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angeli-marco-writes · 4 years ago

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Sherlock Holmes - Kiss Me, Mr Detective

A/N - Season 1!Sherlock, the cutie. And friends to lovers. Two of my favourite things. I do not own Sherlock Holmes, the character, the universe, the adaptations or anything: this is a work of fiction set on the BBC adaptation of Sherlock. Did I still write 8.2k words (exactly) for it? Yes. I also don’t own the song or the lyrics used within, and if you fancy it, listen to ‘Kiss Me’ by Ed Sheeran while reading.

Warnings - Bad language. Mentions of murder and drug usage. Mild angst. Smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, oral m receiving, penetration, unprotected sex, so 18+.

Summary - After a fight with John leaves Sherlock feeling particularly down, he calls on the one person who is always there to support him. Only tonight, it’s different. Feelings come to a head, exploration ensues, but is this just a one time thing? That depends on whether she stays the night...

TO SHERLOCK, it’s just another normal day, whereas to John? He’d rather not admit how regularly these awful days roll around. Sure, the case didn’t go as well as it could’ve, and Sherlock admittedly could’ve made much more of an effort to comfort John after the apparent ‘heartbreak’ he endured. He just could not understand it. Why the hell was John so emotionally responsive to a case they’d been on for less than twenty four hours which turned out to be a bust anyway?

“You are absolutely unbelievable!”

“People die every day, John. You’ve killed people, as have I. It isn’t that great a surprise.” Sherlock deadpans, picking up his teacup, raising it to his lips, drawing a long sip from the warm liquid.

“Oh, yeah, of course. The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.” John mocks. “Do you not even care that people are still dead despite the fact you solved the case?”

“They’d be dead either way,” he reiterates, “at least we got to them before they completely decomposed. Will me caring about them stop them from being dead? No, Dr Watson, it will not.”

“Sherlock!”

“John!” He mimics.

John slams his hands down on the desk, shaking the wood and everything resting on it, surely sending the vibrations through the floor and notifying Mrs Hudson of their ‘domestic’ as she so likes to call them. The buffalo even begins to swing. John’s tea is long forgotten, but Sherlock’s is keeping him grounded, calm, as John waggles his fist in Sherlock’s passive, blank face.

“You-” he pauses, gulping down breath. “You are a fucking machine, I can’t even deal with you right now. How dare you be so cold hearted and untroubled by this. You’re a disgrace.”

As if he hasn’t heard that one before, Sherlock scoffs.

Placing his teacup back down with a clink, he stands, the darkness of the night, of the room, closing in on them both. Nights like these really are danger nights, any night John leaves him. That’s what's coming next, but there isn’t a thing he knows to say or do to prevent the inevitable. He’ll simply just text Her instead, she’ll keep him grounded.

“Why? Emotional context? Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow, whether raised at a puppet show, a funeral, or a battle, is your grandest of levellers. The man who would be always superior should be always apathetic.”��

With a huff like a bull, John viciously turns on his heel, blaspheming under his breath, cursing Sherlock out. He reaches for his coat and snatches it off the stand, slamming the door open.

“MACHINE.” John screams before pulling the door shut with a great slam, seething, the coat stand still rocking in his wake.

John’s footsteps thunder down the stairs, but before he’s even gone, Sherlock’s phone is withdrawn, and he’s tapping out a message.

Can you come over? Please? SH

It wouldn’t usually bother him as much. The case didn’t phase him, at all, but John’s opinion did. It always does. But today was a particularly long day of being brutish and rude, cold and distant, his usual and true self, but John’s more and more impatient with him now.

Being called a ‘machine’ is, again, nothing unusual, but this time it stings a little more than usual, especially after his recent arrest, and a fallout with Molly. He only has one person left, right now, who doesn’t hate him. His longest friend, the one he keeps away from it all so as to not tarnish her life with his misdeeds; Y/N, the one he can always rely on.

He knows she’s arrived by the sound of his window crashing open. Crawling up the bricks, skimming the drainpipe, latching onto the ivy; it’s her usual manner of entry. She never uses the door.

Putting his cups and saucers into the sink, he makes his way through the house, opening his bedroom door to find her already sitting there on the bed, her coat hung up on the hook, her work clothes clinging to her body.

“Hey there Mr Detective, you okay?” she asks as jovially as she can muster.

The way he ambles across the room, his dressing gown floating behind him, and slumps down onto the bed, instantly tells her he’s not okay at all. She can’t help but to look upon him sympathetically, edging a smidge closer to him, until he’s prompted enough to wrap his arms around her torso, finding his rightful place tangled around her. She knows him well enough - his past, and his current life - to realise she’s the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do this with, and that brings her a certain swelling pride in her bosom, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock as he feels her skin heat up against his cheek.

It doesn’t take long, either, for his head to follow suit, burying into her chest. He’s always, always had a thing for her boobs, ever since they were in uni together.

That’s something so special about the two of them, he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know he’s not okay the way he does with everyone else. And naturally, he can read everything about her in a split second.

“I’m here, bud.”

Above all else, he just needs to know someone is there for him in moments like these. The world is cruel to him, and Y/N wishes more than anything that it wasn’t. Upon instinct, her hands stray, one to his back, pressing against the silk of his dressing gown, the other cradling his long neck, fingers knotting in the dark curls there.

She isn’t sure how long she stays there, simply holding him, feeling every twitch of his muscles, every breath of his against her skin, but she likes it. Of course she does, every time she likes it. Sherlock brings her an inordinate amount of comfort at the best of times, today is no exception, especially with what the day has held. Even when she’s the one comforting him, he doesn’t realise how much he helps her too.

His flat is so familiar, his bed as comfortable as her own. She knows his sock index, she’s studied his periodic table over his shoulder more times than she’d care to admit, and she even has her own toothbrush in the bathroom in case she has to pop over for an emergency freshen up. Sherlock has, and always will be, her first port of call, and that she remembers as she shifts further onto the quilted bedspread, her phone on his oak bedside locker.

His head begins to stir against her chest, his curls tickling her collarbones, small hums escaping his lips as he pushes himself up, his elegant yet trembling hands still splayed on her waist.

“I could feel your heart beating weirdly, what’s wrong?” he asks, quirking his eyebrows.

“Just the usual.” she vaguely replies.

Sherlock isn’t having it, though, and scans her a little more. “You’re still in your work clothes.”

“Great deduction. I was hoping you’d go a little deeper, though.”

“You hate wearing work clothes longer than necessary, which means you had plans straight after work, considering you finished… five hours ago? That’s your usual time for today. Counting overtime, forty five minutes, walk to your car, another ten, but your umbrella wasn’t working, round that up to an hour, leaving at 6. You arrived home, no, not home, at your boyfriend’s house for dinner. However, you’re not comfortable enough with one another yet for you to use his shower, or perhaps you are, but you elected not to, and stay in damp clothes that only had seventeen minutes to dry with the heater on in your car for the journey there. You ate dinner, Mexican, had a glass and a half of five percent wine, realised you couldn’t drive, but you didn’t particularly want to stay. Nonetheless you sat and watched the telly with him for hours, football, I can see the dreariness in your eyes. I know how much you hate it, and frankly, same. You stayed for almost all of the match, seeing as you’re now sober, but something else happened.” She lulls her head to the side, prompting him, her smile not meeting her eyes. “As soon as the match ended, he tried to make a move on you, he pressed his mouth to yours, he tried to push his hand up your skirt;” his throat bobs with a vicious gulp; despising the thought of anyone else laying a finger on her, “you swatted him away, rightfully so.”

He pauses a minute, his harsh tone of voice and his sharp face softening. He can see the vulnerability in her eyes, her walls about to crumble. This woman he appreciates so much. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Smiling melancholically up at him, she brings her hand back to his hair, her fingers carding through the soft curls. His face buries back into her chest just as her voice offers a broken whisper, “I broke it off. I was the one who couldn’t commit this time.”

And as she lays her head on top of his, her breathing more shallow, resounding in her chest, he dwells over those very words. The way she said them, not to mention the words themselves, hold a myriad of meaning. What could she possibly-

Oh.

The subtext, yes, impeccable. She’s always had a way with implications and subtext, always knowing that the likelihood of him actually picking up on it is little to none. But now, now he’s become trained to her, her way of life, her way of thinking, her way of speaking. This is too good an opportunity to miss. If she means what he thinks she means, ever hopeful, then this is completely unfamiliar territory.

Gathering all of his courage in one deep breath, he begins to pepper kisses on her skin. The faintest brush of his lips on the tops of her breasts, all that’s available to him with her shirt the way it is. He feels her heart flutter, her breathing stutter, but despite the chemical flush of her chest, he still isn’t quite sure she likes it. Not until he feels her grip on his hair increase, and he glances up to see her head thrown back. Her spine delicately arches against his hand, thrusting her chest further into his face.

His nimble fingers reach for her buttons, undoing the top two, giving him space enough to find the valley between her breasts. Lathering kisses there, licking the swells of her boobs, his tongue pulsates with the increased thrumming of her heart. The sensation is new, so unbridled, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the stirring in his loins right about now. That unknowing is only further amplified by the sound that rips from her chest when he involuntarily bites down on the supple flesh. It couldn’t be… a moan?

Sure, he understands the chemistry of it, the reactions that occur in the synapses of the brain, the pheromones and hormones released when one is aroused, but this is all new to him. And, from his embarrassingly basic level of theory, surely that doesn’t start until some more stimulation on other parts of the body commence? Nipples, perhaps something lower down… then again, what does Sherlock know?

Of course it’s an intimate moment, the closest he’s been to a woman before, and maybe that’s why he freezes, stops, and she tugs his head up by his hair, her gentle, pleasured smile with her lips softly parted deepening the look of bewilderment painted onto his face. Her eyes are twinkling, alight with an excitement he hasn’t seen for far too long.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

He shrugs his shoulders with a sudden force, his dressing gown falling off a little. “I don’t know. But now I feel like I read your pining words all wrong.”

She gasps, a wheezing sound, sucking the air from the room. She smacks his arm gently, muffled by his button-down and dressing gown. “I wasn’t pining! I was saying.”

“Hmm, same difference.”

Everyone must acquiesce when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. “But no, you didn’t read them wrong at all, but I know you don’t see me that way, you don’t feel things that way.”

He pauses, his beautiful plump lips pursed, fidgeting on the bed. Brushing her hair off her face reveals the pain she expressed. However, her eyes glued on his, sadness is betrayed in every line of his young, clean-shaven face. His entire bone structure is taking a nosedive.

“For you, I’ve been feeling everything from hate to love to lust, and I guess that’s how I know I want to hold you close.”

“Sherlock...” she whispers, her singular word an inflection of surprise.

Never tearing his eyes from her, his hand comes up to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the slightly blushing skin, searching her face, with his big blue eyes, for a shred of reluctance. But, all he sees is her, so he elects to do what his heart is yelling at him to do for once, and kisses her breathless. His full lips holding hers, his one hand on her face, the other still wrapped around her back. Hers fly around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.

It doesn’t take long, their movements steadily heating, for their previously slow, intimate kiss to grow into something more, Y/N pulling herself up from the bed and making herself comfortable on Sherlock’s lap. His breath hitches in his throat, a cute little hiccupping sound escaping his lips in between embraces.

As much as he loves just this, soft caressing and gentle petting, he just knows she wants more. He does too, that much is evident from the length prodding at Y/N’s inner thigh as she moves gently on his lap. She won’t make a move, though, he’s too inexperienced, and she’s too much of a sweetheart to corrupt him, so she thinks. Ever since he first saw her, she’s been corrupting him slowly. He didn’t realise at first, but over the years, he began to understand, and now he’s in too deep.

For Y/N? It’s always been him. Every breakup she’s had, she’ll come to Sherlock’s flat, full well knowing the real reason she broke up with them, because she couldn’t commit, because she was too caught up on him.

Skimming his hands beneath her shirt, he savours the press of his hands on her bare skin, warmth seeping from her body into his, his fingers dancing along her spine. Electricity shocks her in bursts, unlike anything else, from his touch alone.

“May I take your shirt off?” he asks.

“Fuck, yes.” she groans. “May I do yours?”

“Be my guest.”

In a tangle of limbs, a few buttons pop off, and eventually, two shirts make it out the other side, tossed from the bed and into the laundry pile. Aka Sherlock’s floor. He’s like that: sock indexes, yet he won’t get a hamper. A walking contrast.

His thumbs press beneath the band of her bra, savouring the pressure of the flesh that falls into his hands, but that’s as far as he gets.

“Never undone a bra before?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I know the theory. Just… you always wear peculiar ones.”

“I wear relatively normal bras, and this one is certainly bog standard. Had I known you’d be undressing me Mr Detective, I’d have worn something nicer.”

“Just do it for me.” He requests, chuckling.

She unfastens her bra, and allows her breasts to spill from the cups, into Sherlock’s awaiting hands. The gasp that erupts from him sends Y/N’s brain into overdrive. He’s cupped her chest through her shirt before, buried his nose into her cleavage countless times, but never before have they had such skin on skin contact. Her lips press to his neck, shifting her closer to him. Sucking on his pressure point, she receives a similar gasp in response, only this one is more guttural, more a sound of pleasure than surprise. He’s wilting from a single kiss to his neck.

“Has no one ever given you a hickey?” She husks in his ear, her voice alone sending tremors down his spine.

“N- fuck, no.”

“I’ll make it worth it. All of this.”

“I know you will.”

She fuses her lips onto his again, savouring the faint hesitations as he grapples with his breath, eager to get some control on his mind with all that’s happening. Never did she ever think Sherlock would be here beneath her, his rough fingertips brushing over her peaked buds, and his palms dancing over her waist. Never did she think she’d hear him whisper his next words, either, not in a million years.

“More.” he pleads. “Can we do… more? Whatever that entails?”

“That depends what you want to do.”

“Get me out of these damn trousers. They're rather uncomfortable.”

She snorts lightly, a piggy like sound, the one they bonded over all those years ago. “I can feel why.”

“I imagine you want out of your work trousers, too.”

“God, yes; they’re ghastly.”

“I don’t think so.” he hums. “You look nice.”

Her cheeks begin to burn, blood rushing to colour them, betraying her true feelings, but as he tweaks her nose playfully, the little snort escapes again.

They were in the dining hall, second week of university, almost ten years ago, and Y/N was sitting with her friends, downing enough coffee to sink a ship, eating her hangover away, when her friends decided to make her laugh with tales of last night's drunken events. Unbeknownst to her, one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century was sitting just a few seats down on the half-empty bench, watching her perceptively in his periphery. That’s when he first heard the sound. The cutest thing, and it startled him into action, beginning his deductions almost instantly. Admittedly, her student ID on the table aided him a little.

He shocked her from her haze, too, as soon as he spoke her name.

“Y/N, eighteen, jurisprudence first year, freshers week over with. You left a boyfriend back home, but you’re more sad about leaving your dog, as I would be. You don’t particularly care about law but know it’s a good undergraduate to receive anyway. Dyed hair, extrovert, killer hangover, and apparently there’s a little piggy living inside your nose. Sherlock Holmes, would you like some aspirin?”

“That’s weird; what are you, some kind of detective?” She asked, sans malice, a playful bounce to her words.

“Chemistry, going for a masters. But I do like the mystery, yes.”

“So you’re… bright. Nice to meet you, Sherlock, and it seems you know almost everything you need to know about me. But yes, I will take that aspirin, if you don’t mind. How was your weekend?”

He smiled at her, the first true smile he’d given in a long time. “It was nice, thank you.”

And thus a friendship was born, all because he heard her little piggy snort.

Her slender fingers work wonders with the fastener and zip of his suit trousers, and even manage hers too, all within the space of a few seconds, but Sherlock is reluctant to let her go, even just to get her trousers off.

“I need to sit up, just for a minute.”

“No.” Sherlock commands, insistent. “We can make this work.”

“Sure we can, but it won’t be very comfortable. Come on.”

She’s barely peeled away from him and wrestled hers off before he’s drawing her back in for a kiss, his trousers settled just above his knees.

“Sherlock,” she protests, mumbling against his lips, her hands on his heavenly, broad, muscular shoulders. “Sher!”

Her squeal at his sudden tug on her panties disappears, captured by his eager mouth. And in fact, her panties seem to disappear along with it, thanks to Sherlock’s swift movements and nimble hands. Maybe he’s had some experience to be so good at this…

“You sure you wanna go this far?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been. I need you.”

He takes a deep inhale, dropping his forehead against hers, his breathing coming out in bursts as he tries to get a grasp on the situation. “Kiss me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly getting to work on the waistband of his boxers as his tongue lavishes her own. His hips rise briefly, just long enough for her to tug the elasticated material from around him, slipping past her, and then he kicks it into their growing pile of clothes. His length falls into her awaiting palm, and-

“Wow.” She exhales in amazement. “If I’d known you were packing this much, I’d have jumped you long ago.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Absolutely not, until tonight I thought you’d just laugh at me.”

He pecks her lips affectionately, “Never. You’re bloody beautiful, I’ll let you do anything to me.”

“Hmm, anything, you say?”

Stifling a chuckle against her neck, he recommences, “Maybe not anything.”

Yeah, that's definitely the right call. Still, she finds herself all but clawing at him, her breath hovering teasingly just over his lips, their noses touching, her hands clamped to his cheeks, feeling the building heat there. She must be making such a mess of his bed right about now, but for one night? It can’t matter.

This is a one time thing, it has to be. Sherlock just needs to release some tension, she just so happens to be there. Still, she can’t prevent the little glimmer of hope shining through at the possibility of this being a more-than-one-time thing. The moral compunctions of their friendship after this don’t matter anymore, because he’s leaving a fire in his wake, his delicious fingertips digging bruisingly into her bum before trailing lightly up her spine, skimming her shoulder, brushing her neck - arched for him to reach where he wants, able to mark her as his own - and finally slipping over her lips, taken obediently by her awaiting mouth. Christ, if there’s one thing she hopes for tonight, it’s that his actions never relent.

Whether it’s what he intends to happen or not, his fingers in her mouth give her an idea, one she prays he goes along with at least a little, so she pulls away. The dirty, telling smile on her face hints at what she’s about to do, lending Sherlock to shift a little more up the bed, his eyes following her every move. Hands splayed on his thighs, her small fingers gripping onto the fine hairs there, she begins to take his tip into her mouth, never once breaking eye contact with him. Yeah, this is what’ll drive him insane.

