

“Pippin & Puddleglum is the only bookshop in town, and the only library. We have old and new books for rent and for sale,” Eira beamed, but then her face fell. “But I don’t think we have the budget for a third employee... Oh I’ve got it!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together again in excitement. “I have a spare bedroom in my house, why don’t you just live with me for the time being?”

At this, Lisette finally broke her gaze upon Loki and instead turned it upon Eira, who did not notice her friend staring at her as if she had lost her mind and continued to speak. Loki, for his part, felt his jaw drop and had to lift it with his hand.

“It’s only me and my cat right now, and there’s always plenty of food, so it won’t be any trouble to have you... lodging will be your payment for the work you do here at the bookshop! It’s perfect!”

Lisette looked as if she wanted to say something, but she kept quiet. Loki took his chance and bowed low. “Thank you for your kindness, Miss Eira,” he whispered humbly, then stood once more to find Eira and Lisette both with mildly surprised expressions on their faces.

“How nice,” Eira smiled and recovered herself in a moment, while Lisette fixed Loki with a stare once more. “Now, it’s nearly closing time, so Lisette and I are going to finish tending to the rest of the customers and then lock up... you’re welcome to pick a book and a chair until we’ve finished!” she motioned to the mass of shelves and seats, and with that she turned on her heel and walked briskly to the service desk. Lisette remained a moment longer, keeping her judgmental eyes on Loki, before pivoting and following Eira to the back of Pippin & Puddleglum.

Loki stood still until both women were positioned behind the desk and had begun rising up purchases. When he finally moved, he directed his steps to the bookshelf on the left wall and perused a small section. Eira had not exaggerated; there was certainly every kind of book on these shelves. Loki found books on ancient civilizations and famous historical figures, on plants and animals, books full of classic stories and poetry. He finally selected a shabby paperback of Nordic myths - he thought this would be appropriate as well as nostalgic - and settled into a threadbare green armchair to read.

Reading the stories about his family, his associates, and his environment brought his mind back to his old life, before he learned the truth and everything fell apart. These stories were really nothing more than mortal interpretations of the truth. In truth it was almost comical to read the stories Midgardians dreamt up about their gods and goddesses, particularly regarding his own fate: strapped to a boulder beneath a deadly serpent, venom dripping from its fangs. Loki covered his mouth to keep from laughing.

It seemed like just the next minute - but it was actually about thirty minutes - when Loki realized that all of the customers had left. He returned the book to the shelf and began walking to the back of Pippin & Puddleglum, searching for Eira. As he came within earshot of the service desk, he heard Eira and Lisette whispering. The more strident voice was Lisette’s, he knew now. He jumped behind the bookcase to eavesdrop.

“Are you insane, Eira?” she was asking in hushed whispers. “You have invited a stranger to live in your home. A complete and total stranger from who knows where!”

Loki heard Eira sigh. He peeked out from behind the bookcase and saw her shrug.

“What was I supposed to do? The inn is completely in shambles, so he can’t stay there, and even if there was anywhere else in town for him to stay there is no assurance that anywhere else would hire him, and we don't have enough money in the budget for an extra employee. This was the best possible solution.”

“You know this is dangerous,” Lisette chided angrily. “We both know it.”

“Well,” Eira sighed, audibly annoyed with her friend. “If he murders me, you know where I keep the file detailing my funeral and burial arrangements.”

Loki heard a drawer slam shut and had just enough time to jump into an innocent position - merely admiring the selection of Proust - before Eira and Lisette rounded the corner, both of them wearing burgundy coats.

“Alright, let’s be off,” Eira announced, grabbing one of Loki’s suitcases. “I’ll take one of these, and you can follow me to my house. I’ll see you tomorrow, Lisette!”

Lisette hummed, presumably doubtful, but nodded and followed Eira and Loki out the front door of Pippin & Puddleglum before going left down the sidewalk. Eira went right instead, walking rather quickly for a plump woman, nodding in greeting to every person she passed.

Loki received some strange glances from the same people who smiled at Eira, but he chose to ignore them. No use in getting upset over that when he did, in fact, deserve much worse. He did a fair bit of shivering also; he had not realized up until now - possibly from mere nerves - how cold it really was outside.

