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batfamscreaming · 3 years

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Winter in Kansas [80s AU] 2/2

previously: Bruce managed to sit on the bed for a full five minutes, hands held carefully in each other and breathing slowly, heart steadying, before he locked it in place.

And he left the room, footsteps quiet as he could make them on the carpet, and went back downstairs.

Clark wasn't there, but his parents were. Jon was in front of the TV drinking a cup of coffee while Martha hovered behind him, both talking about expected snow before they saw Bruce

“Hey honey, can I getcha something?” She asked.

Bruce’s mother had been dark-haired, like him, not blond and graying like Martha. It helped. Even if he'd been hoping to catch Jon.

“...I was wondering if I could ask some stuff outside?” he said softly.

Snitches get stitches. But these two knew. He was just entering the circle. Just confirming.

The two of them shared a look. Like they knew exactly what this was about.

Jon sighed and set his coffee down before getting it of his chair. “Sure, Bruce. Lemme just get my shoes on.”

Bruce nodded, waiting patiently and not making more sound than he absolutely had to for the few moments it took.

He saw the look. He knew what it meant, too.

At the very least, he wouldn't have to ease into this.

Once Jon had his dirty, mud-caked boots on and a thick jacket, he stepped outside and held the door open for Bruce to follow.

“So whaddya wanna ask about, son?”

Bruce followed, and stepped out into the field behind Jon.

He waited until they'd walked a little before speaking, hoping the crunch of his boots and the Kansas wind might hide his words from someone else.

“...how much can he hear?”

Jon turned to face Bruce and hesitated, his face hard to read.

“Pretty far last he told me. I don’t know the specifics.”

His voice was low too.

He gestured for Bruce to follow him. Lead him to one of the tractors, climbed on, and started it up, but then climbed right back down. He talked only loud enough for Bruce to hear over the constant rumble and shake of the machinery.

“More noise makes it harder for him as far as I know.”

The tractor was loud, but it didn't have the same bite as cars flying past on the freeway when trying to walk down the street. He could bear it.

“...so that's the only way to get privacy? Clutter the sound?”

“I wouldn’t think of it like ‘getting privacy’, Bruce. Clark isn’t trying to hear everything for the next mile. It’s just background noise for him. He tries not to pay attention to it. It’s only when he hears things that worry him that he pays attention, or his name.”

“... Think of it like… standin’ in the middle of a freeway. Your friend is right next to you talkin’, but not raising their voice. You can’t really make anything out unless you hear something like your name, or maybe ‘help’. Words you pay more attention to without even thinkin’ about it.”

...he listened, and nodded, but all the same--

All the same.

“...you called me a big name out east,” Bruce said. “When we met.”

“Yeah,” he shifted a little on the tractor to get more comfortable. “I know about Wayne Industries. Know what happened to your folks. Was all over the news.”

...he nodded, then. Okay. Jon had some context, then--

“I asked a girl out last month and three gossip rags picked it up,” he said. “...my friends tell me private stuff.”

And Clark could hear through walls.

Jon sighed, “Are you worried he’s gonna go around telling everyone everything?” He asked, sounding like he had this conversation before. “Before you knew about it, did he go around doing that?”

“He keeps everything he hears to himself.”

“That doesn't mean they trusted him with it,” he said. Looking down.

He wasn't… angry. And it didn't come out angry.

But he couldn't stop sounding tired.

Everyone, always listening in. Always hearing about him without him being the one to say it.

Even in Kansas. Jon knew. No chance to say things for himself.

Jon sighed, “No. You’re right.”

“... But it ain’t fair to blame Clark. He never asked for any of this. When it first started he used to lock himself in closets or hold his head underwater for… way longer than anyone was comfortable with. Don’t think he slept for at least a week.”

“I'm not trying to blame him,” Bruce said, and… he wasn't lying.

It almost surprised him. He wasn't trying to spare this man’s feelings.

“...I'm trying to find a work-around.”

“You know what the best work-around I’ve come up with?” Jon said, looking down at Bruce.

“Askin’ him when not to listen.”

Bruce looked up at him, expression confused.

Did Jon announce when he had private conversations?

Jon just shrugged down at him.

“Sometimes you just gotta take someone’s word.”

Okay. He would.

“That include taking his word he can't control it?”

Jon nodded, “I know you weren’t around to see it, but my boy went through hell just trying to deal with it. He’s a lot better, and I imagine he’ll keep getting better, but right now… that’s all you can really do. Take his word.”

The sharp parts of Bruce’s reply seemed to sail right over Jon’s head. Maybe the tractor’s noise hid the edges in his words. He didn't know.

If there wasn't any way to do it, though, then Bruce had… no other questions to be answered like this.

Or maybe Jon just didn’t have the energy in him to respond to it. He looked tired, like this song and dance had happened one too many times.

“That all?”

...he nodded. But still, he asked, “could I make a phone call?”

“Sure,” Jon said, and reached to turn off the tractor. But first--

“Bruce?”

Bruce looked up at him.

“... You could do my boy a whole lotta harm with the power you have. And while I can’t force you to do anything, I will ask that you keep this to yourself.”

And then he turned off the tractor.

“Mr. Kent,” he said, eyes and voice too steady for a sixteen year old. “I knew he was weird two months ago. I take care of my friends.”

He climbed off the tractor with him.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Jon said, and climbed off after him.

He lead him back inside and to the phone that hung on the kitchen wall.

Bruce thanked him quietly, and took the phone off the rack to dial.

He didn't have a tractor or anything else but the TV to hide his conversation, but still, he spoke softly into the receiver, enough that the Kents on the other side of the room wouldn't get more than a few snatches of conversation.

“...have the address already? ...okay. Thanks. Bye, Alfred.”

Hung up again.

Shuffled towards the couch.

“...I realized I forgot something, so Alfred’s going to send it in a few days,” he said, assuming that was fine but informing them out of politeness all the same.

“Okay.” Martha said, and did pass a look to Jon, who just gave her a nod.

They had a talk.

It was fine.

… There was still no sign of Clark.

Clark, he figured, was probably still in his room. He hadn't heard or seen anything to suggest otherwise.

So there was only one thing to do, in the handful of hours left before dinner.

He went to the guest room and dug through his bag, pulling out a clasped wooden box, folded with hinges, and headed to Clark’s bedroom door. And knocked.

It took a moment, but Clark did open his bedroom door.

The light was off and his eyes were a little puffy, like he’d been crying but stopped a short while ago.

He hesitated, but did step aside a little to let Bruce in.

“Hey.”

Bruce stepped in.

“So,” he said, skipping through pleasantries. “You are: stronger, faster, and have better hearing than me. And you can fly and reportedly burn people with your eyes.”

He sat on the floor without ceremony, and unhooked the box to let the game pieces all fall out, and reveal the pattern underneath.

“So, the next question is: do you know how to play chess?”

Clark flicked on the light out of habit whenever someone came inside.

“... Kinda?” He said, watching Bruce plop down on the rug. Like the question confused him.

Bruce nodded, starting to set up the chess board. “Kinda? You know how each piece moves?”

“Yeah.” He said, and sat down across from him.

“Cool. You fine if I take black?”

“Go ahead.” Clark shook his head.

Bruce took black and made the first move.

And they played chess.

Clark knew enough about chess to play, but he was by no means any sort of champion.

Eventually though, he did ask; “Are you mad at me?”

“Did you do anything I should be mad about?” Bruce asked, mostly focused on going easy on Clark and playing at his level.

He wondered if he could get this game to a draw.

“Be a freak.” He said bluntly.

“...” Bruce moved one of his pawns.

He has secrets bubbled up inside of him that he doesn't need to pour out. They aren't his to give. If he can find distaste in Clark overhearing secrets accidentally, he can't console himself in spilling them full-knowing.

So instead, he says, “I've met worse people.”

Clark just sighed, like what Bruce said didn’t mean anything.

But he didn’t say anything and continued to half-heartedly play chess. After each move he would pull his arms into himself, hugging them, like out of the two he was the most vulnerable even if it was anything but.

...Bruce watched. Saw Clark tugging his arms in on himself. Saw him curled between moves.

“...what are you so scared of?” he asked. Finally. When it was clear things weren't getting better.

“Everyone,” he said.

“... After the- the shooting, and whenever I’d do something that no real person should be able to do, Ma and Pa would sit me down and remind me that I needed to keep it to myself. That I had to be a ‘normal human teenager’, even if it was just an act, because what if someone told the wrong person. What if they came swooping down in helicopters to drag me out of the house and go seal me in some secret underground bunker somewhere to stab me with needles.”

“And I try. I try but it’s hard. I run too fast and hear too much. It’s like I’m constantly holding my breath and I can never breathe because if I did someone will hear and drag me away.”

….

Bruce nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “...that's…”

God.

He hadn't expected to hear that.

Hear that fear out of Clark’s mouth. The same raw level of fried nerves that knotted in his shoulders and let him wanting to scream, but unable to.

“...I…” God. Fuck. He's spent one day in Smallville, away from Tommy and the pap, and he's falling apart like Gotham was a mould desperately trying to help him hold his shape. “I'm scared of everyone, too.”

Clark was trying not to cry again. His eyes were glazed over. He wiped at them before anything could come out and looked over at Bruce.

“Why?” He asked, confused.

He didn’t know of all the things his friend was scared of.

To be fair to Clark, it was a very long list.

“Everyone in Gotham knows me,” he said, face the same carefully controlled expression he usually had when he was trying to explain something on their homework, or when speaking to the teachers and adults. “...and they know what I'm worth. I wasn't kidding about kidnappings. They've happened before.”

“...I bribed someone when I was ten. To stay with Alfred,” he continued. “...they wanted to take me away. There's a lot of people who are counting down until I'm eighteen and have access to the money. A lot of people want it.”

“...I just want my family back. And to not feel like every street I walk down’s going to have a mugger with a gun on it.”

...he looked up, and met Clark’s wet eyes with his own, darker, exhausted ones.

“...it sounds nice. To have a friend I don't have to worry about being shot.”

Clark finally managed a little bit of a smile.

Friend.

“... Sorry. I didn’t realize having so much money would be such a problem. But it makes a lot of sense. To me that whole… life… just, they show it on TV like it’s anything but a problem. Don’t have to worry about the crop doing well or the cows dyin’ to depend on whether you’re gonna have to cut corners and stuff.”

“I try ‘n do what I can with what I have to help out. Heavy lifting. Lookin’ for engine problems where Pa can’t see. That kinda stuff. I tried to convince them to just let me fly to Gotham too, to cut on bus faire, but they said no.”

He made his move and swallowed.

“I wanna help people, Bruce. That’s why I went to that house and ended up…”

Clark didn’t finish his sentence.

“But whenever I do I just get scolded. And I’m scared that someone will find out it’s me, and then that’d be the end of it.”

Bruce listens.

He's still watching Clark’s eyes, and his mouth, and he can't imagine this boy doing what they say he's done.

“Kent,” he says, with steel in his tone. “I would've given anything for someone to get in the way and burn the man who killed my family’s arms off.”

Clark smiled a little.

Validation.

…

“I don't regret it. At all. If it happened again I'd do the same thing. Even though I'm scared of being taken away. It'd be worth it, I think.”

Bruce picked up one of the chess pieces he'd captured and threw it at Clark’s head.

“Don't be stupid.”

It connected but Clark just let it.

“Huh?”

Bruce gave him a glare, though it wasn't a particularly intense one.

“You can't do it one time and get taken away so the next guy has a clear shot,” he said. “So next time, don't get caught.”

Geez.

He blinked, “So like… do it and run? They'll still see me though and tell the cops.”

“No, like don't do it so they know you're an alien,” Bruce said, like it was obvious. “As much as they deserve their arms burned off, it might get suspicious.”

Clark gave him a look. “As soon as they shoot me and I don't die they'll know something is messed up.”

“Then wear a mask,” he said, leaning forwards, an odd light in his eyes. “Be so alien they can't imagine you're who you really are.

Clark looked a mix of shocked and excited. “Like… a comic book hero?”

Bruce wasn't sure what the expression on his own face was. “Sure?”

… He made his move and didn’t say anything for a few minutes.

“I used to pretend I was one when I was little. I think that’s why I learned to fly before, y’know, all the other stuff.”

What kid didn’t want to fly?

...Bruce looked down at the board and quietly moved his piece, too.

“...I lied to you before. About where I'm going when I'm eighteen.”

Clark looked up at him but definitely wasn’t mad.

“... You know where you wanna go?”

“...I wanna learn how to hunt people down,” he admitted, head low.

“... Like… a detective?”

That didn't seem bad or even a little out of character for Bruce.

…

“Maybe,” he said. He didn't really have a word for what he wanted.

But Clark used to pretend he was a comic book hero…?

Bruce dropped his gaze again.

“...I found a cave, when I was a kid,” he said. “I fell inside while walking. I used to pretend I lived inside it. A monster. Who would come out and hurt the people who deserved it.”

…

“It's stupid, now.”

He was stupid.

But he was still going to go.

Going to find someone dangerous and powerful, and say teach me how.

“That's not stupid.” Clark said, taking his turn.

“... Well, maybe the eating part. But wanting to track people down and make them pay isn't stupid. It's what we're doing now kinda. Looking into the Court of Owls.”

“...yeah,” Bruce said. Nodding. “...do you think we’ll find them?”

“... I’m not sure, honestly.” Clark admitted. “I feel like we’re finding something deeper but I dunno if it’s the Court of Owls.”

“Just gotta keep diggin’ to find out.”

...Bruce nodded.

He took a breath.

“....you're in check, by the way.”

“Oh.”

He made his move.

…

“You’re going easy on me.” He smirked.

“Yep,” Bruce said, moving a piece on the opposite side of the bored and giving Clark time to escape. “Don't feel bad. I've been playing Tommy for years. Only recently started to give him a run for his money.”

Clark huffed, “I don’t feel bad. I know you’re way out of my league.”

It took him a few seconds, but he made his move.

...he moved another piece.

“...does that bother you?”

‘Maybe a little,’ Clark thought.

But Bruce didn’t even like guys. He knew that after seeing what happened with Tommy.

“Nah,” he said instead with a smile. “I’m just glad you put up with the redneck from Kansas.”

Bruce huffed.

“What's that got to do with chess? You guys not play board games out here?”

Clark gave him a look.

“Do Kenny ‘n Pete look like they’d play chess?”

“Kenny ‘n Pete look like they play tic tac toe,” he said.

Clark let out a laugh that could have melted a room.

“Yeah, basically.”

…

“God. I’m sorry about them.”

Bruce gave him a confused look.

“...that they have big mouths?” He said. Because, yeah. He was sorry for that, too.

Or was it a flawed intimidation tactic? Hazing?

Not speaking to him for half the day?

“Yeah. Big mouths and I think they were just trying to throw you off. Maybe they were kinda mad I made friends back in Gotham and then brought them with me? They’ve been my friends for a long time. Probably know more about me than my parents in some cases.”

“They shouldn't have thrown you under the bus like that,” Bruce said, and that was all he could say about them without saying anything cruel.

He moved the chess piece.

“Yeah I’m-- I’m pretty pissed at them right now.” He sighed, watching the board.

“Really thought you’d hate me.”

“...” yet again, he found himself asking, “why?”

...Clark kept saying that. ‘I thought you'd hate me.’ Why was he so certain? Why…

… Clark shrugged.

“I dunno. I’m not a super interesting person or anything and then you throw the whole ‘alien’ thing into the mix. It’s just-- it seems easier to just… hate? I dunno.”

He made his move.

“I’m dumb.”

….yeah. Bruce nodded. “Yeah. You are, huh.”

He moved in kind.

“...I take care of my friends.”

Clark smiled.

“Me too.”

Made his move.

“So just let me know if you need to move something really heavy.” He joked.

Kinda.

Bruce nodded.

“I'll get you renovating the manor grounds in no time.”

“Check, by the way.”

He scoffed and watched it happen.

“That a job offer, Mr. Wayne?”

“...I can pay ya under the table, but it might damage my reputation,” he said.

He looked confused, “Why would that damage your reputation?”

Bruce looked up. “...it's black market activity,” he said. “Which is fine on a small scale, but if I was paying someone I’d have to report it.”

“Oh, I see what you mean.” He snorted.

…he managed a smile about it. “Yeah. I don't exist on a small scale.”

Clark didn’t say much to that, and made his move.

… Eventually their game would end and it would be time for dinner.

Bruce would go downstairs, and eat with the Kent family for dinner. And--

...and try to not feel strange. Or an outsider. But… it wasn't impossible, in a strange way.

...he knew Clark’s secret, too, now. And it made it easier to slide into a place like this.

Insular.

Maybe things were easier for now. They did certainly seem easier for Clark’s parents, and as they started to sit down around the dinner table Jon would ask; “Everythin’ good now, gentlemen?”

And Clark would look over at Bruce and then smile a little and nod.

Bruce nodded, “yessir,” and…

It was nice. Even with knowing Clark might hear anything.

Somehow, he still felt a little more free.

They had a nice dinner. Jon asked Bruce things occasionally, mostly about how Gotham was, how he liked it. He didn’t ask about parents or business. Just typical kid stuff like school and how it was going. They avoided talk of Clark’s incident completely.

Things around the Kent house were extremely ‘normal’ considering. It was like… bizarre interlaced with normal, and now that Bruce was in on it they didn’t need to worry.

After dinner Jon asked Clark to come help him get one of the tractors out from a mud hole it was stuck in, and if Bruce watched he would see Clark lift the front up and simply back the whole thing up.

...and Bruce would watch. From the porch, regular, hot tea in a mug. And he would watch Clark lift the tractor and say nothing.

His friend was an alien. And he wasn't sure, exactly, why he was taking it so well.

...when they came back in, they watched TV and got ready for the night. And… Bruce wondered, faintly, if Clark would hear if he had a nightmare tonight.

But he didn't.

Not tonight.

Clark could, but… Bruce had nightmares semi-frequently. It wasn’t polite to encroach on that or bring it up, so he didn’t.

Trust that he’ll give you privacy.

That morning the sun would rise and the day on the farm started even earlier. Jon was up and out of the house before the sun was up and when it did finally rise breakfast would start to be made.

Bacon and eggs with toast.

…

When Bruce came down Clark wouldn’t be there.

Bruce found he hadn't been given a time to wake up, and so he woke on his own--fatigued still, but only in the way of waking up in new places--with the clock saying an hour earlier than when he usually woke at school. It was still a dark, and he lay in bed, enjoying the ability to not have to get up immediately. He started his way downstairs when he began to smell food and an unusual amount of sun (in other words: any amount of sun) hit his windows.

“Good morning, Ms. Kent,” he began with, obviously. “...Clark sleep in?”

“No I think he’s up already.” Martha said. “He likes to sit on the roof when the sun comes up. He’ll come down soon now that you’re up.”

“How d’you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled dry,” he said, and… didn't have to question how Clark would know he was up.

“Okay.”

Martha nodded and cracked open the eggs for his breakfast. “You sleep okay?”

There was a small thud on the front steps before the door opened and Clark came inside wearing little more than pajama pants. It would be the first time Bruce had seen him in less than two layers.

It became obvious why.

He was… kind of jacked.

He didn’t look cold either despite the temperatures outside.

...what the fuck.

But Bruce kept his mouth shut. His heart sped a little, but slowed again a moment or two later.

“...morning.”

“Mornin’.” Clark mumbled, scratching his stomach and instantly rooting in the fridge.

Two cups.

“Y’want OJ or milk?”

For eggs?

“Orange juice,” Bruce says, watching him.

Clark shook up the OJ and poured Bruce a glass before handing it over to him, but he went for milk.

“Mind puttin’ some bread in for toast? ‘N get the butter out, please.” Martha said, and Clark did as he was asked without complaint.

Martha plated Bruce’s eggs and handed them over, then pulled the towel off the plate in the middle piled with bacon. “Help yerself.”

“Thanks,” he said, startled out of his observations for a moment, and--

He was watching two things, a little lost in them both, but at least they were all in this one place. Just--on one hand, caught in the mundanity, in a mother asking her son to pull out the toast and bread, and on the other hand, a small thing in the back of his mind which informed him that Clark’s stomach muscles twisted every time he moved his arm.

He waited until he was joined at the table to even think about eating.

Clark made some toast and put it on a plate for them to grab from and by the time he sat down too his eggs were finished.

Sunny side up.

He thanked his mom as he sat down and started to dig in.

“Just cover the bacon back up when you’re done, I’m gonna run out and help your daddy.” Martha said, taking a sip from her coffee before leaving the two eating on their own.

Bruce started to eat as Clark joined him, thanking Ms. Kent again, and…

…

“You always sleep without a top here?” he asked, losing his shit completely with a straight face.

Clark was busy shoving a strip of bacon in his mouth. “Uh-” He chewed and swallowed.

“Yeah. I like the sun on my skin when I get up.”

Oh. Okay. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, so he just--nodded and got his own piece or two of bacon.

And kept eating.

“...plans for today?”

Clark shrugged a little and put some ketchup on his eggs before breaking them up. “Dunno. Usually I hang out with Kenny ‘n Pete on my days off, but…” he glanced up at Bruce.

“Not feelin’ that anytime soon.”

…

“Thought about just… flyin’ around for awhile. Haven’t been able to do that in Gotham. But that’d leave you here unless you’re fine with coming.”

Bruce was ready to tell him he was fine with just reading a book for a while, but--

“...with coming along for flying?”

“Yeah. I’d carry you. Like, it’s fine if you’re scared though. It’s pretty weird. But figured it was impolite not to offer.” Clark said, pushing runny egg mess on his bread and eating it.

Bruce stared at him like he was crazy.

“Take me flying,” he said.

… Clark grinned with a mouthful of toast and a bit of ketchup on his lips. “O-kay.”

He was stupid and (buff, and Bruce wanted to lean over with a napkin and shove it on Clark’s lips to get rid of that dumb ketchup) absolutely intentionally being dense, because who didn’t want to fly, even if you had to be carried?

But instead, he said, “Shut up and eat faster,” and started shoveling his breakfast down in kind.

Clark grinned and did just that, shoveling his food down and eating toast and bacon before standing up and chugging his milk.

Shirtless.

He put the plate in the sink and wiped his mouth with his hand.

“Dress warm, it gets cold.”

Bruce felt something in his stomach flip, and he nodded, running back upstairs to tug on his winter boots and add on another layer and his heavy coat. Clark’s borrowed winter hat. His good gloves.

And he was ready.

Clark got dressed too and then met Bruce back downstairs a moment later. He opened the door out to the porch, stepped off the front step and… float there, spinning around as if in water to face Bruce with his hands in his pockets.

“Piggyback or in my arms?”

“Arms,” Bruce said, not wanting a piggyback--he was sixteen, not a kid, after all. It didn’t matter if Clark could carry him fine.

“Okay.”

Clark hovered close again and reached out, hand going around Bruce’s waist and pulling him close. He pressed himself against Bruce and locked his hands around the small of his back. Waited for Bruce to position his hands how he wanted.

… He might have been enjoying this a little too much.

“Ready?”

...somehow, Bruce didn’t realize he was going to be held like this in Clark’s arms. He knew they’d go around him, but--face to face, he guessed he hadn’t expected, and found his face close enough to smell Clark’s neck as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders securely.

Even through his heavy layers, he could feel Clark’s body, unusually warm against him.

Despite having just drunk orange juice, his mouth was dry. He told himself it was nerves.

“Ready.”

Clark smiled at him and then looked up.

And they started to rise, slow at first. Clark kept his grip firm and make sure Bruce didn’t slip, and soon they were over the roof of the the farmhouse. He started to fly away from it, legs angling as if to ‘push’ away from the farm.

Over the empty fields.

Once they were up in the air, Bruce… forgot.

He forgot about a lot of things. About how he was sort of uncomfortable being this close to anyone, or how he was fully clothed and Clark was half undressed in his PJs, or what was going on back home.

There was nothing under his feet. It was just-- a moment. A moment of disorientation, and realizing the air was cold and sharp with wind, and how empty the air was around him. That flying was just falling interrupted.

And Clark’s firm chest against his own was the only thing the world that felt stable at that moment.

He wanted to see the fields. The farmhouse. The long shadows, stretching over the yellow, frost-bitten fields.

But before that, before getting lost in wonder, staring-- he tightened his grip on Clark, and held himself close against him.

It was nice to be held so tightly by someone who wasn’t his mom or dad. He couldn’t even recall a time that had ever happened before. He kept people at an arm’s length for his own safety, and even when he did let them in there was still that fear of rejection. But last night Bruce had insisted and insisted that he wasn’t mad, that they were still friends, that it didn’t change anything.

When he got to the point he wanted and started to fly backwards gently, to really get in the whole view of the farm, he looked back down at Bruce with that award-winning smile.

“Whaddya think?”

“It’s big,” Bruce called back over the wind.

But he couldn’t… think of anything else to say about it. And maybe the new-day sun in his eyes said enough. The way it hit his ghost-pale face in the way it never could reach in Gotham.

There weren’t skyscrapers here. The long shadows ran only along the ground, far, far below them, cast by regular-sized objects, not buildings made by giants.

And the sky was in every direction he looked.

Big.

Blue.

Beauti--

Maybe looking back on this day when he was older would be when he said he started to love Bruce Wayne, but right now he still didn't quite realize it. Even as he looked down at the other boy rather than the scenery, watching how the light illuminated his pale skin and tired, sharp eyes. There was a fierceness to Bruce he had never seen from anyone else. Fierce and ironclad in everything he wanted to be.

“Yeah, it is.” Is all he said though, and would slowly continue to hover backwards, getting further away, then go a little left towards the trees that marked their property.

You could see the roads. The buildings in the distance. Cars driving along. Birds flew beside them a safe distance away.

And somehow Clark shined just like the sun, curls blowing in the wind and arms secure around Bruce's waist.

Bruce didn’t say much while they were up there, focusing on breathing in the cold wind and staring down at all the world below in a way he’d never really been able to before.

Not like this. Alone and secure, without airplane walls around him.

(Even if he wasn’t alone at all.)

...but Clark would still be able to hear his heart beat, strong and excited with the world below, pressed against his bare chest with just the coat between them.

...but Gothamite he might’ve been, Bruce still could only stand the cold against his face for so long before his cheeks started turning pink and windburnt.

Clark might not have been able to feel the cold like Bruce, but he could see it.

“Gonna start going down.” He warned, and did just that. A slow descent left and down…

… and they were back on the porch, feet touching down.

A little wobbly, Bruce pulled away once his feet touched the floor-- not because of anything bad, but because as soon as the wind wasn’t rushing him anymore, he realized he desperately had to wipe his nose, or it would drip out everywhere.