Inch by inch, she takes him into the welcoming heat of her mouth, pulling off slowly, only to go down again. She adds her tongue into the mix at some point, too, and her hand, on what she can’t reach, tickling his balls, but further than that, his mind is blank. Hot white, washed with pleasure. The sounds he emits are other worldly, so much that he has to muffle himself with his own hand; what would Mrs Hudson say? He’s always had such control over his mind and body, but this… he’s slowly losing all semblance of control, and he’s not even mad about it. What he does know is that there’s a building heat in his abdomen, a coil about to spring, and his cock is beginning to twitch. If she keeps going this incredible way, her teeth grazing him ever so gently, adding another new sensation into the mix, he’s inexorably going to finish before he can help it.

“As much as I adore your torturous ministrations, I think I need to be inside you…” He husks, his voice deep.

A smirk gracing her lips, she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, mischief glinting in her pretty little mesmerising eyes for a second, before she hollows her cheeks and takes him wholly, allowing his length to slip partially down her throat. Her moan reverberates around him, and Sherlock begins to thrash above her, scrunching the duvet in his hands, not caring if it creases. If there’s one thing Sherlock hates, it’s creases. And being called a machine by his best friend. Right now, though, it seems as though every misstep in his day has led him here, into the welcoming heat of Y/N’s mouth, taking him so eagerly, her tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of his dick, a string of saliva remaining as she pulls away.

“I think you’ve got a couple of rounds in you, Mr Detective. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” He stammers, his head tossed back in pure ecstasy a moment later as she begins to work on the head with kitten licks. “But… can I s- fuck me, say something?”

“I plan on it.” she chuckles, “anything.”

She goes back to peppering kisses all over his member, tip to base, brushing his balls, working her way back up.

“Touch yourself f- for me.”

“What? Why?”

Her tone is more inquisitive than anything else, but upon that playfully rueful look in his lust-darkened baby blue eyes, she knows he’s going to get her back for this little display, and he’s just worked out how. It works both ways, she can prepare herself for what’s to come next while pleasuring him. And he gets to watch. It’s a win-win for him. Maybe he likes this sex thing a little more than he’s letting on.

“Are you sure you want me to? I’ll just make a mess on your sheets, Sher.”

She swallows him again, bobbing her head up and down on his length a few times while he grapples with literal reality. He’s teetering on the edge. One more move, and he’s a goner. His head is already against the wall, lolled there.

“I don’t care about the sheets, darling, I need you ready for me.”

She gulps, nods, and reaches one hand around her, skimming over her stomach, until it nestles between her thighs. She rubs her thumb over his tip, collecting the pre-come beading there, while she rubs over her throbbing pearl, pressing softly. Then, as she inches down on his cock, taking him in her mouth, she also collects the slick from between her thighs, and uses it as a lube to push a finger inside herself. Of all the times she’s touched herself, she never imagined, even in her wild Sherlock fantasies, that she’d be doing it with his dick down her throat. With every bob of her head, she scissors herself more, sinking back onto her fingers.

“I think I’m-” Sherlock begins to say, his words cut off by an utterly obscene moan splitting the air.

She hastily abandons her one post, and wraps both of her hands around his girth, working on what she can’t fit into her mouth with her increased speed, licking and suckling his head as he begins to fall apart, coming, with a scream, down her throat, his one hand clamped over his mouth, biting down harshly to silence his cries; the other buried in her hair.

His whole body falls lax, completely spent, meanwhile, Y/N savours every drop she’s been able to draw from him. He softens in her mouth, allowing her change to slip away from him, grasping a tissue from the bedside to wipe away any excess. That’s certainly something she never thought would happen…

He’s calm, though, smiling lazily through hooded eyes, his breathing regulated once more, making beckoning motions to her with his big hands. He’s placated, though, and sliding her hands into his, she’s allowed time enough to get into place, smiling softly at him, raking her fingers over his scalp in a comforting way. Even as she sits herself on his lap, she can feel him hardening beneath her ass, slowly but surely. She was right about him, he’s definitely got another round in him.

“Do you have a condom?” he asks.

“No, sweetheart, they’re in my other bag. I didn’t plan on getting any for a while… do you?”

“Not in here, that I’m aware of. John may have stashed some in my less favoured dressing gowns or socks, and he definitely has some upstairs, but I’m unawares.”

“I’m gonna sound crazy here, but do we need one?” She says hesitantly. His eyes widen, he cocks his head to the side. “I was tested after my last partner, I’m clean, and on birth control. You’re a virgin. There’s no point, is there?”

“You have a considerably good point.”

With that, energy rejuvenated a little, he wraps an arm around her body, flipping them over so he’s on top, shadowing her, looming over her, gazing down at every inch of her naked beauty.

“Take your time. I’ll be your safety.”

“I know.” he whispers, a tearful smile making its way onto her face. “Thank you.”

He needn’t say more, because she already knows why she’s being thanked. For her kindness, for making him so comfortable, for accepting the fact he’s still a virgin in his late twenties and, if he’s being honest, has no damn clue what the practicality and reality of sex is. Sure, he’s seen porn. He’s also looked at John’s laptop. But that doesn’t prepare one for when the moment comes. It’s like all of that goes out the window, and he simply remembers the first time he opened a biology textbook at secondary school, pictures of flushed organs staring back at him, desperately waiting to be relieved. That’s what his own coock is like right now, already hard again, virtually pulsating with hunger in his palm. He strokes himself a couple of times, glancing down at Y/N’s wide eyes.

“Are you okay? Can I…”

“Yes, Sherlock,” she chuckles, “whenever you’re ready.”

Now, he thinks. He rubs two digits through her folds, gathering her wetness, enamoured with the way it glistens on his fingertips. Tentatively, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around them to get a taste. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he moans. She’s better than any cup of tea he’s ever had.

His cock slaps against his lower stomach pleadingly, so he grasps it in his hand, and begins to enter her, pushing gently, feeling every flutter of her walls. Her arms fly out, hands grasping his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake at the delicious stretch. It’s nothing like they’ve ever felt before.

“Can I move?” He asks, balls deep inside her, their pelvises flush against one another.

“Please.” She all but begs.

Before doing anything else, Sherlock hooks one strong arm around her body, malleable in his hands, and holds her chest against his. Her breasts push into his skin, her nipples gaining friction from the dusting of hair there. Her one hand cups his slender neck, the other, his sharp cheek. Their eyes meet in a fierce gaze of burning intensity, and he begins to move. Slow, calculated, sharp thrusts punctuate her core. With every heavenly stroke, he can feel the ridges in her velvet walls, squeezing around him unwittingly.

“Jesus,” she cries, her clutch increasing.

“Hmm, not quite.”

The smirk in his words is quite literally audible. He’s so cocky, so full of himself, and fuck if she can’t feel another gush of arousal coursing through her, drenching his cock. How does he manage to be so attractive when he’s so dishevelled?

“Is that good?” He asks, unsure.

“So good.”

She brings her legs up, skimming the clenched backs of his thighs, until they wrap around him, drawing his hips into her at a new and improved angle. Heels digging into the base of his spine, he begins to move with a new purpose, his thrusts more passionate as his breath is drained from him by her kisses, his eyes alight with a new flame.

“Oh my God, Sherlock.” She pants, pulling him in for a kiss he greedily returns.

He drives his hips deeper, squeezing his fingertips into her supple waist bruisingly. It’ll be a mark that she belonged to him once, even just for one night. That’s when he reaches that special spongy spot that makes her entire body buckle. She all but screams, pressing into him wholly.

The coil is building, ready to break. He seems to be nearing the edge, too, his member twitching inside her when he buries himself particularly deep. She’s oh so fucking close… She licks into his mouth filthily, desperately clashing her teeth with his, eager for his kisses to tide her over. Silence her. Shifting his supporting hand, he trails one dextrous finger around to circle her clit, adding the faintest pressure for a moment. She mewls as he groans into her hot skin, clawing at him, entirely at his whim. Now he knows where to press, he settled his grip back around her, and draws her in close. This time around, he bends his knees a little more to measure his movements more carefully, ensuring that he ruts up and brushes her sensitive bud with his pelvis, helped by the extra friction of his neatly trimmed pubic hair on every thrust within her, his tip just scraping her g-spot.

“I- Sherlock, please tell me you’re- oh sweet mercy- close.”

He grunts softly in her ear. “So close.”

Their lips meet tenderly, passionately, in what they acknowledge to be a final kiss, moans mixing between them, savoured by the other.

His thighs clench, her legs tighten around his waist, and finally, her sweet walls flutter, squeezing him as she reaches her climax, his not following long after, spilling inside her, painting her soft walls white, marking her.

“Y/N,” he cries in ecstasy as his orgasm reaches him. “Sher…” she repeats, her saving grace as pleasure washes over her entirely.

Their whole bodies wind up pressed together, bound together as one, skin on skin completely, becoming one another.

He lets her down gently, unravelling his grip, unsurprised when their sweaty skin sticks together. Her long legs unfurl, splaying in a butterfly. Sherlock tumbles ungracefully away, somehow landing with a certain gangly elegance on the space of mattress beside her, his arm instinctively flying over to place on her stomach, the skin hot and flushed red. Her chest moves hastily up and down with the thrumming of her heart, while his barely shifts despite his shallow breaths, his white skin glistening in the moonlight.

“Are you okay?” He huffs, turning on his side. “You look pretty fucked out.”

His baby blue eyes train instantly on her nipples, hard in the open air. This is the first notifier, the first inkling she has to feel self conscious, so she draws the sheet up around her as best as she can. Sherlock’s not having any of it, taking a stronghold on her arms, and pulling her until she’s lying on him, naught to separate them.

“I’ve never been this close to anyone physically and y'know.” He hums tiredly. She’s never heard him sound tired before…

She smiles up at him as best she can, “Are you glad?”

He begins to hold her ever closer, squeezing her tighter, feeling every ridge of her body.

“I’m so glad that you were my first, in so many ways.”

Praise from Sherlock is a rarity, and she’ll take it as and when she can, savouring every moment, this time by holding him like a koala, her grip not wavering.

“I’m glad too, Mr Detective.”

He brushes a kiss to her cheek, “As much as I like this, we need to get you cleaned up.”

A supporting arm beneath her bum, he picks her up, and unsteadily ambles into the bathroom.

“I don’t know much about this, but I know you should probably use the toilet, should you want to avoid a UTI, so if you’d like me to leave…”

He sets her down on the loo seat, cupping his hands over his nether regions, and he hurries to grasp for things, until she puts her hand on his arm, squeezing in a conciliatory manner.

“You do remember the camping trip, don’t you? You really don’t have to leave just because I have to pee, you never did before. In fact, you frequently annoyed me with it if you had a particular point to make, steadfastly refusing to leave the bathroom after following me in there when I went to pee. Why does this change anything?”

He shrugs, dropping whatever was in his arms, “It just doesn’t feel the same now, though.”

“Ooo, and now Mr Detective feels things.” She jokes, poking at his ribs.

He recoils, chuckling with her, “Only for you.”

As Y/N washes her hand, Sherlock begins to wrangle with a floorboard, clattering about until he eventually pulls out a small lock box, from which he withdraws a packet of brand new marks-and-spencer's ladies briefs.

“Why the fuck do you have these? Anything you wanna tell me?” she asks, eyes wide.

“John’s idea. He has plenty of girls over here who frequently stay the night, simply a precautionary error.” He takes a beat, gargling with some mouthwash, “they’re clean, new, I just don’t like the idea of you in dirty underwear, and I know how reluctant you are to go without them whenever you’re not in your own bed. I stayed with you enough nights in university to know that.”

Those nights were awfully painful. She’d take the floor, he’d take the bed, and every time she’d have to wash the sheets. He’d sweat and vomit, shake and cry, plead for the pain to be over. He wouldn’t go to hospital, he wouldn’t call his brother, he’d just turn up on her doorstep, high as a kite, almost in tears, knowing he’d gone a little too far. And each time, it was a little farther.

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

She takes them from him, and begins to shimmy them up her legs, only prevented by Sherlock moving to grab a handful of her arse.

“Hmm, I like this. Fancy another round?” He smirks.

“I’m too tired, babe. Give me a bit.”

He can see the lazy smile on her face, the tiredness in her pretty eyes, so he wets a flannel, and begins to clean her up with gentle movements between tender kisses.

“How do you know how to do all of this?” She asks, inquisitive more than anything.

“Instinct, I suppose. I never read or learned about it, seeing as I never thought it would happen.”

She snaps the waistband before moving her hands to his waist, leaning up onto her toes to reach him, kissing her softly.

“Look at you now.”

After brushing their teeth in an amicable silence, their pinky fingers overlapping on the porcelain of the sink, he aids her back to the bedroom, settling her on the bed. She has things here: deodorant, toothbrush, moisturiser, and yet somehow she doesn’t have underwear, even after all these years. Perhaps that's one too many things to explain…

With superfluous extravagance, he throws her his shirt, offering her a wry wink. She finds a blush clawing its way onto her cheeks, dumbfounded. It smells like him, just like a forest glade if it was rained on by tea and cigarettes. Maybe he’ll let her keep it as a memory.

In such a short amount of time, she’s learnt that he has a very sensitive neck. Very. A single kiss there has him biting back a moan. A low one at that, considering his deep voice also drops almost an octave when he’s aroused. His nipples are almost as sensitive as his neck, and he rather likes it when she tugs on them unwittingly.

His first orgasm comes quickly, but his refractory period is astonishing, and it takes longer to achieve a second high, long enough to make her come more than once, she assumes, though her first orgasm was mind blowing enough for two. Perhaps that’s just because it’s his first time, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

What’s the point in learning all of this if, once he comes around from his post-orgasmic haze, he’ll pretend like it never happened, in typical Sherlock style?

The shirt, though a small gesture, means a lot, and her vision begins to cloud as she looks down at the black cotton.

“You mean you want me to stay?” She croaks.

Sherlock turns to her from his set of drawers, his face full of apparent obviousness, brows furrowed in that cute bewildered way.

“Of course I want you to stay.” He states, like it’s the plainest thing in the world, like it’s stupid for her to even ask. But she’s silent, and when she says nothing in response, he launches into a long winded explanation: don’t show sentiment. “I- I just mean, i-it’s midnight, I’m not having you out in London alone. You stay with me. Only if you want to as well...”

She nods eagerly, “Yes. Yeah, course I want to stay.”

He all but leaps access the room, jumping onto the bed, before planting a proper smooch on her lips, grinning down at her. He slips into his usual side of the bed, and she takes hers, rolling to look at him.

“Don’t get cold.” He warns, tucking the duvet up around her shoulders. She giggles like a child, that small snort sounding again, prompting Sherlock to press his thumb to her nose like a button. “How are you… feeling?”

“I’m fine bub, really. That bloke doesn’t matter to me at all. Bit of a scumbag if I’m honest. You’re the one I’m with, the one I wanna talk about. How are you feeling? Must’ve been a pretty big blow up with John for you to call me and be so... teary.”

He sighs, crestfallen, “He called me a machine.”

Her gasp pierces the air, her hand flying to his hair, stroking in consolation, cooing senseless reassurances to him. She’s done this innumerable times, but now it feels different, like there’s no barrier.

“He’s done it so many times that it needn’t bother me anymore, but the way he looked at me, like I was this abhorrent monster, especially after the day and the disappointing case we had, it got to me. I hate having feelings.”

“You don’t have to hide them with me, though.”

He hums gently, burying into her chest. “I know. That’s why I treasure you so dearly.”

“That means you also have to trust me, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.” His chest heaves, shifting her whole body. That’s his way of giving in. “Please just talk to John. You know that whenever he leaves, he’ll come back, and try to pretend it never happened. He needs to know you’re human and that he upset you, but also that the case upset you as well. No one’s superhuman, and once you let John in on the fact that you’re not a machine, things between you will be so much easier, because you might agree for once.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He grumbles.

He pulls her into his warmth, hooking her leg around his as he snakes his arms around her back, breathing deeply from the crook of her shoulder. She begins to pepper kisses on his salty skin, savouring the taste with every small swipe of her tongue.

“Your heart’s against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck,” he breaks off with a faint whimper when she sucks a little harder, “I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.”

“Of course they do,” she whispers brokenly, hoarsely, “they’ve always known you.” She swallows thickly, “Does that mean it’s a feeling you’ll forget?”

“No, I don’t think I ever can.”

The silent words that pass between them both are so special, too special to be spoken aloud. ‘Think I’m in love now.’

“Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” He begs.

And really, who is Y/N to deny him? They just stay that way a little while, revelling in their lazy kisses, until she begins to fall asleep. It isn’t the first time she’s fallen asleep in his bed, not by any means, but it’s the first time she’s fallen asleep in his arms. She isn’t mad about it.

“Settle down with me, cover me up, cuddle me in. You were made to keep my body warm.” She smiles into her words, and embeds herself into him, entirely covered by the duvet, spattered in his kisses, safe in his arms. Sherlock feels safe with her legs around him, her fingers in his curls, holding himself against her. Amicable silence is how they drift off, Peaceful.

John re-enters 221B at a respectable hour. He got a fair amount of sleep on Greg’s sofa, having no girlfriend in the picture right now, but not enough to deal with Sherlock just yet. Not before his coffee. He expects to see Sherlock sitting in the exact same spot as when he left, perhaps just with a refill of tea, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed yet wide awake. Instead, he arrives at a seemingly empty, considerably clean flat, with no Sherlock in sight. Perhaps the unsleeping man must actually be asleep, he thinks, so he quietens down, and toes off his shoes before wandering farther into the flat. Even if the man does piss him off extraordinary amounts, perhaps he should just check he’s okay…

He gives the bedroom door a quiet rap, listening in momentarily before pushing it open. Frankly, he’d rather have found Sherlock with a cigarette in hand and the whole flat torn to shreds for the level of surprise he gets upon reaching the bed. His first idea is to scream bloody murder, but that might annoy Mrs Hudson, and upon stepping closer, even in the sliver of daylight through the curtains, he sees the duvet riding down a little. The last thing in the world he ever thought he’d see: Sherlock in naught but boxers pressed against a half naked woman, his palm splayed on her bare thigh. Sherlock? Spooning? It seems so, his entire body pressed to this woman. John feels himself go rigid, his feet glued to the floor, his gaze unmoving from shock.

It takes his phone to buzz in his pocket to get him moving, and when he does, all he tries to do is balance precariously on his tip toes in a wry attempt to get a birds-eye view of the whole thing. He’s not disappointed, or disturbed, once he does, though, his army agility proving useful. Sherlock’s hand is holding her, fingers entwined, just next to her chest. He wonders how comfortable it is, but if they’re staying this way, it can’t be too bad. Maybe all Sherlock needed to loosen up was a good shag.