The walk from Pippin & Puddleglum was either not that far or else took less time because of Eira’s brisk strides, but very soon they took a left and were headed up into the hillsides. The

paths here were more dirt than anything, and instead of residential streets the paths just broke off to each home. Eira led him straight until they reached nearly the very end of the winding paths, at which point she turned and went up the walkway to a small red cottage covered with vines and surrounded by dozens of various kinds of white flowers. Instead of walking on dirt up to the porch, Loki found that they were walking on decorative stepping stones.

They reached the front door, which for some inexplicable reason was painted purple, and Eira turned a key in the lock. When it clicked, she looked over her shoulder at Loki and said cheerily, “Welcome to Redwall, Mr. Laurence.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #write #writer #writing #loki x oc #loki (marvel)#loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki #eira

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crackmadhi · 6 years ago

Text

Loss

Loss. Loss. Loss. It was the one thing that followed me everywhere. The only constant I had ever known.

When I was three, my dad left for the Iraq War. A year later he was reported dead. It was the only time I did not cry after losing someone.

In the following five years my mother started dying. She coughed and coughed and two weeks before Aura turned eighteen she stopped forever. I was nine and I did not sleep for longer than five hours in one go since then.

I got older and when I turned sixteen Aura took me to her work place, the Space Center, where I met her colleague and my future mentor Metis Cykes and her lovely daughter Athena.

As I became a prosecutor at the age of twenty, I met the young police officer Robert “Bobby” Fullbright. He was ecstatic to work with me and made me feel welcome in a work space, where everybody was questioning my worth and usefulness. A place where the law and justice were about to break after the disbarment of a defence legend.

I thought I could help. I could catch the Phantom on my own, restore the reputation of the prosecutor office.

The Phantom did not let me.

At the age of twenty-one I lost my mentor, my freedom and innocence, my credibility, my profession and passion and the love of my sister and Athena.

At least that was what I believed back then. Yet I was given a chance to at least unite one last time with my work as a prosecutor. I was twenty-eight and I was a dead man walking. I had no hope left for salvation. Secretly, I might have longed for it, but I had no strength left to wish for it any longer.

I did not count on the grieving hater of my sister, the desperate rage of Justice and the loving courage of Athena. And I did not take to account that Phoenix Wright’s bottomless faith in his clients and the unshakable will to peruse to truth of Miles Edgeworth would work in my favour.

Neither did I think that Fulbright, the man who had continued to come and talk with me, had been dead for more than two years. I did not understand how I had not noticed it, how I had been tricked, how he could had been dragged into this.

Three years, even a bit more, had passed since they freed me. I got used to the freedom and the separation from my sister. I got better. People knew more about me, I opened up…

But still… Fulbright was not leaving me. I reached the point, where I could see that Metis death was not my fault, but why, why had I not noticed sooner that I was no longer talking with the real Fulbright? What had I missed?

It hurt. It hurt so much. So much I still have not talked about the man with anyone. Anybody else, but him.

Wednesday, 8 May 2030

It was a Wednesday evening and I was about to finish my paperwork for the day. A weird feeling, as if something was poking my lungs, had haunted me for the last half hour and I felt somewhat nauseous.

The brainless routine while filling in papers did not distract me from it. In fact, it made it even worse, as my thoughts started to wander, and I heard his voice chanting his fucking maxim.

In justice we trust! In justice we trust! In justice we trust! In justice-

“Fuck! Stop it!”, I shouted and interrupted the voice in my head.

Tiredly a threw my pencil on the desk and stood up. Aimlessly I stood up and wandered over to the tall bookshelf, filled with books Klav had given me in order to make the place look homelier.

I felt like he failed but took one out and opened it at a random page. State law. Great. The words did not stick. My eyes flew over the pages and left me clueless.

… could be interpreted as …

What? When did I say that? It must have been over a decade ago. It was to him. But why? What reason could I possibly have had to –

The book was lying on the floor now. I moved away from the shelf, felt my hand gripping the skin on my skull. Did I start hyperventilating?

… Don’t worry! I’m not …

I almost fell down. I gripped helplessly something to hold on. Probably it was one of the shelves. How could my voice only sound so young? Why did I remember this conversation only now? I had forgotten about it. It had no importance, I wanted myself to believe.

… Justice.

Justice?

Yeah. Funny isn’t it? …

It hit me straight in the face. My stomach ached horribly. I dropped down on my knees hitting my right hand on something.