“Tissue,” he mumbled.

Clark was… a little hesitant to let go, but as soon as Bruce pulled away he let him go.

“... Oh! Yeah, c'mon.” Clark said, arm leading Bruce back inside.

There was a tissue box right by the door.

Bruce hid his nose in his face until he was able to get to the tissue box and snatch one out, blowing his nose.

“Danks,” he said.

“No problem. I forget that's a thing that happens.”

Clark's skin hadn't changed even a little.

Chalk that up to another power; resistance to cold.

Bruce noticed Clark’s immunity, but didn’t say anything about it really. He just focused on blowing his nose, and once he was done, rubbing his cheeks to warm them up again.

“...you never get sick or stuff, either?”

“Uh,” Clark began as he walked to the kitchen to make something warm for Bruce.

“Not since I was little. Mom says when I was a baby I struggled a lot. Like I couldn't breathe. But I don't really get cold anymore. I can't get burnt. Can stick my hand right in a fire and nothing. Can grab hot pans.”

“It's like--” he shrugged. “Invulnerability?”

...Bruce had honestly just been wondering if Clark was affected by bacteria at all, but… that was a lot more than he’d asked for.

“...not anything?”

It was nice to just… talk about it with someone. Sure his friends knew, but… they always asked him weird questions about it. Like if he looked at people naked.

“Well getting shot hurt, but other than something like that? Nope.” Clark put on some water for tea.

...Bruce didn’t question it, even if he did watch Clark a little longer, lingering.

...he realized now that he looked at Clark, that… he didn’t have any marks on his skin.

Not a mole. Not a freckle. Not a paper-thin scar.

And he’d been shot.

“...I can’t tell at all,” he said, maybe a little breathless, watching Clark’s back as he filled the water.

“Revolver hit me here--” he said, turning and pointing at his face. “Shotgun hit me here--” he pointed at his arm and chest.

“Gave me a black eye and broken nose and a lot of cuts. But they healed pretty fast. No scars or anything.” Clark shrugged. “Worst anyone's been able to do too me. I've fallen out of trees and moving cars and jumped out of two story windows and mostly been fine.”

He gave a sheepish smile.

Bruce found his arm going up to his neck, fist tight, and tried not to think about the hole that he’d seen punch through his mother.

He had scars on his arms right now. He had cuts healing right now. And Clark had jumped out of buildings and been shot and leapt out of moving cars--

“Why did you jump out of a moving car and a two story window??”

Clark laughed, “Well the car thing was I saw a dog and I was like… five. Really gave my folks gray hair for that one. And I jumped out of my bedroom window when they grounded me once and didn't quite have flying down yet. But I landed okay!” He gave Bruce a dumb grin and thumbs up.

Bruce buried his face in his hands.

Clark just laughed again and pulled the kettle off the stove to pour them both some tea.

“Genius alien from beyond the stars.” He joked.

“Really though I’m just…” he shrugged. “Just a kid on a farm who can’t get a date or pass his driving test, or… y’know.”

He didn’t know. But he nodded anyway.

“Yeah,” he said. And he wanted to say he was just normal, too.

But he could get a date, and wasn’t a farm kid, and could drive, just not legally.

…

“...wanna be lazy normal and just watch some TV?”

“Hell yeah.” Clark grinned and handed him his tea.

...the first day or two had been rough, but it grew easier with each passing day.

The Kents didn’t ask him about his family. They just… brought him to the table. Clark did alien things, and human things, and mostly reading-and-TV things.

They had a Christmas tree, and bit by bit presents appeared under it as the Christian Holiday grew closer. And, to Bruce’s relief, one such present arrived in the mail with a little bit of time to spare.

He’d been invited to Christmas parties before, but he’d never really celebrated with his family that he could remember--what he did remember was mixed up with Chanukah somewhat, with how young he’d been at the time. And though he was fairly sure the Kanes celebrated both, they only really invited him for things like Pesach and Sukkot.

So it was… the first time he’d really seen a family Christmas in person, rather than through every movie and pop culture magazine in the world.

...it was much quieter than he’d been led to believe, when the day finally did come, and he wondered, briefly, how the Kents had managed to tell Clark about a magical flying man in the sky when he was a child, or if they’d let him know Santa Claus was a fictional character to avoid accidental alien imprinting.

The day Christmas arrived there was a bit more of a set time to get up, but things still moved the same as they had been.

The sun rose and Jon tended to the cows, but then would be inside for the remainder of the day unlike his usual sparse appearances throughout. They made pancakes for breakfast and waited until everyone was sat around the table together to eat.

After breakfast was time for presents, a few under the tree for Clark, some for his parents, and…

Martha handed a little box to Bruce too.

...it was nice. It was still approximately like a regular day, which was a little strange, but it was nice. He ate the breakfast with his usual appreciation and followed to the livingroom around the tree once it was done, watching.

Bruce took the little box with a quiet ‘thank you,’ and smiled. Most of the gifts around the tree were for Clark, but that was fine.

...After a bit of confusion, Bruce had brought his presents down a day or two before. One for Jon. One for Martha.

Two for Clark--one of them being the little package that had arrived in the mail a few days earlier.

The first three presents Bruce had picked out while in Gotham, asked Alfred to purchase and wrap, and had brought them on the train himself on the way to Smallville.

He hoped they were fine.

...for Ms Kent, before knowing her name, he’d gotten a blue sapphire necklace with matching earrings. Not especially expensive, so it wouldn’t feel condescending or she couldn’t find things to wear them with. Not so cheap it looked bad coming from him.

For Jon, it’d been a little easier.

High quality black leather gloves with a matching sidebag.

… and for Clark, he’d… for the first present, he’d simply gotten him an autobiography of one of the muckrakers who’d lived through the mob wars of the 20s and 30s.

...it was the second present, in a much smaller box, that had Bruce anxious.

Jon and Martha kept insisting that he didn’t have to get them anything of course. They were very impressed by the gifts though, Jon giving a rather genuine smile and Martha leaning over to give him a hug in thanks.

Clark really liked the book too, and it actually took him a moment to put it down and pick up the second present that Bruce had given him.

“Another one?” He asked, a little surprised while pulling off the wrapping.

Bruce nodded and… looked down a little.

...inside the box, there were what looked to be hearing aids. Pale, thin, and mechanical.

“...they’re sound blockers,” he said softly. “...you said Gotham was too loud for you. And what you said about three miles, I figured…”

…

“You don’t have to use them.”

Clark clearly didn’t know what they were before Bruce said anything, but then the realization hit him.

“... Oh. Wow, Bruce.” He said, pulling them out. “That’s… really cool.”

“How do you put them on?” He asked, already trying.

Oh.

Bruce brightened a little, and shuffled closer, sliding until their knees knocked together.

“Here,” he said, taking the first one from Clark’s hand and brushing away his hair to get a good view of his ear.

He slid it in carefully, looping the hook that made it appear so much like a hearing aid over Clark’s ear.

“No one should question it, since it looks like a regular thing.”

Clark leaned in closer to help him and… maybe kinda stayed there a little longer just so he could be closer to Bruce while he helped put them in.

“This is really cool.” He said again, voice quiet.

“Finally gonna be able to sleep.” He laughed, a little joking and a little not.

Bruce smiled a little, glad Clark liked them so much. “They working?”

He went quiet and focused, a smile spreading over his face. “I can’t hear the cows.”

Martha looked like she might start crying.

Bruce grinned wide, something warm spreading through his chest.

“You like them?”

“Yeah. I really do.” Clark grinned.

…

He leaned over and pulled Bruce into a hug.

For a moment, Bruce was startled, freezing up in the sudden hold.

...then, he leaned into it, closing his eyes, and finding himself melting into the hold.

… Clark found he really didn’t want it to end, but… his parents were right there. So it had to. But while it lasted he held Bruce tight and whispered out another ‘thank you’ before pulling away.

“Wish you woulda had those when you were younger.” Martha smiled and Clark laughed.

“Yeah, really.”

Bruce smiled and edged away from Clark again, opening his own present quietly while the others talked.

...he felt a little better, now, knowing the gift was well received. That it wasn’t a bad idea.

...soon enough, though, January would come, and the hearing aids would be really put to the test as their return to Gotham grew closer.

Bruce’s gift was… less impressive, but…

“I know it ain’t your style, but…” Clark grinned.

It was a baseball cap.

A baseball cap with ‘SMALLVILLE’ embroidered across it.

“Least it’s somethin’ to remember us by.” Jon chuckled.

Bruce sighed deeply, eyes rolling up to the ceiling, and flipped the hat up to destroy his hair style by putting it on.

“You know what, Kent,” he said. “At least it’s not John Deere.”

Clark grinned and roped his arm around Bruce to give him a side-hug.

…

January would come eventually though, that was for sure. Clark would hug and kiss his parents goodbye and they would tell Bruce they loved having him, to come back any time. He was always welcome in their house.

Then it was a bus ride back to Gotham and Clark definitely packed his new hearing aids.

...he wasn’t sure why he was the one struggling to not get emotional once the Kents drove away, and he found himself in the bus seat, staring at the seat in front of him.

...but he was. For the first few minutes as the bus pulled out of the station, Bruce just… curled up in his seat and worked to keep his breathing steady.

And they headed back to Gotham.

…

He wouldn’t wear his ‘Smallville’ cap with him as they reached their destination late the next day, though. He’d return to the borrowed snow cap, and hide the ‘smallville’ one deep in his bag so that it couldn’t be seen.

...and as they returned to the dorms, he had a weight of dread in his chest that he wasn’t unused to, but…

It hadn’t been there the last two weeks.

And knowing Clark could hear his heartbeat just made him more anxious, now, about keeping secrets.

#aka the gay awakening #superbat #80s gay superbat #clark kent #bruce wayne

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one-boring-person · 4 years

Text

You're Back! (Part Two)

The Lost Boys x reader, slight Pete "Maverick" Mitchell (Top Gun) x reader

Warnings: none

Context: The reader brings Maverick along on one of their trips to Santa Carla, but the boys aren't too happy about it.

A/N: I've been meaning to write this for a little while now, but here's part two to my Top Gun/The Lost Boys crossover! Thank you to @jawline-of-steel for reminding me to actually do it!💛💛💛

Masterlist

Part One

"Damn, what is this place?" The pilot beside me, my good friend and wingman, Maverick, wonders aloud, eyes wide with awe as he looks around the crowded attraction, taking in the huge variety of people around, as well as the odd shops lining the side.

"This, my friend, is the Boardwalk. It's where I spend nearly all my time when I'm off-duty." I inform him, grinning as I lead him through the bodies gathered around the area, gesturing to it as I do so, oddly proud of it, "I traipse the tourist attractions of the Murder Capital of the world."

At my words, he gives me a quizzical look, eyebrow raised in questioning as he adjusts his uniform, the heat making it stick to his skin, as mine is.

"Murder Capital of the world?" The pilot inquires, looking slightly more worried as we push our way along the beachside stretch, my attention on trying to find four particular people.

"Yeah, the Murder Capital." I respond, smirking at him.

"Any particular reason for this name?"

"Well, let's just say this: if all the corpses in Santa Carla were to stand up and continue living, there'd be one hell of a population problem." I explain to him, referencing the words of an old taxidermist I'd met here a little while ago, "Come on, loosen up! You're on holiday!"

I slap his arm lightly, grinning mischievously as he playfully pushes me back, laughing as I throw myself onto his back, gripping on with my arms and legs as he instinctually moves to hold me up, only to start trying to dislodge me seconds later. Giggling, I make sure to hold on tight as he starts rocking from side to side, muscles tensing and loosening under my fingers as he does so, annoying a few people around us. I make a show of clamping on tighter, only to loosen my grip when he suddenly tenses up and stills, head cocked to one side as he regards some newcomers. Following his gaze, I grin brightly as I recognise who it is, climbing off of Maverick with haste, eager to greet them.

"Hey guys! We were just looking for you!" I exclaim as I move over to them, going to throw my arms around Paul, who carefully returns the embrace, before pushing me away a little, ignoring the slightly confused look on my face. I go to Marko and receive the same treatment. Fully expecting it from Dwayne (though not sure why I deserve it) I stand back a little, only to be a little surprised and more reassured when he crushes me against his chest, smiling happily.

"Hey, (Y/n)! How're you?" The dark haired vampire greets, pulling away a little to look into my face.

"Not bad, not bad. How about you guys?" I respond, grinning at him as I step out of his arms, eyeing the others, though they are all preoccupied with something else entirely. Or rather, someone.

"Pretty good, yeah. Who've you brought with you?" He asks, looking up with a smile at Maverick, who stands a little way away, uneasy under the stares of the other vampires.

"This is Maverick. The one in the picture, remember?" I remind him, gesturing for the pilot to come over with a nod of the head, smiling encouragingly at him. Politely, Maverick holds out a hand to Dwayne, waiting for him to shake it.

"It's good to meet you, I've...err, heard a lot about you guys and this place." He supplies, eyeing them nervously.

"Oh? All good, I hope." Dwayne chuckles, being perfectly civil with him, "It's good to finally meet you, too. We've also heard a lot about you."

"You have?" The pilot looks over at me in surprise, eyes locking with mine.

"Don't worry, I never said anything bad." I inform him with a playful wink, grinning at his joking scowl.

"I'm Dwayne, by the way. This is Paul, Marko and David." The dark haired vampire points to each of the others in turn, though their expressions don't change at all as they continue to stare at the pilot, almost hostile.

"Guys? You don't have to scare the hell out of him on his first day here. At least say something." I butt in, looking pointedly at David, who's look at this moment could probably kill Maverick, if that were possible.

"Nice to meet you." The platinum blonde finally growls, extending his hand out for Maverick to shake.

"Err, you too?" The pilot responds, taking the proffered hand, before wincing as David decides to give a show of his superior strength, probably very nearly breaking the bones. The vampire only smiles cynically, blue eyes lit with cruel mirth.

Neither Paul nor Marko say anything, leaving the tension to grow.

"Are you hungry? There are some great food places around here." Dwayne interjects, turning to lead the two of us away from the silent vampires, brown eyes sending me an apology as he does so. Nodding imperceptibly, I follow on, making sure Maverick has fallen into step beside me, feeling bad for him.

"Those are your friends?" He mumbles to me, trying to keep his voice down, though I know full well that they can hear us.

"Yeah."

"They don't say much, do they?"

I laugh at this, knowing this is a new concept for the boys.

"This is new to me. They can never normally shut up." I respond, knowing I'll get in trouble for saying that later.

For the rest of the night, we walk up and down the Boardwalk, going into shops and going on rides, Maverick and Dwayne getting on pretty well, whilst the others do their best to stay as close to me as possible, expressions cold as they watch Maverick and I interact. It's only when we excuse ourselves to find our hotel that they actually say anything.

"See you later, (Y/n)." David promises ominously, eyes betraying exactly what he means as he stares at me intently.

The others corroborate this, completely ignoring Maverick as we walk away, quickly locating the hotel on the main road, where we enter and obtain our room keys.

Finding our rooms, we part ways with a brief farewell, my mind intent on having a shower and getting into bed, though I am well aware that it probably won't happen. Unlocking my room, I enter and drop onto the bed, sighing as I relax against the sheets, tired as hell after the long journey I've had. My rest however, is soon interrupted by the sensation of a hand running down the length of my arm.

Opening my eyes, I swiftly find Marko sat beside me, his doe eyes boring into me as he looks me over.

"Wanna explain yourself, (Y/n)?" Another voice says from a little way away, alerting me to David's presence in the room.

"Explain myself? What for?"

"You and Pilot Guy. What's the big idea?" Paul interjects, sounding annoyed.

"Pilot Guy? You mean Maverick? There's no "big idea", we're friends." I inform them, rolling my eyes.

"Not the impression we got." Marko chips in, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Oh, I'm sure." I sigh in exasperation, incredulous that they're being like this.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Paul questions, audibly moving closer.

"It means that I think you're being stupid. There's nothing going on between Maverick and I. I'm your mate, remember? Why would I go out with someone else?" I point out, trying not to sound too patronising.

"Watch your tone, kitten." David snaps from across the room, tone annoyed.

"Make me." I return.

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys)#kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#santa carla #marko(the lost boys)#star(the lost boys)

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curly-bangtan · 5 years

Text

A Drop of Heaven I: Sir(e) (M)

[Series Masterlist]

Pairing: ot7 x reader // this chapter: Namjoon x reader, some Jimin x reader

Series summary: Seven vampires have secretly been roaming the darks of your world for millennia. Each brother selects a Feed who becomes supernaturally bound to him, whose blood will be fed on until their inevitable mortal death. They have spent their eternity hunting for the exorbitant rarity that is angel blood - the most heavenly of food for vampires that fuel them with desire, lust and satiety. So what happens when they all find you, the first angel-blooded being they’ve encountered in two centuries?

Genre: vampire au, poly au, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (e2l)

Warnings in this chapter: non-consensual blood drinking, mentions of death and abuse, obv blood and gore, very light smut, dry humping, ass grinding, dom!Namjoon is an ass man wbk, almost everyone being a prick, oc and Namjoon hating each other but then get confused

Word count: 9.6k

!Disclaimer!: As I’ve said before, I am not glorifying any type of objectification or abuse, and this has nothing to do with gender at all. This is meant to depict a fictional dynamic between vampire and Feed which obviously does not apply to a non-supernatural context in which case this would be considered abuse and toxic. I really hope this doesn’t offend/trigger anyone!! If you get confused, feel free to ask questions.

[prelude, i, ii, iii, iv, v, vi, vii, epilogue]

❦

Death feels…

Alive.

The hum of classical music and hushed low voices permeate your ears as your senses gradually seep back to you. Faint darkness cloaks your vision. Your chest rises and falls in a soft slow rhythm. You’re breathing. Your heart is beating. You feel alleviated from the pain you’re so accustomed to. You feel revitalised.

You feel alive.

So this is the so-called Afterlife philosophers spend decades pondering and debating. How peculiar.

You try to lift your finger and find it moving at your will, the action feeling oddly smooth and effortless. Fabric brushes your skin, and in fact, a silk material envelops your body. Are you on a bed?

When your eyelids begin to flutter in attempt to open, the voices around you silence eerily in unison. You see a red-gold light at first, illuminating the dark room you find yourself in, the ceiling of which void-black. In your periphery, dim candles are flickering on your two sides, the warm glow of which spilling onto the lavish satin bed you lay atop, its size worthy for kings to sleep in.

Then something violently strong snaps within you, a string, a cord, of sorts. The sensation is not physical, it’s beyond that; it feels as though something has tied itself around your soul and is tugging at you towards it. This intensity is overwhelming, eating at your mind and core, urging you to follow this nexus that tightens its hold around you.

You sit up, gasping.

And face seven men.

Each the epitome of beauty in their own right. Each an ethereal glaze washing over them. Each staring at you with the most curious glint in their eyes.

No, not curious. Hungry.

“I…” Your brain is scattered from its sense. Where are you? Who are they? Are you dead or alive or both? “What…?” Coherent thoughts fail to form in your head and at your lips, the question dangles in the air like a weak sigh.

Processing as much as you can, you take a moment to examine the seven standing around the bed in front of you.

The one directly in front of you regards you with crossed arms, dressed in a suit of all black, mousy grey-brown hair swept neatly. When you meet his eyes, a chill shoots down your back for his irises have the faintest crimson glow to them. But what is more terrifying is not the strange hue of his eyes, but the way they are pinned at you as if he could stare into your soul and read your every single secret. There is an air of power and superiority that exudes from his tall stance. You’re beginning to think that this definitely isn’t heaven and he definitely isn’t an angel.

On his left is a pink-haired man, delicate to look at, soft features painting his handsome face. His eyes are kind but unreadable, juxtaposing the harshness of the one beside him. His shoulders are board, though he possesses no intimidation towards you. Something about him is so aesthetically soothing, magical to look at.

On the other side of the stranger in the middle slouches a smaller man, a bored expression worn on his face with his cheek bitten inside his mouth. His spiky head of hair so dark you can almost hear it whisper lullabies of the devil. When he looks at you, you feel him emanate a dangerous fury; it’s an ancient deep-rooted type of evil. Now, a flood of fear finally dawns on you.

Next to him, a dimpled grin greets you. Immediately you sense a rush of security at his warm expression, though you can’t help but think it’s a deceiving facade to lull you into his snare. There is a darkness lurking behind his crescent eyes that you don’t completely trust. He ruffles his hand through his wine red tufts, smile not once faltering in the most uncanny manner.

Standing opposite the bed from him is a devilishly handsome blonde boy, though you’re not sure if ‘boy’ is quite the right word when his lips quirk up at you mysteriously. He’s dressed luxuriously, like he’s some foreign prince, standing tall and proud yet undecipherable. An unknown force draws you to him, his beauty beckoning you like a lasso. When he brushes his thumb under his lip, you shudder.

Another boy approaches you, this one so stunning you jump back at his advance. “How are you feeling? Better?” As he perches on the side of the bed a hand’s reach away from you, you pause to take in this face wholly. Waves of silver sprouting from his head, mesmerisingly angular eyes staring intently into yours, a small button nose and plump red lips. It’s a frightening type of beauty.

Gulping as you find yourself out of air from the overwhelmingly powerful presence in the room, you force yourself to nod. You only realise now that you are changed into a clean cream cotton dress.

In the dark far corner, the last man leans against the wall, observing with a guarded, austere demeanour. You can’t see him well in the shadow, but you see the gloss of his long black curls flowing around his clenched jaw. He does not say anything, does not appear to have the intention of joining the others gathered around you. Just silently watching.

These seven men… No, not men.

Phantasmal unearthly creatures.

Because there is no way that these towering bodies and other-worldly faces are mere mortals.

“Who are you?” Your voice is a croaky whisper courtesy to your chokingly dry throat.

“The answer to that is worth an eternity, love.” The boy sat beside you smirks, brushing his silver locks to one side. “I’m afraid you don’t want to find out.”

Your mind is whizzing, trying to piece together your surroundings, these strangers leering at you almost lasciviously as if you’re some zoo animal. Trying to grasp at your last memories, you remember the scenes in flashes. His fist, her cries, blooming agony, then darkness.

A blood-curdling realisation hits you.

You’re not dead.

You can’t be dead. You’re breathing, blinking, moving. You’re very much alive. And tragically so.

“Where is she?” You make the move to get off this bed but is blocked by the gorgeous blonde. A wolf wearing sheepskin, you wager.

Silence dangles in the air like a man hanging from a noose, the familiar gnaw of fear clenching your chest so tightly you don’t think you’re breathing. Then, “She’s dead.”

Those words are flung at you like a piece of rag but hit you like an arrow through the heart. Spoken by none other than the frowning man in the middle, arms crossed and eyeing you with callous indifference as if he hadn’t just announced the death of your younger sister.

You expect tears to erupt from your eyes but they don’t, you want to scream your devastation and anger at the world but you don’t. Everything goes still, calm, inert. Almost as if you can’t feel anything. The pain in your heart spreads like cracking glass torturously slowly, infecting your every fibre with a bleak shadow.

The mattress dips as Silver clambers closer to you and strokes your cheek gently. His touch ice cold, yet nothing compared to the numbness of your mind, empty, devoid of all feeling.

“I’m sorry, don’t be sad.”

Don’t be sad.

You let out a breath that would’ve been a laugh if you currently had the capacity for emotion.

“Enough of this shit, just cut to the chase and tell her everything she needs to know so we can get on with it, Namjoon.” Impatient and hostile, the one with black hair and a permanent scowl scoffs.

Namjoon, standing out amongst the seven not in looks but in confidence and stature, is their leader, you suppose. When he speaks again, you’re not surprised that he is. His tone is authoritative, articulate, a severe presence that demands attention. Almost enough to make you forget about the grief you’re bottling up for one second.

“What is your name, girl?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N, listen to me very closely as I won’t repeat myself. We seven brothers hereby are siring you as our Feed, all seven of us. You will now be bound to us until death shows you mercy and lifts your curse that tethers you to us eternally. Forget your past life because you shall reside here in our manor for the rest of your mortal life for us to drink your blood.

“Under normal circumstances, each of us possesses one Feed each, but in your case, we shall distribute you equally amongst ourselves. There are seven days in a week which falls perfectly align with our arrangement. On Monday, you shall be my Feed, Tuesday, Seokjin, Wednesday, Yoongi, Thursday, Hoseok, Friday, Jimin, Saturday, Taehyung and finally Sunday, Jungkook. You shall be completely obedient to your sire of the day and your sire only, and in return we shall feed on you only on the day of which you belong to us. Due to the vigorous frequency at which you are being fed on, we have agreed to feed as lightly as possible to sustain you. If need be, you will be healed with our blood.

“You shall refer to me as Sir and only Sir; the others will decide the dynamic they wish to share with you. Do not for a second forget that you are our subjugate, our inferior and our prey. The magic that yields you to us is powerful, thus you have no choice in this matter. Many before you have tried to defy during their early days as a Feed only to quickly fail and fall to submission as they should. Heed this as your only warning.

“Do you or do you not understand, Y/N?” When he finishes, he juts his chin high at you and sucks in the meat of his cheeks between his jaws.

The fire poker that is his glare sears into you, sizzling its mark into your pit of dread. None of what he just said makes an ounce of sense to you, and it’s definitely not because of your dazed state from your newly-regained consciousness.

Just who does this man think he is? And what in ten Hells is he going on about?

“No. I don’t fucking understand.”

Shock registers in all their eyes when you spit your bitter dispute at Namjoon. You swear there’s a glint of twisted excitement sparking from the redhead.

“I’m afraid you will have to repeat yourself. Sir.” You continue when none of them utters a syllable. “First, you tell me my sister is dead. I believe you. Then you’re spouting some speech about how I’m ‘sired’ to you all and you’re going to drink my blood every day of the week because I belong to you? Is this some sort of cult or is this Hell?” Looking around at them, they all seem taken aback by your outburst, stunned.

“Oh my… This one is going to be fun.” The blonde boy mirths at you, tongue gliding over his row of pearly teeth. It is now that you notice the sharp point of his fangs in place of his canines. You freeze.

“Isn’t she? I’m going to go mad waiting until Thursday. Can I have a bite right now? Just a drop so I know her taste?” He is bouncing on his toes, thrilled by the anticipation.

“Hoseok, hush.” Namjoon silences the boy’s fervour before turning to you. “Y/N, if you insist on defiance, I promise you endless suffering. Let me clear your confusion. We are vampires that rely on blood as our food. You are our chosen victim, our Feed. The supernatural sire bond will eventually click into place between you and each one of us, forcing a mutual loyalty between Vampire and Feed. This will be clearer as the days go on. I suggest you-”

“Right, vampires.” You interrupt before he can continue his nonsense. How did you end up in some vampire-worshipping cult? “If you guys are vampires, then I’m a freaking angel. You are all insane. I’m leaving, goodbye.”