She’s wearing his shirt, too; Sherlock’s black dress shirt from the previous day. And Sherlock? He never seeps in anything less than a full set of pyjamas, he’s weird like that .

This girl begins to stir, her lips parting gently, small hums escaping. Next, her eyelids flutter, and her hair shifts on the pillow. He didn’t make any noise, did he? John was specifically careful not to, just in case. He doesn’t fancy Sherlock’s wrath just yet.

One eye opens, and she whispers, almost incoherently, “Hi John.”

How she knows his name and who he is, he’s not at all sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this face in his life. The hair is familiar, and maybe, if she were more awake, he’d recognise her smile, but he’s never seen a woman in Sherlock’s company beside Molly Hooper. Speaking of…

Before he can even say anything, though, before he can ask who she is or if she wants tea or if she date-raped his roommate, she’s mumbling, and detaching her hand from Sherlock’s, rolling over. Dumbfounded, John just stands there and watches her cuddle into Sherlock’s chest, her arms wrapping around his torso like second nature. Even in his sleep, not consciously thinking about his actions, he grips her back - one hand resting just above her bum, and buries his nose into her neck.

John can’t help but smile to himself. Maybe their fight was for the best if Sherlock now has a girlfriend, someone he turned to for solace. So, he grasps for the top of the duvet and pulls it up over both of their figures, reaching their shoulders, and leaves, staring wistfully for a brief moment at the seemingly happy couple.

The weight of the duvet of what startles Sherlock, though, stirring him a little, inviting him to him against Y/N’s skin, smiling with eyes barely open. This is really nice, he thinks to himself, not waking up alone.

She smiles back blearily, and in her morning voice, whispers to him, “Kiss me Mr Detective.”

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ilikekidsshows · 4 years ago

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Hi! I loved the Adrinette analysis you made...do you think you could make a similar one for Ladybug and Chat Noir over seasons 1 to 3?

I knew I was leaving myself open for this ask, and I kinda dreaded it, because 80% of Ladynoir screen time is dedicated to defeating an Akuma, meaning the characters have something else to focus on rather than progressing their relationship, and most the relationship stuff is just Marinette being really stubborn and refusing to properly look at her partner. In other words, there's significantly more screen time, but also proportionally less stuff going on in Ladynoir than in Adrinette because the characters are superheroes on the job and one party is actively resisting any development happening. It's also a very different kind of arc and relationship to Adrinette where the goal is just the two of them getting closer and more comfortable with each other. Ladynoir has that as well as all the trust issues and superhero team dynamics. Basically, this post is definitive proof that Miraculous has had plot development before season four, and it has had a lot of it. I got almost dizzy with it while compiling this.

Once again, I’m trying to go in a somewhat chronological order to properly track the relationship.

In 'Origins', we only get one-sided Ladynoir stuff. Marinette is new on the job and completely focused on solving the Akuma problem and nothing else. Meanwhile, Adrien actually takes note of his partner. He sees her flounder but ultimately put together a clever plan. He sees her lose faith but ultimately pick herself up and deliver a really badass speech at Hawk Moth. It's really no wonder he fell in love. The number one thing he learned about Ladybug is that she can fail and the second thing was that she could pick herself up again and grab the win anyway. I've brought up earlier in the Top Adrinette Scene discussion that Adrien is very scared of failing, because his father does not forgive failure, so Ladybug being someone who can turn a failure into a win understandably makes his heart go pitter-patter.

Meanwhile, Marinette barely noticed her partner. As I said, she was fully focused on solving the problem, but she was also getting distracted by her own insecurities. Marinette's first experience with Cat Noir was that he was kinda smooth and seemed to be much more confident than Marinette. Her second experience was that he tended to leap before he looked, but was perfectly willing to listen to her say-so. We have a very brief attempt at flirtation from Cat Noir, that Ladybug barely seems to even notice.

In 'Bubbler', Cat Noir actually gets to flirt with his Lady. He's clearly intent on getting her to notice what he's getting at, but Ladybug seems mostly exasperated with him. At this point their partnership is new and Marinette is most likely thinking back to their first case, when Cat Noir was so patient and supportive and not this...much. She still doesn't tell him to quit it, though, meaning she’s trying to accept him being a lot.

'Stormy Weather' has Cat Noir continuing in his attempts to get Ladybug to notice him and this time she responds playfully when they're not right in the middle of a tense situation. She's getting used to this being Cat's way of interacting with her and keeping the mood light.

'Lady Wifi' has the pair discussing the secrecy between them, with Adrien actively making the decision that honoring Ladybug's wishes concerning keeping their secret identities is more important than knowing the identity of the girl he's in love with, that doing so is the proper way to love her. 'Lady Wifi' is also the first time Marinette panics at the idea of something romantic being suggested about her and Cat Noir, when Alya says Adrien might be Cat Noir, that Cat Noir might be the boy she's repeatedly told Alya she's in love with.

'Copycat' shows us for a fact that Ladybug has no idea that Cat Noir's flirtations with her are genuine, and Cat Noir is growing tired of his feelings going entirely unnoticed.

Because of his growing frustration over not being able to communicate his feelings to Ladybug in a manner that she'd take seriously, Adrien goes the extra mile to write her a love poem in 'Dark Cupid'. When he receives a response that appeared with no sender, just a ladybug, he entertains the thought that Ladybug answered his poem and does in fact return his feelings (not realizing that Ladybug would need to know his identity to deliver such a note to him specifically, but Adrien does generally worry less about secret identities than Marinette). 'Dark Cupid' is also the first occasion of Marinette's by-now patented plan "Pretend to be in Love with Cat Noir" to solve problems, except that she was absolutely certain that a True Love's Kiss could occur between them, so there isn't even much room for pretending, but Marinette's denial is so powerful, she'll try.

In 'The Mime' we see Cat Noir actually testing Ladybug's receptiveness to a date, by suggesting that they could have gone to the play together if they didn't have to detransform. Ladybug replies that she has other plans before zipping away, and Cat Noir merely smiles after her. His feelings are growing, and he might still be remembering the love note he got. In fact, this is probably why he says "We are meant to be," in 'Gamer'.

In 'Animan' Ladybug actually does some of her own flirting with Cat Noir by giving him chin scritches. We also see a very straightforward gesture of affection from Cat Noir to Ladybug, when he hugs her in relief after the battle. Ladybug smiles softly at him, seeing that her partner cares about her well-being, while Cat Noir jumps back, embarrassed over his own reaction, or perhaps even afraid of censure. Adrien isn't the type of person to suddenly grab people in a hug, most likely because such "overly emotional" displays are discouraged in the Agreste household. This is the first occasion of Adrien projecting his father's supposed reaction to a thing he does on Ladybug, so he runs away from her.

In 'Simon Says', Cat Noir clings to Ladybug when faced with Gabriel looking at him weirdly (he's trying to figure out if he's Adrien, but Adrien himself never realizes his father was suspicious of his identity). At this point, Ladybug has started to become something of a security symbol to Adrien specifically against his father.

'Reflekta' is the episode where Cat Noir reminds Ladybug that he doesn't just deliver quips and he is actually a hero in his own right, even with diminished capabilities, in response to Marinette almost leaving him behind because he couldn't use his Cat Noir powers, because he'd "just slow (her) down", and then it turns out she couldn't have won without him. However, with the scene of Cat Noir taking the hit, Ladybug also starts on the process of realizing exactly how important her partner is to her success. Noticeably, it's while they're plotting together that Ladybug responds to his flirtation by flirting back, even if not very well (protip, Marinette, demeaning someone isn't funny to anyone but the person doing the demeaning, the other person is not suddenly lacking a sense of humor). Cat Noir is also a bit softer with his overtures in this episode, his cheeky flirtation gaining a bit more intimacy.

In 'Antibug', we can see the lessons Ladybug learned in 'Reflekta' sticking, with Ladybug listening to and valuing Cat Noir's input, unlike how the last time he tried to give her advice in a Chloé situation in 'Evillustrator', when she acknowledged he was right but couldn't bring herself to follow his advice. She also flirts with Cat Noir of her own volition, when she rings his bell. Cat Noir also keeps showing genuine warmth towards Ladybug instead of being just cheeky, when Ladybug compliments him. They affirm their bond after taking down Antibug.

The events of 'Reflekta' and 'Antibug' together influence what happens in 'Volpina', where Marinette is very suspicious of a new superhero showing up, without ever suspecting she could have been an Akuma in disguise. Cat Noir is her partner, and Cat Noir is her only partner. She’s not only learned his value, but has grown possessive over him. There's no need for any outsider. This jealousy over Cat Noir is actually something Marinette doesn't get over during the first three seasons the way she learns to deal with her jealousy over Adrien.

By the time 'The Collector' happens, Adrien has developed enough trust in his partner to ultimately believe her over her suspicions about Gabriel being Hawk Moth. This episode also has the first time Marinette voices concern over Cat Noir's emotional well-being instead of merely physical, who, of course, can't tell her what's wrong because it would break the secret identity clause.

'Prime Queen' has some very nice mutual Ladynoir flirting at the start of the interview. However, they're both mortified when Nadja comes out with the pictures. Cat Noir is confused, because he had no idea that their relationship could even give that impression, he must have been feeling like he hasn't been making much progress in getting closer to Ladybug. Meanwhile, Marinette goes defensive for the first time since 'Lady Wifi' only, this time, even more so. She even runs out on Cat Noir when he, very understandably, wants an explanation why he head to learn from a reporter that she'd planted one on him instead of from her. The episode confirms that Marinette will refuse to, in any way, discuss anything romance-related in relation to Cat Noir, even when there's an innocent explanation, like breaking an Akuma's spell. She's so defensive it's suspicious.

We also have another occasion of Marinette "pretending" to be in love with Cat Noir to solve a problem. While Cat Noir purrs either over the confession, having her close, or both. Marinette also jumped at the chance to "pretend" to confess her love so eagerly, that it left Prime Queen unimpressed. Still, Marinette refused to commit to the "ruse" enough to kiss Cat Noir while he's actually conscious and aware of it, because then she'd have to deal with the aftermath of kissing him.

'Dark Owl' has the first true test of faith between Ladybug and Cat Noir, when both of them have to trust the other not to look while they have to recharge. Although, considering 'The Collector', this is actually the first test only for Ladybug. At the end of the episode, Adrien also genuinely asks Ladybug out on a date for the very first time when they unexpectedly have free time from Owl-sitting, but Marinette preferred to skip off to spend time with Alya since she hadn’t gotten to see her while being so busy with The Owl's antics for so long.

'Glaciator' has Cat Noir planning an actual outing for Ladybug. The thing is, before 'Glaciator', Marinette's response to Cat Noir asking her out has always been that she has other plans, no can do. However, in 'Glaciator', she specifically says: "We'll see," and then she ends up ghosting him because she forgot to even send him a message that she didn't feel like going anywhere. At the same time, Gabriel purposefully stands him up for dinner, causing Adrien to project onto the Ladybug situation so hard that he doesn't think Ladybug even sees him as a real friend. Considering Adrien was under the same impression about Marinette in 'Puppeteer 2', it is typical for Marinette to send these kinds of mixed signals (which is fitting, considering how clear communication seems to be the biggest bullet point in her character development agenda).

On the upside, Cat Noir's compromised emotional state led to him being more frank about his feelings to first Marinette and later to Ladybug, finally making Marinette understand that Cat Noir is actually in love with her and how sensitive her partner can really be and that she can hurt his feelings. Notably, in this episode, Marinette particularly enjoys employing her "Pretend to be in love with Cat Noir" gambit, this time even going as far as kissing him, after finding out he's actually in love with her. Indeed, at the end of the episode, her rejection to Cat Noir is entirely focused on her having feelings for someone else (as well). She never once said she doesn't love him, and, in fact, never claims so in the English dub.

In 'Sapotis' we also see a brief glimpse of Marinette's jealousy over Cat Noir when he welcomes Alya onto the team so warmly but, because Rena Rouge was a teammate Marinette herself chose and trusts, she doesn't feel threatened enough to express it more than by merely keeping an eye on their interaction. 'Sapotis' also starts the arc of Cat Noir starting to lose faith in Ladybug having his best interest in mind when Rena Rouge appears out of nowhere and he's expected to just accept that no-questions-asked.

'Gorizilla' notably has Marinette repeatedly voicing her belief that Cat Noir will show up, something Adrien appreciates a great deal, going as far as blushing over something so simple. He's astounded by the fact that his Lady has faith in him, but it seems he still believes it despite the notion being strange to him.

'Frightningale' really drives home the arc going on in this season. 'Riposte' was the first time we saw Ladybug and Cat Noir seamlessly working together to neutralize an Akuma, but in this episode, they move in perfect synch while fighting Frightningale while handcuffed together. Cat Noir and Ladybug's teamwork has reached phenomenal levels.

I've repeatedly said that 'Syren' is less about Cat Noir and Ladybug's relationship and more about Fu's relationships with his two chosen. Still, this is the episode where Marinette gets put on the spot and comes through for her partner and Cat Noir learns that Ladybug keeping secrets from him wasn't of her own volition, but because of Fu, restoring his faith in her completely.

It's most likely because of the trust Ladybug showed towards him in 'Gorizilla' and their perfectly synchronized teamwork in 'Frightningale' that Cat Noir tries to confess to Ladybug again in 'Frozer'. These two episodes could give Cat Noir hope that he might be winning Ladybug over, especially since, as I said before, Ladybug has not said she doesn't have feelings for him. But she, of course, rejects him, although it's notably with more wistfulness than the last time, especially when she comments how she doesn't think it's possible for the "other boy" to not be a concern. 'Frozer' takes place during the arc in season two that covers Marinette's growing frustration at her inability to progress with Adrien the way she wants to and the discontent shows in her interaction with Cat Noir as well.

The change in how Marinette regards Cat Noir's input in fights between season one and two is especially noticeable in 'Style Queen' and 'Maledictator'. Both times Cat Noir is absent in a fight and this influences how Marinette approaches fighting the Akumas. In 'Style Queen' Marinette tries to play it sneaky but also needs to be saved by Plagg's intervention in his holder's absence. In 'Maledictator', Marinette's plan involved siccing the brainwashed Cat Noir on the Akuma's goons. Cat Noir has become necessary to Marinette, which is why he's able to galvanize her during 'Heroes' Day' by reminding her that the two of them against the world is what's always worked.

Season three as a whole revolves around Adrien losing faith that Ladybug could ever return his feelings the way he wishes and Marinette getting several warning signs about how she could lose Cat Noir. I might even go as far as saying that this season has negative Ladynoir development (in that their relationship grows more frayed and brittle instead of stronger).

A big reason for this new development direction is 'Reflekdoll', which, according to the production codes, happens early in the season. In this episode, Ladybug and Cat Noir learn the worst possible (false) lessons about themselves and each other and they carry those lessons for the rest of the season. In my 'Reflekdoll' conflict analysis, I wrote that Ladybug basically "learns" that Cat Noir is fae-like in that he isn't bothered by mortal things like stress or heartbreak. Cat Noir, meanwhile, "learns" that, while it doesn't matter if Ladybug makes a mistake because she can always fix it, him making a mistake makes him fundamentally less worthy as a hero and a person, so he could never be as valuable as Ladybug even as a person and not only strategically.

'Weredad', meanwhile, is the quintessential evidence episode for Marinette being both possessive and in denial about Cat Noir. She's literally pretending to be in love with him to him, while totally denying to herself that she feels anything for him, all the while she's feeling jealous over him seemingly moving on from her to be in love with her. The reason it's so important that no one but Marinette herself and Tikki know what went down in this episode is that Marinette's denial would never last if someone actually questioned this whole mess.

This is also an episode where we can clearly see the aftermath of what 'Reflekdoll' did to Cat Noir. He's once again projecting his situation with his father onto someone else (this time Tom), but he's also blatantly refusing to fight Tom at full strength, because he feels that it's his fault he got Akumatized, allowing himself to get hurt severely because he feels he's not that important, that he might even deserve it.

'Oblivio' has Ladybug once again do the whole: "How dare you say I'm in love with Cat Noir I am quitting this conversation right now!" routine. Cat Noir also got actual confirmation that something about him made his Lady want to kiss him when their memories had been wiped.

'Desperada' has the semi-infamous scene of Ladybug saying she doesn't need Cat Noir and, while she learns the valuable lesson that yes she flipping does, this is also the episode where Adrien repeatedly fails to use the Snake Miraculous correctly, having to give it up to someone else, feeling like an undeserving failure *turns to look at 'Weredad' and then at ‘Reflekdoll*.

'Kwamibuster' is an episode where everyone keeps telling Ladybug not to trust Cat Noir and she believes it to the degree that she sees him as a bigger threat than a Kwami-targeting Akuma. In other words, Cat Noir being treated like a part-time hero again in season four is because of 'Kwamibuster'.

'Gamer 2.0' is actually an important episode for the Ladynoir dynamic. This is the episode where Marinette takes on way too much responsibility (voluntarily) and is really stressed about it, while Cat Noir dismantles that stress with his good humor and positive outlook. This episode enforces the lesson that was stated outright in 'Reflekdoll': "Everyone has their role", and Cat Noir's role is to be the jokester who makes Ladybug feel better. Also, Cat Noir doesn’t even hesitate to make a sacrifice play for his Lady, because he’s less important.

'Timetagger' foreshadows that Marinette's words of affirmation are losing their effect. She repeatedly says things like "I trust Cat Noir", "You're irreplaceable", "You know you're the best", but she doesn't know how to express her regard to Cat Noir in actions. And it's important to note that Adrien was raised among liars and manipulators. Even if he doesn't doubt Ladybug's intentions, he might doubt the depth and truth of her feelings for him. Because Ladybug is so nice, she might lie about valuing him to make him feel better. Words aren't enough when words are the only thing between you and your insecurities. This is also an episode that feeds into Cat Noir's worthlessness arc, with Bunnyx repeatedly insisting that Ladybug in the future is just awesome, while Cat Noir broke her Miraculous. Even Ladybug shoots him down at the end of the episode when he tries to ask for extra affirmation, claiming he "already knows he's great".