My limbs suddenly became heavy, so heavy. Everything was numb. I – I felt like I watched myself cowered on the floor from the other side of my office.

That should have made me panic. At least I thought I should panic. Yet I did nothing like that. I saw myself crying, no weeping loudly. Unable to move, to stand up or to do anything other than that.

Was I disassociating? Great. That would be a first. Maybe it was a reaction due to the shock? The realization that there actually had been a way for me, and exclusively me, to figure out so much sooner that the Phantom and not Fulbright was standing in front of me?

Terran could be alive. My sister would be free, and Athena would not be traumatized. Dear god, why was I so oblivious?

I felt so devoid from emotion and started to drift away even further. Taka was in the room and screeched at me. My poor girl tried to pull me out of my turmoil, but it was an impossible task.

My crying continued, and I tried to remember if I had ever cried this loudly. No memory from such a thing crossed my mind.

A knock. Apparently, it did not startle me. I kept on sobbing, no reaction whatsoever.

The door was opened. Nahyuta came in. They had wanted to ask something but stopped as soon as they saw the scene in front of them.

“Simon?”, they said panicking and kneeled before me. With one hand they tried to keep Taka away from them and with the other they carefully touched my knee.

No reaction whatsoever. I did not even feel it.

“Simon? What happened? What is going on?”, they went on asking.

It had no use. They kept saying my name. After some time, I did not know how much later, steps followed. Someone entered. They were probably alarmed by Nahyuta’s cries and wanted to check onto the situation.

Von Karma and Klavier.

“What-? Nahyuta Sahdmadhi, what am I looking at right now?”, von Karma said furiously, while gripping her stuffy cravat thingy.

“I don’t know!”, Nahyuta answered teary. “I already found him like this! He- he doesn’t respond at all! He is like this for several minutes now!”

“Why didn’t you get someone in that case?! What fool-”

“Bright”, I completed breathlessly.

All three stared at me. I even I stared at me. I was surprised that I was even able to say a thing.

“Holy mother! Simon! Please, tell us what is going on! Or at least try to do so!”, Nahyuta now said.

They had let go of my knee and were crying now. I lifted my head a bit. Their eyes were so strikingly green, unique in their colour. Not like Fool Bright’s.

Thank god not like Fool Bright’s.

I had slipped back into my body, but everything was still so heavy and numb. I tried to lift my hand a bit, to reach for Yuta, to tell them they should not worry.

My body failed me. They saw it. It made Nahyuta stop crying, because now they must have realized that I was trying. That I was actually responding to their pleas.

They and Franziska started talking about moving me over to the couch, Nahyuta breaking of then and when to tell me I was doing good, as I slowly stopped sobbing. Until Klavier shrieked and pointed at my right hand.

“He’s bleeding! Oh god, his hand is full of blood!”, he exclaimed and jumped over to me. Decidedly he grabbed my hand and looked at it highly concentrated.

I did not even realize that I had been hurt. Must have happened when I fell down.

“Okay it’s not too deep, some of the blood has already dried and we still need to clean it. Please, Frau von Karma, do us the favour and get the first aid kit. We’ll try to seat him on the couch, while you’re at it.”

Von Karma did not contradict and was gone. Immediately Klav and Nahyuta tried to help me stand up. I tried to help them support my weight, but it was not much help. They were struggling to carry me but finally managed to get me on the couch in my office.

I now sat there and saw Taka hopping towards me. I had regained some control over my senses and knew I was the only one in the room, who would care for the poor, helpless animal. So, I cleared my throat and murmured, as it was the only thing I managed to do: “Window. Taka… wants… out…”

It took a moment before either of them understood what I wanted from them, so I had to repeat myself several times. Finally, Nahyuta got it and went to the window to let my beautiful bird out. At least on of us should be able to enjoy their freedom, I mused.

Von Karma came back and handed Klavier the kit. He opened it and laid it next to me on the couch. Nahyuta volunteered to fix my hand up and was assisted by the rock star.

They started with cleaning the wound and warned me carefully that it would probably hurt. I nodded absently but I felt no sting, as the cloth with the disinfectant on it touched my skin.