Frantically crawling off the bed, you head in the direction of the door. If your sister is really dead, then what happened to your uncle? You hope he’s dead too. Either way, you have no home to return to, but still you need to escape these men for your own sake. You can’t escape one lunatic only to end up in the lair of seven more.

But before you could even step your bare foot off the bed onto the wooden floor, frozen fingers snake around your wrist like a venomous serpent and lock you in its clasp.

“You are an angel, kind of.” Hoseok chuckles and tugs you back onto the bed, you’re unduly aware of how close he is hovering over you.

“You’re also dumb as fuck if you think you can leave, did you not hear everything he just said?” The sourpuss beside him shoves at your shoulder not at all lightly until you sink onto the mattress on your back. “You couldn’t leave us even if you tried.”

“No need to be so rough on her, Yoongi, she’s confused.” Brows pinched in disapproval, the pink-haired man chastises softly, and to your surprise, this Yoongi just scowls but dips his head.

Pink seems to be kind, the only one here that appeals to your plight apparently, so you scramble on your knees over to his side for your second attempt to escape. But his gentle hand reaches out to stop you, hand raised inches away from your chest, preventing you from moving forward and slipping past him. There’s a guilt in his eyes that you cannot comprehend. Why can’t he let you leave if he is sympathetic towards you?

“She still doesn’t get it, hyung.” The beautiful blonde boy on your other side shakes his head with a pernicious smile. “We need to show her.” His appearance is a trap, you know that with absolute certainty as you look into the renaissance painting that is his face. Yet you cannot help the attraction that sings you towards him as he draws his finger under your chin, guiding you closer into him.

He looks over to Namjoon as if for approval, who only stares at the scene of him luring you into his grasp with an unreadable expression. At the lack of disagreement from others, his finger now traces down to your neck, wandering over your heavy pulse. You gulp.

“Taehyung…” Someone warns, yet the delirious state you’re in at the hands of this boy’s enchantment does not allow you to recognise who.

His eyes are the palest of blues, a cloudless summer day with a soft seaside breeze. Your gaze follows his tongue wetting his lips, then trailing his sharp teeth. How do his fangs look so real? They oddly suit him, painting a wild beastly image of him that is concealed by his soft innocent features until he opens his mouth to flash his whites. You’ve never seen someone as good looking as him. As all of them.

Seductively, Taehyung leans into your neck and buries his nose in your scent. When he sucks in sharply, you sense his craving, his arousal. You’re frozen in his clutch as his hand circles behind you so delicately, unsure of what to do with yourself, unsure of what he’ll do with you. Lips tenderly caressing your jugular, you shut your eyes, intoxicated by his touch.

“Left neck is mine.” He growls, the aggressiveness of which surprises you so much so that the words he speaks don’t manifest its meaning to you at first.

Then a scorching hot pain explodes in your neck, so violent that you shriek out and try to twist away. But something is latched onto you like a hook, two hooks in fact. When your open your eyes, you realise that it’s his teeth that are sunken inch deep into your neck, penetrating a dizzying agony into your whole body. After a still second, you begin to feel a pressure pulling out your blood like a vacuum. A tear trickles out the corner of your eye at the burning sensation.

What the fuck?

He is… drinking your blood.

You try to push him off but a strange force like phantom hands bind your muscles and prevent you from acting on your will.

The magic that yields you to us is powerful, you have no choice in this matter.

Holy shit, Namjoon was completely serious. These people aren’t a brainwashed cult, they’re actually vampires.

Years of abuse, all the wounds you’ve endured, are nothing compared to the agony embedded deep in your neck right now. Absolutely nothing. Streams of scarlet flow down your garment like a spillage of wine, dark and thick and an indulgence to the tongue. You’re helplessly grappling on Taehyung’s shirt, tugging him towards you rather than shoving him away. This supernatural spell, or whatever the fuck it is, is overriding and going against your every intention to escape.

Vision hazy, you vaguely make out the other faces watching you struggle under Taehyung’s fangs. And when you think this nightmare could not get more harrowing, you notice a change in their eyes. By that, you do not mean a shift in expression, a frown or a squint. It is an actual physical transformation: the black of their pupils incrementally diffusing into their irises like a drop of watercolour, then the darkness spills over to the whites of their eyes until they are wholly onyx clouds.

“Taehyung.” Namjoon demands, and a sigh of relief escapes you as the sucking in your vein ceases. But rather than telling him to stop, he simply orders, “Share.”

Share? Share your blood?

Then the rest of the five prowl to gather around you, and despite your vertigo, you will never forget how monstrous they look. Eyes black as void, ivory fangs elongating like unsheathing claws, nostrils flaring at the scent of your blood, their food. Chest heaving as if struggling to hold back from ripping you into strips of meat.

“Bon appetit.” Is that Hoseok who’s leaping at your collarbone?

When his teeth sink in, you no longer have it in you to cry out. And then another on your right neck. Your head feels as if it’ll roll off your neck, only held onto the rest of your body by a ligament and Taehyung’s palm. A strong hand yanks your arm up and places your wrist in his mouth. This one hurts even more than your neck as you feel his fangs scrape carelessly against your bone. A soundless sob leaves your trembling lips. Then someone is gently pushing your legs apart, sniffing up the inside of your thigh. You try to kick him yet instead your leg wraps around his back and draw him closer. His purring resonates into your core as he licks his ravishing mark before piercing your skin once more. Blood seeps out the corner of his mouth and run down your calf like the tears you release in vain.

“Oh Hell, I haven’t tasted angel blood in centuries. I’ve forgotten how irreplaceably magnificent this is.” Someone throws their head back for a breath, sighing their satisfaction at your opulence.

No matter how much you thrash against the force that holds you in their submission, nothing budges. Like skyscraping obsidian walls surrounding your every side. Shadow scions twisting around your limbs into a lock.

Y/N, if you insist on defiance, I promise you endless suffering.

His voice echoes in the rubble of your brain like a bell, clanging its nauseating truth into you. Your consciousness is sand falling between your fingers, you try to hold on but the grains are ungraspable.

Then finally, the one with pink hair comes near you. A pitiful expression worn that makes you wonder how absolute the evil that lurks in them actually is, or whether it’s tainted with humanity.

He stops, brushes your tear away. “Sorry.” Trickery of your ears would not be surprising, considering the irony of his apology as he hesitantly lifts your other wrist to his fangs.

You last one second after his bite before fainting, body going slump but held upright by the six vampires feeding on you. Your last thought being: how terrifying the devils of Hell live in such beautiful deceiving skins.

And also that you hope you fucking die this time.

In the dim corner of the room, the last vampire watches, taciturn, as his brothers devour every last drop of crimson liquid that misses their tongues. Eyes narrowing at their wolfish hunger and your fainted state. Then slips away without as much as a word.

You wake up painless. Skin unmarred and unbroken. In the same room, on the same bed. Yet your red stained night dress tells you that it wasn’t a nightmare. It was all real.

Everything is silent though the clockwork in your head ticks loud. You try to process how you’ve been captured by a brotherhood of vampires, blood-sucking vampires, who have chosen you to be their personal blood bag. Their ‘Feed’. And you’re now magically bound to them, a force locking you in place and unable to resist every time you try.

What the actual fuck?

How has your life thrown you from torture to torture?

None of this seems possible. Vampires are a mythical creature, a fable. You have to be going insane. Or perhaps you actually are dead and this is your personal Hell designed to torment you for the rest of your afterlife. Not that you know what you did to deserve all this.

But it had felt so real.

You touch the spot on your neck where you were bitten, goosebumps raising when you recall Taehyung’s fangs first puncturing through you as if you were no more than a peach. That pain, that shock, bathes in its immortality in your memory.

Namjoon, their leader. His dictation of the rules that they are enforcing on you, his vexingly arrogant tone, the way his eyes squint down at you. What is wrong with him?

Then there is your sister. Her death. The initial heartbreak launched into you like a missile, but then somehow fizzled away into a bittersweetness that sours your throat. You won’t cry. Death was a mercy for her, it’s surely better than your predicament right now. She was innocent, she was sinless, she was pure. She deserves death when living was a worse fate.

There’s no point grieving her loss, right?

There’s no point, you convince yourself. And so you lock her sugar sweet scent and toothy smile away in your heart-shaped box and toss the key into the ocean of your emotions.

You wonder how your uncle fares. The cause of your misery and suffering all these years. The one who showed you that you’re capable of the ugly emotion that is hate. You don’t want to think about him, your fists already clenching in anger at the reminder of his alcohol-ridden breath. You hope he’s somewhere captured in this place too, experiencing worse than what he put you and her through.

If you ever see him, you would kill him yourself. Not a single doubt about that.

All this misfortune in you and your sister’s lives stemmed from one accident that resulted in the death of your parents. Your life before, a distant reverie. You had been happy once, scarless and untraumatized. Now you’re damaged.

About to be even more damaged.

Your coping mechanism has always fluctuated between two polarities. Either you are a shell of a living being, detached and numb to all the blows, merely rotting to your expiration, or some days you are so full of anger at the unfairness of this universe, so much resentment at yourself, your uncle, and even your parents for leaving you behind.

Right now, you’re the former. Hit by a wave of anaesthesia, and you’re grateful for it because you know the alternative is the manic loss of your sanity.

Sitting up, you regard this room. It is dark and sleek in nature, use of deep metal and glass for surfaces rather than the wood you’re used to at home. No, not home. That wasn’t your home. The palette is monochrome, primarily blacks and greys, devoid of any colour, reflecting the bleakness of your mental state. The room is lit by candles beside the bed, though a multi-bulbed light hangs from the middle of the ceiling, switched off. Curtains drawn shut, you have no idea what time of day it currently is, nor the passage of time. Furniture is lacking, only a marble chest of drawers, a cushion-barren loveseat, a pot of fern which you presume is fake because what plant can grow in such dull setting, and a double shelf of books.

There are three doors, one agape that opens up to what looks like an ensuite bathroom, the other two in adjacent corners, ominously calling for you to explore. Whatever lurks behind them, you can sense it won’t be the Garden of Eden. Either way, you need to find a way out of this place.

You’re about to leave the bed and scuttle to listen at the walls when you hear two soft knocks before the closer of the two doors opens. To reveal an angelic face that you now know is nothing more than a lie, his silver hair glinting from the candle flames.

“Can I come in?” His voice is smooth, saccharine, higher pitched than you expected. Though this is your second encounter with him, you don’t remember your first too well due to the overwhelm.

Clearing your throat, you reply, “yes.” Why has he even asked for permission when he didn’t need it? It’s not like you have a choice in the matter, or any matter in here apparently.

The way he strolls in exudes a swaggering confidence, a charm that you would buy into if you hadn’t witness him transform into a black-eyed demon and feel his fangs enter your flesh. When he sits on the bed, crinkling the satin covers, you fight the urge to recoil away from his proximity. He is dressed in a royal blue velvet suit that flaunts his collarbones, and tied around his neck is a red choker, the colour of which flashes a reminder of your own choker of your own blood sewn around your neck.

“Forgive me for not introducing myself before, I’m Jimin.” At his outreached hand, you blink. So these creatures are capable of etiquette and decency.

Hesitantly, like a cat sniffing a stranger’s inquiring finger, you place your hand atop his. Almost jumping at its iciness. When he lifts it up to plant a dry delicate kiss, you yelp and withdraw harshly, not caring that your knuckles hit his nose.

“You’re a shy one.” Jimin chuckles at your reaction to hide his hurt.

“No, not shy. Just not easy and willing like you want me to be.” The venom is harbouring in your chest now, melting away your numbness into an acidic puddle.

“You have a bite to you.” He muses, more to himself than you.

“So do you.” All your hatred, for your uncle, for your life, for these vampires, you’re channeling towards him at this moment. You know it might not be completely justified, he’s not the worst one out of them. But do you need a reason not to be sour towards your captor?

His face softens, though it was soft to begin with. He doesn’t look at you like his prey, and it confuses you because that’s what you are to him. “I… am sorry. I hope you understand that I didn’t choose to be like this.”

It dawns on you right now, as you for the first time consider his point of view. He didn’t choose to be like this. He really didn’t… You have no choice but to be bound to them. But they also have no choice but to need to feed on you. A lion does not choose to be cruel to the zebra, it simply has to in order to survive.

A tiny fragment of your firepit of anger smokes into nothing.

When you don’t say anything, a hint of worry appears in his eyes. “How are you feeling though?”

Alright, you almost say. Because that’s everyone’s default answer to this question even when they don’t mean in, even when they’re on the brink of a mental breakdown bubbling beneath their skin.

“Weird. Confused.”

“That’s usual for every Feed at first. But trust me, you’ll get used to it.” His hand is smoothing the soft sheets and you can’t help the feeling that they’re longing to touch you.

“Every Feed… How many have there been before me?” The thought is chilling, to think that this is some cycle of ritual.

“Y/N, you have to understand, we are ancient beings, we have been around for millennia…” Jimin glances at you fleetingly, as if worried about your reaction.

Millennia…

You don’t know what you expected, but certainly not this. That truth is truly horrifying. Vampires have plagued this very earth you inhabit for not decades, not centuries, but millennia.

“I don’t want to confuse you with more information, I think this much is enough so I’ll leave our story for another time perhaps.” His consideration is jarring. How can he act this caring right now as if he hadn’t just fed off your blood? And may do so any second now?

“Okay.”

A silence follows your reply that you intended to be the end of the conversation. There isn’t much one can respond to okay.

You’re keenly aware of how his eyes explore you, searching your face as if it were a map to the treasure he has exhausted himself with hunting for. His desire, a thing that scares you, radiates despite him not doing much. Doubt is planted in your head, you’re unsure of how to feel as you toy with the lining of the bedding. Namjoon was so blunt, so disrespectful with his superiority complex, insisting you to submit to him. But Jimin acts as though he wishes to befriend you.

Or maybe it’s to instill a false sense of security in you, so easier to lure you into his den.

“We’ve never done this before.” Jimin speaks again. “Sharing a Feed. All of us at least. Taehyung and I have shared before, but this… I don’t know how it will work.” He scratches his temple.

“Namjoon said only one of you would feed on me a day but then…” The feeling of six pairs of fangs biting into you gives you goosebumps. You hate the weak whisper that is your voice. You sound pathetic. But when you see his guilt and pity-stricken eyes, you feel an odd satisfaction.

“Sorry… I think we all just got too excited. We haven’t tasted angel blood in almost two centuries.” When he notices your alarm, he quickly explains, “Right, you don’t know you have angel blood. Humans that possess the sacred touch of those celestials are extraordinarily rare, every creature of the night wishes to vanquish them for the fortune they bring. To us vampires, your blood is like… like ambrosia - food of the gods. The taste so euphoric that it drives us to the edge of madness with desire and greed with just one drop.”

Angel blood.

A girl as mundane and peasant as you has fucking angel blood coursing through her system.

You want to laugh. What good does this stupid ‘sacred touch of the celestials’ if it not once protected you from the evil and adversities in your life? ‘Brings good fortune?’ Where the fuck has your good fortune been hiding then?

“I think I’m the one being driven to the brink of madness here,” is what you say instead of lashing out at him. “There’s no way. Why didn’t you get my uncle then? If I have angel blood then so should he.”

Your uncle with angel blood? The biggest joke this universe has played on you yet.

“No, it doesn’t work like that. The angels choose the selected few, born with a holy purity that makes them weep.” There’s a mockery in his tone when he describes those beings, as if they’re his archnemesis. “It requires the Heaven’s approval to imbue angel blood into an earthly being.”

You force a swallow. If the angels really chose you to carry their essence, where had they been when you needed them the most? What use is the angels’ good faith when they’re not there to guard you? You have so many questions, but you don’t know whether to trust his answers.

“Where are the other people with angel blood?” Why does it have to be you, you mean. Why always you?

“We’ve sought your kind our whole existence. You have to understand that your blood is like a drug to us, it’s a compulsion drawing us to find you. In our lifetime, we have sired a lot of the angel-blooded, probably hunted you so much that the angels are angry and decided to gradually relinquish this rite. We thought you were extinct, actually. Until we picked up on your scent and found you.”

Jimin finally gives into his inhibitions and holds your hand in his. This time you don’t flinch away, yet you’re unsure why. When his thumb caresses your knuckles, something in you jolts. His touch is so gentle, so unlike what you’re used to, and so unlike how he dug into your veins. You kind of want to cry. Because it’s been so long since anyone has shown this tenderness towards you.

Clearing your throat, you say, “And now I’m yours forever.” Until you suck me dry.

He senses the bitterness in your tone, your reluctance to belong to them. He seems hurt. It sends you down a whirlpool of confusion because he shouldn’t care.

“Y/N, I just want you to know that…” At the sincerity of Jimin’s voice, you lock eyes with him. “I can’t speak for my brothers, but me personally, I will never intentionally cause you unnecessary harm. My Feeds… mean a lot to me, I view you as more than food. I value and respect you, and though you may not for a long time, I wish for you to value and respect me too, one day.”

Resentment is a tiring emotion, it is a poison to your soul more than anyone else’s. You don’t want to hate him, or any of them. His words move you in a way that makes you almost believe that he isn’t a monster. Maybe he isn’t. It’s not their fault they were born like this.

And so you take your first step towards acceptance. Perhaps this is your future now. You hate everything about it, the pain, the submission, the restraint. But what other life have you got? There is nothing for you to go back to.

All of a sudden, Jimin twists his head to the side and freezes. You study his stunning profile, how he seems to be listening intently at what sounds like silence to your ears. Then the third door to the room swings open. Namjoon’s entrance is one like a villain’s in a horror film, with church organs playing in the background and a sinister flash of lighting. He looks taken aback at the sight of Jimin but recovers quickly as he frowns in disapproval.

You take the chance while his attention isn’t on you to assess him entirely. He’s dressed in the same all-black suit, albeit shed the blazer, and you wonder why they are all dressed like they’re ready for a banquet in their own home. Or maybe this isn’t their home and you’ve just made an assumption. His hair is less neat than before, spiking up on the sides as if he has been running his hands through it in exasperation. Stern expression seeming to be permanently worn on his face, he enters the room without asking. The discrepancy of him and Jimin does not surprise you.

“What are you doing here?” Namjoon demands. So it appears that his rigid tone is used not only on you, but also his brother. It’s insufferable. You almost take a step back to square one, forgetting Jimin’s offering of peace.

When his eyes narrow at your hand in Jimin’s, the smaller male quickly release you. “Hyung, I was just checking up on her. No need to get so possessive already.” Jimin is pouting almost exaggeratedly, his previous sincerity towards you quickly dissipating into a rather comical persona. You wonder which one is a facade, which one is really him.

“Possessive?” Namjoon scoffs and stops in front of him, his height towering over the both of you. “You’re the one to talk when you have to worst temper out of all of us. If roles were reversed, and I was visiting our Feed on your day, I think you’d come for my throat.”

Jimin glances over at you at Namjoon’s exposing words. After your exchange, you can’t really imagine him with a temper at all, let alone the worst one. But these vampires have shown to be masters of disguise afterall, why should it shock you? You feel a part of the bridge Jimin was building between you crumble away. You shouldn’t have trusted him so quickly.

“I’ll leave then.” He doesn’t argue, which you guess proves that Namjoon’s point rings true. Jimin spares you one last weighty look, trying to convey to you that he had meant what he said, before leaving you alone in this dark room with the tall vampire.

Namjoon is quiet, assessing you with that dagger-like stare of his as if you’re a child who’s just doodled all over the wall with your crayons. It almost makes you shrink away, but your defiance grows bold with him, more than anyone else. You meet his eye with the same harshness he doles.

“It’s Monday today.” He says. It’s an ordinary sentence otherwise, but now it holds a meaning. You’re his Feed today.

You don’t know who out of these vampires you prefer, but it is definitely not Namjoon. He doesn’t have to say it, but you can tell by the disdain in his eyes that he does not see you as more than his next meal. Even if Jimin was pretending, at least he spoke to you with decency.

“For future reference, I would rather you not associate with anybody else but me on the days where you are mine.” The way he articulate certain words accentuates his snobbish attitude that you want to punch out of him.

And I would rather you not suck my blood or magically link my life to you until my death, you want to say. Your rage is returning at an accelerating rate.

“It wasn’t my fault he came into my room.” His brows draw at your snark.

“He won’t be doing so again. Also, refrain from using that tone with me.”

“What tone?”

You’re being especially difficult, and you pride in the way his mouth twitches in annoyance. A man of his character is easy to tick off. He moves his hand towards you and you flinch abruptly, the memory of your uncle’s raised fist fresh in your mind, in an instant reducing you to the scared girl you have been for so long. His hand ceases its motion midair.

When you meet his eyes, they are wide in alarm, as if he hadn’t expected such a reaction from you.

“I- wasn’t going to hit you.” His voice low, he lets his arm drop to his side.

His words perplex you, his softer tone even more. If you didn’t know better, you would say he looks slightly abashed. Guilty even.

Namjoon clears his throat at your silence, glare hardening once again.

“You have a sharp tongue, girl.” Tutting, he walks over to the bookshelves with his hands held behind his back like some professor.

“You have sharper teeth.”

His head whips back at your retort, then in a blinding speed you thought not humanly possible, he closes the distance he had walked from you, appearing a finger-length away in front of you. You stagger back on the bed.

“Don’t make your life difficult for yourself. As I’ve said, address me by Sir when you speak to me, and speak to me with respect, as you would to authority. Those are simple rule to abide, but if you knowingly continue to choose to break them, I have the capability to make your stay with us a living nightmare.” There is not the slightest humour in his eyes.

His threat would instill fear in anyone, except you have heard it all before and so it brushes past you like an autumn breeze. Brazen, you stand up on the mattress, the leverage allowing your height to surpass his as you look down at him.

“My life already is a living nightmare, Namjoon. It has been for a while now so your threat means nothing to me. You want me to speak to you with respect, but why the fuck should I? Your brother Jimin at least looks at me like I’m a human being. You talk to me like I’m no more than your dinner served in a dress. You want to hurt me? Go fucking ahead. Kick me, slap me, strangle me, burn me. I’ve had it all before.” Words tumble out of your mouth on their own accord, driven furious by his contempt. “You think you can command me to be your little bitch? Think again, because I will never,” you take one step closer to him, “ever respect a self-important cunt like you as long as you look down on me like that.”

The fury in his crimson irises brews quietly. Namjoon’s jaw is clenched so tightly his cheeks hollow inwards.

At the back of your mind, a small ounce of regret and fright registers. You have just yelled your wrath at the face of a millenia-old vampire, one who’s supernatural abilities you have not a single clue about yet. He could kill you right now, but you know he won’t. Many things are worse than death. He needs you alive, but only barely, enough to be his blood bag.

Still, you don’t cower as he pulls you by the wrist towards him, so hard that your foot missteps and you fall onto him as your knee gives way, inherently grabbing onto his shoulder for balance. Your faces are inches apart, closer than you would ever want to get to this monster. But what terrifies you more than your ill fate is how handsome he looks this close. His strong features carve into your core and you hate it. His musk fills your nose; he smells clean like cotton.

Your upheavance seems to have unleashed a cold storm from him. His silence is more frightening than when he speaks. But now that you are set on this path of defiance against Namjoon, you must commit to it. Can’t back down right now.

Then he brings your wrist to his mouth, grip not painful but tight enough, his eyes never leaving yours just as yours are locked on his, in a quiet battle between his dominance and your rebellion. If you look away, you let him win, you let him know that he has a hold on you.

So you watch as his sinks his sharp teeth into your pulsing vein without so much of a blink. The agony is a motherfucker, so intense your head dizzies immediately and your hand clenches spastically. Yet still, your eyes remain on him, even when your throat is itching to whimper at the pain. Does it hurt less the second time around? You would have hoped so but it doesn’t. If anything, because of the anticipation, it hurts more.

Namjoon doesn’t feed for long though. He doesn’t need to, this is no more than a show of his power. When he releases your wrist, blood oozes out of the two holes down your arm, dripping off your elbow onto the sheets.

You notice that his chest is rising particularly hard. He is trying hard to control his thirst. From Jimin’s description earlier, you gather that it isn’t easy for vampires when it comes to angel blood. It must be driving him insane right now. You don’t know how to feel. Perhaps empowered, but also afraid.

The black of his pupils is beginning to spread like the had done when they had all transformed earlier. He quickly turns away and take several steps back. Faced with his back, you slump down onto your knees in the mattress, trying to stop your bleeding wrist in your clutch.

“Fuck you.” You spit, though it comes out less harsh than inteded as a hesitancy holding you back. Provoking him is not a good idea right now.

His shoulders are rising and falling heavily as his breathing deepens. The sound of blood splattering from his chin onto the wooden floor fills the air. Right now you’re filled with uncertainty, of what is going to happen and what you should do. Is he vulnerable right now? Or is he more powerful after feeding on you? Do you make a run for it? Or do you keep your mouth shut and stay here?

“When will you listen, girl.” The deepness of his grumble stirs a wild hot sensation in you that you don’t understand. He is still facing away from you, heaving. You watch his closed fists clench tighter.

“I told you. Never.”

“How can you expect me not to lose my head when you oppose every single word I say?” His head hangs low, shoulder blades poking out at his black shirt.

“How can you expect me to willingly let you drink my blood for the rest of my life? Especially when you talk to me like that?” You train your voice to be more reasonable, less attacking, because you feel the danger lurking beneath his skin that he is trying to control.

“Just obey. Make it easier for yourself.” Watching your blood continuously flow out of your fresh wound makes your head light. You will bleed to your death if he doesn’t heal you, however he does that.

Still, you consider his suggestion. You could just obey, accept this as your life now - a Feed for seven vampires to take their turn with you. You thought your uncle had beaten all the self love out of you, but maybe after all, you still value your own worth. Submission has a disgusting taste. Or maybe it’s just that you want to anger one of them so much that they in the heat of the moment kill you, so you can finally meet your long-awaited death.

“I won’t.”

Everything is still for an ominous pause following your refusal. Cautious, you watch his strong back, unsure of his next response. Though there are no open windows or doors to the room, you feel a gust of cold air breeze past you, sending a flare of chills on the sides of your neck.

When Namjoon slowly turns to face you again, black wholly consuming his eyes, fangs protruding from his gaping mouth, still dripping with the red you paint, you know to be scared. You don’t have time to scuffle away when he whizzes to you with that impossible speed of his again. And in a blink of an eye, he is before you, knees hitting the edge of the bed. Panting, growling, yanking your throbbing arm up.