In 'Puppeteer 2', Cat Noir's hope from 'Oblivio' that Ladybug might be starting to be won over by him comes back to bite him when the wax Ladybug gets close to him by pretending to be coming onto him. He only realized she was a fake because she smelled wrong, something that comes back to haunt him in 'Ladybug', when he's faced with a perfect copy, whose only difference to the original is that she's apparently in love with him. The villains clearly know he’s so in love with Ladybug it sometimes blinds him.

With the villains using this clear weakness as an in, it's no wonder that Cat Noir finally makes the decision to move on from Ladybug in 'Heart Hunter'. He tries one more time to test her interest to see if she'd be jealous of him dating and, when she's merely overjoyed, he decides to finally move on to Kagami. However, when faced with the actual reality of Cat Noir giving his attention to someone else instead of her (instead of in addition to her), Ladybug actually finds herself hurt and questions the lack of "My Lady" in Cat Noir addressing her, but she instantly denies it when Cat Noir notices. Denial denial denial...

Aaaaaand that's a wrap! Putting this together made me realize just how interconnected the show really is but no one notices because there aren’t any secret identities being revealed, people getting together or lore being revealed. Even something that seems like a breather episode like 'Gamer 2.0' has a larger role in the arc of developing the relationship between our main heroes.

#miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #miraculous ladybug #ladynoir #lovesquare #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ml meta #long post #REALLY long

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imaginationmess · 4 years ago

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Flares [MIDORIYA IZUKU X FEM!READER][PRO HERO AU]; Chapter ONE

Summary: Midoriya Izuku is the number one pro hero. He finds himself alone often thinking of the past and what he could have done differently. Everyone around him is moving forward with their lives, but he seems to be stuck in the past. He can’t find himself moving forward with his life other than his career, but romance has been frozen for years. He can’t bring himself to love someone else other than the girl he fell in love with when he was 18 years old and was ready to propose to only have the worst of luck. She vanished with barely leaving evidence behind. It’s been 7 years since then. Everything changes the day of the anniversary of her disappearance.

MASTERLIST

Chapter ONE

Word: 1,340+

________________________________

Midoriya Izuku comes back to his home with a box of beer to drink with the intention to numb his feelings.

He stares at the massive apartment where he often ponders why he even keeps it. He still clings upon a place where you and he had plans to live for years to come. You barely made it a month of living in it with him before you disappeared and leaving no trace behind who could have done it. However, you put up a strong fight against your captors within the security cameras within the building you worked for.

It was way too big for himself. There were 3 bedrooms with 2 bathrooms. He feels even more isolated from the world. Alone within this big space. He takes a heavy sigh as he places his car keys on the small gray maple bowl. He kicks off his shoes and hastily places the box of beer in his dining room. He stretches, cracking a few bones on his back before heading to the shower. He passes by big cardboard with a red string attached to photos and locations with notes.

The photos are from the evidence of support items with identical markings to your previous inventions. The support items that have been used are tied to villain association then have risen after the takedown of the League of Villains many years ago.

He hasn't loosened hope in her being alive, but everyone else is already starting to doubt to believe she is still alive after her case has gotten cold among others. He doesn't blame them. It's been 3 years since her trial got cold because her invention markings abruptly stopped separating them from other support items. Whenever he has free time, he scouts areas where a criminal organization could be hiding undercover. He looks over her file over and over in case he misses something. He has gotten things that he has missed before. Like some of the inventions had a number carved on them singularly. It was a giant puzzle that you had left for them to solve. He had suspicions. It was the coordinates of the location. You were being held at, but he never got the rest of the numbers. He travels to random coordinates that could match all over Japan whenever he could.

Tomorrow, it will be the anniversary of your disappearance. Everyone knows to leave him alone during the week of your disappearance anniversary because he will be reckless and not have his mind isn't clear. He has gotten seriously injured because he was distracted. It is always around this time of year.

Everyone tells him to take a week-long break from hero duties. He is aware of how he behaves during this time and knows how reckless to be suicidal. Even the media has somewhat respect for him during this time of the year. It could have been a lawsuit with them trying to take a dangerous picture that almost cost their life along with him. A building collapsed and the photographer wasn't paying attention to their surroundings. Midoriya had forced them out of the way to save their life, but he got buried alive under the rubble with numerous broken bones.

The Hero Commissions are even stricter in protecting their own heroes after the collapse of the hero's society many years ago. They are more flexible for heroes to create their own schedule and health. They don't want to repeat history. This time of the year, He just gets reminded how much he has failed you. It's been years since he told you he would find you. He was so close to you by merely a few feet from each other. It was within the 12 hours of her kidnapping that happened. It was an exchange location of you being handed over as if you were an object instead of a human being. You were barely conscious due to the heavy drug used on you to prevent you from fighting back.

There was barely evidence to connect with the active villain group that is rarely active as if they are playing to do something bigger. They change locations constantly from their minor operations. He hasn't found their main base of operations where he believes where you are being held.

He heads to the bathroom where he plans to shower before starting his self-guilt drinking week. He doesn't have anything important to attend to. Everyone lets him be. No one would bother him, letting him mourn alone for this week before being dragged into reality. He has a collection of heavy liquor where he has found over the years in his kitchen cabinet that are more effective to make him drunk.

-💚-💚-💚-💚-💚-💚-💚-💚-💚-💚-💚-💚-💚-💚-💚-💚-💚-💚

The next day early morning, Bakugou Katsuki and Kirishima Eijirō were scouting an area where there was reported to be suspicious activity during the early mornings. It was heavily snowing, but it didn't stop them from doing their jobs. "I do feel bad for Midoriya. I can't imagine how he is feeling and is still optimistic about it too." Kirishima looks over to Bakugou who is stomping in the snow angrily. Bakugou hates the snow with a passion.

"I wouldn't lose hope either until I see a body." Bakugou stops his walking when he hears something breaking apart before children's screams cut through the quiet atmosphere where there are frozen lakes.

They both look up in the sky to see something letting out smoke and small pieces falling rapidly down and breaking the ice of the lake.

Bakugou was already in the air attempting to reach the citizens. Kirishima was already calling for backup and informing them of the situation at hand. He was running on foot, stopping when he heard something crack under his foot. He was stepping on a frozen lake, no longer land.

Bakugou sees them. It was an adult female and a child falling out of the sky. The adult was moving their arms rapidly as if they were trying to do something, but it only brought more smoke and more pieces falling apart. However, as soon as the female adult sees him flying towards them.

She does the unthinkable, but thinks what the better chances of her child are making it out alive.

She twists around in the air, making the child face the sky instead of the frozen lake that is breaking due to the pieces falling apart from her homemade Jetpack backpack. She moves her hand to reach out a homemade knife to slice the strings which tie them together from her child's waist belt and using the other hand in front of her child's chest to where there was a hidden button under the vest shoulder.

"Forgive me."

She moves her hand with the knife to slice through the string and pressing the button. She clenches her eyes for impact as the child's backpack explodes against their mother's chest. This causes the child to bounce up into the sky while throwing the mother straight down the frozen lake.

"Mama!"

Bakugou grabs the child that was falling again by their shredded backpack. The child is screaming for their mother who crashes into the icy cold lake water. The sound of the helicopter could be heard as Bakugou is trying to navigate away from the lake while holding a terrified child who was crying uncontrollably hiding their face against his chest. Kirishima was running over to them taking off his jacket to cover up the child who had no protection from the bitter cold. Bakugou was frozen on the spot, staring into the head of the child. The child looks identical to his rival, childhood friend, Midoriya Izuku.

"If that's his kid, does that mean?" Kirishima comes to the realization, the only female that Midoriya Izuku has been involved in intimacy would be the one who has been missing for years.

"That adult must be [L/N] [F/N]."

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I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Any thoughts/Feelings/Predictions that you have while out reading this chapter. I would love to hear them! <3

If you are interested in being tagged in the future, comment below.

#pro hero izuku midoriya #pro hero deku #pro hero deku x reader #pro hero midoriya izuku #pro hero midoriya izuku x reader #pro hero! Deku x reader #izuku x reader #izuku x fem!reader #pro hero izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya x reader #pro hero izuku x reader #izuku x female reader #midoriya x fem!reader #pro hero academia #pro hero au #Flares

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yensidhq · 3 years ago

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NAME :// MABEL PINES ORIGIN :// GRAVITY FALLS AGE :// TWENTY-SIX PRONOUNS :// THEY/THEM JOB :// STOCKER AND CLERK AT THE MYSTERY SHACK FC:// MAIA MITCHELL

☾ ✦ ⋆＊✩ ║▌║█║▌│║▌║▌█ AESTHETIC :

Oversized sweatshirts and ordering glitter bombs. Stopping the microwave when there is still a second left. Welcome mats with paw prints. The soft glow of neon lights at midnight, disappointing your parents, a puff of breath in the cold. Fog rolling in across distant mountains. The call of a lone wolf.

☾ ✦ ⋆＊✩ ║▌║█║▌│║▌║▌█ BIOGRAPHY:

Mabel Pines doesn’t remember much of their life before Yen Sid. Rather, any iteration of the Mystery Shack takes up much of their memory. They know the whole store like the back of their hand, maybe perhaps more than they'd ever admit. The Shack itself has always held a place in their heart, and they don't mind keeping it - though it feels hollow without their uncle Stan. They have many memories of helping craft new stories of cryptids, learning the cons their uncle perfected more than they ever let on. They remember the diaries they hid in cracks along the floor, covered in stickers. But sometimes they have to read them to place the memories as fact or fiction.

They know more about what they do inside and out the Shack these days than what they think. They stock shelves, man the counter with an easy smile, sometimes even tell tall tales that they learned when they were younger. Where Dipper questions the strange, Mabel takes it as fact - everything was weird at one point, and everything will be weird once more in the future. They cling to that, have built their whole being around that. So they live however they can without attracting too much attention, without making Dipper fret over them. They're trying to solve the empty feeling in their chest before anyone notices that their smile is not quite reaching their eyes anymore.

☾ ✦ ⋆＊✩ ║▌║█║▌│║▌║▌█ CONTACTS:

Dipper Pine: Brother and coworker. More of a mystery than the Shack.

☾ ✦ ⋆＊✩ ║▌║█║▌│║▌║▌█ THOUGHTS:

Mabel has things that they’re working through. More often than not, they can be found either picking their way through the winding aisles of the Shack or exploring local shops. They are content, in some ways. Others, not so much.

MABEL IS ___________________ TAKEN BY CADEN

#gravity falls #gravity falls rp #disney rp #skeleton rp #mabel pines #new rp #bio rp #taken #taken nonbinary

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asheslikestardust · 4 years ago

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Dawn

Lucy smiles and its like the sun breaking over the horizon. You'd find her dipping her toes into the frigid sea that lies in the shadow of Cair Paravel before her siblings even stir in their beds; greeting the merfolk and breathing in the salty sea air.

She'd collect pearly seashells as she walks along the stretch of the sandy beach and watches the sky turn from silvery pink to golden blue. Sometimes, Mr. Tumnus would join her and they'd frolic with the merfolk, running and chasing and swimming, both laughing madly.

More often than not, however, Lucy would run down to the beach alone, and listen to the world sleep.

Her bedroom has a bay window that houses an impressive collection of seashells, each gleaming in the stream of sunlight like sparkling gemstones.

She'd dance and twirl in the waves at low tide and watches the sea from afar at high tide and laughs as the salty spray of water drenches her hair and her nightgown.

Sea water clings to her eyelashes like tears, her hair falls in a golden sheet down her back and necklaces of coral and seaweed loop around her throat; colours of the sea resplendent against the pure white of her nightgown - gifts of affection and respect from the merfolk to the Queen who always reciprocated in kind.

By the time the sun rises in the sky and her people awake, Queen Lucy the Valiant would be slipping back into her chambers, with sparkling eyes and a giddy smile, ready to take on the new day.

Midday

Peter was, above all else, a great listener. It was hard not to be, what with being the eldest of four chatterbox siblings.

People would assume Edmund to be the quiet brother of the two of them and they'd be very much mistaken.

Peter was not very comfortable on his throne (and who would be- its all twisted metal and sharply cut gemstones and heats horribly in the summers-) but looking at him you'd never know it.

He doesn't lounge, but doesn't sit stiffly either; his shoulders are relaxed and his hands rest easily on the carved armrests.

His gaze is always warm and inviting and his smile is kind and those who come to him for counsel often forget he wears a crown at all.

Fauns and drayads and centaurs from all corners of Narnia come to pay homage to the High King. They arrive in awe and slight fear of meeting King Peter the Magnificent, High King over all Kings in Narnia, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion; but leave cheerful and contented, with the feeling of being wrapped in a warm hug, having met Peter, the friend, the brother, the mother-hen.

There is a skylight in the war rooms of Cair Paravel that lets the overhead sun bathe maps and other assorted weapons scattered on tables in the circular room in a strong, golden light. In these rooms, Peter's whole stance changes.

The friendly countenance and smiling eyes are no where to be seen and the hardened warrior who fought the White Witch blade-to-wand takes his place.

Peter wields his sword like an extension of his own arm. The red lion on his shield glistens like fresh blood in heat of the afternoon sun and Peter's metal chainmail clinks as he goes round and round and round the training field, fending off opponents from all sides.

Fearsome opponents they are too, for Lucy is swift and sure and Susan is as lethal as she is graceful and when Edmund and Philip team up, it is best to stay far, far away; but Peter did not become Emperor of the Lone Islands with luck alone and he is at his strongest with his sword, Rhindon, in his hand and defeats them all easily.

Their laughter echoes against the warm castle walls, joyful and bright, and Peter's is the loudest of all as he wrestles with his brother and playfully glares at his sisters, courtly manners and graces all but forgotten in the balmy summer air.

Twilight

Edmund was a diplomat. He was as trained in the art of wordcraft as he was in the art of warfare.

Peter insisted that all the griping and complaining Edmund did when they were younger was now helping him deal with whiny nobles from Archenland and Galma who did nothing but gripe and complain. Edmund's response was to flip him the bird.

He was cultured, refined and smooth in the company of ambassadors; deflecting certain questions, answering others with brutal honesty. Susan was so proud of him.

He was honest, honourable and humble in the company of knights. He told amusing tales and sang amusing songs in the light of the campfire, he looked out for his knights and heard their worries.

He shared their joys and their sorrows, he played as many pranks on his fellows-in-arms as they played on him, he fought for them and bled for them and they knew he would die for them as they would for him.

He was beloved, not only by his knights, but also by the people of Lantern Waste, and Peter couldn't be prouder.

He slipped into masks as easily as breathing, from King to Knight to Judge to Friend to Symbol to Myth to Lover to Guardian to Warrior, but his favourite was Brother, when he let go off all his duties at the end of the day and simply - fell into a chair with all the grace of an uncooked pancake.

When he could sit in one of the many balconies of Cair Paravel, curl up with his siblings, and watch the sun set in a blaze of colour.

When he could watch the sky paint the sea and the castle in shades of blue.

When everything was still and peaceful and it felt like everyone is holding their breath - just before the first fireflies emerged from the trees, glowing softly, illuminating Lucy's sleepy face.

When he could just be Ed - not King Edmund the Just, Duke of Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March and who knew what else; Ed, brother and friend and current victim of Peter's latest prank, Ed, beloved by his family - and that was more than enough for him.

And when he resists punching Peter in the face for painting his black curls a startling green? Well. That's when Lucy's proudest of all.

Midnight

Susan was an open book. She was beautiful and charming and graceful and clever and everyone agreed she was a perfect lady with perfect manners and perfect posture, just perfect, perfect, perfect.

Heads would turn as she walked past, hair braided with flowers, silken dress whispering against the carpeted halls, and people would come up to her to sing her praises and she would never refute them, just smile gently and thank them sincerely, from the bottom of her heart.

People from other lands would look at her, Queen Susan the Gentle, in all her beauty and finery, so elegant, so pure next to her calloused and scarred brothers and sister and think her the weakest link of the four, and she would smile, all sharp teeth, and let them continue to think so.

She let them see the porcelin doll of a surface and think that's all there is to her, let them never look beyond into the wild storm of deadly claws and broken glass that lay behind her eyes, the always sharp quiver of arrows that lay in her room, the curved bow that rested strung and polished by her bedside, the jagged edge ivory hairpins that hold up her hair even now.

Let them never guess that even a single petal from one of the flowers wound in her braid could incapacitate a fully grown man if ingested; that the shoes she wore under her dress weren't delicate heels but steel toed boots, that her dress was more of an armory than evening wear, that her brothers and sisters may triumph over their foes under the light of day but she did the same in the cover of night.

She was as lethal as she was beautiful, as vicious as she was charming; level headed, with a good mind for strategy, the only one who could beat her at chess was Edmund and oh so very protective of her family and her people.

Lucy once compared her to a mother bear. Susan, sweet, gentle Susan, who knew exactly how to use her looks and her words, who used the title Alsan has bestowed upon her to stay out of sight and out of mind, who had set up the most comprehensive secret police service Narnia had ever known (take notes, White Witch), grinned wickedly and answered that mother bears should be compared to her.

Susan was brilliant and radiant and careful and cunning. She was the most loving and nurturing person her people ever had the pleasure of knowing.

She was as mysterious as the night, and the Narnians, unlike dignitaries from overseas, knew she wasn't an open book at all. Nor was she a puzzle waiting to be solved.

She was simply Queen Susan, their Protector. Queen Susan, who reigned destruction down on those who threatened the land she loved so dearly.

They did not adore her as they did Queen Lucy, did not swear loyalty to her as they did King Edmund, did not feel overwhelming awe and affection for her as they did King Peter, but they respected her and cherished the pages of the short life she shared with them forevermore.