My lack of reaction might have bothered Nahyuta, but they did not let it show as they went on nursing me. Silence lurked in the air. It let me slide back to my thoughts on Fulbright. To the talk we had about eleven years ago. It had only been a stupid chat, not more than the exchange of unimportant stories. To think that this once so playful and light conversation would bring me such great turmoil. It was ironic.

“Do you know what happened, Simon? Can you tell us?”, Klavier asked me and handed me a glass of water.

I took it with my left and took a sip. Only now I started to realize how dry my mouth was and noticed the dried tears on my cheeks. A tissue was given to me and got to clean my nose. I started to feel like myself again, still somewhat off.

I took a deep breath, looked up and said with a weirdly peaceful smile: “I guess, I was disassociating due to shock.”

Von Karma and Nahyuta looked worried, while I saw anger arise in Klavier’s eyes. I did it. I actually used up Klavier’s apparently endless patience. He was done with my shit.

“Himmel, Simon! What the fuck fucked you up so badly? Stop this whole thing and follow your own fucking advice for once in your life! You might not believe it but it’s actually work- “, he started lamenting heatedly but was dragged back by Nahyuta and von Karma.

They pulled him outside of the room. I straightened up and folded my hands in my lap. Deep breath. I would not talk with him. Not here.

My strength had returned to an extend that it was possible for me to stand up and walk on my own again. Softly, I rose and snuck to the door. I heard them talking by the left side of the door. I know where they stood talking, they did not see me exit. I went in the opposite direction and took the stairs to leave the prosecutor's office.

Link to the fanfiction on ao3(there are 8 chapters)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16073606/chapters/37531937

#ace attorney #aa #ace attorney fanfiction #simon blackquill #Klavier Gavin #nahyuta sahdmadhi #blackmadhi #disassociation #tw: disassociation #simon is not doing to well #fulbright is haunting him #poor thing #but it's going to be fine

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nerddface · 6 years ago

Text

Can’t Even Keep a Bakery Running, (2/?)

Characters: Haytham Kenway, female!reader

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma, death, implied rape.

Word Count: 2219

Notes:I KnoW It'S BeEN A yeAr But I cAn ExpLAIN. Part 2 of... I still don't know. (Part 1, You're here!, more parts TBD).

Your name: submit What is this? // <![CDATA[ document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', myHandler); function myHandler() { var v = document.body.innerHTML; var input = document.getElementById("inputTxt").value; v = v.replace(/\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, input); document.body.innerHTML = v; } // ]]>

He didn’t come back for almost three months.

Snow was falling heavily the evening he returned, and she was hoping she’d be able to get home. Her mind had been coming back to ‘H’ all that day, and what it might stand for.

Henry? Hannover? Harvey? She hoped to God it wasn’t Humphrey. Or maybe it wasn’t any of them. ... Hank?

She was mulling over his name, sweeping up excess flour from her worktable, when her door jingled. For a moment, she groaned — she was still technically open, but it was the tailing minutes of her day, and she enjoyed leaving before darkness fell. Hopefully, whoever had come in would be quick.

“Hello!” she called with what she hoped was a cheerful tone, despite her feet suddenly alerting her to their aching. “I’ll be out in a moment, I’m just tidying up back here.”

She dumped the handful of crumb-y flour into her wastebin and blew off her countertop, gathered a damp cloth on her way out to dust off her hands, and slapped a smile on her face. She was scrubbing in between her fingers as she emerged, ready to greet her customer, but any semblance of words died in her throat as her eyes landed on the navy-clad man leaning against her front counter. He was just as stunningly attractive as last time, if not more, with little snowflakes melting on his shoulders. Y/N felt as though she might melt with them under his smoldering gaze. His tricorn was once more tucked under an arm, hair tied back. The stormy wind outside had blown a couple strands free, and providing him an artistically dishevelled look, and there was a neatly stitched cut on his jawbone, perhaps a week or so old.

“Hello again, Y/N.”

He must have noticed how her face changed because he shifted his weight. “You are quite popular around town. It was not difficult to hear your name spoken fondly from several people.”

“I- ah, wow,” she stuttered, brushing a lock of her long bangs out of her face.

“I digress.” H lifted his hand in a short gesture, and she noticed he held a blackberry muffin like the one he chose last he was there.

“Tuppence?” he inquired. Good memory.

“Oh, no. Don’t,” she insisted. “I can hardly make peace with the note you left me last time. It’s the least I can do. Anything here you like, on the house. Just put it here and I’ll wrap it all up.” She tapped the counter and tossed her towel over her shoulder.