Namjoon before shifting is an insufferable prick. Namjoon after shifting is an unrecognisable beast. Well-spoken manner, pristine appearance, air of arrogance, all gone.

As he bites into your wrist again, you can’t hold in your shriek this time, not when the wounds he had pierced are still burning and bleeding profusely. You almost cry for help in your desperation, but remember that there’s no one to help you here. In this house are seven vampires, and you.

But then something feels different.

There’s a tingling in your chest, not quite enjoyable but also not unpleasant. Before you can grow accustomed to it, it accelerates like the heart-lurching pull of gravity, and squeeze your whole body into a tight compression. You feel as though you’re racing through space, yet your body is unmoving, slouched against his form.

Then, tug.

Something is pulling you. Someone is pulling you.

You look around through your half shut lids from exhaustion but see no one except the two of you.

Another tug. And you realise it’s not physical. There is a knot tying in your chest right now, and you faintly recall an uncannily similar experience when you had first woken up here. Like a cord, a rope violently pulling on your soul.

Is this… the so-called Sire Bond they spoke of that permanently fixes you to a vampire?

Glancing up gives you the answer you seek. Though his eyes are pitch dark, there is an indecipherable difference in them, something so minute yet so significant in the way he is staring back at you.

Namjoon stops feeding.

And inhales.

Exhales.

You tremble because you feel the animal that is his desire embrace you like a mist. During your encounter with him, both times when he had fed on you before, not once did he express desire even remotely unlike his brothers. Yet now…

His fingers around your wrist suddenly feel gentler. Stunned, you glare at each other, studying the other’s response at the tether binding your souls. Both your angers seem to fritter away into smoke.

Why do you feel… a hunger? A yearning for his touch?

Without realising what you’re doing, you wipe the back of your hand across his wet chin, your blood smearing into sangria stains. He lets you. You study his face, he studies yours. He is so infuriatingly handsome, you notice. You almost want to…

No, you do want to.

But why? What is wrong with you? Why are you wondering how his lips feel when they are red with your blood that he’s forcefully drinking?

You shudder because you see him glancing down at your lips too. You see the turmoil in his brain, the confusion from the twitch of his brow.

Then he firmly places his hand on your waist and bring your body to his. Though his touch is ice through the fabric of your garment, your skin feels warm. Scathing, in fact. This time when he sucks on your bleeding wrist again, it feels less aggressive. More… Intimate. You watch Namjoon’s eyes shut slowly in a state of euphoria, entranced by your taste. It doesn’t really hurt anymore; the sting is ever present, but now it is accompanied by a pulsating pleasure entering up your arm and running into your every fibre. His hand snakes around your back until you’re completely pressed onto his chest. Your own hand reaches his sternum to create space between you out of instinct but you find it stopping at his pectoral, your fingers curling over the firm muscle.

He leans into your touch, and you grapple onto his chest because your head is spinning, both from the supernatural bond coiling around you and the continuous loss of your blood.

After one last gulp, he releases your wrist from his mouth, but doesn’t let it fall to your side, instead carefully guiding it to his shoulder, urging you to circle your arm around him. Though his eyes are still obsidian and he’s still in his shifted beastly state, vulnerability is splattered across his face. This isn’t Namjoon from before. This is an entirely different being whom you don’t recognise.

Lifting his arm to his teeth, he rips into his own wrist, the puncture of his skin almost like a crunch of an apple. Your gasp is muffled when he places it against your lips, offering his blood for you to drink. To heal you.

The metallic taste you expect is absent. In its place is the juice of a fruit so fresh its sweetness cures your thirst and ailments. You don’t hesitate to swallow the fluid pouring onto your tongue. So now you know how you must taste to them.

Simply divine. Like drops of Heaven.

Though it must be magnified by miles for them. You are not even a vampire.

You watch him watch you drink his blood like it is some erotic ribald scene, the intensity of his glare shooting a flame to your core. And when your tongue licks at his skin to lap up the spilled droplets, he lets out a grunt and leans into the crown of your head. With his fangs still extended, his nose roams your hair, breathing in your scent that he is craving, but in a different way from thirst.

As Namjoon removes his arm from you, depriving you of his blood once more, you feel your bite wounds itch ferociously. When you look down at them, you see that your skin is sewing itself back together. Until it is once more porcelain-smooth. Not a single mark save for the crusts of your drying blood.

Unbelievable.

You are too shocked to even make a sound.

But that is quickly overruled by a different sensation - Namjoon’s lips brushing the tip of your ear. Your sharp inhale arouses him, you feel it stiffening at your hip. Holding your jaw firmly, he pulls away to look at you. And what an unholy sight you are: an angel-anointed girl with the blood of a vampire slathered across her snout.

There is a carnal glint in his onyx pools, you catch it the very moment before he kisses you. Hard and fast. Full of a desperation that has the bond between you winding you closer to him. You taste your own blood in his mouth, and it is bland and regular compared to his, but somehow the idea of your bloods mixing on each other’s tongues excite you. There is a hint of a voice in your head screaming at you to stop but you banish it. You have never felt a stronger desire than right now, in the arms of a man you hate.

Falling back onto the bed with his frame hovering over you, you allow him to guide your lips, wield you, mould you. When your hand reaches to cradle his cheek, he grips both your wrists and pins them above your head, holding them in place with a single hand big enough to encircle them both. Even in this monstrous inhuman state, his need for dominance eclipses the rest of his character.

You feel beside yourself under his kiss. So sensual, driven by lust. This isn’t you, but you don’t care. You don’t care about anything other than how much you crave Namjoon this very moment. When he grabs onto the flesh of your ass, you forget how much you had wanted to hurt him just minutes ago. And when you feel the tip of his fangs scrape gently against your tongue, you forget yourself altogether.

With a growl, he pulls away from the kiss and flips you over onto your front as if you weigh no more than a feather. Swiping your hair to one side, he grazes his teeth along your neck. It tickles more with the thrill of knowing that the could bite down anytime. You think you want him to. His hands ride up the flimsy material of your dress, it’s bumpy calluses exciting you. Then he puts his weight onto your ass, grinding his hard member into your crack with only mere layers of fabric separating you from his meat.

“Sir...” The word tumbles out at the peak of your moan mindlessly. You are truly not yourself.

At that, you feel his hefty cock pulse on your rear. Namjoon’s body falls onto you in defeat at your name for him as if that one syllable alone had slain him. His fingers wrap around your wrists again as he continues to grind furiously into you. The strap of your dress has slipped off your shoulder, and he takes your skin between his lips, brushed by his hot velvet tongue.

A familiar warm slick is pouring out of your cunt, wetting your panties and the crotch of his trousers. You need him so badly you want to sob. Your core is twisting and throbbing for him, aching to be stretched out. This isn’t enough. His cock sliding between the cheeks of your ass isn’t enough. You need him thrusting into you like this from behind.

“Fuck me, please!” You know his self control is ebbing away into oblivion like yours. You can’t wait any longer.

But then he sits up, so abruptly that the bed creaks loudly. Your whole back feels barren without his contact. You quickly twist to look at him, in time to see the black of his eyes slowly retreating to reveal white, then waning back to their normal crimson-tinted irises in a blink.

Instantly they are enshrouded in confusion. Disbelief.

Namjoon has shifted back to himself in an instant. No longer the demonic desire-driven vampire who was just pushing his stiff member between your ass.

“I-” He chokes.

Your high gradually rides down its hill as well as clarity begins to fill your cup once again, clearing away the fog of your vertigo. Your senses, your own self creeps back into your body as you register what was going on. Breathing heavily the both of you, for a dreaded second, all you do is look at each other.

Then without another word, he speeds out of the room like lightning, the echo of the door slamming shut after him startling you.

You blink and he is gone.

Leaving you wondering what the fuck had just happened.

And what the fuck had you done to each other.

❦

@serendipity-secrets @killcomet @askingtheimportantthingshere@blackpanther4550 @comingjimin @unatempesta-dipensieri @dapppphhhhh

❦

03/10/2019

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antichristsxbox · 5 years

Note

Hi! I’d like to request Michael x Reader where Michael has to deal with a very drunk reader? Perhaps scare off drunken suitors? 👀

Summary: The reader and Michael are at a party, but Michael isn’t too thrilled when another guy tries to hit on you. I choose to make this a college party where both the reader and Michael are students attending a frat party. Also, warning, this is smutty! :)

From the writer: Hey, Anon! Sorry it took me so long to answer this, I was trying to think of a good setting/context for this to happen. Also, I’m sorry if there’s a few imperfections as I only proofread this a couple of times and didn’t have anybody else look it over. I was just eager for you guys to read this and I’m excited about it because I really need to practice writing smut, so let me know if you like this! If you happen to like this, check out the new fic I’m working on here! I’m planning on making it a few more chapters and some chapters will definitely contain smut. If that’s not your thing, check out my masterlist with plenty more things to read! Also, I’m sorry I couldn’t find a better gif but I love Jimmy Fallon so I think this is alright. :)

Word count: 2,125

“You can’t make me,” you say, downing another shot of Tito’s. You would much rather chase with cranberry juice, but this bar only has diet cranberry. Diet drinks have a really weird aftertaste, and mixed with alcohol, they just bring out the worst notes in each other.

Michael had been trying to get you to slow your roll, but it’s Friday night. There are only two weekend nights in the entire week, and you may as well make the most of it before it’s back to class on Monday. As you lower the glass from your lips, you see your friends heading outside to watch the game of pong. It’s always interesting to see who think they’re going to the the pong champs this week. Or, even better, when another drunk frat guy decides to jump on the folding table and make a complete fool of himself— effectively ending the game of pong when cups and booze come crashing down to the floor with him. Luckily, that hasn’t happened tonight, so far. There is always something entertaining to do— it’s always fun to watch. As you head out with your friends, Michael is now conversing with his lab partner. Both giant nerds, you must applaud them for managing to stay this sober when it’s already nearly eleven o’clock.

Pong has been going well, but somehow, you’ve ended up on a team with your girlfriends rather than being passive observers. On the opposing side, your friends from your art history class, all guys more apt to hold their alcohol than you and your friends. A ping-pong ball landed in a cup right in front of you— warm, gnatty lite makes its way down your throat. Coming up for air only after the last sip was taken, your team makes their shot. Still, you’re a few cups behind the opposing team, but you could be doing much worse.

Eventually, the game is lost to the opposing team and your friends retreat back inside with you. With the winning team quickly following, the room is now bombarded with loud shouts and whoops! from rowdy frat boys.

“Hey, Baby, what’s happening?” a guy wearing a Kappa Alpha dude-tank asks, walking in front of you and blocking you from moving any further in your tracks.

“Ugh, not you,” you say, shoving past him and making your way towards the front of the room. But, Kappa Alpha dude has another plan in mind. As you sit on the stained, alcohol-smelling couch, he follows quickly and is now sitting next to you. It takes a lot to ward off a guy like this, but it may be easier if another guy was with you for the scare factor. Reaching for your phone, you text Michael and tell him to meet you in the living room. It shouldn’t be long now.

As Michael’s eyes lock with yours, you gesture to the guy sitting next to you in an annoyed manner.

“Hey, man,” Michael says, placing a hand on the frat guy’s shoulder, “that’s my girl, you should be heading off now.”

Frat guy does not take this well. He stands, shoves Michael into the dingy lamp next to the couch, and retreats back towards his friends. Although Michael can be hotheaded at times, he decides to let this one go, as this other man is obviously very inebriated and would likely not remember this instance tomorrow. Battery and assault charges may also be harsher towards a defenseless, drunk college boy.

Making the ultimate decision to leave the party, you and Michael make your way towards the other side of campus, near his dorm. This year, he was lucky enough to have a single dorm, rather than sharing with a roommate. The walk over includes soaking in how the light hits the long Spanish moss, then a shadow is cast towards your feet. The most simple things seem to provide entertainment when you’re slightly buzzed. Slightly, since most of the alcohol has worn off at this point— a lingering, weak wash over your senses still in the back of your mind.

Without making it a few steps past Michael’s doorway, his hands already tangle in your hair and draw you in for a sloppy, faded kiss. The fruit punch of Michael’s earlier hurricane drink was lingering on his lips. Your hands snake around his waist and pull him closer. Sometimes, Michael’s protectiveness can steer you away or make you angry that he’s upset in the first place. Tonight, however, he kept his cool and was not reactive in his normal, vicious manner.

“Baby,” you drawl while unbuttoning your top and lifting his shirt. Warm skin presses together as you pull each other close again. Same old, except now you’re half-naked. Very close together, yet not the most intimate you’ve been with your beau by a long shot.

A noticeable bulge in his pants can be felt when you brush against him, still enjoying the sweet taste of his drink from earlier on your lips. Your hands make their way to his bulge and brush over his pants where it’s obvious, and he lets out a whimper as your fingertips settle just to the side of where his bulge lies, hands grabbing his hips and pulling him towards you.

Impatiently, his fingers make haste with your belt, then your pants button and zipper, until you’re standing only in your underwear. Similarly, Michael is now undoing his own pants as you make your way to his bed. Oh, he’s gotten so lucky— a full bed, no roommates, and he’s in the party dorm. Your roommate leaves tangles of hair and blobs of toothpaste in your shared sink. Michael is at such a different level, dorm-wise.

He’s finally made his way to the large bed; you’re under the covers, sinking in to his soft mattress and having soft sheets run past your legs as you wrap yourself around Michael’s waist. Hands grasp above your hips and pull you closer, his solid bulge now very present against your most sensitive area. As your hips roll forward, Michael thrusts forward, and he brushes up against you hard enough that you let out a moan and feel your pulse in your cunt. Muscles clench in your pelvis as Michael thrusts again.

The friction of fabric between you has now become annoying. Hands make their way to the band of your underwear and tug down. Freeing Michael from the constraints of his boxers, his hard cock springs up as his underwear is moved past. Warmness is the only feeling as his member brushes past your soaking pussy.

“He wouldn’t make you feel how you do like I can,” Michael says, moving back, but introducing his fingers to your wetness. They toy with your area for a minute, tracing your entrance and folds, then two are pushed inside— Michael knows one is a fairly lackluster sensation for you. He curls up, hitting your inside walls in the spot you need him most. As your moans increase in length and volume, Michael only quickens his pace with his fingers. You could feel him curl and straighten his fingers. Your hips rolled to match his pace, but were quickly defeated as he picked up his pace in anticipation of your orgasm.

“Michael, I want you,” you say, reaching for his hand and pushing it down. Fingers are great, especially when they’re Michael’s, but you have fingers too. His cock is truly unique. You thought you would get used to him eventually, but every time with him leaves you amazed at how fresh the feeling is of taking somebody so long with so much girth. At least eight and a half inches, and so wide you could barely touch your index finger to your thumb if you wrapped your hand around him.

He shushes you, but uses his hips to press more firmly where you want him. His hands trace over your hips and eventually fall on your breasts. You sit up, tired of his teasing. Using your hands as a guide, you line him up with your entrance and shift so you could straddle his waist. Hindsight, this may not have been a great idea, seeing how tired you are.

“It’s alright, Baby,” he says, sensing how little energy you have for this, but the needing and wanting still being present. Fully letting yourself relax on him, he fills you up, not a space inside untouched by Michael. Every time you were with Michael was less and less painful. This time, there was no pain present at all— only a very full feeling.

He holds on to your hips, gently thrusting up while keeping you balanced on top of him. You love how when you’re on top of him, you can control how deep he is or not. Using your legs to bounce up and match his pace, you find a rhythm that suits the both of your tired, faded selves. At least alcohol almost never had any bearing on how Michael “performs” but this could be due to the fact that he never consumes much when he drinks anyways.

As your legs begin to give out due to tiredness, Michael senses your growing weakness and slows down so you could sit and take a break. Even without him moving, he still feels amazing to sit upon and take in. Clenching your muscles makes Michael moan and thrust forward. His hands cup your ass and push you towards him.

“Mmm, I could go so hard, so fast,” he says, using his legs to push up again.

“Do it, Michael,” you say, running your fingers through his perfect, blonde curls and staring down at his beautiful blue eyes. A small kiss is exchanged before you dismount from his lap and lay down, face-down.

He normally doesn’t opt for doggy-style. He says he likes to see your face, like to read how his movements affect you and what they make you feel— all easy to understand when looking at your face. But, he knows you like how it feels and the depth that can be achieved when you’re giving him such unrestricted access, all bent over and back arched and ass out, combined with his hard thrusts and strength he could easily bottom out in you.

“Yeah, Baby, you’re gonna fucking get it,” he says, gently grabbing your waist to guide you up while he kneels behind you. Slowly, he enters and slides in and out with caution a few times, testing to see if this felt okay with you. Your soft moans let him know that this was good, and he continued to pick up his pace. Having him coming from the back allowed you to feel him fully, a stuffed sensation as he brushes your cervix with every thrust.

Obscene slaps! fill the room as he picks up his pace even more, a new sensation added as his balls slam against your cunt— he thrusts harder and harder, the new experience being a welcome addition as it stimulates you even more. Your walls tighten after a few moments of him giving it to you like this, but he doesn’t stop or let his pace fall behind.

“Oh, Michael!” you exclaim, now-erratic clenching taking over the muscles in your cunt, squeezing Michael with all the force in your body. Your orgasm has arrived, and the feeling is welcome as you ride it out with Michael continuing to thrust into you. His own orgasm is near, you could tell due to his increased panting and thrusts becoming more sparse, but still hard.

He lets out a yelp, then grabs your legs and pulls you onto him as he thrusts forward, his tip making full contact with your cervix. This happens a few more times before he releases his load deep in your pussy, his own warmth combining with your own making your knees weak. As he slowly pulls out from you, you collapse down on the bed. In a child’s pose like position, you rest your head on his pillow with your legs curled up beneath you. You may need some real yoga tomorrow to stretch out and become less sore after this.

“He couldn’t do that,” Michael says, resting his head next to yours on the other pillow. A smug smile takes over his face as you turn to look at him, planting a soft kiss on his lips. He still has a lingering taste of the sugary hurricane drink he has consumed at the party.

“No, he could not, only you can make me come like that,” you say, pulling the sheets over your naked body, ready for a long night of sleep.

“Likewise,” Michael agrees.

///

Tag list: @langdonsoceaneyes @ms-mead @daydreamingofcody @psychobitchtess @swampwitchh13

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon smut #michael langdon alternate universe #michael langdon au #american horror story #ahs

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broken-clover · 4 years

Text

AU-gust Day 20- Single Parents (Late)

Well, this is an oof. Tis nice to be back from a break, though I wish I had done this on time. Main reason I didn’t just skip over this is that it’s supposed to be for Nana, since I know she’s having a bit of a rough patch. I know fics can only do so much, but even if it can help just a smidge, then I’ve succeeded!

So if that alone wasn’t obvious enough, this one’s a Daryl/Venom. It’s taken from an AU I’ve been working on for a while, I know it might be a little confusing without full context so if you have any questions on the Venomdad AU feel free to ask, I’d be glad to talk about it!

With one smooth flick of the wrist, Daryl flipped open his pocket watch to double-check the time out of the corner of his eye.

‘6:23 PM’

A few minutes late, but Daryl was a pragmatist, not an asshole. And he certainly wasn’t going to scold a busy single dad for showing up a little bit late for a date, he just hoped everything was going alright for him.

Daryl stood in place, flexing his hands before letting them rest back at his sides. He stood and watched the evening passers-by traversing through the park, though only at half-attention, not taking much note of the sound of passing footsteps until he noticed a set actually moving towards him, rather than around him.

“Daryl! You’re still here, I’m so sorry-”

“Mon chou!” Daryl greeted him with a bright smile and open arms. “Think nothing of it. I would never leave so early, I know sometimes time can slip away from us, it’s perfectly understandable.”

“Alright.” Venom still rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. “And I’m sorry I had to bring them along on date night, I know it was kind of out of nowhere but I couldn’t find a babysitter in time-”

“Venom.” He cut him off, reaching up to brush the hair out of his eyes with a smile. “You don’t have to apologize. Raising children can be difficult. And besides, if we’re dating, I should have met them anyway. I can’t just love you by yourself, it’s a package deal.”

That finally seemed to assuage his fears, though the sentiment was negated by a small hand swatting Daryl’s away with a sharp “no!”

“Ah- you’re Cass, aren’t you?” The Third King recovered quickly, putting on his warmest smile to the four-year-old currently giving him a rather venomous (hah) glare as she sat perched on her father’s hip. “Your father’s told me quite a lot about you!”

When glaring at him didn’t send the man fleeing, she thrust her nose up and turned away with a huff.

“I’m- I’m sorry, Cass has problems with me...meeting new people. She’s especially picky when it comes to who I date.” Venom appeared embarrassed with himself, for reasons Daryl couldn’t understand.

“Well, I suppose I’ll simply have to make a good impression!” Venom had told him plenty about Cass, so it wasn’t too much of a surprise. Daryl could certainly understand it, it made sense to have some degree of protectiveness for the person who saved your life as a baby...but he just wouldn’t have expected such an adamant sense of it from a toddler.

Daryl knelt down. “And you must be Eddie and Camilo, correct?” He said to the two boys clinging onto Venom’s legs. Like with Cass, he could tell who was who just from a glance based on their father’s stories about them. He extended a hand to the older of them, a neat-haired blonde with burn scars running up his arms. “I’m so happy I can finally meet you!”

“Hello, mister!” Eddie seemed a bit off-put by the stranger, but he still was willing to shake back with a stiff, slightly awkward hand. “Dad told us about you, too!”

“Ah, I hope they were mostly good things.” He offered another polite smile. “And Camilo, I hope we can get along!”

The second boy, older than Cass but younger than Eddie, didn’t greet Daryl, instead choosing to cling harder to his father’s leg and hide behind his shaggy, pale hair. He was the only one of them to not wear anything ‘dressy,’ but Daryl didn’t comment on it.

“Should we be heading over?” Venom asked, shifting Cass a little from where she’d begun to slide, making a little rumple in the side of his jacket. He looked remarkably handsome- though, to be fair, he always did- in a neat little ensemble done up with a tie.

“Of course, just one moment.” Daryl reached over to grab a paper bag that had been sitting by his feet. “When Venom told me you three would be coming along for dinner, I thought I should bring a little gift for you!”

And, as expected, Venom immediately blushed with embarrassment again. “D-Daryl, it’s alright, you didn’t have to-”

“But I did, so don’t worry about it.” The man first pulled out a simple wooden case, which he handed over to Eddie. “Here you are!”

“...A box?” The boy asked, turning it over in his hands. “I mean, it’s a pretty box-”

“Look inside.” Daryl nodded patiently. “That’s the gift.”

“Inside? What’s it gonna- ah.” His eyes almost seemed to double in an instant. “AH!” Eddie squealed with joy, making Camilo wince and cover his ears. “Just like dad’s!”

“Venom told me you’ve been wanting to practice billiards, too.” Said Daryl. “I thought it would be best to get you a set more suited to someone a little smaller.” He gave Eddie a little pat on the head, and reached for something else. “Camilo, how about you next?”

The other boy remained far less enthusiastic, shying away from Daryl as he tried to talk to him. But like with Eddie, his demeanour quickly shifted when he saw his present.

“F-f-froggy!!”

The man chuckled as Camilo immediately mushed his face into the fat frog plushie, droning and bouncing on his heels. “I know you love frogs. Venom said they’re your favorite! I didn’t feel safe getting you a live one, but I hope this one is good enough?”

“Ah, froggy.” Came the reply, muffled by fabric. “Hnn…”

“That means ‘thank you.’” Venom said, looking plenty pleased himself. “A good choice.”

Daryl nodded again. “I tried to find a soft one, I know you said textures sometimes give him trouble. And finally, for you, Cass.” He didn’t even attempt to touch her, but simply held her gift out in her direction. “Your father tells me you like, erm…’borrowing’ his clothing? So I assumed, ‘there’s nothing wrong with wanting to look your best,’ so I thought I would get you something a little more suited for you. I hope it’s alright?”

“Oh, Cass, look!” Venom took it for her, holding the little tie up where she could see. “Just like mine! But it won’t be so long on you.”

“I bought a couple of each kind, there’s clip-ons and just normal ties, I wasn’t sure which she would prefer.” Daryl rooted through the bag for a minute before simply handing it over to Venom. “But still, I hope she likes it.”

Cass said nothing, but grabbed at the tie until Venom gave it to her. With clumsy little fingers, she managed to clip it to the front of her blouse, though slightly askew.

“Don’t you look handsome.” Venom beamed. “They’re all lovely gifts, Daryl. What do we say, kids?”

“Thank you Mr. Daryl!”

“Thanks…”

“Froggy!”

It seemed just a tad funny to him how, despite being adopted, they all shared a feature or two with their father. Eddie had his eyes (though a bit muddier), Camilo had his hair (though much more unkempt) and, though Cass was still so young, some of her facial features still had a remarkable resemblance.

“Of course! Think nothing of it. But don’t go assuming I left you out at all, mon chou.” From an inside pocket of his cloak, he pulled out a single blue rose, thorns trimmed away, and moved to tuck it into Venom’s hair. “I suppose not the most extravagant floral arrangement possible, but I hope dinner will make up for it?”

Goodness, Venom was rather blushy tonight. Daryl found it utterly adorable. “And of all the ways I was worried about tonight going wrong…”

"If anything does go wrong, we’ll figure out a solution together.” With Venom’s free hand preoccupied in covering his own flushed face, the king took it upon himself to tuck the flower neatly behind his ear. “It compliments you perfectly, my love.”

“Daryl…” Venom took his hand before it could move away, holding it against his cheek.

“Yes?”

“Just- you…” He tried to find his words. “I suppose, just...thank you.”

Daryl found his face drifting closer to his partner’s, not too fast but not too slow, carefully tilting his head just so in a way that let their faces meet-

A small slap to the cheek knocked him away, and Daryl was met with another little scowl. “No!”

“I suppose Cass has decided it’s dinnertime.” Despite the twinge of disappointment in his expression, Venom still smiled and gave her a pat on the head. “So, shall we be going?”

“Of course, of course.” Daryl began leading the four of them across the park to a building on the other side. “I’ve told you about this place already, haven’t I?”

“Yes, you have. Though I wasn’t able to find out its menu beforehand.” The former assassin sighed. “Let’s just hope, for all of our sakes, that they offer chicken nuggets.”