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asturlavi · 4 years ago

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oh boy, do i have wonderful beast oda/odazai info for you all since this may just be my favorite chapter in all of beast. it clarified a lot about oda's state in this au, and how sad it truly is, especially with all that dazai has done to ensure that oda's safety is certain

before i start, this was initially intended to be a quirky little twitter thread that’s supposed to be kicked off with a badly drawn doodle of something meme. the thread was supposed to be about how wonderfully dumb odasaku can be and how annoyingly frustrating dazai is in the latest beast chapter... and then it slowly devolved into a crudely written essay about small discoveries i’ve made that most likely haven’t been pointed out before, so i recommend that anyone interested in either oda or odazai to check this out

so i finally got around to reading the new beast chapter and seeing how odasaku constantly devalues himself and finds that he's lesser than the average person is… sad. its been said that him and ranpo are the stars of the ada, every mission trivial with their cooperation, and yet he doesn't see any of that. thinks he struck luck when it came to his entrance exam, which he specifies that it wasn't as a result of his own skills. his inferiority complex is embedded so deep that despite his achievements, he doesn't at all believe he has any worth as a human.

i'm just a tired, ordinary man like you could find anywhere. a third-rate detective, as unexceptional as a fallen cigarette butt on the road.

and his entrance exam was just like dazai's: the azure messenger case, which we all know wasn't at all a walk in the park. one mistake, and it would spell disaster for the city that the ada was trying to protect. no--not just the city, it would also mean the end of the ada as we know it. despite it all, he resolved it much to his own surprise, and it was all thanks to an "unexpected" gift. and that gift? who would it be other than from dazai himself?

beast light novel ch. 3

(also, this is a shaky claim at best but I feel as if oda fully holds the capabilities to solve the case alone, but dazai knew that with odasaku's persistent feelings of self-doubt, along with his lack of some of the vivacity that dazai held to weasel his way through to information, the outcome of success wouldn’t be guaranteed. and so, dazai lent him something to ensure his success)

and yet, oda is blind to see truly how much intellect and skill he possesses. he doesn't realize how integral he was to the quest of the azure messenger, doesn't acknowledge that without him these orphans would have either slipped into a life of crime, gone to a downtrodden orphanage, or simply passed away, and he doesn't know that despite it all, he's one of the purest characters in the story, even with the darkness that will forever cling to him, a reminder of the violence that marred his past.

not to mention that oda, in one way or another, effectively analyzed the current situation that they're stuck in. he noted that if things currently go the way they're going, no matter what akutagawa achieves, him and his sister are doomed. so, oda brilliantly decided to go after the port mafia itself to prepare for this possibility, and it's nothing short of genius. and dazai plays along with this… because it is oda, after all.

and everything dazai did, everything he sacrificed, it was all for oda.

now to the underlying tragedy of this chapter. take a look at this panel:

ever since then, i've been making a living by solving requests that come to the detective agency.

i provide for the orphans

i drink coffee.

i gamble a bit on days off.

at night, i write a novel in the kitchen.

that's my life.

nothing unusual, right? you'd think that odasaku was satisfied with life, since he has everything he had ever wished for. but in all actuality, he still lacks one important thing.

and that's friendship.

his words sounded so… empty. achieving ones dreams is but one aspect of life that brings one gratification, but doesn't necessarily mean it would guarantee lasting happiness. (think of famous actors or celebrities that spiral into depression even after they've achieved their dreams).

in that panel, he says he cares for the orphans, gambles, and writes alone in his spare time, but not a word of spending time with friends… something he had in the root universe, something that was lost to him in this one.

and he says this all with his face blacked out, as if he's somewhat implicitly dissatisfied (while the kid's faces are present, not at all concealed).

with dazai, he found peace in a place where peace is rare to find. They both completely put their guard down with each other around, and dazai can relax his overly speculative mind with oda. and they understood each other, a level of understanding rare to come by. dazai with his dark jokes easily flies past oda's ears because that's what they are, harmless jokes. and oda with his blunt honesty, which dazai cherishes and never prods him for it.

dazai also saw things in oda that oda was blind to. dazai saw a world of beauty in oda, the ray of light beneath a cloudy sky. he saw both intelligence and wisdom, kindness and generosity. and most of all, he trusted oda, despite dazai’s natural inclination to distrust.

and what oda saw in dazai was vulnerability. despite the front that dazai puts, he can be kind, even empathetic, when the situation calls for it. dazai once gave akutagawa a decision to turn his back against dazai’s offer to join the port mafia, when logic points to the fact that he didn't have to, but wanted to.

dazai also consistently gives atsushi words of advice and shows understanding when dazai was under no obligation to, such as atsushi facing the loss of his previous caretaker. dazai gave atsushi genuine advice, not laced with any malice or ill intent. dazai had even left atsushi to grieve alone, fully understanding that atsushi needed to pour his emotions out in private. there’s more than enough instances of dazai showing this side of himself in both the light novels and manga, but it seems to sometimes be brushed aside. even though the main cast of characters always dismissed this side of dazai, oda has always known that this side of dazai was his truest self.

oda and dazai also talked endlessly about trivial things, calling each other daily for two hours for no reason other than that they each enjoy one another's company. it's pure, wholesome love. they had a mutual trust and understanding between one another, which ango, another friend of theirs, severely lacked in his friendship with them.

oda's dream was to write, gone unfulfilled in the root universe, but he died happily knowing that the one he cares for is living in the path of light. dazai's was to find a reason to live, which he found in oda, and continues to use this as motivation long after oda passed.

in beast, dazai's dream was cut short, ultimately leading to his demise at the end. after all, his one reason to live is now robbed from him. however, oda's dreams have become a reality, but can one really say he achieved happiness? he has the orphans, his children, but they will never understand him like dazai had. he has peace, but is it the form of peace he wanted? spending time alone, on things like gambling, while endlessly mulling how he has no one to spend this time with?

and writing, his one true wish that dazai made absolutely sure to make a reality. but was it worth it, at the cost of a friend who brought happiness and reprieve when everyone else failed to?

i thought of this tale as a matter of equivalent exchange, you lose one life in exchange for another. the scales do remain somewhat balanced, but not over a matter of lives. it's over a matter of personal sacrifices, ones only known to us readers.

and i say "somewhat" because in the root universe, dazai remembered oda when he was alive, so well that dazai can recall memories to near perfection. but oda had completely forgotten dazai in beast, chasing after absent memories and deluding himself into thinking his life is perfect, while numbing himself from the aching hole of loneliness that consumes him inside.

also, oda is surely happy spending time with the children, but what about his lonesome hours? who is he going to spend that time with, in a world without dazai, the only person who understood him and his oddities?

ah, and remember this moment in the root universe?

now, take a look at this again. no, look closer

odasaku wasn’t merely gambling for the sake of it, he was gambling on a horse race. and before dazai was arrested in the root universe, he was seen doing just that.

now, why would odasaku do this? he surely doesn’t seem the type to gamble away his money on something as silly as horse races, because what does someone gain while they pour their money into something so senseless?

and the only reason i could arrive to is that dazai must have dragged him along to one. dazai is a port mafia executive, with more money than he knows what to do with and a boatload of depression. money probably disinterests him as much as life does, and he used gambling to kill two birds with one stone: ridding of money he doesn’t need, and distracting him from his boredom (and depression).

and it doesn’t end there. remember when dazai in dead apple had visited bar lupin to pay his regards to odasaku, while reliving a pleasant memory dazai had with him? and he did this because he was preparing for a quest that may result in with the loss of his life, psyching himself up for what’s to come. this is probably bordering on speculation, but i believe that that’s precisely what he did once again in the horse races. dazai paid a visit to a place that oda and him had frequented, to prepare for another dangerous quest.

also, note that immediately after exiting bar lupin in dead apple, dazai was confronted by ango, which kicked off the start of dazai’s plans. a similar thing happens in the manga, dazai spending time in a place that he and oda had gone to, this time the horse races, and his plan whirls into motion as jono arrests him. i think these similarities are deliberate, in order to establish their significance to dazai and oda.

this long winded explanation’s purpose was only for me to go back to this panel once again, and say that everything oda spoke about doing, from spending time with his kids, to brewing coffee, to betting on horse races, and to writing in the kitchen, were all moments he had with dazai.

and see that he has an extra chair that sits unused in the kitchen? at first, i thought it was there for the sake of being there. then, it slowly dawned on me that odasaku and dazai had noted in the dark era light novel that they made a habit of visiting each other, so it wouldn’t be illogical to conclude that it was a chair meant for dazai. a place where he can spend some private moments together with oda underneath the dimly lit kitchen, drinking in the scent of odasaku’s coffee and talking about things that distracts them from their troubles while odasaku whittles away at his manuscript.

and one last thing before i end this out of sheer laziness, take a look at this photograph of oda from the final moments of the beast light novel.

as oda stated in the manga and light novel, he worked on his manuscript alone in the kitchen... but in the photograph, he wasn’t alone. he’s posing for a picture. relaxed, poised, as if entertaining the one taking the photo. and besides, wasn’t it dazai who insisted on taking photographs in bar lupin with ango and oda in dark era? he must have done the same in that very moment in the beast universe, but this time in anticipation of oda forgetting him.

in the end, it seems oda and dazai left each other in similar ways, foolishly believing they've sacrificed their lives for each other to better the other's life, but all they did was create worlds where the feeling of happiness will be lost to both respective parties, while also resigning each other to a life of loneliness.

they've forgotten about their one happiness that stems from just being around one another, listening to the soothing tune of jazz playing softly as they talk into the night, the world lost to them as they're absorbed in one another's presence.

it seems like their story is a tragedy of what happens when you love someone too much, to the point that you delude yourself into thinking you're but a tool for their happiness, and with you gone, nothing will change.

but things did change, didn't they?

#odazai #bsd #bungo stray dogs #oda sakunosuke #osamu dazai #bsd beast #i'm never doing this again

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tarysande · 4 years ago

Text

S6 Thoughts: A Tale of Two Brothers

But wait! There’s more. Thoughts on the overall arc of the series, Heaven and Hell edition:

In S1, Lucifer is “vacationing” on Earth but doesn’t plan to return to Hell. Amenadiel spends that season trying so hard to force Lucifer back to Hell, where he “belongs,” that he himself Falls. We’ve got this role reversal of an angel doing evil things to return the devil (doing ... good things, like solving crimes) to Hell. It’s all very “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

In S2, Lucifer still has no plans to return permanently to Hell, but he’s willing to face it to save Chloe. Of course, this then leads to him experiencing his own forced hell-loop. Amenadiel is also conflicted. Though he’s changed enough that he no longer wants to force Lucifer back to Hell, he’s still uncertain where that leaves either of them. In fact, even when Lucifer pleads with Amenadiel to return him to Hell, Amenadiel refuses. However, when Mum plants the idea of returning to Heaven as a family, Amenadiel clings to that. He’s looking for a purpose. Lucifer, on the other hand, is still very much aboard the Heaven nope train. Here, we also get the foreshadowing of celestial war, and Lucifer’s rejection of Mum’s plan because “In war, there are always casualties.” He would rather sacrifice one--Mum, Uriel--for the many. But it hurts him. If he belongs anywhere, he thinks, it’s Earth ... but, ultimately, that’s shortsighted because we know he doesn’t actually want to be on an Earth that doesn’t have the people he’s coming to care about on it.

S3 is, as we all know, a bit of a mess. But, hey, it’s actually thematically appropriate! Lucifer’s having an identity crisis (wings) that just keeps giving (or taking), and even though subconsciously (we later realize) he gave himself the wings because he was, in fact, making progress reconciling his past and present, his conscious is backsliding like (pun not intended) hell. Much as he wants Earth to be home, he’s got these non-stop reminders of both Heaven and Hell. It makes complete narrative sense that this season reaches the point where he can no longer hide from himself--or from Chloe.

In this season, we also see Amenadiel really start to settle into the idea of staying on Earth, of embracing humanity. He’s shedding the aloofness he once had. He’s learning (we later realize) how to be the kind of God who sheds mysterious ways in favor of boots on the ground. I mean, he doesn’t realize this. But Dad ... well, he has a Plan. Lucifer begins the season with sudden wings. Amenadiel ends it with his wings’ very deliberate return.

In many ways, this season is about Hell on Earth and torture at the hands of an entity far more intentionally and deliberately evil than the actual devil. This is why the catalyst of Cain is so important. He is all the things Lucifer has been accused of being, only he embraces it in ways we’ve seen Lucifer reject and recoil from again and again. This season is torture (lol). It’s Hell. It’s every ugly thing lies beget. And much as we love Lucifer, we’re given an extreme close-up of how his omission of truth is very nearly as devastating as Cain’s outright lies. Of course, this nearly results in Chloe’s death (in more ways than one; you can’t tell me that godforsaken marriage wouldn’t have been like dying), and the devil’s vengeance results in the removal of Lucifer’s choice about the where and when to reveal his true nature to Chloe.

Which brings us to S4, aka The Season of Angst. For Lucifer (and Chloe), anyway. Not so much for Amenadiel, who is set on the path of fatherhood, of responsibility, of partnership and not just commands he expects to be followed. In case we’ve forgotten how much Amenadiel has changed, Remiel “mini-Amen” shows up to remind us. In Linda’s “When angels fall, they also rise” of it, Amenadiel is rising again. He’s not the same as he was, no, but ... we didn’t like old Amenadiel very much, did we? Like Lucifer, Amenadiel is on a journey of learning who he is, the good and the ugly, so he can choose the parts he wants to keep with both eyes open.

Of course, while Amenadiel is rising, Lucifer is falling. In having to deal with Chloe’s reaction to his devil face, Lucifer is put in the uncomfortable position of either growing enough to face his own darkness and self-loathing or retreating, very literally, into who he used to be because it’s comfortable and less frightening than the prospect of change and the unknown. Until it isn’t, right? The more he becomes the devil Eve remembers, the more uncomfortable he becomes. And the more frightening he becomes. Not to Chloe, as he fears, but to himself--though it takes a while to recognize it. If nothing else, we have to hand this to Lucifer’s subconscious: when it wants him to PAY ATTENTION DUMMY, it’s pretty good at getting its point across. If S3 was Hell on Earth starring Cain as the devil, S4 is Hell on Earth starring, well, the devil as the devil with bonus demons. It’s Lucifer’s earthbound iteration of a guilt-induced hell-loop. And at the tragic end, he chooses to return to the place he swore he’d never return, losing everything good in the process, but doing it for selfless reasons. So, that’s new. And it’s why there was still a sliver of hope even when things looked impossibly dark.

S5 begins with Lucifer in Hell--farther from the things he cares about than he has ever been, but also closer to his true calling. Not that he realizes it; this is Lucifer we’re talking about. So, of course it makes sense that as the season goes on, he’ll end up confused by suddenly having everything he always thought he wanted within his grasp. The Lucifer who led a rebellion against his father because he thought he could do better than God? Of course that part of him wants to be handed the job now. No--he wants to earn it. And while some of his reasons are not great, others are. His heartbreak about the injustice and unfairness of life, well ... who hasn’t felt that way? Who hasn’t wanted the power to unilaterally make things better? But that’s not how free will works. That’s not how choice works. While Lucifer wrestles with the necessity of becoming God, Amenadiel recoils from what his S1 self would have seen as his right and his calling. S1 Amenadiel would have made a terrifying and inflexible and absolute and judgmental God. Perhaps even a God closer to our imaginings of Evil than Good.

S6 is about how sometimes personal growth means we grow out of old dreams and acquire new ones. Sometimes, it’s about reimagining those old dreams, rebuilding them with new information. For Amenadiel, that means recognizing that the person he is now is the best man for the Big Job. It means recognizing that Heaven can be (a place) on Earth if he wants it to be. It means he sets aside the pride of “If God wants something done, he sends ME” in favor of delegation and accepting help--and in doing so, helping others (his siblings) discover their callings too. He learns to lead by example, tempered with love and humility.

In Paradise Lost, Milton’s Lucifer famously declares that it is better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven. But our Lucifer ... his calling isn’t ruling in Heaven. That’s the old dream of a person who no longer exists. Ironically, Lucifer’s calling is to serve in Hell. Not to serve a distant, ineffable, unfathomable being’s mysterious ways, mind you, but to tangibly serve the humans he has come to love, and who have taught him so much about himself. Who have taught him about love and sacrifice and light and darkness and second chances and hope and faith. When Lucifer chooses to return to Hell, he does so with his eyes open, just as Chloe returns to the LAPD with her eyes open. It’s a lesson that revisits the first episode of the season: Truth and wonder don’t have to be at odds. They can go hand in hand. The mysteries at the heart of pain and suffering and trauma--those are the ones Lucifer wants to solve. Because solving them isn’t about trusting to a higher power (aka the justice system, which is flawed) or designing the perfect torture. It’s about quite literally helping others set themselves free. Finding release. It’s about being a guide, not a judge. And it’s about fulfilling not the temporary desire that merely scratches the itch, but offering the tools necessary to help others determine--choose--their path to the desire they may not even realize is buried beneath the layers of scar tissue within them. And what could be more wonderous than that? Especially when you have a partner who makes you better at your calling, even as you make them better at theirs.

In the end, Heaven and Hell are what we make of them. One person’s Heaven is another person’s Hell. Love is what matters. In all its many, many forms.

#lucifer on netflix #lucifer morningstar #amenadiel #lucifer meta #chloe decker #lucifer thoughts #lucifer spoilers #lucifer s6 #lucifer s6 spoilers #long text post

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dialovers-translations · 4 years ago

Text

Diabolik Lovers LUNATIC PARADE ;; Ayato Route ー Chapter 4

ー The scene starts in front of Bernstein Castle

Yui: ( I just hope the Count will let us see him... )

*Knock knock*

Excuse me. Um...

ー The gate opens

Butler: ...We have been awaiting your arrival. Please, come in.

Ayato: Che, seems like the Count knows exactly what’s up after all.

Yui: Yeah...

( However, if he’s allowing us inside the castle, that means he’s willing to listen to what we have to say, right...? )

ー The two of them enter the castle

*Pssh*

*Thud*

Butler: Master will arrive shortly. May I please ask you to wait a few more minutes.

Yui: ...Thank you very much.

ー The door opens

Count Walter: Why hello, you two. Since you have chosen to return to this castle a second time, I assume you have set all of your misconducts straight?

Ayato: Che, this guy has no shame, does he? Look at him talk as if he doesn’t already know everything...

Yui: Well, actually...ーー

ー Yui explains everything

Yui: ーー And there you have it. Therefore, we are unable to fix the key...

Count Walter: Hm, I see. However, that means you fail to meet my conditions.

Unfortunately, I fear I won’t be able to return the heart to you...

No, however...A key, huh...? My apologies, could you perhaps show me said key for a second?

Ayato: ...? The key? Sure? It’s broken and can’t be used though.

*Cling*

Count Walter: ...This is...!

Ayato: ...What? Is there somethin’ fishy ‘bout it after all?

Count Walter: I want you to tell me everything you know about the individual who handed you this key.

Yui: The individual...? Well, he’s the owner of the cellar which connects to the underground waterway...

Ayato: From the looks of it, he’s plottin’ somethin’ with a bunch of other shady dudes. Their sneaky behavior really screamed trouble.

Count Walter: ...I see. Just as I thought...

Yui: Um...Does it ring a bell, perhaps?

Count Walter: ...I assume those people are the gang of young Wolves who have been causing trouble all around this area as of late.