He lifted a brow and studied her. “You are sure?”

She nodded, but the intensity in his eyes almost made her voice waver. “Absolutely.”

His eyes searched her face for another second before he cleared his throat. “Well, it would be reprehensible to deny such an offer.”

She didn’t have a response, and consciously steadied her breath in the downtime, as he perused.

“It’s getting quite late,” he mentioned, and she looked up to see him glancing back at her from the wall clock on her left. “Are you often open this time?”

Y/N looked back down to retrieve a ribbon. “I was actually preparing to close when you arrived,” she admitted. “But don’t fret over it, it’s always a pleasure to see y—returning customers.”

When he didn’t move to speak, she continued. “By the way, I never learned your name.”

“Haytham,” he answered after a moment. “A pleasure.”

Haytham. Somehow it was... downright accurate. Everything, down to his set shoulders, his gilded clothes, and his hazy, almost cheeky smile said Haytham. He picked up a small pre-bagged sack of ginger snaps, each no larger than an acorn, as Y/N was drifting through her thoughts.

“Those are addictive,” she warned jokingly. “I’ve taken to eating a dozen at a time.”

The smile that graced his lips made her own mouth curl. “I do believe I’m brave enough.” He set it down on the counter and Y/N inclined her head, ducking to retrieve another ribbon, bright yellow this time.

“That’s all?” she asked, tying the little cloth around the neck of the bag. “You’re welcome to anything, really.”

“In favor of a chance to visit you again, that will be all for today.” His grin turned into a smirk more than anything else, and she hoped she wasn’t blushing like she thought she was.

She drew in a breath to hide her nervousness and glanced out the window. “If that’s it, I should get home. You’re absolutely welcome to come by anytime. If you’re early, you might even catch the bread while it’s warm.”

“Of course. I shall enjoy these, I’m sure.” Haytham gathered his treats in his broad hands and granted her a beautiful smile. She waved him goodbye before she gathered her coat and her keys, heading for the door after it jingled shut behind Haytham. The promise of her hearth, waiting at home to warm her, kicked her feet into stepping into the snowdrift beyond her porch after she locked her front door. The wind bit at her cheeks and her hands, and she shoved her keys in her pocket and tucked her hands under her arms. Her coat helped a little, but she’d have frost clinging to her eyelashes before she got home.

Suddenly, a dark cloth shielded her head and shoulders from the frost, and she flinched into a firm chest.

“So sorry.” Haytham’s voice was close to her, raised in volume against the howling wind. “I would be remiss to allow a woman to freeze on her way home.”

Part of her worried; a man with arms (and skills, presumably) like his could likely kill her in a moment. But the rest of her welcomed the slight shelter his cape provided from the frigid winds. She pointed him to her residence, and could hardly feel her fingers fumble for her keys when they arrived.

“Please come in,” she gestured, and shut the door behind him. “I can’t just leave you in the snow.” She found her matches and shed her snow-drenched coat, shivering in the chill of her empty house. The matchbox grappled with her momentarily, as her cold-stiffened fingers couldn’t grasp the matches to get a solid spark going.

She snorted in frustration as she dropped the match in her hand and knelt to pick it up. As she rose, a calloused hand covered hers. She stiffened as Haytham’s warm hands took the matchbox and the match from her, striking it easily. A small flame flickered to life between them and danced in his eyes as they examined her. After what felt like a year but what couldn’t have been longer than a second, he turned from her and lit the lamps in her entryway, using two more matches in the process.

“A-uh, feel free to hang your coat,” Y/N managed after a moment of staring after him, entranced. “I’ll... get a fire started.”

She busied herself with sweeping the ashes in the fireplace away, hearing her new guest step past her to her bookshelf. “You live alone?”

She chose some kindling she’d split earlier that week and gathered it in the center of the pit, then reached for some wood. Maybe it was a poor idea to be readily honest, but he hadn’t given her any red flags yet, other than that thick cross ring. “Yes,” she answered. “My father left my mother when I was six, she never remarried. I lost Beatrice to a British rifle when my family first came to the colonies. My mother couldn’t cope with the loss, and she passed not a year later.”

She struck a match, and her kindling lit quickly. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding genuine.

“Me too,” she murmured.