#Venomdad AU #writing #guilty gear #venom #Third King Daryl #Darylveno

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dauntlcss · 4 years

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( m, 26, est ) ─ the mirrors surrounding you did as they were meant to, reflecting back a spitting image of PETER GADIOT - but it’s clear something is wrong from the moment that a vision of JOINING THE WEST COAST AVENGERS WITH KATE BISHOP strikes you. perhaps it was a passing daydream in the frenzy of the funhouse. you reassure yourself - you’re CLINT BARTON, a THIRTY-FIVE YEAR OLD BARISTA AND PASTRY CHEF whose virtue lies in your + CHARMING & + CUNNING, although you’ve been told that you tend to be quite - RESENTFUL & - GLOOMY, and you’re associated with THE SMELL OF FRESHLY BREWED COFFEE IN THE MORNING, EMPTY PIZZA BOXES ON THE KITCHEN TABLE, BAND-AIDS ALWAYS COVERING YOUR FACE by those around you. suddenly, however, you’ve found YOUR S.H.I.E.L.D. ID CARD on your person - was that always there? from the moment you leave the funhouse, memories from your life in MARVEL COMICS have begun to return - leaving whoever you had been before in the mirror’s reflection behind you. you can almost hear VOID by SEAHAVEN following in your wake.

graphic pictured above contains art from square enix.

LIFE IN ALUCARD —

NAME: Clinton Francis Barton-Barnes NICKNAME: Clint OCCUPATION: Barista & Pastry Chef at The Cat’s Meow ETHNICITY: Mexican-American NATIONALITY: American FACECLAIM: Peter Gadiot BIRTHDAY: June 18th AGE: 35 HEIGHT: 6’3” EYE COLOR: Blue HAIR COLOR: Blond SEXUALITY: Bisexual MARITAL STATUS: Married FAMILY: Harold Barton (father, deceased), Edith Barton (mother, deceased), Barney Barton (older brother), Bucky Barnes (husband), Lucky (family dog), Alpine (family cat) LANGUAGES KNOWN: English, ASL, Spanish NOTABLE FEATURES: Wears purple BTE hearing aids

Clint is the youngest son born to Harold and Edith Barton. They have one other son named Barney who is fifteen years older, which put a significant age gap between them. Their father was an angry man who never really wanted children. He preferred drinking to doing any parenting. He didn’t raise a hand to either of the boys but verbal abuse took place and the Barton household never felt like a home. Their mother tried her hardest to make it work.

Some events appear to be constant — the alcoholism leading to the death of Clint’s parents. Only the events that spiraled after that are different in this new life. He was only five years old, holding onto Barney’s hand at the funeral not understanding what was going on. “Where’s mama? Papa?” He would ask but not even the older Barton had the right answer. “It’s only going to be us from now on, kiddo.” He answered after kneeling down to be Clint’s level.

His brother was twenty, having held onto the same job for several years now and it paid well. He took on the responsibility of raising his little brother the best to his ability. They moved into a smaller apartment in Alucard and for a while they were happy. This was so the two of them wouldn’t be separated.

Few years later on his way home from school some older kids jumped him. Without getting into graphic details — the injuries from the beating was so extensive that it left him with head trauma. Barney was worried about his brother and how they were going to pay for his medical expenses. The doctor informs the oldest Barton that Clint lost 80% of his hearing which only made him worry that much more.

They don’t always see eye-to-eye but they’re the only family they both have left. Maybe that’s why the blonde puts up with the anger Barney feels toward him sometimes. You can usually find them signing angrily in the kitchen or living room. They do have their moments where it’s possible to get along but it usually doesn’t last.

Clint made a life for himself. He studied at a culinary institute to become a pastry chef. He knows that it wasn’t a requirement but wanted to take the extra step. It got him away from his brother since it was apparent they couldn’t live together anymore.

Three years ago, Clint got invited to attend an engagement party. One of his friends was getting married and seemed to invite everyone she has ever spoken to — renting out one of the bars in town. He didn’t know a lot of people there but wouldn’t miss out on such a joyous occasion. A few drinks into the night Clint saw the most handsome man he has ever laid eyes on standing across the room. He tried asking the person next to him if they knew the guy. “I’ve never met him but his name is Bucky, I think?” The blond repeated the name over and over in his head while handing the beer to his friend and pushing his way through the crowd. He went over there and introduced himself. He didn’t normally do this but something was telling him to try putting himself out there.

They dated for two years, moving in together in that timeframe. Clint even got a dog named Lucky from the local shelter. He’s missing his left eye and has been there for quite some time the volunteer told him. He didn’t need to know anything else and brought him home. Lucky is a smart dog and got along well with Bucky’s cat to the point they’re inseparable at times.

A little over a year ago, Clint and Bucky got married — the blond added on his husband’s last name to the end of his own. Barton-Barnes. They don’t show a lot of public displays of affection in public but you might see them holding hands. Anything more is usually kept for closed doors. They’re happy although Bucky hates Barney so when his brother stops into town that tends to create some tension if he wants to stay at their place. Bucky will even make Clint lunch to take into work! Which is always better than eating take out again.

Clint is working at The Cat’s Meow as a barista and pastry chef. He’ll work with Marinette on creating new recipe ideas for the menu sometimes. They have a little bit of a sibling dynamic going on, looking after her and always being there when she needs a shoulder to lean on. He couldn’t have picked a better place to work and will always appreciate Adrien for taking a chance on him.

Clint is deaf. If he doesn’t have his BTE hearing aids on he will need to rely on reading your lips or sign if your character happens to know ASL. It makes him really happy when people know sign language!

Not all of Spoken English can be lip-read, some words are incomprehensible. He can figure out what you’re saying by filling in the blanks with the words that were missed while lip-reading. He’ll use outside cues to figure out the context of which word is being used. Since a lot of sounds visually look similar such as. ‘th’ and ‘f’ sounds.

He doesn’t wear his hearing aids at night. You need to let them air out and keeping them in while you sleep could damage them if they fall out into your sheets or end up on the floor where you’ll step on them. They’re expensive and can cost up to six thousand dollars just for one. Clint has two so he wants to take care of them. They’re put on a charging station at night so the batteries can charge.

His hearing will NOT be perfect just because he’s wearing hearing aids. They’re AIDS not FIXES. He will miss parts of the conversation still and ask you to repeat yourself occasionally.

CANON LIFE —

ALIAS: Hawkeye, Agent Barton AFFILIATIONS: S.H.I.E.L.D., The Avengers OCCUPATION: S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent S.H.I.E.L.D. CLEARANCE LEVEL: Seven, Blue

Clinton Barton was the youngest son of Harold and Edith Barton. He grew up helping out around his fathers butcher shop with his older brother, Barney. Their mother was a sweet woman but she couldn’t protect them from what would happen when the whiskey was brought out. Harold was abusive and continually beat both of his boys. It got so bad that the injuries Clint suffered from damaged his hearing. He remembers sitting at the doctors office not being able to understand a word the doctor was saying or his parents.

Eventually his father’s alcoholism caused him to get into a car accident while Edith was in the car, costing both of them their lives. Clint and Barney were sent to numerous foster homes until running away from one of them to join a traveling circus instead. He would adapt his archery skills to become a star carnival attraction, a master archer called Hawkeye. He spent some time as a member of Tiboldt’s Circus until leaving to try using his skillset for fighting crime.

Nick Fury would end up hand-picking Barton to join S.H.I.E.L.D. and he quickly became one of their very best agents. In addition to this Clint would also end up joining the Avengers and West Coast Avengers. He’s one of the best archers in the world and should not be underestimated for being Human.

The rest of his biography is pretty straight forward from here, if you want to know what kind of shenanigans his teams got up to then there are plenty of marvel fandom wiki pages to check out!

#duality.intro #ᴍʏ ʟɪғᴇ’s ʀᴇsᴜᴍᴇ: ɪ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ. [ MUSE ]#abuse tw #child abuse tw #violence tw #assault tw #car crash tw #death tw

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buckysforeverprincess · 6 years

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Your Hardest Goodbye -Pt 5

Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers X Reader

Words: 2338

Warnings: Major character death, angst

A/N: This is the end. I can’t say much or it will give it away...

5 years later…

You were seated on a bench in the park, watching your four-year-old play with a friend from preschool. Noah was running around happily giving chase to the boy, long blond hair flowing behind him as he ran. He was his father's clone but refused to cut his hair when asked; opting for the longer locks. Noah said he didn't want to be like them, conformists. Even used the word in the right context. At four, he was reading books and words most adults shy away from, but not him. He was a wealth of information and wouldn't miss an opportunity to get on his soapbox and tell you the ways of the world. Yeah, he was his father's son.

It was times like these you cherished. When the only thing Noah Rogers wanted to do was run around and play, making friends and building forts. That's what four-year-olds should be doing. Not listening to NPR or watching CNN, like his father.

You were so lost in thought, you hadn't noticed someone sit down next to you.

“Mom!” The seven-year-old belts out.

You turn to look at the mini Bucky and open your arms wide for a hug. “Hey, baby!” Bella moves into your arms. “Where's your dad?” You asked as she broke the hug. She had been with her father, so his absence was a little concerning.

“He's over there getting ice cream!” She points over to the far side of the park, and you see the brunette standing a vendor’s cart handing over money for the cool treat.

It didn't take long for him to join you guys, waking at a hurried pace so the ice cream wouldn't melt. “Noah!” Bucky yelled trying to get the attention of the little boy. He held up the deliciousness and Noah needed no coercion to give up playing for a few minutes to eat his snack.

You watched as Noah walked up to Bucky and a few words were exchanged, before the young boy called his friend over and was also offered one of the ice creams in hand. Without hesitation the boy gladly accepted, thanking Bucky before the two boys walked to another park bench and sat next to his friend’s mother, enjoying their ice cream.

“How's my beautiful girl?” Bucky says when he walks up, holding out another ice cream to Bella.

“Dad…you just saw me!” The girl laughs at her father, but he's not really looking at her.

“Of course, I just saw you…I was talking about your mother.” Bucky looks at you with a sultry look, before he bends down and places a kiss to your lips.

“Yuck, you had onions!” You wiped your lips, and Bucky laughs at your observational skills.

“I had onion rings, and I wasn't the only one!”

He points at your daughter, who is happily eating her ice cream and not paying any attention to the adults around her. Yeah, of course she did. Neither one of your children take after you in looks or personality, and especially not food choices. Everything about them screams Bucky and Steve. You were praying the one you were currently holding in your arms would take after you.

Bucky looks down at the sleeping baby and gives him a fond smile. “You need me to take him?” He always wanted a chance to hold and bond with him. Bucky wanted every opportunity he missed with Bella, opting to stay as close as he could to you within reason.

“No, he's good. Been sleeping for a while. I expect he'll wake up soon and need to be fed. We should probably get going.”

Bucky nodded and agreed, “I'll get Noah and then we'll head home. Bella, help mommy pack up please.”

Bella had just finished her treat and took out a wet wipe, cleaning her hands before packing up the few items on the bench. She even wiped down Noah, when the little boy came bouncing over after saying his goodbyes to his friend.

Bucky helped you place Lucas into the stroller, strapping in the three-month-old securely and began making the trek back home. Bella grabbed the diaper bag and Noah took Bucky's hand as the four of you walked and talked about the events of the day.

It had taken a long time to get to this point after the fiasco that was your wedding day. You didn't want to see either man ever again, but you knew that wouldn't be a possibility. Bucky was Bella's biological father…they deserved to know each other.

And it worked out really. Bucky gave you the space you needed at first, but slowly began working at your heartstrings, and breaking down the brick wall you built around your heart. It didn't happen overnight, and you can't pinpoint exactly when it did, but you found yourself falling for the man who was your first love all over again.

Bucky had to work for it though. You had been hurt twice over and trusting him wasn't an easy task. It wasn't until Noah was born that you let him in, removing only a single brick of the wall you had built. He was there for you in the delivery room, helping you push out the stubborn little Rogers baby, ushering words of encouragement and letting you almost crush his hand from the intense pain that little Noah Grant had put you through. Once he came into this world, Bucky stayed by your side, watching over you as you held the baby boy in your arms, already head over heels in love with the precious little angel.

Not only was he great with Noah, but he stepped up to the plate and devoted himself to Bella like he wished he could have from the beginning. That relationship started out small, with visits at his mom’s house when she was there during the week. Bucky didn't push you to tell her, just let things progress naturally, and within six months the two of them were thick as thieves. Bella was too young to realize having two dads wasn't normal, but she never questioned it and accepted that Bucky was daddy and Steve papa. It was a win for everyone, leaving neither man slighted.

You continued your walk towards home, the older two getting antsy the closer you got. Turning the corner, you could see the house a few driveways down, thankful you didn't have to go too much farther. Nothing seemed odd to you, so you didn't bother looking for anything out of the norm.

Bucky taps you on the shoulder, pulling your attention towards him and points in the direction of the driveway. “What's he doing here?” Immediately you recognized the vacant car and began to ponder the question.

“Hmmm, guess we'll find out?” Trying to remain neutral even though you were wondering the same exact thing. Bucky just shook his head and gave you an eye roll, dismissing your nonchalance.

Bella was the first to notice as she got closer to the house, running in excitement when she saw Steve's car. “Papa!” She yelled and took off for the door.

Noah was all smiles too, breaking free from Bucky's grip hopping to the entrance in search of his father. You laughed as the kids disappeared, leaving you and Bucky to bring Lucas and the stroller inside.

Walking into the house the noise level was excruciating; the two kids at the kitchen counter excitedly rummaging through a bag of goodies Steve had brought back with him. Holding onto Lucas, you walked into the kitchen eying the man who had both of your children's attentions.

“What?” Steve looks at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Don't what me Mr. Rogers…what are you doing here?” There's no heat in your voice, just a question about why he was here and not where he was supposed to be.

“What, can't I come home and be with my family?” He was now making his way over to you. “I missed you Mrs. Rogers.” Steve places a kiss on your lips, and damn if you didn't miss that while he was gone away.

“Excuse me? I believe that's Rogers-Barnes, or do we have to go through that again?!” Bucky says from behind you as he enters the madness in the kitchen.

“Aww... are you mad Barnes that I left you out again?” Steve's tone is playful, and Bucky knows he's teasing.

“Please stop with the testosterone fest!” You commented, handing over Lucas to Steve’s open arms.

Steve takes the baby and places a kiss to his little head. He was absolutely smitten over the child and had missed him over the past week he was away on business. “I've missed you sweet Lucas.”

There had been agreement between the three of you, biology wouldn't matter. Steve had openly admitted he knew Lucas Dayton Rogers-Barnes wasn't his son by blood, but he didn't care. The three of you were all in this together.

Steve had worked just as hard as Bucky to win you back. He gave you three days after the disaster of the wedding to be alone and sort out your thoughts. On day four he entered your shared apartment and begged for forgiveness. It wasn't immediately given, citing all the reasons why he shouldn't have felt that way in the first place. Steve promised he'd do anything to fix things, but you told him you needed time.

The man never wavered and did exactly what you asked. Steve put everything he had into winning you back, even when Bucky admitted his feelings were just as strong for you as they ever had been. However, Steve didn't give up. Even deciding they should work together and not make you choose either one of them; but instead love them both.

Being part of a triad had its struggles. Even though they were used to living out of each other's pockets, it still took time to adjust. That was never more obvious when Steve had asked you to marry him all over again, looking to Bucky in confusion.

It was both of their ideas, they said; wanting to make sure you were taken care of in case something ever happened, Steve having the better job and benefits. You hesitantly agreed but could feel the tension from Bucky. However, with time and the planning of the wedding it was all worth it in the end.

Looking around at your family in the kitchen, everything was complete. Not one person was left out, and everyone was completely happy. You closed your eyes at the scene playing out in your kitchen. Hoping that this time it would last.

“Honey, you ok?” Your husband approached your kneeling form, tears running down your cheeks.

“Um-yeah, can I have just a few more minutes?”

Jefferson gave you a soft nod. “Of course,...take your time.” He turned and walked back over to the bench joining Bella and Noah sitting quietly waiting for you to finish up.

You look back at the headstones with tears in your eyes. “I wish that was the story I could tell our children.” You say through the flowing tears. “Not a day goes by that I don't miss you both...even after five years. I wish you both could have met them...they should have been able to meet you…”

The tears were a full-blown river now, the pain and emotion too great. “It's been five years...and it still hurts me like it was yesterday, but I know you're in a better place, looking out for one another. Jefferson-uh...Jefferson takes very good care of us, and both kids adore him. I love him so much, but I still miss you...always.”

You pulled out the white roses you had bought on your way to the cemetery, putting six on Steve's grave and the other six on Bucky's. This day didn't get any better with each passing year. You kissed your fingers and touched each headstone. “I'm so sorry.” You whispered, standing up from the ground and walking back over to your family.

Jefferson stood up from the bench as you made your way over to him and the children. He walks over and immediately takes his hand and wipes the tears from your eyes before wrapping his arms around you. “You're so amazing.” The brunette breaks the hug and places a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I'm ready to go now.” You gave him your best forced smile, but the man knew it was fake.

“Let's head out guys. We'll be back next year.” Jefferson says to the kids still seated on the bench.

The kids make their way over; Bella taking his hand, Noah grabbing yours. The four of you make your way to your car and prepare to leave this place one more time and come back again next year.

Five years ago, you were supposed to marry Steve. Five years ago, he broke your heart for the second time in your life. Five years ago, you left Steve and Bucky in the church, hating them both for breaking you. Five years ago, they left the church and made their way to a bar. Five years ago, you received a knock at the door that would forever change your life. Five years ago, Steve got behind the wheel of his car-Bucky in the passenger seat, driving too fast around a curve and crashing head on into a semi killing both men on impact. Five years ago, you lost yourself regretting the words you spewed out in a moment of anger. Five years ago, you wanted to die.

This day will never get any easier, no matter how much time goes on; eased only by the faces of Bella and Noah, the exact clones of their fathers. You take a look back in the direction of the two graves one last time. You let out a deep breath and swallow hard. Things won't get any easier, ever. This will always be your hardest goodbye.

End

#bucky #bucky barnes #james barnes #james bucky barnes #james Buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #james barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steven rogers #steven rogers x reader #steven grant rogers x reader

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365daysofsasuhina · 6 years

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Fifty-Five: Say It Again ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uzumaki Naruto, Hatake Kakashi ] [ SasuHina, blood, death, suicide ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

“Say that again!”

The blunt, muffled sound of a fist landing squarely in a gut seems to echo in the shocked silence. By now, a sizable crowd has gathered, everyone looking on in morbid curiosity as the pair of brawlers block up a side corridor. A few look concerned, but aren’t brave enough to step in. The rest gawk in awe, a few making wagers on who will come out on top.

On one side, an unremarkable teenage boy. Blood dribbles down over his lips from an obviously-broken nose, bruises already blooming under his eyes like a tanuki. Mussed brown hair matches his weary gaze, clearly on the receiving end of the beatdown.

The other is a boy of some repute: Sasuke, younger Uchiha brother. At the moment, a fervid, almost feral look overtakes his features, dark eyes wide as he stares at his opponent.

“I said say it again, you piece of shit! SAY IT!”

But before the fight can get any worse, the crowds part for an approaching teacher. “All right, that’s enough...break it up.”

Taking that as a cue, a blond manages to grapple Sasuke from behind, holding back his arms with a grunt. “Leave it, Sasuke! You made your point!”

“You ever let me catch you throwing that bullshit around again, I’ll kill you! Hear me? I’ll -!”

“Can it!” Naruto cuts in, stopping his threat with a jerk of his arms.

“Sakura, take this one to the nurse,” Kakashi drawls tiredly, watching as the student does as asked. Even now, the target of the onslaught stumbles dazedly down the hall behind her.

“...what on earth was that all about?”

Still huffing angrily through his nose, Sasuke just stares at the adult with a look that could melt steel.

Realizing he’s not getting an answer, Kakashi sighs and simply offers, “Detention. Tonight. My classroom.”

“...he hit me first…”

“Well, hopefully the school officer will heed that,” is the dry reply, watching as he is indeed hauled to the administrative wing by the on-duty officer. “The rest of you, please make your way to class. This is a school, not a circus...believe it or not.”

Slowly, teens begin to disperse, a few still trying to crane their necks for a look. Scowling, Naruto is among them, gaze unreadable as a girl approaches him.

“Are...are you all right, Naruto?”

“Yeah...m’fine, Hinata. It’s not like he hit me or nothin’, just…” A hand gestures in vain. “I dunno what set him off, but boy was he pissed. Royally. I missed the beginning...had to wait for Kakashi to distract him so I could get a good hold.”

Still looking concerned, Hinata lays a hand on his arm. “Well...you better get to class.”

“You too. See ya around.”

Watching him go, she lingers a moment more before taking her leave.

After the day is done, however...she finds herself in a bit of a pickle. Standing outside Kakashi’s classroom, she hesitates to knock. That morning, she’d arranged to take a make-up test for one she’d missed earlier in the week due to a doctor’s appointment. But now she’s not sure if she should go in.

Sasuke might already be in there, and...she doesn’t want to interrupt.

It’s no secret that the Uchiha is a troublemaker. He’s been in his share of fights, and honestly Hinata’s not sure how he hasn’t been expelled yet. Beyond that, she knows almost nothing of him personally. He’s her crush’s best friend, but...otherwise, he’s a stranger.

Steeling herself, Hinata takes a breath...holds it...sighs, and then knocks.

“Come on in.”

Doing as asked, she peeks around the door. “Uh...Mr. Hatake?”

He looks to her with a blank expression for a moment before brightening. “...oh! Hinata! Test...right. I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“That - that’s okay! Should I, um...reschedule?”

“No, no - you’re fine. Tell you what: just settle there in the back and take the test. Sasuke’s not here yet, but...he’ll just be dealing with me. Pretend we’re not here, and...well, I’m sure he’ll do the same.”

After a brief hesitation...she does as asked, receiving the packet and taking a seat in a rear desk. At first concentration is a bit hard to manage, but soon enough she finds her rhythm.

At least, until the door opens.

Peering up sheepishly, she sees him come in, followed by the school officer. The adults exchange a few words as Sasuke slings his bag to the desk most opposite her: front, far side. He doesn’t even look at her.

As Kakashi moves, Hinata ducks back to her test, doing her best not to listen, but...well, it’s sort of hard not to. The classroom is otherwise empty, and totally silent. The heat isn’t even running.

“So...wouldn’t tell them what happened? Going to make defending yourself a little difficult, isn’t it Sasuke?”

There’s no reply.

Kakashi heaves a sigh. “...look, I figure I can make a good guess, given the context. Who was he bad mouthing? You? Your brother? Your parents?”

She barely hears him heave a curt breath.

“...you can’t give every asshole you meet a beatdown,” Kakashi goes on quietly. “Believe me, I know how infuriating it is.”

“You don’t know a damn thing.”

“I’d explain if you’d give me the time of day.”

...silence.

“...I lost my father to suicide when I was very young. Younger than you when you lost your parents.”

The double bombshell jolts Hinata so hard, she breaks her pencil lead against the desk. Quickly flushing red and hoping that wasn’t heard, she clicks the mechanical utensil and keeps writing.

“Everyone thought that made me the butt of the joke. I heard it all. And I’ll admit, I was just as rough and tumble as you. Only difference was it only carried on until middle school. Then I lost my best friends. One right after another. And I realized...that trying to shut everyone’s mouths with my fists was only going to get my knuckles split, and my ass in trouble. The opinions would never change, no matter how angry I got. And it’s the same case here, Sasuke. You suffered a tragedy. And kids are evil little whelps sometimes. They’ll use that against you. But the only thing you’re giving them is more ammunition. I know it’s bitter to swallow that down. I do. But you need a new outlet before this lands your behind in juvie. Or worse. And I don’t want to see that happen. Okay?”

Sasuke doesn’t respond, keeping his chin atop folded arms.

“...just think about it. I know I’m not your father - I don’t have lecture rights. But I was just like you. I lived it. I know it. And I figure someone might as well learn from our mistakes, hm?” A hand claps Sasuke on the shoulder before moving to sit at his desk.

An hour later, Hinata finishes her test. There’s a nervous glance to Sasuke - who hasn’t moved - before taking it up to the front. “Here, I’m done…”

“Ah, thank you Hinata. Glad you could come in and get this wrapped up.”

“Thanks for letting me...n-not every teacher allows make-ups.”

“Well, better late than never in my book,” he assures her.

She can’t help a small laugh at that - Kakashi’s tardiness is legendary.

“Well, get on home then - back to it tomorrow. I hope you’re not behind on the homework?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“All right then.”

Leaving the classroom behind, Hinata moves to her locker, lost in thought as she slowly gathers the textbooks and notebooks she’ll need for take-home work. She’s focused enough to jump at the sound of a door.

Sasuke, apparently, has been let out.

Giving him a startled glance, Hinata quickly redirects her gaze as he moves to his own locker. She...never realized his was this close. Moving to quickly finish up and give him his privacy, Hinata freezes as he speaks.

“Hey.”

Almost lurching, it takes a moment to look his way. “Um...y-yeah…?”

He stares at her with the same dead-eyed look she normally sees on his face. But now...she has more context. He lost his parents...and it sounds like he still gets harassed about it.

In that case...honestly? She hardly blames him.

She knows - well, in half a sense - what that’s like.

“Do me a favor.”

“...uh -?”

“Don’t tell Naruto what Kakashi said.”

There’s a small jolt. “Of - o-of course not! Why would I -?”

“I know you guys are friends, and…” He trails off, staring into the metal cabinet. “...he doesn’t need to know.”

“I...w-we’re not that close, really. I just, um…”

Another glance at her as she flounders.

“...I don’t...know if we’re really...friends. But no, I - I won’t tell him anything.” A nervous hand tucks hair behind her ear. “...I won’t tell anyone.”

“Good.”

“Sasuke, I...um…” She hesitates at his stare. “...I’m sorry you had to go through that - I lost my m-mother when I was little, and -”

“I don’t need your sympathy.”

She flinches as he cuts in. “...I know. But...I just want you to know that I - I understand. To a point. And if, er...if you ever need someone to - to talk to, then I can -”

His locker door slams, startling her so badly she half-collapses back against her own. Heart racing, she watches him go, bag thrown over his shoulder as he stalks back down the hallway.

...maybe she overstepped her bounds. She’d just wanted to offer him a little help! But...well, it seems he doesn’t want it.

...she tried.

The walk home is uneventful, as is homework. Social media is filled with talk of the fight - even videos (shaky and grainy) are plastered all over her feeds. Disgusted, she closes them all before collapsing atop her bed. Those jerks…!

But rather than let her temper get the better of her, Hinata just rolls over...and calls it a night.

Her father says nothing about it the next morning, and she doesn’t offer. The less he knows about school, the better in her eyes. Instead, she makes the walk in silence, alone, as per usual. She’s early, as always, taking her time at her locker to sort through her schedule and supplies.

But then she notices something out of place. A spare paper, folded, at the bottom...did someone slip it through the slats? Picking it up, it’s unfolded to reveal a small, scribbled note.