This key most likely opens the door to my personal basement. ...They must be planning to invade this castle.

Yui: Eh...? Then...

Ayato: Then what should we do? We can’t get them to forgive us unless we get that key fixed.

But if we repair the key, we’ll pretty much help them commit a crime, no?

Count Walter: ...Well, that’s what it would come down to.

Yui: Then, this case...

Count Walter: ...Fufu. Do you perhaps think that this has solved everything, Miss?

Yui: ...I mean...

( To get the owner of that house to forgive us, we have to do something which would directly disadvantage the Count... )

( So wouldn’t it make sense if he lets this one slide to avoid having his own castle invaded...? )

Count Walter: Please do not panic. I will not deny that these are unforeseen circumstances.

Let me make you a new offer.

Ayato: Haah? What do you mean!?

Count Walter: For example, if you lend me a helping hand in seizing those Wolves...

I would not mind returning the heart in question as a reward. ...How does that sound?

Ayato: Aah!? Where does that suddenly come from!? Can’t we let the Police handle that gang!?

Count Walter: Haha. What a funny thing to say. Ayato...Seems like you’ve taken your Father’s orders to heart and have become rather adapted to your life in the human world.

A convenient organization such as the ‘police’ does not exist in this town. Have you forgotten that? Fufu...

Ayato: Che, oh fuck off! It just slipped my mind for a second!

Anyway, we don’t know how many opponents we’re dealin’ with, so how are we supposed to handle this all on our own?

Count Walter: Like I said, slow down. I never said you had to do it on your own, did I?

Oi, bring our guests in!

ー The doors open once more

Yui: ...!

( These people... )

Ayato: O-Oi, these guys...

Count Walter: I had them gathered here because I had a hunch this might happen. What do you say? They seem familiar, no?

Yui: ( The Pretzel and Crepe Vendors...As well as the Locksmith...Everyone... )

Count Walter: Every single one of them has decided to give you their forgiveness.

On top of that, they are willing to help us take care of this gang.

Pretzel Vendor: Those guys who tried to destroy my shop belong to that gang as well.

The Parade is when we make the most money, so I don’t appreciate them getting in the way of my business.

Locksmith: I can’t stand the thought of knowing that I nearly ended up helping a bunch of thugs commit a crime either.

My skills are to help others, not to aid someone in their thievery.

Count Walter: ...As you can tell, the people of this town are more than fed up with this gang.

They have been playing with the idea of taking care of them soon. You could say that right now is the perfect opportunity.

Ayato: Heeh, so basically we’ll all work together to completely wipe out this gang, right?

Sure thing. Count me in. However, I do have one condition.

Count Walter: ...What would that be?

Ayato: Return her heart right here, right now.

Yui: ...!

Ayato: I’ve been on edge this whole time, worryin’ that perhaps she’ll collapse again.

I’d be way too distracted to efficiently take care of some gang when like this...

Besides...I don’t want to see her suffer one second longer.

If you return her heart, I’ll assure you that I’ll take care of those thugs down to the very last one...

Yui: Ayato-kun...

Ayato: Please! Save her...I’m beggin’ you...!

Count Walter: ...

Yui: ( Ayato-kun...Having to lower his head to someone should be the thing he hates most... )

Count Walter: ...Sakamaki Ayato. You were not lying just now, were you?

Ayato: Aah? Lyin’? As if!

Count Walter: ...I see.

But are you sure? By returning her heart, she will once again become the target of other Vampires.

Ayato: I figured that might be the case, so I had Mr. Four-Eyes Smarty-Pants arrange me some Vampire repellent.

Besides, I’ll be there to protect her, so she has nothin’ to worry ‘bout!

Count Walter: ...Very well. I must say I am impressed by your words just now.

One could say that entrusting the two of you with said heart once more could be interesting in its own regard, I suppose...

Yui: ...!

Ayato: ...Then!

Count Walter: Very well. I shall return the heart to you for now.

Yui: ...Thank you very much!

Count Walter: ...However, it is too early to be relieved, you see? Depending on the actions you take, I could easily steal it once again.

If you fail to catch the gang, to give one example. Understood?

Ayato: Of course! We’ll make sure none of them get away!

Count Walter: Fufu. I am very much looking forward to that. Well then, let us get this strategy meeting started at once.

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to Saint Nore Park’s venue

Ayato: He said that we’ll put the plan into action...Right as the Parade comes to an end, right?

Yui: Yeah...We still have some time.

Ayato: Right. Now what to do...Oh, hey, Chichinashi. Let’s ride that one. Over there.

Yui: The ferris wheel...?

Ayato: Yeah! In the end, the Parade’s gonna come to an end no matter what.

So don’t you think it’d be nice to get a nice overview of everythin’ before it does?

Yui: ...Good idea.

( The Parade will end tonight... )

( In the end, I wasn’t able to enjoy it together with Ayato-kun in peace... )

( However, I’m plenty happy just being able to spend time together like this. )

( Besides...Our true time to shine has yet to come... )

ー The scene shifts to inside the ferris wheel

Yui: ( Once we get off the ferris wheel, it’ll almost be time to get started with the plan... )

( It was decided we would serve as decoy, carrying a fake key with us... )

ー A flashback ensues

Count Walter: There is one thing I must warn you about.

They are experts at handling explosives. They might use them this time as well.

Therefore it is very important that you proceed with the plan without them realizing your true intentions.

...Including that part, the success or failure of this whole strategy depends on you two. Can I count on you?

ー The flashback ends

Yui: ( Our opponent has explosives...We might find ourselves in danger... )

( Ayato-kun... )

Selection

→ Grab his hand (☾)

*Rustle*

Ayato: ...Why did you suddenly grab my hand...?

You love doin’ this, don’t you? ...Hehe.

Yui: ...I mean...Uu...

Ayato: Let’s get this over with quickly and make the best of the Parade, ‘kay?

Yui: ( ...He squeezed my hand back... )

→ Stare at him

Ayato: ...Why are you starin’ at me like that...?

Yui: ...I mean...

Ayato: ...Did you get scared after hearin’ ‘bout the explosives or somethin’?

Yui: ...

Ayato: Haah...Don’t worry. It’s just a lil’ bomb.

Yui: ...But.

Ayato: Say, Yui? Once we get off the ferris wheel, you should head back to the hotel first.

Yui: Eh...?

Ayato: I’ll head to their hideout by myself. Don’t worry. I can ensure you everythin’ will go as pla...

Yui: ...You can’t do that! I can’t possibly...let you go by yourself...

I’ll go with you...!

Ayato: ...But we might be dealin’ with some seriously dangerous guys, you know? The Count said there’s a lot of them as well...

Yui: ...Exactly...I can’t let you go to such a dangerous place all by yourself...

I don’t want to...

Ayato: Yui...

Yui: ...Besides, they might grow suspicious if you show up by yourself, don’t you think?

If there’s a woman with you, they might let down their guard a little...

I got my heart back as well, so I promise I’ll carry my weight...

So please, take me with you...I’m begging you...!

Ayato: ...

Yui: ( Anyway, I don’t want him going by himself... )

*Rustle*

Ayato: ...Haah, you’re such a pain in the ass...

Fine. In return, don’t you dare leave my side, ‘kay? Can you promise that?

Yui: ...Yeah, I promise.

Ayato: Okay. Let’s go together then. I’ll protect you, no matter what happens.

...So stay with me.

Yui: Ayato-kun...

*Rustle*

Ayato: Oh, check it out! The view’s quite nice.

Yui: You’re right...How pretty...

Ayato: To be honest, I was really hopin’ we could get this all over with sooner so I could enjoy the Parade with you...

Yui: ...

Say, Ayato-kun?

Ayato: Hm? What?

Yui: You see, I...I’ve been having this dream lately.

Ayato: ...Dream?

Yui: Yeah...I don’t know for sure, but I think it might be the Count showing me this dream...

Ayato: ...The Count?

Yui: ...Inside that dream, you see. He told me. That you’re only trying to save me because of my heart...

And that you don’t actually care for me as a person...

Ayato: ...That’s not...!

Yui: But don’t worry. I’m well aware...You’re not that kind of guy.

I know that there’s not a single other individual in this world who cares for me as deeply as you do...

I also believe you...When you say you’ll protect me...

Ayato: ...Yui...

ー He embraces her

*Rustle*

Yui: ...

Ayato: Hmph. You really are a fool. Did that dream have you worried?

Geez, that darn Count. Just when will he stop messin’ with you...?

He pisses me off...!

*Rustle rustle*

Ayato: Oi, listen carefully.

You are mine, understood? I won’t let anyone else have their way with you ever again.

Not some Count, nor a bunch of thugs...Nobody. Nn...

Yui: ...Nn...

Ayato: ...Nn...

Yui: ( ...Ayato-kun... )

( ...I love you... )

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to Aizen Alleyway

Vampire Child C: Mama, hurry! It’s timeー!

Vampire Mother A: Watch out! You’ll drop your lantern in a hurry!

Ayato: ...Okay, let’s get goin’. Ready?

Yui: Yeah.

( It’s finally time to get our plan started... )

Ayato: ...Are you nervous?

Yui: Eh...? Well, yeah...A little...

Ayato: Hmph. I’m here with you, remember?

Well, you can just think of this as one of the attractions and enjoy the show, ‘kay?

Yui: ( ...Ayato-kun... )

...Yeah.

ー The scene shifts to the underground passage

*Knock*

Ayato: ...Oi. We brought the key as promised.

Owner: ...Ooh, you’re finally here. Come on in.

ー They enter the cellar

Thug A: Hmph. We figured the two of you had run away since it took you so long.

Ayato: Aah? Think again!

Owner: ...Whatever. Anyway, give us the key.

Ayato: Of course. Here...

Yui: ...The key’s right here...

*Cling*

Owner: ...Hooh. It really is...

...That being said, I have to say I’m impressed you managed to fix it. I’m sure you realized that this key is special?

Ayato: Well, yeah. However, that’s no big deal to me.

...Anyway, we’re even now, right?

Owner: Yeah, we are. ...If this key was real, that is...!

*Thud*

Yui: ...Kyah!?

Ayato: ...Yui!?

Owner: Don’t move. If you value this woman’s life at least...

*Cling*

Yui: ( ...He pulled out a knife...! )

Ayato: The fuck you doin’, you bastard!? Let her go at once!

Owner: Fufu...Don’t get your panties in a knot. Once we determine whether this key is real or not, we’ll let her go right away.

It’s real, right? Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. ...Correct?

Ayato: Che...

Thug B: Well, if it turns out to be a fake, we’ll kill her on the spot, of course. Hehe.

Ayato: Say that again!? Fuck off! In your dreams!

Owner: Either way, we’ll know as soon as we put this key in the door in question.

So why don’t we go and try it out right away...?

*Thud*

Yui: ...!

( At this rate, they’ll find out it’s a fake...! )

ー They start walking away

Ayato: Ugh...Wait...! Be a lil’ more gentle with her!

ー The scene shifts to right in front of the door

Owner: Well then, go ahead and open the door...

*Cling*

Ayato: ...Fine...

Yui: ( Oh no...We have to find an opening somehow, or the two of us will... )

Ayato: ...

Yui: Ayato-kun...

Ayato: ...Don’t worry. Everything’s fine...

*Clunk*

*Ba-dump・ba-dump・ba-dump*

Yui: ( ...God, please...! )

*CLICK*

Ayato: ...The key...?

Yui ( ...It worked...? )

Owner: ...Hooh.

Ayato: ...See? Didn’t I tell you? There’s no way we’d bring you a fa...

*Creaaak*

Yui: ( ...The door opened by itself...? )

???: Now’s our chance! Seize them!!

???: Uooooh!!

ー The other people storm out of the door

Thug A: Wha...!?

Owner: ...What’s going on!?

Thug B: Pull back! We’re retreatin’ for now!!

ー They start running away

Crepe Vendor: Hah! You wish!

Yui: ( From behind as well, the others!! )

Ayato: Yui!! Now’s your chance! Come here!!

Yui: Ayato-kun...!

Owner: Che, not on my watch!

*Rustle*

Yui: Kuh...!

Ayato: Yui...!

Owner: Everyone, back off! Or else, she’s a goner!

Locksmith: Che...How dare you resort to such filthy tactics...!

Owner: Hah! Run your mouth all you want! Come on, woman. This way!!

*Rustle*

Yui: Ayato-kun!

ー He runs off with Yui

Ayato: Fuck! You’re not gettin’ away!! ...Wait!!

ー The scene shifts back to the cellar

*Thud*

Yui: Kyah...

( This is...the cellar... )

Owner: Haah...Haah...God, we were so close too! You little pests...

...Now that it’s come to this, I just gotta blow up this whole cellar along with all evidence which could lead back to us!

Woman...That includes you, get it...? Hehe...

*Pang pang*

Yui: ( ...This is...! )

( There’s explosives hidden inside the wall...! )

*Thud thud*

Ayato: Yui!! Are you unharmed!! You bastard...! Open this door right now!!

*THUD THUD*

Yui: Uu...!

Ayato-kun! Don’t come in here!!

Gather everyone and run away together!!

Ayato: Aah!? You really think I can do that!?

Yui: Please! Listen to me! There’s a bomb in here...!

Ayato: Ugh...! Then I definitely can’t leave you behind and run!!

Fuck!! Yui! Yui...!!

*THUD THUD*

Owner: Hehe...If you have any final words, now’s your chance.

*Flash*

Yui: ( ...He lit the fuse...! )

Owner: Too bad, this is the end...

*THUD*

Ayato: ーー !!

Yui: Ayato-kun, no! Run...ーー!!

Ayato: Hell no!! Didn’t I tell you that you’re mine!?

I won’t abandon you, even if it kills meーー!!

*BANG BANG*

ー The screen fades to white

Ayato: Ugh...!!

Yui: Kyaaaah!!

( Ayato-kun...!! )

*BANG*

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

← RETURN TO CHAPTER 3

→ PROCEED TO NORMAL ENDING

→ PROCEED TO FINALE ENDING

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #ayato sakamaki #lunatic parade #diabolik lovers translation #lpayatochapter4

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ddarker-dreams · 5 years ago

Text

Aspiration Part 2. Yan Chrollo x Reader [COMM]

click here for part one!

“You’ll hurt your neck if you keep craning your head down like that.”

What good it does to chastise you on an insignificant action like this is beyond you. There isn’t much else to do until you land in this “unknown” destination that he’s spoken of earlier, yet the thought of entertaining conversation with him doesn’t feel appealing either. Being kidnapped will have that effect on you, he shouldn’t expect otherwise but seems to.

“Nothing a few painkillers won’t solve.” you respond with forced disinterest, flipping to the next page of the magazine Chrollo gave you earlier. It feels like a minor loss to entertain him with a response, your cold shoulder treatment temporarily lifting.

You’ve read this magazine at least three times by now, hoping that giving your mind something to focus on will steady you in reality. The lackluster stories about summer sales, latest keto recipes, and what celebrities have been up to lately offer none to little substance. Yet your eyes continue scanning them dutifully as if it’s a sacred text recovered by a forgotten civilization.

Letting out a small yawn, you continue to read until you get to the familiar final page once again. Fully intending on completing the cycle of rereading it, Chrollo interrupts this by plucking it from your grasp before you get the chance. All you can offer in return is a halfhearted glare and grimace.

“Hey! I was reading that.” you protest with a frown, feeling vulnerable without anything to hold onto.

He ignores your agitated exclamation, placing the magazine out of your reach by his side. “I don’t believe you’re missing out on anything of importance, seeing as you’ve read it multiple times already.”

Huffing but not humoring him with a response, you cross your arms and stare out the window. The clouds below you are an enticing sight, still not enough to maintain your attention for the remaining thirty or so minutes of this flight. When traveling, it’s always the last amount of time before reaching your destination that feels like the longest.

Chrollo lets out a disapproving sigh at your actions, then pulls back his sleeve to check the time. “It won’t be much longer. I’ll attribute your current behavior to being hungry.”

“Well, yeah, there’s that,” you finally look over at him, lips pursing indignantly. “And there’s the fact that I’ve been kidnapped by an A bounty criminal and am currently heading to god knows where at four in the morning.”

“You’re by all means welcome to rest.”

How he can calmly rebuke all your thinly veiled sarcasm is a special talent, like water off a duck’s back. You don’t want to admit it, however, you’re grateful he isn’t hotheaded and offended by your boorish remarks. Watching your tongue would be how any sane person would deal with a threat like this… then there’s you. Making poor decisions and winging it. A life motto, really.

An invitation to rest your weary eyes isn’t easily declined, an alluring proposal. His presence makes it a challenge to feel comfortable enough to fall asleep, that state leaving you entirely vulnerable. When you’re awake you have some tandem of control, even if it isn’t much.

“Where exactly would I do that? I don’t see any beds in here.” You emphasize your rebuttal by glancing around the room you two occupy, as if one would materialize at your words. Now that would be a useful nen ability, if he happened to have it.

Chrollo smiles, in a way that doesn’t sit well with you. “Why not rest on my shoulder?”

“W-whatever happened to your previous care over the well being of my neck? That’ll just hurt it after five or so minutes.” you stutter back, face flushing as his lips quirk further upwards. Amusement is dancing within his dark eyes, drawing out further discomfort from you. He seems to like exchanges like this, flustering you with the same ease as breathing.

“Painkillers. You said it yourself,” Chrollo throws your previous statement before you, challenging you with a raised eyebrow. “I’d be happy to get them, if that’s the only reservation you have about sleeping on me.”

Inhaling sharply at his teasing assault, you close your eyes to prevent yourself from doing anything foolish. Gritting your teeth and balling your fists by your side, you remember why you were giving him the cold shoulder earlier. Talking to Chrollo is exasperating, all of his composed words like needles in your skin. Not wanting to swat at the wasp nest any further, your mind starts drifting, in a last ditch effort to distract yourself.

It’s been an eventful night. The most memorable night of your life, if you’re being honest. You had always acknowledged and accepted the risks of looking into the Phantom Troupe. The stories of their unabashed cruelty served as an appropriate warning. Playing it close to the chest usually entailed fear of death, so never in your wildest dreams were you expecting… whatever this is.

At least it beats dying? So you’ve got that going for you.

There isn’t anything you can do now, is what you’ve been telling yourself. Playing along with his whims is all you can think to do. It isn’t the ideal situation, but your only option now is to wait for an opening for escape. Even though Chrollo has more strength than you, he is still human. The thought offers a glimmer of encouragement, knowing that people aren’t infallible. You’ll take advantage of any weaknesses you can find.