In a moment, her wood caught, and her sitting room was brightened by growing flames. She stood, brushing off her hands, and turned to Haytham. “Would you like a cup of tea? I can’t very well let you go out in that weather, not without something warm in you, at the least.”

He inclined his head. “Please.”

She nodded and gestured to the shelved collection before him as she ventured towards the kitchen. “You’re welcome to peruse, if you’d like.”

Haytham’s fingers brushed hers again as she handed him his tea, and her heart skipped another beat.

“It’s black. Sugar?”

He shook his head. “No, thank you, love.”

Haytham remained standing, looking over her books, and Y/N took a seat opposite him with her own cup, content to sit in silence.

His eyes wandered across her shelves, and she watched the fire dance and hiss a song to its audience as they spent a few minutes in a comfortable lull. Y/N spent more time inhaling the warm, sweet steam from her tea than she did drinking it, but her guest hadn’t so much lifted his from his saucer yet.

Suddenly he turned, setting his teacup down on the side table. He chose a book tucked into the corner of the far shelf, half-hidden from the light, as if he hadn’t noticed it before. She was mesmerized by his slender fingers as they lifted the book from its shadowy corner.

Y/N’s heart sank as she recognized it, and downed half of her scalding teacup to hide her discomfort. Haytham ran his fingers along the blood-splattered face cover of the book he held, and when he opened it, he paused.

“What’s this?”

“My sister’s logbook, for her shop.”

He lifted a small sheet of paper from between the first two pages so she could see it, though she could read the lines as well as if they were carved not on the paper but directly on her mind. “And this?”

Her voice quieted. “His name. And his symbol, so I never forget it.”

His eyes met hers with an intensity she hadn’t seen in him yet. “Do you know what it means?”

She didn’t answer him, searching his flickering grey eyes, and said nothing.

This intrigued Haytham, and his head cocked ever so slightly, a thin lock of hair falling over his temple. He looked back down at the sketched symbol, then back up at her. She drew in a breath, shifted her weight and folded her hands over her lap. For a moment she stared into the fire before speaking.

“That man, the redcoat that killed my sister, was one of them. All I know is that they are called Templars and I want nothing to do with them.”

“Why do you have this?”

Y/N hung on her silence for another moment. “Beatrice was even more fiery than me. One of them wished for her hand in marriage, but she was far more concerned with her budding business than the responsibilities of a housewife. She spurned him one too many times, so I am aware. He cornered her in an alley. She didn’t stand a chance.”

Her voice weakened and broke, and a tense, pregnant quiet fell over them. Even the fire took a moment from whispering inside the hearth. Y/N blinked tears from her eyes, just like every other time she re-lived the memories.

“I was young and brash, then,” she continued. “I wanted vengeance, so I looked for someone to help me. When I came to the ... Assassins, they’re called, I was told there was nothing they would do that would not give them away to their enemy.” She took a short breath, staring into her teacup as though Beatrice’s face would show itself in the swirling liquid. “The Assassins idled while my sister was murdered and refused to help me find the Templar responsible. She died because of their fight.”

“Surely keeping this must be painful for you,” Haytham lifted the book in his hands. “Isn’t it a reminder of your sister’s death?”

“That’s why I keep it,” she explained, standing still as a deer in sights, and watching the firelight dance on the dried splatters. “I’m forced to remember her, even as life returned to normal. I keep it so I remember whom I can trust... and who I can’t.”

A short huff of cynical laughter made her look up from the book as she came to stand before her guest, and his eyes had a sad kind of twinkle in them, as if what she said struck two different chords within him. She didn’t have the courage to ask about it, but she didn’t need to, nor could she have even if she had the guts, because he shut the book swiftly and tucked it back into its place.

His eyes bore into hers as he spoke, burning into her skull. “I apologise for having intruded upon your time and your tragedy. Thank you for the tea. Hopefully, I will see you again, under better circumstances.”

Before she could react, Haytham retrieved his coat and hat, and left, into the howling wind and swirling snow. His tea remained untouched on the table by the window. Y/N pinched her nose. There was no telling if she would see Haytham again, especially since she pretty obviously voiced her disdain for his organization. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so open with him. Maybe... it was a good evening for an early bedtime.

#haytham x reader #haytham kenway x reader #haytham kenway #AC Fanfic

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