Lunch period. Stage.

...does...someone want to meet her? But...why? She doesn’t recognize the handwriting...who on earth…?

The curiosity nags at her all day, checking the clock far more often than usual as she waits for midday. Only once they’re released to the cafeteria does she detour to the school’s stage. Typically it’s used for hosting the drama club’s plays, or choir concerts. It’s crowded with chairs, props, risers, and a piano: dark as the curtain remains drawn. Cautiously stepping around as not to knock anything over, she almost has a heart attack as someone says her name. “W-what -?!”

It...it’s Sasuke…?

Clutching a hand to her chest, she wilts in relief. “You...you s-scared me!”

He doesn’t apologize, instead looking to her blankly.

“Were, um...were you the one who left me the note?”

“Yeah.”

A pause. “...do you...need something?”

After another bout of silence, he sighs, lifting a hand to itch at the rear of his head. “I...wanted to apologize. For what I did yesterday.”

She doesn’t reply, not sure what he means.

“...you...you tried to help me, and I just...stormed off. I didn’t really listen. I was just -” Sasuke cuts off, looking unsure. “...it was rude. I’m sorry.”

“It, um...don’t worry about it. I...I know you weren’t in the best mood or anything. I don’t blame you.”

“...still.”

Another silence blooms between them.

“...I know it might not be what you want, but...I-I meant what I said. Yesterday. About...talking. If you want. I know you and Naruto are good friends, and...well, I’d like to help.”

“...you like him, don’t you?”

She startles, going a bit pink.

“...good luck with that. He’s an idiot, and he’s got eyes for the class pet.”

“I...I know. But...still. He’s a good person. So...if he’s friends with you, that means you are too.”

Sasuke snorts, looking a hair amused. “Whatever you wanna tell yourself.”

“I’m serious!

“...say it again.”

“I -! Wait...what?”

“Say that again.”

Hinata blinks, a bit confused...before brightening. “...you’re a good person, Sasuke. I...I really do believe that. So…”

Another round of quiet, and then he sighs, head bowing. “...go eat your lunch. I’ve wasted enough of your time.”

“But...what about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

For a moment she’s torn, but eventually acquiesces. Something tells her he wants some time alone. Lingering won’t help. Still, as she goes through the line, Hinata can’t help but think back over their conversations...and Kakashi’s. Maybe, just maybe...they got through to him. Just a little bit.

She’ll have to wait and see.

Whoo, this got long! And...wasn't at all what I intended when I started, haha! I wanted it to be canon and take a whole other route, but...it just kinda plotted its own course as I went. But hey, it works! Sasuke isn't taking anyone's crap who dares talk poorly about his family. And as someone who lost her mother, Hinata can relate...if only in part. But sometimes all a person needs is a little understanding, and a listening ear. Hopefully she can lend him just that! But yeah, that's all for tonight! We'll be back at it again tomorrow - thanks for reading!

#uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #uzumaki naruto #hatake kakashi #sasuhina #blood //#suicide //#death //#best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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ialwayscomewhenyoucall · 6 years

Text

‘til Midnight

chapter 6/7

ao3 | ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5

twelve x rose, Into the Dalek coda

“Only half an hour? How can there only be half an hour left?”

Thirty-four minutes, thirty-three seconds, thirty two, thirty one...

The Doctor looks pointedly at Rose, his eyes flicking to her well-kissed lips and unkempt hair. “We did spend rather a lot of time in the music room.”

Her cheeks flush; he can nearly see the memories play across her face. She touches her hair and makes a face. “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything handy to fix my hair.” She glances around the console room and shakes her head, absentmindedly using her fingers to attempt to tame the worst of the flyaway bits. “Just what I need, to jump back to Torchwood looking like I’ve been thoroughly snogged.”

“You have been thoroughly snogged,” says the Doctor, bounding up the steps to look at the books on one of his many bookshelves. “And you weren’t complaining before.”

“Of course I wasn’t! But no one else needs to know that!” Rose crosses her arms and shoots an exasperated look at the Doctor.

“Ah, here it is,” he says, grabbing a book and taking the steps two at a time to stand in front of her again. “This’ll help,” he says, thrusting the book into her hands.

“The Hobbit?” She looks at the book, then at him, then at the book again.

“Just open it,” he says, the corners of his mouth quirking up in an almost smile.

Rose opens the book, looks inside, and laughs. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. This is...it’s exactly like you.”

The book isn’t a real book, or if it once was it isn’t anymore; it’s hollow, and inside Rose finds a hairbrush, a few hair ties, a headband, a dozen or so bobby pins, and a barrette in the shape of a butterfly. They shouldn’t fit inside the book, of course, but like everything else the Doctor makes it’s bigger on the inside. Pulling out the brush to tidy up her hair she gasps.

“But this is--”

“Yours. Yes.” The Doctor’s voice is soft. “It’s all yours. I…” His eyes dart about, searching for words, or answers, or possibly a place to hide. “I kept everything of yours, Rose. It’s all here.” A smile flits across his face.

There are things he can’t explain, like how there are times he hurts so much he takes everything of hers and asks the TARDIS to hide it away, and it stays hidden for years. Or how he took a silk scarf she wore once when they were traveling and had it made into a bowtie. How all her books are on his shelves, but he rarely reads them because he’s too afraid to damage them; instead he found duplicate copies of each and reads those over and over, reveling in the notion that she once read those words too.

He can’t quite place the look she’s giving him--awe? love? exasperation?--but there are too many questions behind her eyes. To change the subject, or possibly as an excuse to touch her again, he takes the brush from her hand. She barely notices. “May I?” he asks, eyes flicking toward her hair. She only stares.

“I’m just going to brush your hair then.” And he does, all gentle, like he’s trying to keep a frightened bird from stumbling out of its nest. When all the tangles are gone and her hair is smooth again he stands in front of her, takes the trick book from her grip. Holding her hands in his and catching her eyes the same way he says, “Please don’t ask me, Rose. I’m not going to tell you about your future.” He almost slips, almost says our.

Another bit of him breaks.

For a moment she looks like she’s going to argue, but she surprises him yet again. She presses a soft kiss to his lips then says, “I know. An’...an’ I really don’t want to know. I think.” She laughs, a short, bright little laugh. “I don’t want to mess anything up. If I change anything, maybe you wouldn’t be here today...right?”

He hopes his voice is reassuring when he says, “Just live, Rose. It will all work out.” For you, he adds in his head.

Stop it. This is not helping. You have to say goodbye in twenty-seven minutes. Stop being morose.

“I have something for you.” Changing the subject has become his go-to today. He pushes a series of buttons on the console, flips a switch, and a cd, already in a case, pops out of a slot just in front of Rose. “Take it,” he says. “I had the TARDIS make it for you.”

She holds it in her hands, a smile crossing her face. When she doesn’t say anything, the Doctor says awkwardly, “I just thought...well, you seemed to like it, so I thought you might like to listen to it again…”

There are tears in her eyes when she looks up at him. “It’s perfect. Rose and The Doctor, There and Back Again. That’s so...that’s just us. I can’t believe I’ll be able to listen to it again. You were recording the whole time? Doctor, I don’t even know how to thank you for--”

“You’ve got cd players over in that universe, don’t you?” he interrupts, brushing aside her thanks. They both know he’d do anything for her. I’m burning up a sun just to say goodbye. “I could put it on your phone, or...” He shrugs.

“We’ve got cd players, Doctor. Although vinyl is making a comeback, whoever would have expected that? Speaking of my phone, though…” She digs through the inner pocket of her blue leather jacket and pulls out something that looks almost, but not quite, like an iphone. Where the apple would normally be there’s a silhouette of a leaf. In response to his quizzical look she says, “Yeah, no Apple in the other universe. We have Maple instead. Weird, isn’t it.”

“A bit.”

She grins. “It’s a pretty good phone, though. Takes great pictures. Which is exactly what I want right now.” She tucks herself under his arm and gazes up at him, holding the phone at arm’s length to take a selfie. “Don’t look at the phone, look at me. I love the way you look at me.”

He has no problem with that. He doesn’t want to stop looking at her.

Ever.

She snaps a few pictures, then flips through them to see how they look. “Oh, this is the one.” Leaning up against him, her back to his chest, she shows him the picture. They’re looking at each other like nothing else exists.

“Yes,” he says. His voice is hoarse, almost cracking. Before handing the phone back he makes a few swipes on the screen. When his own phone chirps from his pocket he winks.

“How did you do that?” Rose asks, genuinely surprised. “Our phones are from separate realities. They shouldn’t even connect!”

“Time Lord. Big brain. Very clever.”

She rolls her eyes. “Right. May I have my phone back please, Doctor Clever? I want to save that photo in my ‘special people’ folder. There’s an auto-backup to my computer. As soon as I get back to the other universe, anyway.”

A look of pain passes over her face, but she pulls it in so quickly he doesn’t mention it. Instead he hands her phone back and says, “May I see your pictures, then? Any others of me?”

She turns her face up to him and kisses him on the tip of his nose. “You think pretty highly of yourself.”

“Quite right, too.”

“Doctor!” She tries to glare, but she’s overcome by giggles. “New body, new voice, new accent. Very much the same Doctor.”

“That’s the way it works,” he says. She’s looking at her phone and doesn’t notice his sad smile.

“Alright,” she says, handing the phone back. “Go ahead. You may recognize a few faces.”

It starts with a family picture: Jackie, Pete, Rose, and a tiny baby with a head of spiky blond hair. “Oh, look at Tony!” he says. Rose gives him an odd look. Oh. Right. “I mean, Oh look, Jackie had her baby,” he deadpans. She rolls her eyes.

There are familiar faces: Mickey, Jack, Sarah Jane. That surprises him a bit--not that Rose counts her as a friend, but that she actually has a picture--until he notices the background and the angle. “I never knew you got the TARDIS to take pictures for you.” Rose shrugs. “She usually tells me she’s not a photographer, and makes me argue for awhile. She always did like you best.” She ducks her head and turns away but not before he sees her smile, obviously pleased with the compliment.

He sees some people he doesn’t know, but recognizes in context: they are clearly from Torchwood in the other universe. He sees other faces from this universe, some of Rose’s childhood friends, maybe an aunt. And then…

The Doctor and Rose Tyler. As it should be.

The memories replay in his mind all the time, and he has many of these pictures in his own collection. But knowing she has them too, that they gaze upon the same…

Keep it together, Doctor.

Nineteen minutes, fifty-eight seconds, fifty-seven seconds, fifty-six seconds…

The two of them in the TARDIS, just after they’d left Cardiff and Charles Dickens behind. He’d made some excuse about needing to document the first time she’d dipped into the TARDIS’s wardrobe...but really he’d just wanted a picture of her in that dress.

The two of them dancing after they saved all the children--and everyone else--in 1940s London. Jack took that one. Even way back then they’d smiled at each other like no one else existed.

Him with a new suit--and a new face--in Jackie’s flat on Christmas.

The two of them arm in arm after the queen’s coronation, Rose all dressed in pink.

There are a whole series of snaps he doesn’t even remember her taking, all of him. Mostly of him grinning madly. Or making ridiculous faces. Or wearing those ridiculously unnecessary glasses.

She sidles up to him. “Ah,” she says. “I guess you can see how much I like the sexy specs.”

He makes a derisive noise. “You mean the ‘I am pretentious and will wear these glasses even though I don’t need them so I look even more so’ specs?”

“Very, very sexy,” she says, eyes fixed on the picture.

“I think they might be around here somewhere,” he says, taking a step toward the nearest corridor. The one step is all he’s allowed to take. Rose pulls him back and throws her arms around his neck, and in a breath both of them are lost in a long, drawn out kiss.

She looks up at him through her eyelashes. “You don’t need glasses to be sexy, Doctor,” she says, a bit breathless.

“Rose.”

It is an exhalation, a sob, a prayer. She is here, but he still wants what he cannot have.

A tear trickles down her cheek.

He pulls her close again, kissing the crown of her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you cry.”

She allows herself a minute to sob into his chest. Just a minute, no more, then she wipes away her tears and pulls herself together. “Sorry,” she says, her voice quavering just the slightest bit. “I was just thinkin’ about--”

“I know,” he says, the words catching in his throat. “Me too.”

They look at each other, unblinking, unable to look at anything else. Finally the Doctor says, “Can I look at the rest of the pictures, then?”

There are a few more of him, mostly the long and stripey him, and then one that stops him short.

Rose and a blond woman.

Rose and a woman with chin-length blond hair facing each other, hands clasped between them, completely in their own little world.

“Oh. Um, that’s just,” Rose says, trying to get the phone back from him, sounding very nervous. “That’s just, uh--”

“That’s me,” says the Doctor, with complete confidence. “Or, it will be. Someday.”

Rose gapes at him. “How could you possibly know that?” she says, disbelief thick in her voice.

“See the way she’s looking at you? That’s how I look at you. It’s in every single one of these pictures. And look how you’re looking at her. If that’s not me, I’m very, very jealous right now. But I’m not, because I know I’m right.”

Rose smiles at him, but it’s the saddest smile he’s ever seen on her face. “And now you know, Doctor.”

His eyebrows draw down. “Know what?”

“In a few minutes we have to say goodbye, but you know now you’ll get to see me again someday. One more time.”

@doctorroseprompts

#lirael writes #doctorroseprompts #twelve x rose #'til midnight #dw fic #into the dalek coda #the twelfth doctor #rose tyler #i'm almost done!!!!#one (little) chapter to go

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the-council-of-new-york-vampires · 6 years

Note

Can you please submit Adam's past!!! As well as some headcanons on him ;(

Out of Character:

Adam’s past is in the works… You see, I started some day in December and didn’t do so much work on it since. 😅 Technically, it’s finished, but it’s especially hard to edit, because it’s the longest one I’ve yet written, and I really do want it to be perfect. But don’t worry, I’ll def publish it. ☺️

Lemme start with my headcanons:

My biggest one: Adam is a psychopath. So, sometime ago, I asked people on their opinion on that topic and legit no one replied… Thanks for that, guys. 🙃😂 Anyway, I have been drowning myself in research for several weeks now, and I know that there’s a lot of misinformation about psychopathy online. Like, psychopaths have very little to do with Hollywood movies, and it’s not a mental illness but a neurological disorder. I differentiate between sociopaths and psychopaths as well, as in: Psychopaths are born, sociopaths are made, and they behave and think differently. I have been analyzing Adam’s behavior and scenes carefully and, as far as I’m concerned, he meets all the signs for psychopathy. I know it’s kind of a critical topic to discuss, but I’d love to analyze Adam’s behavior and thoughts and compare it to psychopathy, in a separate post. (I am not looking to insult or offend anyone with this, I just love giving interesting characters more depth and exploring their minds and ways of thinking, especially when it comes to villains.)

Fitting the above one, Adam was a con artist at some point. I always thought of this job he would be so good at, but never knew the name until I came across it during my psychopathy research. Con artist! That job is made for him. I headcanon, some day after being a politician as a human, he came to America and started working as, I don’t know the name, but those people who came to people’s houses and sold them bullshit. He didn’t do that for a long time, though, because I don’t think it makes good money and it has a low social standing. However, that’s how he slipped into the con artist job or how he calls it “working in the finance sector”. He did that for, I don’t know, ten years or more, before he decided he had made enough money with it. He wanted to get into poilitics again to satisfy his desire for power, and quit being a con artist, because it would have been too risky to do both at the same time. (I doubt he was ever caught, but conning people is obviously illegal.)

It was slightly hinted at by Adrian that, sometimes, Adam kills women after sleeping with them. I think when he was around Priya’s age, he did that very often. Just sought them out and killed them afterwards, because he liked the feeling of power and control it gave him. In the present, it is more likely that he has contacts for things like that, contacts he does not kill, because it would be a huge scandal, obviously. Still, he sees all people as objects, humans more so than vampires, and attractive young women primary as sex objects to use and discard, and he thinks it’s pathetic that they adore him and seek him out the way they do, that they ‘let’ him kill them. But of course, he pretends to be this super elegant gentleman. I do think he was taught to treat women with special respect, but, if you consider his actual personality, it’s highly unlikely that he keeps that mask on in the bedroom. He displays it in public, because most women love gentlemen, but, unless his lover needs to be manipulated by him or he wants something from her, he is totally different, degrading even, in the bedroom.

I think Adam is very vain to the point that he needs longer in the bathroom than some ladies. I think he has a personal barber, stylist, you name it, and they come over every morning. He loves his appearance and - sorry - I can definitely see him making out with a mirror. At least, whenever he walks by, he does admire the guy he sees. But how could you not? How could women not? At least, that’s what Adam thinks. And lemme judge: he’s damn right. Adam’s About 183 cm tall (I just know), he’s muscular, he has a nice haircut, a fancy beard, great taste in fashion… And those, lemme guess, thick 7 inches. 😌😏 Hehe.

Pretty sure that Adam has a wild, irresponsible streak in him that he must live out somehow. I mean, he dated Priya and as if she would ever date anyone boring. Adam loves partying, irresponsible sexual acts, the adrenaline when seeking thrills. Despite what people think, I can definitely see him as a reckless driver, especially when alone. This guy has no fears. He is similar to Kamilah in some ways, but that’s one where they differ: I think he can let go better than she can, he just needs the right circumstances, right people, right situations. He is a lot more likely to play Roulette and bet on black just for the hell of it. With Priya, he did many irresponsible things, thinking “I don’t care. I love it.” Icona Pop knows. 😉

As a mortal, Adam had a family and children. Considering the historical context, this is more than likely. People often say they can’t imagine him as a father, and in a way I agree: I think he was a very neglectful and absent father who had a lot more kids than he wanted (considering the fact that he wanted none 😂). Furthermore, he was a very disloyal husband, married more than once, got women pregnant who he wasn’t married to, banished them or forced them into an abortion (people knew there were ways to miscarry)… I’m guessing the probability for him to cheat in a relationship to be as high as 80%. I see no reason for him not to cheat, because he has no moral compass and he believes he can have anyone, deserving of as many lovers as he wants. However, if she would cheat, he would either be incredibly angry or totally careless. Anyway, if there is one person seeing a crying toddler and thinking “Damn, I’m glad my kids are dead”, it’s Adam.

Back to his roots: Adam grew up Catholic. This is not me saying religion makes people bad (I’m religious myself), but me saying he grew up at a time and in a country that was certainly Catholic. However, I highly doubt he ever believed in any religion, simply was raised into a strictly religious environment. In that way, he broke rules very early such as no lying or no touching yourself, and this is how he learned to be sneaky about it. This theory explains his name as well, as Adam was the first human created by God, and he was likely named after him, not as the first human in the world, but the first baby born to his parents, a noble couple. I’m very sure he grew up in a big family. However, he is only focused only on himself since… all the time.

Obviously, regarding sex, Adam has done almost everything there is to do. I think he is much more animalistic and pleasure-focused than people think, and he loves to break taboos the same way he breaks rules as he considers himself above them. Imagine anything nasty and I bet he has done it. Either with someone kinky like Priya or he just persuaded a ‘normal’ person into letting him try whatever ‘sick’ fantasy he had. Also, he loves group sex with, like, four women who cater to his needs. I tried to widen this headcanon a bit by bringing guys into it as well. While I think Adam is definitely heterosexual, I wouldn’t be surprised if anything happened between him and a man. I headcanon something like: He was at an orgy, drunk or whatever, centuries ago, doing his thing, and a guy just approached and gave him oral. Lol. And he let him do it, because why the hell not? Meanwhile, I find kissing a bit too intimate, but I can imagine he has done it, too, out of manipulation or because a guy just kissed him. With Priya, I headcanon he seduced young women, killed them… and they had fun with them, like… blood play and stuff…

I think Adam’s basic directive is “I don’t care”, regarding the other members of The Council as well. Of course, there are things he cares about deeply, like killing the Clanless or getting votes, but all of that serves no one but himself, the only person on Earth he actually cares about. You could give him any person’s name and ask if they shall live or die and he wouldn’t care at all what happens to them (unless that person’s existence is useful or bothering for him). Yeah, he has no conscience and he gives zero shits. His emotions are super limited. Like, when Gaius presented them his morbid plan, Adam was careless to the point that he had to observe the others’ reactions to be able to form and voice an opinion. He is calm by default and rarely gets angry (the anger he showed in several scenes was fake in order to appear believable).

Regarding lovers, Adam has a type. He likes young women (22-28), naive and ‘stupid’, women he can easily control, and he sees himself deserving of having all the pretty ones, like trophies or possessions. When someone doesn’t have the right age or look, he considers them not good enough for him and would find it pathetic if they asked him out. He doesn’t like independent women, he likes women he can make dependent on him. He always needs to be the superior one, financially as well as intellectually. All this explains why he never had and never ever will have a thing for Kamilah. She is everything he can’t control, can’t subject, and that’s why he respects her and can openly express a platonic liking for her. But deep inside, women like that threaten him and he wants to destroy them, because they are too smart to fall for him. And women (people) he can’t benefit from, who refuse to obey him, who he can’t manipulate, have no use to him. Regarding one night stands, which he had a lot more than gilfriends, he only targets very attractive women. He likes dark types, like himself, rather than blondes, and women who are particularly feminine. Long hair, long nails, dresses, high heels… I think that attracts him. And he loves asses. And Latinas. Sorry.

I think Adam has more than two faces. To the public, he is that super friendly, charming guy who wants the best for anyone. To The Council, he is that friendly guy who has drastic measures, but still puts a lot of importance on their team-spirit. Part of the mask is off, but he still presents himself as friendly and interested in the well-being of the public. Like, he greets the members happily and calls them his “friends”, but everyone does know they shouldn’t turn on him. (The Baron even said so.) When dating Priya, he showed a different face again. More of that easy-going guy, a great sport, overly protective of his ‘loved’ ones. He always alternates between “Hello, I am super friendly and chill, you can talk about anything with me” and “I am super dangerous and you better not fuck with me”. Then, in reality, he is a cold-hearted snake who cares about no one but himself. Now imagine him around his Clan. I think his mask slips off even further than it does when he’s with The Council, in a way that they might even fear him, because they know what he’s capable of. Or they admire him because he leaves the mask on, like the nerd in the train to the Ball does, who obviously has a crush on him? It is so different to assess Adam, because he is a great actor and he can legit be anyone. He can be the kind philantrophist you support, the sexy celebrity you admire, the relaxed guy who is your best friend, the intelligent Clan leader, the most caring boyfriend you have had, the most abusive boyfriend you have had… or the man who is actually planning to murder you.

#adam vega #bloodbound #bb #choices #choices: stories you play

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writeawayjake · 6 years

Text

CHAPTER 16

What we keep

He’d been sat there, slumped, staring at an empty glass for over an hour now. The old man had left and after their talk the aura surrounding him had become even more dour and dark. Now that’s not to say it wasn’t usually dour and dark but it always had a bit of light peeking out underneath. Right now however, the light was fading, dying, like a candle running out of wax. Almost like the demon was back.

He’d always been a stubborn bastard but the fact that he survived a mindset like this with a demon of that magnitude on top of it; he had no business being among the living. And on that note,

How the hell is he even conscious right now?

That was still bugging her. A normal man would’ve been laid up for a week after what he’d been through in the last two days. He wasn’t unaffected however, she could feel his exhaustion in her bones, more than just physical, this was something deeper. A feeling of just wanting to curl into a ball and sleep forever. This feeling wasn’t new to her, she’d spent years trying to rid herself of it, to find a reason to keep going and she knew full well that you need to find it for yourself, no one can give it to you. Or at least you shouldn’t expect anyone to.

With the crystal still wrapped up and under her arm, and a bag full of food from Whick, she stood with a sigh. Tightening her jaw she walked over and took the stool next to him.

“Mom probably would’ve had something sweet and comforting to say…” She began. “But uh - Ah hell who am I kidding. We’re a fucking mess. She wouldn’t know what to do with us.” She scoffed. His eyes never looked away from his glass. There was a long silence before she spoke again. Deciding to take a gamble she asked, “What happened after you joined the legion?” That seemed to snap him out of it. For better or worse. In his eyes she could see the events as if it were a play she was watching. The memories flooding his mind. He let out a sigh before his eyes refocused on the world in front of him.

“We marched for weeks trying to find them. All we ever found were tracks. Then one day they just appeared. Ripped us to shreds.” He paused to swallow the guilt in his throat. “I was the only one left. Bleeding to death on the side of the road.” She'd always thought he’d just deserted the legion, there were never any rumors about how he’d gotten out. Also,

How the hell does he keep living through all of this shit? “How'd you make it out?” She asked.

“She saved me. After my legion was destroyed - they uh. They found me, but she brought me back.”

“Who?”

“Nyah…”

“The healer? The one with red hair?” A nod was his only reply. Oh no, she thought. Poor idiot fell in love… Everything about the context told her this was a sensitive topic but he needed to get it out. “What was she like?” She asked.

“She was... “ He began, before the lump in his throat caught up to him. “She uh - When I was around her, I forgot everything that made me angry. All that poison in my veins, the fire in my bones…” He said through gritted teeth. “With her, everything turned to spring. Without her… Everything was gray.” In truth she’d always wanted that for him, to find a good woman, hoped it would have cooled his blood. She’d just wanted him to be happy, but not if it meant causing him this much pain. “You would’ve liked her.” He said, with a sniffle. “She was strong like you.”

“I don't know. Most of your little girlfriends didn't like me.” She responded with a chuckle.

“Well you were pretty intimidating.” He said with the beginnings of a smile.

“You were a teenage boy, someone had to do quality control.”

“That’s fair.” He said with a small chuckle, before placing a hand over his eyes. Choking up he continued, “They're gone - They're all gone and I'm here…” Finally the dam holding back his tears broke, his voice shuddered as he struggled to breath. “I see them every night… all of them. I have to watch them die all over again - I see the light fade from their eyes, and I can't do anything. I just sit there screaming for help. And no one ever comes!” Jared wailed. All pride and pretense had left him, his face twisted and his voice cracked looking just like he had as a child, shrieking after a toy was taken. Her heart felt like a lead weight in her chest, everything he was feeling seeped through the air and into her bones. It had been years since she’d felt like this. She’d promised herself never again.

“I’m here Jared…” It was all she could think to say. He buried his face in his hands, taking a moment to compose himself. Eventually he lifted his head, a stone expression on his face.

“Barkeep! Mead!” He barked.

“Jared…” She sighed. Please don’t.

The shaky young lad carefully filled Jared’s glass, and nervously handed it to him, it’s amber contents sloshing to and fro. It’s stinging scent hitting her hard.