Getting more information out of him is a path worth pursuing for the time being.

“I hope we’re not camping,” you murmur, shuddering at the horrific thought. “Bugs eat me like I’m the last supper.”

“We won’t be camping. And despite the name, the last supper isn’t actually the last time the disciples ate.” There’s something extremely ironic about a murderer correcting you on this.

“Please forgive me for not being up to date on biblical theology. I’ll be sure to correct that before the next test,” you deadpan before a realization hits you. “Wait, so what exactly are we doing? How am I even allowed to be on this blimp without my passport? God, none of this makes any sense…”

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever ask. To answer your questions, we’ll be staying at a hotel for a few weeks. I know some people in the area who are interested in purchasing what was stolen earlier.” Chrollo explains with a casual air, smoothing out a wrinkle in his shirt.

It all hits you again. This is really happening to you. An inescapable reality where you’re at the complete mercy of this man, who despite showing no interest in harming you, is fully capable of doing so. Your contempt style of speaking until now has been a pitiful defense mechanism to help you cope with the extremity of this situation, not doing anything aside from momentarily distracting you. Running a hand through your hair, you feel your heart pounding within once more.

Chrollo takes note of how you shift in your seat, and tilts his head. “I understand this has been quite a lot to process. I meant what I said earlier -- about having no intention to harm you -- unless you do something that forces my hand.”

He smiles, the warm action not matching up to the dark implications of his words. It makes your blood run cold, how a monster can wear the skin of a human. There isn’t any benefit of getting yourself further worked up, so you continue rambling on. Life is all about testing the boundaries of what you can and can’t get away with.

“I still… don’t really get it. I know I was looking into information about you guys, but in that case, why not just,” you gulp, fearful that saying it will solidify the possibility. “Kill me? Even more so now that I know more.”

For the first time all night, Chrollo doesn’t offer an immediate quip in response. He carefully considers your words, in a way that leads you to believe he doesn’t entirely know the answer himself. It’s not that you have a death wish, yet your curiosity is overwhelming. Whenever he does decide to grace you with an answer, maybe you’ll find out something that’ll prove useful to escaping in the future.

“There’s no simple reason that’ll satisfy you. You piqued my interest, and that’s a dangerous thing to do with a thief,” he leans over, clearly assessing you as you back away in response. “I confirmed my suspicions when we spoke earlier in the car. So for the time being… I want to observe you.”

He was right when he said the answer won’t be satisfactory. His response leaves more questions than answers, some of which you don’t want to delve into. Backing down from this befuddling conversation, you focus on something else.

The soothing night sky outside elicits butterflies in your stomach. Darkness allows for the city lights beneath to stand out, little twinkling dots of light growing closer as the blimp descends. You can’t help but feel a sense of relief knowing that you’ll be on the ground soon, a sense of claustrophobia constricting you in this room with no escape. His suffocating presence doesn’t help on that front.

Chrollo is finally considerate enough to leave you to your thoughts. Within a few more minutes you’ve made your landing, leaving through a private terminal with what has to be forged ID. A black car rental car is waiting for you outside the airport, Chrollo opening the door to the passenger seat for you. The gentleman-like act almost causes you to roll your eyes, but you’re far too exhausted to do anything other than sitting down obediently. You’ll save the cheek for a later time.

He shuts some luggage into the trunk, then starts the car with a low hum, driving off to where you presume the hotel he mentioned earlier is. Looking out the window, you squint as the sun begins to rise into the sky. Your eyelids grow heavier by the second, in spite of how desperately you cling to consciousness. Eventually, the world around you grows distant, and you’re lulled into a deep slumber.

Dreamless rest is stolen from you, Chrollo gingerly shaking your shoulders and bringing you back to cruel reality. Letting out a low groan at the unwelcome interruption, you feel like swatting his hands away. “What… oh, it’s you.”

“Good morning to you too,” If he’s bothered by your unenthusiastic greeting, he doesn’t show it. Taking out the keys from the car, the vehicle ceases making noise. “We’re here now. You did mention wanting to sleep on a bed earlier, didn’t you?”

Craning your neck to look out the window, you see only about half an hour has passed since you first fell asleep. Outside is a grandiose looking building that must be your hotel. As much as you hate to admit it, you find yourself staring at what has to be the very expensive venue. Much more than anything you could ever hope to afford. While you’re appreciating the sight before you, Chrollo gets out to get his luggage.

That’s right. What are you supposed to do for clothes anyways? All of it’s stuck back at your apartment, and you don’t think Chrollo was generous enough to pack for you. At least a hotel will have toiletries, so that won’t be a concern.

‘Oh well. I guess we’ll cross that bridge once we get to it.’

“Do you need me to carry you?” Chrollo calls over from the curb, two large suitcases in hand. You realize only one of them has a lock on it.

Not even humoring him with a response, you get out of the car, keeping your distance from him. To your understanding, attempting to flee or signal down anyone will earn “unwanted consequences”, or at least that’s how he put it. It’s one thing to endanger yourself in a daring escape, but you can’t justify putting other’s lives on the line.

Morning chill prompts you to wrap your arms around yourself, warding off the cold. Following Chrollo’s lead, you head through revolving doors into a breathtaking lobby. Warm, yellow light from a glass chandelier basks the room in an ethereal glow, accenting the white marble flooring. He walks up to one of the employees behind a desk, checking in and getting a key to the room.

In the liberating few minutes away from Chrollo, your eyes sweep the surroundings for any openings. Is it possible to make a run for it for one of the cars outside? He’s fast -- you’ve seen it for yourself -- undoubtedly more than you. Such an obvious attempt at escape will only be met with failure. The lobby is wide open, no possibilities for hiding evident.

‘There goes that idea.’

Your insistent glancing around the area must’ve given you away, Chrollo placing a warning hand on your shoulder, and giving a firm squeeze. “Let’s head to our room. You must be exhausted by now.”

Once again offering no signs of protest, you head to an elevator together. Chrollo hits the button with the highest number on it. Ascending upwards, you watch the lights around the rims of the buttons with interest until it reaches level thirty. The elevator adds to your dizziness, a fuzzy feeling budding in your head.

With a ding, the door opens to reveal a long hallway. Chrollo checks the number on his key once more, before navigating to a room.

Finally, after what feels like forever, he opens the door to your shared suite. The lobby clued you in earlier that this is no cheap hotel, the suite confirming that. Since it’s at the top of the building, the entire city is visible to you. It’s a breathtaking sight, one that keeps you entranced as Chrollo shuts the door behind you. Looking out the window, you see more signs of life as the morning progresses.

The glass opens up to a balcony, the handle locked and cold to the touch. It’s probably not a good idea to walk out without permission, not sure of the act could be interpreted in a negative way.

Chrollo takes a place by your side, a little too close for your liking. Amidst the beauty before him, he’s more interested in looking at you. “I take it you like the view?”

“I’ve never been in a place like this,” you tell him, eyes wide and mouth agape at the breathtaking scenery. “If I had known we’d be staying here, I would’ve let you kidnap me sooner.”

“That’s a joke, by the way.”

He chuckles lowly at your rushed cover up, thinking little of it. “Are you hungry?”

Now that gets your attention. You can only imagine how wonderful the food here is, and you haven’t had anything to eat since your dinner last night. Having gone so long without food you’re surprised you aren’t ravenous, the kidnapping likely stunting your appetite. Still, you won’t be turning down the offer.

You nod your head to confirm his words. Chrollo walks over to a phone in the room to place an order for room service, quietly listing off a variety of breakfast foods. While he’s occupied doing this, you look around what will be your residence for the next few weeks. He must not take any issue in your wondering about, seeing as he’s covering the only possible exit. How considerate of him.

While he’s busy placing an order, you wonder off to take in your surroundings. From the door that leads to the hallway is a small closet on the left, and an expansive kitchen in the middle of the room. To the right of which is a living room, all surrounded by glass windows. That leaves your sleeping arrangement.

Saving the bedroom for last, your fears are confirmed. You realize that even in such an expansive suite, there’s only a single bedroom, with a king sized bed. Luck doesn’t seem to be on your side. Well, it’s not like you can’t sleep on the floor or couch if the opportunity presents itself. A nagging voice in the back of your mind tells you Chrollo won’t allow for that, unfortunately.

Plopping yourself down on the right side of the bed, you could almost melt into the comfortable mattress. Tempting as it is to fall asleep, you don’t trust Chrollo enough to give that a shot. Frowning at your fancy evening wear from the previous night, your previous concern about not having any clothes to change into returns. The bathroom did have a fluffy, white robe in it.

‘That feels too vulnerable... I’ll take my chances with the dress.’

Getting up before you fall asleep, you look around for anything that might be useful. The phone in the living room might be an idea, if you could somehow call and alert the staff of your predicament. Something tells you Chrollo has already taken that into account, and you write off the idea as soon as it appears.

Speaking of Chrollo, he enters the bedroom with an inviting cart of food in front of him. Everything from hashed browns, scrambled eggs, pastries, pancakes, bacon and waffles sit atop silver plates.

“I wasn’t sure what you like, so I got everything. Help yourself.”

Not needing to be told twice, you grab a plate and go to town. Chrollo grabs a steaming cup of tea, taking a sip and sitting down next to you. The bed creaks underneath his added weight, you too occupied with eating to care about the implications of his action.

He raises the glass to his lips. “Is there anything else you want to ask me, [First]?”

Swallowing your previous bite, you give his question some thought. There is plenty on your mind that you’d love to know. A better, more conclusive answer for why he kidnapped you at the top of that list. You recall how he looked detached from reality when you asked him about it on the blimp, leading you to believe that asking again will earn a similar result.

‘It’d be best to play it safe for now.’

“Yes, actually,” you take a bite of a blueberry muffin, wiping your mouth before continuing. “Am I supposed to wear this damned dress for the remainder of this... arrangement?”

"As lovely as you look in it, no. One of the suitcases has clothes for you, among other things.”

Blinking at this new information, you wonder if he ever intended on telling you this. In your short time of being acquainted with Chrollo, you’ve picked up on how he rewards you for conversation. Humiliating as it is to play along with his tune, you’ll have to do just that.

“Other things...?” you repeat back in a faint murmur, showcasing your confusion by tilting your head. Chrollo nods his head in affirmation to this, setting his now empty tea cup on a nightstand with a faint click.

“You strike me as the type to want something to do, so I went through the trouble of procuring a few of your belongings. A few books, and the like.”

‘Ah. How terribly considerate of him.’

It’s not much, but knowing you have some of your personal possessions is comforting. Anything is better than being stuck alone with him, or your thoughts. The worst possible case scenarios.

Your meal now finished, you get up and place your dirty plates back onto the tray. Chrollo continues relaxing, eyes still following your every moment. How is he not exhausted? The only thing keeping you awake is your fear of what could happen when you’re asleep, and even that is beginning to wane. Maybe some caffeine will help with that.

“I’m gonna get my stuff.” you call over, holding your breath in anticipation of a response.

At his lack of protest, you assume this action is approved of. Helping yourself to the suitcase without a lock on it, you unzip it to find it’s just as he said. Some of your clothes from home, your switch, books, a few offline games, your favorite perfume, shampoo and body wash.

It’s creepy to know someone went into your residence and took your stuff, but that’s the least of your problems right now. While grabbing a change of clothes, a thought hits you. Looking up towards the phone Chrollo used to call room service earlier, your hand twitches by your side. It’s a temptation, taunting you over the possibility of freedom.

‘He’s in the other room relaxing. Maybe, just maybe I have enough time...’

Cautiously, as not to alert him of your scheme, you begin to silently tiptoe over to the phone. Time feels like it goes slower, not even trusting yourself to breathe in fear of him hearing it. Hand hovering over your possible saving grace, your fingers grow closer to pressing 9.

That’s when he appears in the corner of your eye, leading you to hurriedly bring back your hand and straighten your back.

“I already cut the wires. It was a good idea though.” he calls over from the doorway, leaning against it and smiling in a way that makes your stomach curl. Not a single detail has gone overlooked, but what were you expecting from a mastermind criminal who has managed to go this long without being caught?

Checking to see if his words hold any merit, you find it’s just as he said. Wires cut in a single clean motion, biting your lip as your hopes evaporate in front of you.

It reminds you of Tantalus. Who was cursed to be hungry and thirsty forever, in the taunting reach of food and water that’d recede whenever he went to partake in it. An eternal punishment you’re now being subjected to.

‘I should’ve known it wouldn’t have been so easy. Still, how could he have not made a single sound? I didn’t even hear the bed creak.’

Laughing nervously at being caught, you step back as to avoid further consequence, cheeks flushing at being caught in your measly attempt. “Just... checking to make sure all is in order, aha...”

Walking away from it, you look to change the subject. Chrollo doesn’t seem bothered by your defiant actions, having clearly already anticipated your idea. He rolls out the cart from before, leading you to stiffen when he walks past you. Heart pounding away in your chest, you silently observe him opening the door to place it outside.

He looks back at your anxious form after shutting the door. “I’d rather not have to constantly monitor you. Whether or not I do will be determined by how you act.”

There’s a thick pressure in the room from his words, one that pushes down on you like a heavy weight. Unable to maintain eye contact with him any longer, you look to the side, clutching your clothes to your person. Chrollo doesn’t have to resort to infuriated threats or physical violence, his presence commanding enough on its own.

To ease the tension in the air, Chrollo speaks up. “If I happened to leave out anything you need, let me know.”

Grateful for the change in subject, you nod your head in a daze. From now on you’ll have to be more discreet. Mentally slapping yourself for not giving your earlier actions more consideration, you move on at Chrollo’s lack of reprimanding.

“Is it alright if I get changed?” you speak up, voice meek enough to remind you of a mouse. Chrollo considers you before nodding his head. You jump at the opportunity to be alone, borderline running to the master bathroom and shutting the door behind you.

Looking in the mirror, you see your frowning reflection staring back. Placing a hand to your face, you inspect the bags forming underneath your eyes. Peeling off the dress feels heavenly, using a wet rag on the sink to quickly clean your body. Showering with a murderer in the other room isn’t a tempting proposition.

Putting on your clothes, you feel like a new person. Straightening up your hair and splashing your face with cold water, you place your hands onto the cool marble counter top.

‘I’m going to get out of this. It’ll be okay, [First]. Stay calm.’

Finishing your mini pep talk, you fold your previous outfit and place it on the floor. Will Chrollo even allow someone into your room to clean it? Not that it matters, seeing as you spotted a washer and dryer earlier.

He’s sitting up in bed when you open the door, a book now in hand. At your presence, he looks up to acknowledge you. Chrollo’s dark hair frames his face, and you flush at his admittedly handsome appearance. How are you supposed to remain composed in his company?

“I can close the blinds if you intend to sleep.” he offers before turning to the next page of his book.

Oh, that’s right. Now that you’re wearing pajamas he must assume you want to sleep. The next hurdle of this headache inducing dilemma, Chrollo having the expectation of you resting next to him. Eyelids feeling heavier by the second, you wonder how much coffee would be necessary to keep you awake.

That’d still be delaying the inevitable. Coffee or not you won’t be able to stay conscious forever. Earlier, when you fell asleep in the car, he didn’t do anything weird... right? Nothing that you can account for.

He looks up at you, noting your lack of response. Unfreezing from your prior stiff position, you make the decision to sit down next to the bed. Chrollo most likely wants you where he can see you after your previous stunt, and sleeping on the floor isn’t the worst thing in the world.

Aside from the back pains.

Making yourself comfortable, you fully intend to fall asleep on the floor. Chrollo closes his book at your antics, coming over to your side of the bed and frowning. “What are you doing?”

“I’m about to sleep.”

“... On the floor?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.”

Unreadable grey eyes pierce through your being, sending chills down your spine. From your previous interactions with him, you thought a measly sign of resistance such as this one wouldn’t matter. Your initial assessment must be incorrect, as he sends you a disapproving look.

“There’s no reed for that.” he reasons with you, leaving little room for argument. Not wanting to give in, you remain planted in your spot. Without wasting anymore time, he gets up and crouches next to you. You wonder if he’s going to chastise you further for your childish actions.

He instead lifts you up in a single, fluid motion. A small noise of shock leaves your lips at the sensation of being hoisted up, scrambling to clutch onto him in fear of falling. It doesn’t last long, as he places you down onto the bed with gentleness that you didn’t expect him to have.

Arms receding back to his side, Chrollo returns to his previous position as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. You feel your face burning, a bright red glow coupled with it. The scent of his cologne lingers, memory of his touch flustering you further.

Clearing your throat to play off the events, you still can’t manage to look at him. “I was planning on sleeping here, actually. Was just testing the floor out.”

He opens his book back up to its previous page, lips quirking into an amused smile. “I’m sure you were.”

Having no other options, you lay on your side facing the wall. Muscles taut and incapable of relaxing in his presence, you squeeze your eyes shut to no avail. All you hear is the gentle hum of the air conditioner on the wall, and the occasional page flip from him.

More time passes, at a snails pace. An hour ago you would’ve entered slumber easily, now it taunts and eludes you. Huffing at your inability to rest, you adjust yourself against the soft mattress.

Sighing quietly in defeat, you attempt to make conversation to pass the time. “Do you not ever need to sleep?”

“I’ll be fine for a while longer. Are you concerned for my well being?” You can imagine the smug visage on his face, clear as day. It’s tempting to want to bite back with no, you’re not very worried about his health. You bite your tongue and instead ignore the teasing.

Sitting up and hugging your knees to your chest, you look over at him. His guard is still on high alert even while he’s reading. There’s an immeasurably gap in strength between you two, accented by his casual demeanor.

“That makes two of us. I don’t feel tired now,” you narrow your eyes in his direction, wanting desperately to know what it is he’s thinking. “Something tells me we’re not going to be sitting here all day.”

“For a majority of it. I’ll consider taking you out for dinner if you continue acting agreeable.”

Tempting you with food, huh? It’s a most valiant effort, one that almost threatens to win you over. Especially since cities always have a variety of nice restaurants to choose from. Giving his proposition some thought, you realize there might be a catch. There always is with these kinds of ordeals.

“What is your definition of... agreeable?”

Disliking the way the word feels on your tongue, you purse your lips. Dehumanizing is how you’d describe it, knowing that your actions are being analyzed and studied. If Chrollo notices the bitterness in your voice, he doesn’t feel a need to mention it.

“I don’t care much for labels, but I’d equate it to wanting to date you. I told you earlier that I had taken an interest in you, that’s what I meant.” Chrollo explains to you with ease that tells you how much thought he’s given it.