“I’m so tired.” The words slid out of him, like air escaping a bellows. He reached out to grab the glass, a look of resignation on his face. Every piece of her ached to help him, to just reach into him and yank out every ounce of sadness. Instead her hand reached out and grabbed the glass. Years ago she’d often seen their mother do the same for their father.

Jared’s eyes unfixed themselves from the middle distance,

“Don’t do it. You have so much to live for. It’s not your fault.” He said in a mocking tone. He looked to his right and stared straight through her, “When the sword choses you, it’s always your fault. I was supposed to protect them, I was supposed to protect Mom, and you, and Nyah…”

The sword chose him? She wondered. Through all her travels and all the rumors she’d never heard anything about the sword choosing.

“There are so many damn wards and seals on this fucking thing; ‘Only the worthy. The overthrower. Let he who wields this sword be the light.’ But I got it. Not Kayle, not Brock, not some perfumed ponce knight, me. The thug, the failure, the broken, scrawny boy.”

“Jared…” She tried.

“The sad thing is for a second I let myself believe I was a hero. Holding it in my hands… I felt like I could be a good person for once.” His gaze shifted back to the glass. There was a long silence as she contemplated her answer.

“If that sword chose you, it was for a reason.” She said matter of factly. “You’re my brother and I’ve known your heart your my whole life.” Reaching out she placed a hand on his shoulder. “We aren’t what we’ve lost. We’re what we keep. And you’ve kept that good heart.”

He sat there silently, pondering all she had said. It felt as if she were beginning to make a dent. Up to this point the emotions pouring out of him had felt like an anchor in her chest, his aura a dismal gray pall, but now it was as if a small beam of light was peeking through the clouds. Trying not to lose momentum she continued,

“Evil men would’ve walked right past the Wilted Rose.”

“You knew about that?!” He asked, shocked.

“Jared your were the worst kept secret in our burrough. Do you have any idea how many freebies I got because I was your sister?”

“Freebies?” His brow cocked.

“Those girls were aaaaaawful grateful. And you weren’t always around to reap the rewards.”

“Girls?”

Oh you sweet sweet moron. She thought. “Yes Jared, girls. It’s always been girls.” Jared let out a sigh, leaning back in his chair exhausted he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you offended?” She asked defensively.

“No, just - I… Molly?”

“Molly?” She repeated, confused.

“Did she give you a freebie?”

“Ooooh, was she the little blonde -”

“Yep! Uuuuuuugh!” he groaned.

“Oh no. Did - did we? We didn't both?” She spluttered.

There was a long silence before she broke it by taking a long hard swig from his cup of mead.

“Hey!” he barked.

“What? I'm not the one with a problem here.”

#write #writing #mywriting #story #stories #fiction #fantasy #drama #siblings #PTSD #alcoholism #depression #swords #demons #freebies #Jared #Skye #Dawnbringer #WriteAwayJake

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

But I'm A Cheerleader! - Chapter 27 (Aja x Farrah) - Millie

A/N: hey sorry it’s been a while. Mock exams are a bitch to get through, but I had my final one today, so hopefully the next update will come sooner (although no promises lmao). Anyway, enjoy!

Those two weeks before prom zoomed by so quickly, Aja barely noticed it. Everyone was so caught up in the hype, worrying about hair and makeup and things that they didn’t even need to worry about. Aja still wasn’t overly excited, but it did make her happy to see all her friends enjoying themselves. She was all organised, and didn’t really have a care in the world.

Farrah, on the other hand, wasn’t exactly feeling that smooth cruise of relaxation. Her dress had only just arrived the day before, and in the wrong colour, of all things. Sure, pink was her favourite, but she’d ordered blue, goddamnit! Needless to say, it led to her stress-crying into Aja’s chest last night.

On top of that, every makeup artist in the area was fully booked for the next few weeks. All the other students were having their makeup done professionally (apart from Aja, who figured she could do it herself), and she’d feel kind of stupid doing it herself instead. Others were just more organised, and must’ve booked very early in advance - makeup jobs didn’t exactly get handed out in Hollywood.

“Farrah, you literally take a Hair & Beauty class,” Aja had laughed at her. “I’m sure whatever you do will be crazy gorgeous.”

Farrah blushed, but it didn’t distract her from her panic. “But it won’t be professional!” she whined.

“That doesn’t matter,” Aja said. “What matters is that you have a fun night.” She squeezed her girlfriend’s arm.

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

Aja tilted her head at her, raising one eyebrow. “Yes, I am,” she said. “Farrah - you’ll be absolutely fine. And I get that you’re stressed, but you’ve got your dress, and isn’t that, like, the most important part to you?”

“… I guess.”

Aja squeezed her hand; in any other place she’d kiss Farrah’s forehead or something, but they weren’t out to the rest of the school. But that worked for them - it was better than every student in a mile’s radius trying to intrude in on their private lives.

Farrah returned the gesture. “I just hope it goes well.”

“Of course it will, babe.”

Sasha and Aja were getting ready in Sasha’s room that evening, sorting their dresses and hair and such. Sasha had had her makeup done already, and she looked absolutely stunning. The beautician had attempted to do something with her bundle of blonde curls (or frizz), but to no avail. Only Sasha really knew how to style her hair and what it needed, so she’d have just been better off doing it herself.

Sasha’s room was full of obscurely-shaped mirrors that you couldn’t really see your own reflection in clearly, so it was difficult for Aja to know what she looked like in her dress (Sasha had nailed her technique, but Aja couldn’t quite get it). Of course, Farrah had insisted she looked beautiful the first time she saw her, but that wasn’t really enough to go off of.

Aja was carefully tending to her makeup when Sasha suddenly spoke up, sounding more nervous than usual.

“I have a question,” Sasha said, her voice slightly wobbly.

“Hmm?” Aja replied, concentrating on her eyebrows. “What’s up?”

“How do you know if you love someone?” she asked.

“Uh…” Aja said, pulling back from the mirror to look at her best friend. “I don’t really know, Sash.”

“You probably want context?” Aja nodded to this. “The thing is… I think I love Shea. But- I don’t know. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and she just makes me so unbelievably happy.”

Aja beamed. “Well, that makes me glad, because I thought you were having cold feet or something.” She laughed, and so did Sasha, her shoulders relaxing. “But I don’t know what to tell you, ‘cause that’s something you have to know for yourself. However, in my not-so-humble opinion, I’d be damned if you didn’t love her. I’ve seen the way you guys look at each other.”

Sasha smiled for a second, before her expression dropped again. “Is it too early to say it to her?” she asked.

Aja shrugged. “You guys have been together for, what, two months?” she asked. “Do whatever feels right.”

She nodded slowly. Sasha was beyond intelligent, but she knew it took a lot more than how clever she was to calculate the right time to bring such a thing up. Shea had grown to mean so much to her in the short amount of time they’d been together, and she wasn’t about to scare her off or something. Not that Shea would ever spook like that.

Aja went back to her makeup, and Sasha went back to her hair, which she was trying to tame. On the bright side, it was looking far better than what she’d started with in the first place. Aja was almost done with her makeup - she was just on the eyes now, and then they’d be ready to go.

“Do you love Farrah?” Sasha asked after a few minutes of silence.

Aja almost dropped her liquid eyeliner, and her hand with the applicator in it froze.

“Do I- do I what?” she questioned. Of course she’d heard her, but she needed a few extra seconds to prepare an answer.

“Do you love Farrah?” Sasha repeated. She seemed more unfazed than before.

“I, err, I don’t know,” Aja said.

Aja had never been in love before, but she couldn’t yet say the same for Farrah. The very thought of being in love almost scared her - the control someone had over you, the way you felt about every one of their actions… And with Farrah, she felt that, but in a good way rather than bad. Sure, she was already head over heels for the girl, but love? Maybe not yet.

“She makes you happy, right?” Sasha asked.

“Yeah, of course!” Aja said. “But I don’t know if it’s love. At least, not yet.” She went back to her eyeliner once her pulse had slowed down.

For a moment, her mind wondered back to Dahlia, a place she hadn’t visited in quite a while. Normally when this happened, something would fester in the pit of Aja’s stomach, growing and spreading like a weight throughout her body - it felt like regret most of the time, and sadness and/or anger, as well. Most of all, she regretted ruining their friendship, all over some stupid crush a year or two ago. That’s what hurt the most. But at that moment, when she thought of Dahlia, all she felt was bittersweet memories, without the grain of salt.

For a shitty school hall, the prom venue was exquisite. The linoleum floor looked as if it were sparkling faintly, and ribbons and balloons coloured purple and white (possibly a nod to the Glamazons’ win) adorned the ceiling and walls.

Aja walked behind Sasha and Shea, holding hands and sharing a look of adoration. Sasha gave Aja a quick, “See you in a minute?”, before going inside with her girlfriend. The music boomed into the open air.

Aja pulled out her phone to check if Farrah was on her way, and sure enough she was.

Farrah Just walking up now. <3

Aja smiled at the little heart at the end, biting her lip as she looked towards the school entrance, anticipating Farrah’s arrival.

A couple of minutes later, a beautiful vision in pink was strolling up the driveway to the back of the school hall, her hair flowing in a waterfall of blonde waves. A smile broke out on Farrah’s face as soon as she spotted Aja outside the doors, and she picked up her pace without tripping in her heels. Aja’s jaw dropped at the sight of her girlfriend, for this was the first time she’d seen her in her prom dress, and she looked absolutely transcendent. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that it’d come in the wrong colour, because either way, Farrah looked gorgeous.

“You look- you look beautiful,” Aja told her. If they weren’t surrounded by classmates, Aja wouldn’t have resisted kissing her right now.

Farrah broke out into a smile. “So do you,” she said. “You need to wear dresses more often.” She extended her hand for Aja to take, which she did, and they walked into the hall together. The volume of the music increased as soon as they were inside, and the two went over to join their friends.

The evening seemed to drag, probably because standing around doing virtually nothing wasn’t that appealing to Aja, but eventually the lights darkened and the music slowed down. In movies, this was the cue for everyone to stop what they were doing and find someone to slow dance with, and the loners were pushed out to the sides to make room for the vast amount of couples. Of course, Sasha and Shea paired up and made their way to the dance floor, where the other couples were already starting to gather.

It wasn’t like Aja to panic, yet she did, erratically looking around the room with eyes like a startled deer’s. The only person she wanted to dance with was Farrah, but no way would that happen in front of everyone at school.

Farrah took Aja’s clenched fist and gave her a reassuring smile. “Do you want to?” She nodded towards the middle of the hall.

“Yeah, of course, but-”

“People will just think we’re good friends,” Farrah said. “So, why not?”

But Aja didn’t want everyone to assume they were just “good friends”. Sure, it was the more comfortable option, but she wanted them to be seen as more than that. Something inside Aja made her want to show off her girlfriend, made her want to let everyone in close vicinity know that they were together - not in a bragging way, but in a more appreciative way… And in a proud way. She just wanted to take that leap, but unnecessary nerves wouldn’t let her.

This would be better than nothing.

Aja squeezed Farrah’s hand, and she was led to the centre of the dance floor. Farrah rested her hands on Aja’s shoulders and laced her fingers loosely around the back of her neck, smiling warmly. Aja was pretty sure she should’ve put her hands on Farrah’s waist, so she acted on that instinct. Her only knowledge of slow dancing was from cheesy movies that her girlfriend had made her watch, and she’d never really been one for those kinds of sentiments.

Farrah smiled up at her, tucking a stray wisp of purple hair behind Aja’s ear. She began to sway to the music, and Aja followed her lead, very slowly moving around in a circle on the spot. She could feel the many eyes on her, but she didn’t dare let anyone have the satisfaction of knowing that. After all, it wasn’t something uncommon to her - she’d had people stare at her her whole life. Either for her abundance of piercings, her acne scars, or the wild colours in her hair. But this was new, and strangely, she didn’t mind it.

Farrah wrapped her fingers in the tips of Aja’s hair, twirling pieces around. “See?” she spoke softly. “Not so bad.”

“You’re not worried at all?”

She shrugged. “I’ve always been quite open with who I am,” she said. “Sure, I worry about some other things, but this? Nah.”

Aja chuckled at her. “Fair enough,” she said.

“And, uh, I also wanted to talk to you about something.”

Aja furrowed her eyebrows. “What is it?” she asked.

“Well.” She sighed, bowing her head with a nervous smile. “I don’t really know how to start this, so I’ll just come out with it. It’s probably way too early for you, but, err, I love you.” She looked back up, her pupils widening at Aja’s stone-still face.

Aja’s body froze in its place, stopping both of their movement. Farrah could sense her girlfriend’s haste, and immediately moved her hand from Aja’s hair back to her shoulder.

“Too soon?” she questioned. “Oh, God, I’m sorry-”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Aja assured, sporting a half smile. “I just don’t think I’m ready to say it back yet. And, babe, that doesn’t mean I don’t love you at all, it just- I don’t know; I’m gonna start rambling. But I don’t want it to feel forced, you know?”

Farrah nodded, but the hurt was clear. She understood, of course, but she couldn’t help but feel raw and exposed in that moment. And Aja couldn’t help but feel like she’d ripped out a piece of her girlfriend’s heart.

#but i'm a cheerleader #millie #farraja #aja #farrah moan #au #rpdr fanfiction #submission #cheerleader au #lesbian au

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okimargarvez · 7 years

Text

NIGHTMARE

Original title: Nightmare.

Prompt: nightmares, dark thoughts, military life, fear.

Warning: none.

Genre: angst, romantic.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot 2 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 💑😘😈.

Song mentioned: 10 piegamenti, Tiziano Ferro.

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES

NIGHTMARE

Lack. He’s gone. No, that’s not true, it’s not possible. The heart. The heart is dying. It does not pump more blood. And the lungs, no, they no longer work. I can’t see.

I’m scared. I can’t feel anything.

That perfume, that one I feel it. Chrysanthemums. They’re everywhere, above my chest, between my hands… in my hair? Please, no, remove them from me!

I don’t want to die. But I don’t want to live without you.

He’s dead. Dead. Dead.

No, it’s not possible.

He had promised he would be careful. It wasn’t enough.

I see. The eyelids are sealed, but I see. What is this instrument? Why it is approaching my body? It wants to open me in two parts.

-Nooooo!- the woman screams at the quiet of the night. His first instinct while still lies in a state of neglect, is to grab the gun, hidden in the bedside table and face the enemy. A few seconds later he understands the real situation. The hand crawls on the wall, his fingers find the switch on the button. The light temporarily blinds them. He turns to his girlfriend. She’s breathing again, she is sweaty and has a pure expression of terror on her face. It’s so much I’m not alone in this room, in fact I’ve been back with the analysis of conscience, I’ve matured debts with my introspection, I lost the vice to always ask “please”…

-Lovely?- he asks with a voice still mingled with sleep. -What happened?- she turns slowly in his direction. She lowers her eyes with a sorry silent.

-I didn’t want to wake you up…- she says in a sad, very sad tone. He shakes his head.

-Don’t even say it.- he replies, approaching her and taking at the same time her hand, excessively cold. -Did you have that dream again?- he immediately guess, not only because of his profiler ability. - Where I’m dead and then you die and eventually wake you up, so to speak, during the autopsy?- it doesn’t need that she nods. He pulls on sitting, leaning against the back of their bed and forcing her to lean on his shoulder. -Love, all right, I’m here, alive, alongside you.- with the other hand he caresses her cheek. There’re no tears to dry. -What do I have to do to convince you?- his tone isn’t too high and he isn’t mad.

-I know you’re here, that we’re alive… but I can’t get rid of this nightmare.- she looks resigned and disillusioned. -I’m afraid of falling asleep, now, because I know that I’ll dream of those things.- she looks away from him. -That’s all in my head, but when I’m there, it seems real. I can hear the earth, its smell and dust in the coffin, the disinfectant in the morgue and the iron taste of blood, mine and yours… I feel the cold in the bones and it doesn’t even abandon me neither when I emerge…- she squeezes in her arms on the chest. The man drags her back under the blankets.

-Do you still feel cold?- he asks as his hands disappear in the sheets. Penelope nods. In a moment he’s over her and shortly afterwards, he is inside her. He slips into the female body with such naturalness to frighten any one. At the same time, he lays his lips on hers and never take it off. He cuddles her in every possible way. He doesn’t treat her like an object, but the subject that justifies ever his action. Then he stays hugged at her, his hands in her blond hair.

She feels the sweat of their bodies, the panting of the breathless man, his voice whispering sweet words. -Luke…- she runs away without being able to control herself. -How do you manage to handle me?- if she didn’t say it, he would have guessed that was what she was thinking.

-I’m here and I’ll be even in a few hours, by morning. I’ll always be with you, whatever happens. We were together even before we knew it rationally and we would even be if…- but he doesn’t finish the sentence. -Do you know we could never meet us? I’ve been risking to spend my entire life without knowing the purity of your smile.- she practically doesn’t breathe anymore. -You’re the first thought I have when I get on the jet. Before any potentially dangerous case, I try to remember what’s at stake. - he leaves another kiss on the woman’s forehead. -What I risk losing for a reckless move. It wasn’t like this when I was alone. Have you ever read my file? - this is a sort of rhetorical question, but she decides to answer anyway.

-Yes. But I don’t need to get you a profile. You’re, you were a lone guy, not used to teamwork after… what happened to Phil.- she knows it’s still a sore note for him. -Always in the most dangerous areas, if there was a chance to get you killed by a bomb, gunned down or kidnapped … you were on the front line.- it’s not really a reproach, but it looks like it. -When you came back from Iraq you entered the task force and even here you didn’t miss the action.- she bites her lips, thoughtful.

-And what conclusion did you come up with?- she feared a similar question. She takes a big breath and then throws herself out, as when sending an important mail: you just give the time to write it, read it twice (maximum) to verify the correctness from the grammatical and lexical point of view… then press it without thinking about it anymore.

-You wanted to get yourself killed.- it’s not the first time they touch this topic. But ever since she began to have such nightmares, he could not help but wonder if had any blame even his past as bounty hunter. -I’m wrong?- she whispered, slowly, like a child who is afraid of saying an incorrect word.

-No.- he answers, clenching his eyelids and letting his worries go away with his breath. -It’s so, I wanted to die.- it seems like a century has passed when he opens his mouth again. -In that period, I crossed busy streets without looking. I forgot the gas of the open oven; I’ve never done it before, it was just as if I had forgotten what was the prudence. I didn’t have a thousand problems anymore, I haven’t wake up suddenly thinking “Have I’ll close the door well?“. The guilty sense was too great, it had embedded everything.- a light continues to blink on the bedside table. It’s 1:00 a.m. They should rest, not talk of so serious arguments. She says nothing to not interrupt his flow of consciousness. -Only after taking Cullen, I mean the second time, when I was with BAU, I realized that what I really wanted was to be his victim. Not Phil who had a girlfriend and a brilliant future ahead of him. I… before that nasty story, I was… messed up. I could not relate to others in a normal, friendly way, except in the military context. My dad was it, as you know and… I don’t think I’ll felt good enough for him.- another pause. -With the women…- he begins, then he’s blocking himself, fearing he can hurt her, but then he comes to the conclusion that she must know. -… more problems. After high school I practically forbidden myself to fall in love. I knew that I would have follow the military carrier and that I would have done worried my mother and sister… they were more than enough as female representatives. My grandmother had died when I was twelve. Thanks to several analysis now I know that it’s here that I must to look for the origin of my behavior, the cancellation of feelings in the hope of no longer having to suffer for the sudden lack of someone. It didn’t seem to me to be worth it.- he grabs her hand in his, demonstrating his awareness of the woman’s presence, whose began to doubt it. -Two creatures helped me heal, in the deepest sense of the term. The first one is snoring at the bottom of our feet.- he laughs, she makes the same. He has told her many times that her laughter is gold, sweet, fresh and healing like water on top of the ascent. Almost the same as her smiles. But even that of him is special, what he does in private, not at work, not every time she calls him “newbie”; he has the ability to force her to laugh with him and sometimes they can go on for quite a few minutes. It makes them feel alive. -Roxy was an angel, seriously. I had neglected so much this impulse that I didn’t need during missions, that I couldn’t see even the animals them as living creatures, rather as useful tools for my purpose, born with that only function.- she bites her tongue because she has heard too many times similar phrases, even in the mouth of important and / or intelligent people. -I don’t know what’s so special about her, but she has managed to dig a tunnel between ice and rock until she gets to my heart. Only she, though. From there I felt better, but I had no intention or interest to let anyone else come in. I took the compromise I was able to joking or confiding with semi-known people, only about superficial arguments.- this time, the break seems to last longer.

She’s therefore forced to speak. -And the second creature?- he looks at her in a stranger way.

-Did not you really understood that?- is that provocative and terribly sexy grimace. -It’s you.- he exclaims naturally, using a tone of obviousness. -I was impressed right away I met you, but this was pretty obvious. Nobody can ignore Penelope Garcia.- he teases her, then adds -Unfortunately.- she raises her eyes to heaven. -I don’t know if I was intrigued by the generously loose blouses or your way of doing so abrupt, detached. At first I thought you were a snob, one that was a tease… after all, you was- he corrects instantly by anticipating her gaze -you are the best computer technician available for the government. If you were an egghead it wouldn’t have been so strange. But then I saw you interact with the others and you were totally another person. And when you smiled at me for the first time, though for a joke, you’ve changed completely. I think it was the first of a long series of occasions when I said in my head, “Fuck, how beautiful she is”- she lets that figure penetrate directly into her skin, cross her completely. -You continued to be by yourself and there was a strange atmosphere among us. Tense, but exciting. I imagined everything in that elevator. But I was also tired, frustrated to not understand… so I asked around and I got the answer. I’ve done a lot of research on you, I tried to know you better in the only way I was granted. I found you were really orphaned, that someone shot you, you’re a vegetarian, a former hacker, the godfather of JJ’s sons with Spencer, that you’ve had a long story with another technical analyst, Lynch.- is significant he chooses not to call him by name. She no longer knows what to think and thanked to any demon has made her have so much nightmares to wake Luke and finally push him to open with her. After almost a year of relationship.

-And then? How did you use this information for your benefit?- she asks, turning to his side to look better him.

I need to change, always standing the same, I’m often afraid to be afraid, but when you are feeling so love, I really mean, everything else is little, everything else is zero…

-Well, I was a size hunter paid by the government, in essence. I did what I could do best: hunting the prey.- a mischievous glance makes her shine. -I didn’t know why or I was not ready to accept it, is the same. Anyway, I just needed to know one thing: that I wanted you, I should have you. It was years, what I say, I don’t know if I’ve ever tried such a burning desire to kiss a woman. I made a thousand hypotheses on what flavor could have your lips, but they were useless speculation. I thought it was just a matter of sex, that my goal was to get you to bed and then I would be rid of obsession about you. Well, I was out of the way. After a few months without making any progress, without taking account that I have touched your hand and your shoulder at Bradenton, I stopped having those impulses. And I have I started to think every minute at you, I faced every case with the awareness that I had taken the bad early, I would have saw you soon.- he sighs, he needs to regain breath, perhaps even drinking, but he can’t interrupt himself too much long. -Do you know when I realized “I’m in love with Garcia”? Not that time I saw you crying and I gave you the kitten. No, that was the case on the unnamed waist, when you arrived with that expression so… bitter, sad, I do not know and I’d give anything to have you smile.- she understands that he’s almost finished.

-I realized I was in love with you the time you stole my remote control. When our fingers came close I felt the earth vibrate under my feet, I thought there was the earthquake. I had never felt anything like this with Morgan, ever. It was our first time that our bodies came in contact, because when we met, I did not want to shake your hand, with the excuse to be busy with folders.- she smiles at that thought, that fragment of past that leaves behind a sense of tenderness. She gets yawned and she feels her eyelids become heavier.

-What I wanted to say, the sense of all this talk, is that you helped me really before you started to show love to me. The mere fact of being myself, in love with you, has healed me, comforted, cared for. Open to a world that hurt, but it also knows how to give happiness. And the game has always been worth the risk with you.- a sweet smile purses his lips. -Always.- he repeat in lower tone, because Penelope has finally let herself be wrapped from sleep. Her expression serene. Her fingers braided with his.

Tags: @martinab26 @janiedreams88 @talesoffairies @kiki-krakatoa@yessenia993 @arses21434 @teyamarra @c00lhandsluke @gcchic @orangesickle @entireoranges @jamirn@kathy5654 @lovesgoodluna @thisonekid@thenibblets@ambrosiaswhispers @perfectly-penelope @courtneyxoxo1 @jahreau @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @ichooseno megs2219 @ smalliemichelle99 @skisun @chewwy123 @maziikeen92 @ gracieeelizabeth27 @ thinitta @franklintrixie @jenf42 Tell me if you want to be removed ^_^

#garvez #luke alvez #penelope garcia #nightmare

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apocalypseprodromus · 5 years

Text

Barriers Between (Chapter 3)

Warning: Generally Sad Things A.K.A. Angst! Also, after a certain point, this is going to head slowly into a descent of madness known as a Yandere story. Thought I’d just let you know now.

The golden dragonlike creature flew back to where it once came. In a flash of bright light, everyone else was gone. The earth beneath her feet was lively and unscorched. Trinitas looked around her in shock and confusion.

“What just happened?” She held back panicked cries and decided to search for others.

Squall looked around Order’s Sanctuary curiously wondering why he was summoned to this world. Along with other warriors that were definitely not from anywhere he knew.

Something inside of him felt a slight twinge of heartache, though he wasn’t sure what caused it. He wasn’t really homesick, nor did he think he was missing anything. Why did it feel like he was?

“She’s not here.” The goddess of Harmony remarked aloud to the warriors that were present.

“Who’s not here?” A woman with short brown hair and heterochromatic eyes asked quizzically of Cosmos.

“The final warrior I summoned. She’s in this world, but not within the Sanctuary. If we are to proceed, we must locate her.”

Everyone looked around at each other. “This is all well and good, but we don’t even know what she looks like.” A guy with short chestnut brown hair and eyes crossed his arms while others nodded in agreement.

The deity displayed a projection of an eerily familiar figure walking through an undistinguished field. “This is Trinitas. Please find her.”

Squall’s glacial optics found themselves fixated on the girl, the grating sensation from earlier returning. It only got worse the moment he realized how distressed she appeared to be.

The guy from earlier seemed to get the gist thanks to the visual. “Gotcha, find the girl and bring her back here?”

“Wait, why do we need her?” A spiky-haired blond swordsman inquired further.

“Her magic is derived from a source we wouldn’t normally have access to. It’s powerful and primal, older than our worlds. If we are to succeed in our goal of defeating Chaos, we need that power on our side.” Cosmos looked to the girl in the projection once more. “When you find her, please set about finding the crystals.” The conversation ended there.

“I’ll find her.” Squall interjected immediately.