When he had told you he was interested in you earlier, you thought he meant it in an entirely different way. Like how you find a certain movie interesting or entertaining. Now you’re unsure what to think. Mind swarming with thoughts ranging from maybe it’s a good thing, to what do you do now?

Finally, you deliver your eloquent and delicately woven response, having put every level of care into it.

“Oh.”

Glancing over at your dumbfounded expression, he can’t help but laugh airily at your mortified look.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

2K notes · View notes

qqueenofhades · 3 years ago

Note

For the spooky prompts, "Violent Thunderstorms" for Fivan perhaps? 😳

Anonymous asked: Heyyy 2 Vampire for fivan (how to ask for the chapter 2 witout asking for chap 2)

Anonymous asked: Fivan and #2 🧛��♂️🧛‍♂️

Very well, I see what the people want, and that is a sequel to this one-shot. I have thus combined these prompts for reasons.

Fedyor spends the next fortnight attempting – with notably indifferent success – not to think about Ivan Sakharov. The Conclave was less than pleased to hear that Fedyor came back empty-handed, having not even secured a promise for Ivan and the rest of the Black Hand to leave off their mischief-making, and in fact has empowered them in their belief that there is nothing the law can do to them. Considering the earful that Fedyor got on that accord, he saw nothing to be gained from mentioning that not only did Ivan blow him off completely, he did it after he had fed on him. It’s entirely possible that Ivan accessed sensitive thoughts, memories, or plans, any scrap of useful intelligence that Fedyor did not carefully hide away in his mind before that too-distracting bite. In short, he has comprehensively botched the entire situation, the Conclave is well within their rights to be very angry with him, and to demonstrate the extent of their displeasure, they have temporarily revoked Fedyor’s right to enter their territory and feed on their drones – willing humans kept for the purpose, who are hoping to be selected for the transformation in exchange for their service. That means if Fedyor wants to eat, he has to go out and hunt an animal, or bamboozle and beguile an unwitting passerby to let him chomp on their neck. Truly, being a vampire can be such a terrible drag.

Fedyor figures that if he keeps his head down, meekly accepts his punishment, and doesn’t make any trouble, the Conclave will get over their anger and reinstate him sooner rather than later. It’s not like he has many other options. If he wants to stay in Belgrade, he will remain in their good graces, and he has no desire to get mixed up with the Black Hand. The rumor is that they were founded by the Black Heretic himself, who has remained out of sight for many decades but is now said to be active again, and the Black Heretic is the scion of the Conclave’s greatest enemy, the vampire that all other vampires fear. Absolutely no good can come of throwing one’s lot in with that crowd, and Fedyor wonders if he is going to have to find a new home. If a stupid supernatural war blows up this city, he’s out.

Most of the fortnight passes without incident, but the flaw in the plan is the unfortunate fact that Fedyor is very hungry. He’s still a young enough vampire that he can’t go two weeks without feeding, and he really hates the messy business of corralling an unwitting human. Besides, the Conclave’s headquarters and chief place of business are on Knez Mihailova Ulica, the most fashionable downtown district right in the middle of Belgrade, and what with Fedyor’s current banishment from the premises, he can’t go there anyway. Hunting it has to be.

Fedyor waits until it is dark, a soft summer rain pattering on the steep-roofed eaves and glowing streetlamps, and then, having changed into clothing more suitable for getting a lot of bloodstains, he slips out. He moves silently in the shadows, past the well-dressed gentlemen and evening-gowned ladies out at the ball or the opera or the latest society supper-party, and escapes the precincts of Belgrade proper for the low green hills that surround it. This is on the Sava side of the river confluence, to the west, and once Fedyor is out of the city, the trees close in thickly. They are only broken by the occasional tiny village: small churches with square steeples and double-branched Orthodox crosses, red-tiled cottages crowded together along narrow dirt lanes, a lantern burning here and there to keep the monsters away. Fedyor can hear human voices, sense the shadows of people moving around behind the shutters, and it gives him a pang. No wonder he is clinging so closely to the prospect of timely reinstatement to the Conclave. Without them, he would truly be entirely alone.

The rain starts to come down harder as Fedyor climbs through the thick green underbrush, and by the time he reaches the top of the hill, it is slicing into his face with a vehemence that even a vampire finds intensely disagreeable. Squinting and swearing under his breath, Fedyor shields his eyes and takes a deep whiff, searching for the scent of a prey animal. He could always hop a fence and grab a cow, but cows can kick surprisingly hard, a poor farmer doesn’t need the hassle of his one beast of burden keeling over, and maybe it is just the city-boy aesthete in Fedyor, but crouching in a muddy farmyard, doing your damndest not to get murdered by a large and angry bovine while you valiantly attempt to suck its blood, is just fucking terrible. There’s nothing to recommend it. Now that he’s out of the fledgling bloodlust, Fedyor has no intention of ever going back.

Thunder booms overhead, making him jump, and a jagged spear of lightning sears the horizon from sky to ground. A tree not that far away lights up in blinding white, and a scorched scent of ozone drifts through the pounding rain. Fedyor flinches, as he has no desire to be set on fire, and decides that either he raids a farm or he heads back home and waits for better weather. But he can catch another scent just ahead, and he’s hungry enough to risk it. He breaks into a run, almost loses his footing, dodges around an enormous dripping tree, and spots a thin crescent of lights high on the bluff ahead. Wait, is that a house? Some Serbian royal bureaucrat’s elegant country retreat, or – something else? Fedyor doesn’t recall that he has seen it before, although he has not spent much time out here alone. That, or –

He has only a split second of warning, his supernatural senses screaming at him to get the fuck out of here right now, before he realizes two things at once: first, that the scent is very definitely hostile, and second, that something is dive-bombing directly toward him, on the strength of a ferocious leap that is remarkable even for a vampire. The next second, it – he – hits Fedyor like a ton of bricks, and they go crashing down the slope, kicking and thrashing and biting at each other in a flurry of blows too fast for a human eye to see. Another enormous clap of thunder rattles Fedyor’s fangs in his head, he slams down on his back hard enough to break his bones if he was human, and then, in the flash of the succeeding lightning bolt, his eyes confirm what his nose has already told him. Of all the stupid, stupid things, he appears to have unwittingly trespassed onto Black Hand territory and tried to hunt their game, and the angry supernatural soldier determined to beat the unholy tarnation out of him is therefore none other than the one and only –

“Stop!” Fedyor wheezes, although he has no idea why he expects it to make any difference. “It’s me! Fedyor Kaminsky! From Terazije!”

The rain stings his eyes hard enough to make him grimace, just as a third incandescent bolt of lightning rattles across the sky. From what Fedyor can see, which is not very much, Ivan looks almost as startled as he feels. They remain staring at each other, their faces barely an inch apart, Ivan’s fangs bared in a way that it is really not the time to find disturbingly attractive. Then Ivan springs off and barks, “What the fuck are you doing out here, Conclave whore?”

“Sorry.” Fedyor sits up. His dark hair is plastered to his head and getting in his eyes, there is mud all over his clothes, and even for an immortal who technically does not need to breathe, he is winded. Ivan, to nobody’s surprise, really packs a punch. “I was just… hungry.”

“You have your own arrangements.” Ivan eyes him suspiciously, arms folded, rainwater running down that magnificently disdainful Slavic nose as if from a statue in the public square. “If anyone besides me had caught you out here, you would be dead.”

Well, that is (not) encouraging. It does, however, point out the fact that Ivan has already had the chance to murder him and held back, and Fedyor is not about to speculate on why exactly that might be. It’s not a good idea, but he’s wet, hungry, has just had to unexpectedly fight like the dickens, and irritated at Ivan for being the one who got him into this mess in the first place. “The Conclave demanded that I return their visiting card,” he says shortly. “I’m not allowed to feed on their drones for some unspecified length of time – which is, I might add, entirely thanks to you.”

“What? Why is that my fault?”

“In case you’ve forgotten our last meeting,” Fedyor snaps, “it was at the Golden Cross, on the Lumière brothers’ film night. I relayed the Conclave’s warning to stop your illegal behavior and associations, and you completely ignored it. As a result – ”

“What, they cut off your feeding access?” Ivan interrupts. He looks utterly incredulous. “That’s charitable of them. A good way to build loyalty among your people. Besides, what the fuck did they expect? That you would walk up and ask me nicely, and that would solve it?”

He does, Fedyor has to loathingly admit, have a point. The best he can muster is, “The Conclave is accustomed to being obeyed.”

Ivan eyes him up, with an expression on his face as if that riposte is so pathetic, he isn’t going to dignify it with the effort of a reply. He is poised on edge, as if he doesn’t consider this matter to be entirely settled by the previous bout of violence, and Fedyor is equally tense. He very much does not want to scuffle with a Black Hand hardman who looks like that and fights like that, especially in the throes of encroaching frenzy, and the attendant loss of control. His fangs dig into his lower lip, seeking out the nearest blood – his own – and Fedyor clenches his fists. “Do you have an animal I can borrow?” he asks, as politely as he can. “I’ll – pay for it.”

Ivan surveys him up and down, dripping like an undead drowned rat and otherwise looking as miserable as Fedyor generally tries not to look (after all, presentation is everything). Then he jerks up an impatient fist. “Follow me.”

Fedyor is unsure what this might entail, but shamefully – whether it is due to his increasingly desperate hunger, or something else – he is not altogether opposed to it. He trails after Ivan, trying not to slip in the wet grass or fixate on Ivan’s scent; he will just get another smackdown for his trouble, like a horse flicking aside a fly, and he is not in the mood for it. After a climb of a few minutes, they reach the top of the hill and cross a deserted lawn to a manor house, scattered lights flickering in steep gables and pointed turrets. It is otherwise entirely dark, even to Fedyor’s vampire senses, as Ivan unlatches the heavy front door and drags it open with a screech. “In.”

Well aware that this is an even stupider idea than the polite request to knock it off – he is putting himself voluntarily in the power of a Black Hand operative, on enemy territory, where nobody knows where he is or what Ivan intends to do with him. If Fedyor’s drained corpse turns up floating in the Danube tomorrow, a warning to the Conclave never to interfere in their business again, he can’t say that he didn’t expect it. He hesitates at the threshold a moment longer, and then, given permission – it’s not essential, but it does help – steps inside.

The hall looks almost exactly as you would expect a secret vampire mansion to look: dusty suits of armor, glowering paintings, a sweeping grand staircase with a gothic balcony, and a chandelier which struggles to illuminate the cracked black-and-white chessboard flagstones. Still dripping, the thunder dulling to a muted rumble, Fedyor looks warily from side to side. There doesn’t seem to be anyone here except the two of them – or at least, he certainly hopes that there are no unwitting humans asleep upstairs. In the state that he’s in right now, he isn’t sure that he could control himself. Unless Ivan is trying to make some tiresome point about the inherent monstrosity of vampires, the sort that certain factions like to use in order to argue against the Conclave’s attempts to civilize them and make them follow human-like rules and laws. Fedyor hopes not, because that would be deeply irritating, but he’s so hungry that he’s about to bite his own wrist, and it would not be his finest hour.

However, Ivan does not lead them upstairs, but through a dim warren of corridors to a small, curtained study in the back of the house. Sullen embers glimmer in the hearth; vampires don’t need fires for heat, or to see by, but the human habit is hard to break, even if it’s one of the few things that can hurt them. Then Ivan shuts the door behind them and says crisply, “I’ll make you a deal. Give me useful information on the Conclave, and I will let you feed.”

“What?” Fedyor gapes at him. That was clearly a starvation-induced hallucination. “On – on you?”

“No,” Ivan snaps. “On the davenport, you idiot. Yes, obviously on me. Or I can throw you out and send you to try your luck in the nearest village. Yes or no?”

Fedyor continues to gape at him. Obviously he does not want to go and rip some screaming innocent villager out of their bed, like the very worst of the strigoi horror stories, but he is not in a hurry to jeopardize his ticket back to the Conclave’s good graces by informing on them to Ivan bloody Sakharov. (Indeed, literally.) Did Ivan make that offer because he knows that Fedyor wants it, and remembers how much of a reaction Fedyor had to Ivan feeding on him back at the Golden Cross? It was impossible to hide it entirely, blast him, and Ivan is too canny not to take advantage of an adversary’s weakness. He’s caught Fedyor dead to rights, trespassing on Black Hand territory, and as he himself said, Fedyor is lucky to escape with his skin. It’s Ivan’s right to exploit that fact, nothing more. If Fedyor refuses, what in the hell is he going to do?

“I don’t know,” he stalls. “I’m not sure that I can – ”

Ivan shrugs, then lifts his own wrist to his mouth and bites the back of it. Slow, rich, dark blood beads up, and he wafts it temptingly in Fedyor’s direction. “So, you don’t want this, then?”

Yes, Fedyor wants it. Fedyor, in fact, wants a few other things while he’s at it, and there is no way that Ivan, with hearing and senses and smell as acute as his own, doesn’t know it. He takes a step forward, but Ivan dances aside. “Information first,” he orders. “Then you may have your reward. Come now, Conclave whore. Why is it any different from last time?”

“Don’t call me that.” Fedyor is seeing red – which, at this point, could be due to just about anything. “I have a name, remember? Fedyor – Mikhailovich – Kaminsky.”

He stumbles a little over the patronymic, as it is an ongoing debate whether proper etiquette for Slavic vampires entails the use of the birth father’s name, or that of the vampire sire. Opinion generally comes down on the side of the latter, since it represents proper respect for one’s new immortal status and supernatural bloodline; you’re supposed to let go of your human family, since pining to go back complicates the already-difficult adjustment period and is impossible anyway. But since Fedyor isn’t entirely reconciled to it, and tries to hold onto his humanity, he tends to introduce himself as Fedyor Mikhailovich, not Fedyor Dmitrievich, and the flicker in Ivan’s eyes means that he has taken note of that struggle. Then he shrugs, crooking a taunting finger at him. “Fine then, Fedyor Mikhailovich. It is your choice.”

“What do you – ” Fedyor is having trouble seeing straight. “Want to know?”

“Anything that might be useful.” If he is worried about being shut in a small room with another vampire on the verge of total frenzy, Ivan doesn’t show it. Indeed, in this paramount confidence and command, Fedyor realizes that Ivan is much older than he initially thought. He took him for one of Catherine the Great’s courtiers, from the late eighteenth century or so, but the well-worn shadow of violence that sits on Ivan’s shoulders is of considerably longer use than that. It’s something else to puzzle out when Fedyor regains the use of his higher critical faculties, which is definitely not the case at the moment. “That is, if you can bring yourself to actually – ”

At that moment, he is cut off as Fedyor, deciding that two can play this game and he is tired of being jerked around by this arrogant bastard, lunges at him. Ivan jumps six feet straight up, hissing, and they end up somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling, only to crash back down to the floor. Even vampires are not immune to the laws of gravity, and they roll around in a second deeply undignified flurry of kicking and biting, as Fedyor finally gets hold of Ivan’s wrists and tries to get his mouth as close as possible to that maddeningly enticing trickle. Then, for a crucial instant, he hesitates. He is very far gone, but there’s enough of his brain left to remember that feeding without permission is regarded quite dimly, and he is trying to prove that he is not a total savage. He gulps and gasps, fangs cutting into his lip, struggling and thrashing, not even able to properly articulate his request, as Ivan still looks – bafflingly – as if he is rather enjoying this. Then he smirks and says, “Very well, Fedyor Mikhailovich. Take it if you can.”

Now that is a challenge, and while it would be very enjoyable to throw it back in Ivan’s face in another fashion, Fedyor has only one concern at the moment. He presses his mouth to Ivan’s wrist, sinks his fangs, and sucks and licks like a man dying of thirst in the desert. Ivan utters a contented purring sound, his head falling back on the carpet, and certainly does not bother to keep struggling while Fedyor is otherwise occupied. Silence falls across the drawing room, except for the soft sounds of Fedyor feeding. He is half on top of Ivan, between his legs, and Ivan does not appear to be objecting in the least. Well. That was… unexpected.

When Fedyor has drunk enough to feel sane again, he pulls back with a jerk, remembers where he is, and fights the wash of embarrassment that floods through him. He wipes his mouth with the cuff of his shirt, then bends down and licks the bite wound closed, which is common vampire practice even if Ivan failed to do it with him. (After all, some supernaturals have manners.) Then they look at each other, and Fedyor doesn’t think it’s his imagination that Ivan’s breath is coming short, a flush visible in his pale cheeks, an enjoyment bearing a remarkable resemblance to Fedyor’s own. The silence persists a moment longer. Then Ivan groans, his legs sprawl further apart, and he orders, doing his utmost to sound gruff and commanding, “You will give me information on the Conclave now, yes?”

It is extremely tempting to tell him to take a long walk off a short pier, to pay him back for that underhanded trick at the Golden Cross, but that requires more command of his verbal processes than Fedyor currently possesses – or indeed, expects to possess in the near-to-medium future. He leans down instead, his nose brushing the hollow of Ivan’s cheek and his mouth ghosting against Ivan’s neck, his fangs tracing the line of the vein as if he might bite there too. Ivan’s hips buck, and his big hands settle heavily on the small of Fedyor’s back. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rasp in his throat. “You are wasted on those idiots.”

“Mmm.” Fedyor nips Ivan’s lower lip, with just a hint of fang. Then – although it’s the most difficult thing he has had to do in his life or his afterlife – he rolls off and gets to his feet, leaving the fearsome Black Hand anarchist vampire flat on his back on the drawing room floor. “It has,” he says, “been a lovely evening. But I will be taking my leave now. Good night.”

And with that, in the somewhat shameful epitome of quitting while he is ahead, but wanting to make absolutely sure that the point has been felt, Fedyor turns around and books it. He doesn’t dare to look back as he bursts out of the dark house, pelts across the lawn, and skids down the hill, in the thick and slippery knots of mud and moss. He doesn’t slow down until he spies the lights of Belgrade, and in a few minutes more, he’s thundering into his flat, clothes disheveled and hair a mess and mouth and head and heart still full of the taste and smell and feel of Ivan Sakharov. It’s intoxicating. It’s unbearable. But it can only be once. It will be only once.

The Conclave, Fedyor reminds himself. You’re doing this to get back to them, and you managed to get out of there without saying anything. They’ll appreciate it. They will. And it’s what you want. Keep your head down and don’t do anything else stupid, and it will work.

It’s what he wants.

It’s what he –

Ah, fuck.

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