Everyone watched the tall brunette male as he made his way out west. This feels like the right direction.

“Are you sure, we don’t mind-” A dagger-wielding blond insisted before he was cut off.

“Search for your crystals. I’ll search for Trinitas.” Squall brushed off the blond’s offer before pressing onward.

A strange series of thoughts entered Squall’s mind. Thoughts that seemed out of place, missing context but poignant nonetheless.

Not like any of you care about her. It didn’t matter before, why would it now? Rather she runs into me than anyone else. She’s volatile, fragile; they’re careless.

Nothing about what he thought made any sense when he tried recalling something that might’ve justified these harsh beliefs. He was sure he didn’t know this girl. Why would he be feeling so... lonely without her. He strived to be completely without others. Should he really be looking for her?

I already said I would, no turning back now. I feel like I’ve contemplated this before. All he knew was that if he found her, it would help ease his agitated conscience.

Squall felt something akin to nostalgia when crossing the grassland. He knew this was where she’d be, yet he didn’t know how he obtained that knowledge.

He just wanted answers and didn’t have any explanations. A mix of frustration and desperation overtook him for a moment as an intense headache surged through his skull.

An image of a more decrepit version of the girl he was looking for crossed through his mind. He must’ve known her. It’s the only thing that seems right to assume, given that the visage of her broken skull didn’t elicit a disgusted response in him.

He vaguely remembers a dark flowerbed underlooking a green sky, the gradient ranging from a bright mint to a dark ivy. The image soothed him somehow, a pleasant fondness resonating from the back of his mind.

It’ll do for now. Until I find her, these thoughts will have to suffice. Where did these sensations come from...? Squall scoffed at the foreignness of it all.

As he made his way back to the meadow, a rush of hope gathered in his heart.

I’ll see you again, Trin.

Trinitas wandered through the landscape meeting Bartz along the way, telling her that Squall is looking for her.

“I’ll seek him out, thanks, Bartz!” She called as she went back to the western prairie.

He doesn’t remember me, does he? I don’t see how when no one else seems to. It doesn’t matter, he’s looking for me. I wonder...

Trinitas is alight with excitement at the prospect of seeing her friend again. After all, there’s a chance he will remember her.

Squall fought manikins that found their way to the field he waited in. Little by little, he started to recall his time with Trinitas in the previous instance he was summoned.

“Get LOST!” He yelled at the crystalline copy who he was currently blade to blade with.

Knocking the entity back, he prepared to Blasting Zone it back into nonexistence where it belonged.

“You’re not welcome to this meeting!” A massive beam of light radiated from Squall’s blade briefly before he crashed it down into his doppelganger.

The being faded in it’s dying cries.

Glad that’s over with. Squall looked to the crystalline specks left in its aftermath.

A very peculiar memory surfaced. Trinitas holding onto him staring at him with a sweet smile and a kind gaze. He smiled at this, not entirely sure why.

“Squall!” The voice of a female caught his attention.

Her.

Squall’s heart raced at the sight of her. She looked so worried.

“Trinitas, it’s okay.” He met her halfway from where they greeted each other. “What happened? Why don’t I fully recognize you? Things come back in short bursts but...” He stopped himself. He wasn’t even sure she fully remembers him or not.

“Things reset. I don’t know how or why. We’ve been through this only once before, and it only happened after every other Cosmos warrior died.” Trinitas was pained to recount the tale of her comrades’ demise.

She certainly knew more than him about what was happening.

She moved closer to Squall, debating what to do. Should she hug him, or was that too much? Will he respond negatively to her?

Sensing her inner conflict he made the choice for her. He held her to himself. Somehow it just felt... right.

Suddenly, an abundance of memories fills in the broken gaps like flood water invading a crevasse. Everything up until that point is instantly restored.

Trinitas notices his distant eyes glowing dimly briefly before his grip tightens considerably.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Squall’s eyes were partially lidded as he swayed with her softly in his arms.

“You were the ones in danger, not me.” She retorted.

Squall looks down at her, a knowing expression residing on his face. “You know as I do that your mental health is what I’m talking about.”

She couldn’t deny that. Seeing Squall laying there just out of reach, about to die... It was more than she could stomach.

Trinitas, emotionally drained and desperately in need of his comforting warmth, gives in to the embrace. It was almost enough to lull her to sleep.

“But what do we do with this knowledge?” Squall breathed his inquiry.

“Do we take it to Cosmos? Do we tell the others?” Trinitas hastily asked her companion.

Squall pondered the pros and cons in his mind. Telling the other warriors ‘Hey, we’ve done this all before!’ doesn’t sound like it’ll go over well...

Telling Cosmos was probably their best bet.

And with that, the pair make their way back to Order’s Sanctuary to tell Cosmos their revelation.

The blond deity nods in understanding. “I see. Then it is imperative that we get those crystals soon so we have enough power to launch a preemptive attack on Chaos’ stronghold.” Cosmos concluded.

Trinitas cocked her head to the side in question. “What’s so important about these crystals?”

“The ones that belong to your fellow warriors hold a tenth of my power. Yours is more of an amplifier. A crystalized shard of the direct source of your power. This is why we needed you. To aid us in our endeavor of defeating Chaos, there’s a part of yourself you must let go of.” The ethereal figure gently placed a hand on the shorter woman’s shoulder.

“Fear and loathing is not your salvation.”

Trinitas’ gaze bore into the one before her. It was like someone was calling her out on how she really was for the first time in her life.

“You have so much fearlessness to become close to someone you may lose and never see again. What’s stopping you from pursuing the rest of your dreams with the same amount of courage?”

Squall felt like Trinitas wasn’t the only one that was directed towards. Although, inversely.

I have so much bravery to face the harsh reality I’ve grown up with. What’s stopping me from opening up to people? Fear.

Fear that they’ll see the pathetic lonely husk of a person I really am... and leave.

That no one will want to be around a bitter hollow listless individual like me.

If they know who I really am, I’ll just disappoint them. Showing them that there’s absolutely no exciting secret underneath.

What I am on the outside actually mirrors what I am on the inside. And I care too much about what everyone thinks to let them know that.

All I’m just going to end up doing is letting her down or shutting her out. Or embarrassing myself. One day I’ll come to realize that she’d rather be around actually well-adjusted-

“I’m just afraid.” Trinitas’ cracking voice broke Squall’s piteous thoughts.

“Afraid that everything I work for will be for nothing. I’m bound to lose everyone anyway, I’m an immortal, it’s inevitable. I’ve come to terms with that years ago. With people, I’ve really got nothing to lose if they don’t like me. People rarely do.”

“It’s working towards something stable and long-lasting because unlike me... nothing lasts forever. It’s futile, so why even bother? Why bother building and rebuilding something if it’ll eventually erode with time?”

“I’d rather make the time that someone else has better. Something that’ll have been a worthwhile experience for them.”

He couldn’t help but stare incredulously at her words.

“It’s just so hard to work for something for so long, only to have it taken away at the last second.” She was on the verge of tears, desperately attempting to keep her composure. “Aspirations have a tendency to hurt me. I’d rather just live life without goals of my own.”

The borders of Squall’s eyes held barely contained tears. He couldn’t listen to this for much longer...

“Trini-” She cut off Cosmos, unwilling to listen any further.

“No! I’m done living my life so selfishly. I’ll help you guys out because there’s nothing else for me beyond that. Gods know if I wasn’t immortal I’d already been-”

“STOP!” Squall roared in protest, not wanting to hear any more of this. “Trinitas, we’re leaving!” His expression was manic.

He clutched her arm and dragged her away from the Sanctuary.

Nothing good could’ve come from staying there.

#Squall Leonhart #Final Fantasy #Dissidia #Original Character #fanfic #oc x canon #yandere

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fuckingchatnoir · 8 years

Text

Fanboy

Ao3 Link

Summary: After discovering the wonders of Ladynoir fanfiction, Adrien sets out to start his own with his classmate Marinette helping him along the way. But when does fiction start becoming reality?

This story is also beta'd by the wonderful @serendipitousReckonings here on archive, @dickerdoodlez on tumblr.

Chapter 1

Adrien was never the writing type. He did write well - written papers and essays – at least according to his teachers – and was even occasionally asked by a few of his classmates for some writing tips. But, it was for educational purposes only. He‘d never had any sort of passion to write an actual story and he never thought of himself as the imaginative kind anyway. His mind was almost always focused on school, his responsibilities set by his father, and his masked identity. He never really had that luxury of being able to think about anything else. Well, except for his Lady, but that was something entirely different.

That was, until one morning when he arrived at school earlier than usual. It was stormy, the sky was four shades darker than normal, the atmosphere was chilly, and his father didn’t want to risk him catching a cold. So there Adrien was in his homeroom nice and early, but dreadfully exhausted. He was already planning to ask Ladybug later that day if they could shorten patrol since he knew he needed to recharge. The akuma from the night before had taken a lot out of him and his Lady. Dodging sharp shuriken made from CDs for a few hours wasn’t the easiest thing. And to top it all off, his biceps and thighs were feeling pretty sore as well. He knew he should’ve iced them.

“Look who decided to show up early for once!”

Adrien looked over to see Nino enter the room. His friend immediately slid his headphones down from his ears to his shoulders as a bright smile grew on his face. Adrien tried to mirror his friend’s enthusiasm but yawned instead, rubbing his eyes soon after.

“Hey, Nino.”

“Bro, you look terrible.”

“Thanks man, you always know the right things to say.”

Nino placed his bag on the ground before he sat down next to the blond. The late bell then rang and a few students rushed into the classroom, a few breathless from running.

“You know what I mean. How much sleep did you get last night?”

Adrien shrugged. To be honest, he didn’t even remember what time he‘d gotten home. All he remembered was the sound of Ladybug’s voice when she said goodnight to him. Well, that and waking up.

“Don’t remember.”

“Broooo. You gotta take better care of yourself. I’m telling you, it’s all those photoshoots you’re always doing. Your old man needs to chill with that.”

Adrien just yawned again and shrugged in response, not having the energy to make up some lie. He just wanted the day to end already so he could see Ladybug and go back to sleep. Maybe, if he was lucky, the storm would be so bad that his fencing practice would get canceled that afternoon. One could only hope.

Nino and Adrien talked for a few minutes about this teen club that Nino wanted to perform in. The brunette told his friend how awesome the opportunity would be if they would give him a chance and Adrien genuinely agreed. Nino then, however, remembered that he needed to finish a worksheet and occupied himself with finishing that. Adrien decided to use the rest of the time to rest his eyes until homeroom was over. Plagg must’ve been pretty tired too since the blond hadn’t heard one whisper from him in a while. Adrien was trying to keep his eyes open, not wanting to drift off and miss the bell like last time. However, it was getting harder and harder for him as the minutes passed. So, he decided to listen in on a few conversations to keep his mind occupied.

Since there were so few students in his class, it wasn’t too hard to hear what they were saying. Kim and Max were talking about basketball – Max was trying to approximate the height Kim would have to be in order to make a perfect shot five - hundred feet from the net. Ivan and Alix were trying to convince Mylene to go along with them to some horror movie festival, Mylene making several nervous gasps at the descriptions of the monsters. Sabrina and Chloe were on their phones. Chloe was making a few complaints about some shoes online. He heard nothing from Nathanael as always – the boy was probably sleeping again. And then there were Rose, Juleka, and Alya who were speaking right behind him.

“Yeah, Marinette just texted me. She’s gonna come in late today. She overslept as usual.” Alya said.

“I hope she’s okay.” Rose responded.

“Don’t worry, girl. She’s fine. She just stays up to work on designs. No big deal.”

“Oh! Do you think she’s working on anything with that pink fabric she showed me last week? It was so pretty!”

“Or with that fabric that has those dark purple stripes. It was wicked.” Juleka joined in.

“I’m not sure. Why don’t you two ask her later today? I’m sure she’ll be excited to show us her designs.”

They agreed and Adrien wondered curiously what his missing classmate could be working on as well. Whenever Alya would show him her designs, he was always so impressed with her work. Even though he was a model, he didn’t really know much about fashion. However, he still found Marinette’s work as good as the clothes he had to wear during those professional photoshoots.

“By the way, did you guys read the new update from last night? It was so cute!” Rose spoke, the subject changing abruptly.

Alya groaned.

“Sadly, I did.”

“Sadly? What, you didn’t like it?”

“You seriously think Ladybug would let an akuma get away to make out with Chat Noir? She’s not selfish!”

Adrien’s head shot up so quickly that his mind went dizzy.

“Dude, you okay?” Nino questioned, glancing up from his work to look over at his friend who tried to conceal the sudden blush on his cheeks.

He‘d moved too fast.

He hoped the girls didn’t notice.

“Yeah. Yeah. Um, I just… I thought I… um… saw a spider.”

Nino stared at him a while longer before chuckling.

“This is what happens when you don’t sleep, man.”

Adrien nodded and smiled forcefully before his friend chuckled again and went back to the worksheet. Luckily, the girls didn’t notice and continued on with their conversation that confused Adrien in more ways than one.

“But it was sooooo romantic! Chat and Ladybug kissing for the first time under the moonlight like they were the only people in the world. I wish someone loved me that much!”

Adrien sunk more into his seat, his right hand running through his hair as he was trying to figure out what they were talking about. He‘d never kissed Ladybug, much less kiss her during an akuma attack. He agreed with Alya. That would be very careless.

Where were they getting this information? Did someone spot the two superheroes last night and think they saw them kissing? The more he thought about it, the more lost he felt. He didn’t think anyone could’ve gotten the wrong idea since he was too busy saving lives the previous night to focus on anything else. He and Ladybug didn’t even make any physical contact with one another until their routine fist bump, so he wasn’t really sure what to think. He was going to have to check the Ladyblog during lunch.

“I didn’t mind the kissing thing, but I wish the villain was scarier.”

Adrien almost looked back when he heard Juleka’s comment.

Scarier?

She wished the villain was scarier?! How does she not find a person that could make shuriken out of CDs scary?!

“I thought she was scary! She made food come to life. Imagine a cupcake trying to eat you! Cupcakes are supposed to be cute and tasty, not ferocious!”

Was there an akuma attack Adrien didn’t know about?

He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to find out what the hell they were talking about. Nothing was making any sense and his head was starting to hurt. He plastered on his nicest smile and finally turned around.

“Good morning, guys.” He greeted as softly as he could, trying to conceal his slight edge.

All three pairs of eyes landed on him. Small smiles grew on each of their faces.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I overheard you three talking about someone bringing food to life yesterday. Didn’t the akuma throw CD shuriken and create earthquakes?”

The girls all looked at each other once again before bursting into a fit of giggles. Was there something he didn’t get? Was the whole conversation some weird inside joke?

“Oh no! We weren’t talking about the akuma from yesterday! This all happened in a LadyNoir fanfiction that we all read. The author posted a new chapter last night and there was a scene with an attack.” Alya finally answered. Adrien raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“LadyNoir? Fanfiction? I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

He’d heard Alya mention those terms before, but he‘d never really questioned them. He just thought it was some inside thing between her and Marinette. But hearing those words in that context, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Don’t even bother asking bro. You don’t want to get into...that.” He heard Nino say beside him, his friend still looking down at his homework.

Adrien glanced over at him, but quickly looked back at the girls when he heard Alya mumble something angrily under her breath.

“It’s nothing bad, Nino. Everyone’s read fanfiction.” She defended.

“Yeah, well not me. And not my boy, Adrien over here.”

Alya rolled her eyes dramatically before turning her attention back on the blond.

“Don’t listen to him. Nino marathons Back to the Future almost every weekend and calls that fun.”

Adrien raised his eyebrows at her remark and felt a small, tired laugh escape him.

“That is true.” He said.

“Whose side are you on!?”

Alya glared at the boy once more before looking back at Adrien.

“So, what I was trying to say was that fanfictions are like stories about two people, whether fictional or nonfictional, getting together. Like the one we’re reading now. It’s a story about Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

Adrien felt his face heat up again.

“So, um, like a love story?”

“Yeah!” Rose chimed in. Juleka smiled in agreement right beside her.

“A love story... about Ladybug and Chat Noir?”

“Yup.”

“And you guys want them to be together?”

“Who doesn’t want them together? I mean, don’t you think they would make such a great couple?”

Adrien glanced over at Nino for some guidance – for anything really – but he saw how preoccupied the other teen was and instead sighed internally. Would he and Ladybug make a great couple? Well, he liked to think so. Even though they didn’t know each other’s identities, he thought he loved her and that he would do anything for her… However, he also knew that this love was only one-sided.

He didn’t really know how to answer.

“I-I’m not sure. I’ve never really thought about it to tell you the truth.”

Rose leaned against Juleka’s side as she clasped her hands together and brought them near the side of her face, looking up dreamily.

“I think they absolutely love each other.”

Oh, if only you knew.

“Yeah, I don’t know about Ladybug, but Chat totally has the hots for her.” Juleka added.

You have no idea.

“I think Ladybug has a thing for that slick cat too. I’ve seen their sexual tension up close, trust me.”

A weird sound left Adrien’s lips, and he quickly covered his mouth as his whole face reddened. He could practically feel Plagg’s laughter coming from his bag and quickly cleared his throat loudly to drown out the sound just in case anyone else heard.

“Um sorry, I swallowed wrong. Sexual tension you say?”

Alya gave Adrien a weird look before she shrugged.

“Yeah, like the way they just flirt with each other. I mean, none of us can really hear any of it since they’re always too far away, but we can all just tell.”

“It’s so frustrating.” Juleka added.

Adrien almost laughed at that.

You find it frustrating? Just imagine how frustrating it must be for me.

“What’s the story called?” He heard himself ask, his mind having tried to change the subject but also having failed when he realized that he showed more interest on the subject.

And maybe he was interested, but he didn’t want to admit that to himself yet. Wanting to read something about yourself was probably considered creepy. He avoided the magazines with his face plastered on the pages for that same reason, but he couldn’t help his curiosity with this fanfiction thing. Did they get his personality right? Did they portray him as strong and independent or as some dorky sidekick? What about his Lady? How do they think his Lady feels when she sees him?

How does she feel?

He definitely needed to take a pill for his headache when he got home.

Rose’s smile widened at his question and it looked as if she were holding in a squeal.

“You want to actually read it?! That’s so great!”

Nino sighed beside him and Adrien tried to ignore the judgement hidden underneath it.

He laughed awkwardly.

“I’m not sure about actually reading it. I just want to get more of an understanding of this whole fanfiction and LadyNote thing.”

Alya giggled.

“You mean LadyNoir.”

“Yeah, that thing.”

Whatever that is.

They all gave him each a smile of approval before Alya wrote the story info down on a ripped piece of line paper and handed it to him.

“Have fun researching.” The girl then said, giving him a quick wink and another laugh before the homeroom bell rang and everyone left to their next class.

_________________

Luckily, Ladybug was just as tired as he was, so their patrol only lasted about half an hour – just a quick check around the city. Yawns filled up the quiet night sky as they both jumped and swung from building to building. Chat was a little more rested than his partner since he had gotten to nap as soon as he‘d gotten home. His wish had been granted. A huge storm had rolled in and all his practices had been cancelled for the remainder of the day. He’d taken that opportunity to catch up on some much needed sleep. Neither of them were really as social as they usually were with one another. It was one of those lazy, tired patrols where they cracked a few remarks here and there but remained quiet for the most part. He didn’t really mind that though. Sometimes he found the silence to be calming. Everything in his life was always so structured and crazy, so having some peace and quiet with the love of his life from time-to-time helped him feel more at ease.

With one last goodbye, they both separated and retreated back to their homes, a tired smile playing across the blond’s face. As soon as he de-transformed in his bedroom, he fed Plagg the camembert he had waiting for him on his desk and immediately changed into his sweats.

“Wow. It’s only ten-forty.” He commented aloud as he checked his phone, quickly answering Nino’s texts about some song he heard on the radio.

“That’s good. Now you can finally go to sleep early and I don’t have to hear your constant complaints about how tired you are.” He heard his kwami say as he stuffed another bite of that smelly cheese into his mouth.

“I’ve only complained to you twice!”

Plagg scoffed.

“Yeah, twice an hour.”

Adrien rolled his eyes as he walked himself to his computers.

“Whatever. Just finish your cheese. I’m going to sleep soon, but I want to check something first.”

Plagg didn’t speak for a while and the teenager sat himself down in front of the several screens, typing in the name of the story Alya had told him about in google. Apparently this fanfiction was called Late Night Hour by someone named FrenchBeauty95. He didn’t know what to think of it at that moment. The summary explained the plot to be about Ladybug screwing up an akuma attack and Chat Noir having to fix everything – that thought did not really sit well in his stomach. He of course knew that this was fiction – a completely made up scenario – but just thinking about the possibility of having to handle an akuma by himself without his Lady sent a horrible chill down his spine. However, he sucked it up and continued scrolling through the webpage.

Apparently, thousands of people had read that story already, and his mouth practically flew open. Thousands of people read about him and Ladybug – wanted to read about him and Ladybug – being together. His cheeks flushed once again and he quickly shook his head before he spun his chair away from the screens, trying to conceal the embarrassment evident on his face.

“What’s got you all worked up now?” Plagg said, done with his meal and floating over to his friend who seemed to be having a mental breakdown.

“Thousands of people read about me and Ladybug.”

“And? Isn’t that the point of the blog thing, for everyone to read about you two?”

Plagg signaled Adrien to open his hands that were rested on his lap and the blond quickly obliged. The kwami floated down to rest himself against his palms.

“Groooooss. Your hands are sweaty!”

He did not, however, leave his resting place.

“Plagg, this isn’t about Alya’s blog, this is- they read-”

He groaned.

“Wait. Is this about that story thing they were telling you about earlier?”

Adrien just nodded.

“You humans and your weird problems. Just don’t read the thing! Who cares!”

“I do! Alya told me that in this story Chat Noir and Ladybug kiss.”

“Okay, but it’s not like it’ll actually happen!”

Adrien scowled down at the kwami.

Plagg groaned.

“Just go and read it since you want to so bad. I’m going to sleep.”

The teen’s eyes widened.

“I-I don’t! Why would I?! That’s weird and-”

Plagg groaned yet again before floating away to Adrien’s bed.

“Plagg, I don’t want to!”

“Sure, and I hate camembert. Goodnight.”

Adrien was about to say something else but the words got lost in his throat when he turned back to face the screens. He reread the summary a few more times and tried to even listen to some music on another tab to keep himself distracted to prove to Plagg that he would never read something like that. However, he only lasted about four minutes before he returned to the webpage and started the first chapter.

I’m only reading this to make sure they don’t know any personal details about me. That’s the only reason. Just a few lines and I’ll be done.

He read all twenty-three chapters.

__________________

After having read up to the most recent updated chapter of Late Night Hour, Adrien found that he couldn’t go back to sleep. The last chapter still had his heart beating fast in his chest, his hands still sweaty from his own nervousness and excitement. The kiss scene that the three girls spoke of was very descriptive, to the point where Adrien could imagine the whole scenario vividly in his head as if it had played out in front of him. His face was red, so red and he couldn’t help but look up at the ceiling in thought.

Ladybug kissed Chat back in the story. She yanked his bell and pulled him closer to her so she could reassure him that she felt the same way. Adrien melted. It was as if someone wrote down one of his dreams and made it seem so much more real. He couldn’t help himself, he wanted to know what people thought about this kind of stuff, what they thought about LadyNoir (which he also found out was the combination of his and his Lady’s names), why everyone chooses to call him and his lady Felix and Bridgette when they’re in their civilian form, and why he hadn’t known about this sooner.

He wanted to ask the three girls all kinds of questions that he now had, since he felt that they would know the answer to them, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to admit his new guilty pleasure. What if others found out? What if they would judge him for it? He knew Nino would never let him live it down and he also didn’t want to be labeled as that guy that reads stories about Ladybug and Chat Noir making out. He felt that he would be seen as some kind of pervert or something. And what if Ladybug found out somehow? He would probably die from embarrassment.

He finally decided to keep the whole thing to himself, at least publicly that is. In the privacy of his own home, however, he would talk about it online with other people. Under the account name FelineGood16 he began to comment on stories, post his thoughts on chapters in blog threads, and gained all the answers he had been wanting without anyone knowing who he really was. It wasn’t necessarily the most productive thing he could’ve been doing with his time, but it was one of the more exciting options.

__________________

“Guys, last night’s update got me pretty pissed, not gonna lie.” Alya, said behind him, Adrien nodding in silent agreement. His fists were clenched on his lap and Nino was trying to explain how he was a living, human magnet for pigeon crap, Adrien nodding slowly, trying very hard to focus on his friend’s rant. However, he couldn’t find the strength to do so – the update still fresh in his mind.

He‘d read it only minutes before, in his car, while the Gorilla drove him to school. It was short, angsty, and made him curse the day he ever decided reading the thing would be a good idea. It was the reveal chapter and he didn’t think it could’ve gone any worse even if it were written by a new born baby. In the chapter, Ladybug revealed herself to Chat, wanting to pursue a real romantic relationship with him with no secrets holding them back. Reading the chapter in the beginning, Adrien felt his heart racing, his hands sweating, and had hope blooming in his chest so intensely that he felt like a whole field of flowers was going to sprout from it any minute. This was the day where his wildest dream was going to be written in front of him. Where he was finally going to get a possible outcome of what could happen if his Lady were to share her identity with him. He knew that, in real life, he would probably cry from elation, his arms immediately embracing the girl before him, no matter who she was. However, instead, the author decided that Chat Noir rejecting her and disregarding all of their intimate past moments was the more realistic route, and hell, was Adrien pissed. To think, he even put up with those horrible puns too.

Having to read the love of his life feel such pain due to his own unrealistic response was absolutely killing him inside and he wasn’t sure how to hold in his opinions on the matter. He was already in the process of creating a long argument along with proof on why that chapter was completely impractical and unjustified for his Tumblr later on.

“Alya, breathe. It’s just a story. The author wanted to rile you guys up like this for shock value. They’ll probably resolve things next chapter. No biggy.” Marinette said.

“It is a biggy, Mari! If you actually read these fics, you’d totally understand why we’re so mad. I for one hate how dependent they write Ladybug in these stories. Like girl almost caused an akuma attack in this chapter because the dude rejected her! I’m just tired of it!”

Exactly!

“And Chat Noir always monologues about how he’d always love Ladybug, no matter who she was behind the mask. But, when she finally finds the courage, he rejects her? Totally not cool.” Juleka adds, Adrien nodding his head in agreement once again.

Even they understand!

“What I’m saying is that it would be awesome to finally have a story where they end up happy for once, where their relationship isn’t so forced, and where it just feels more real.”

Adrien found his fists unclenching slightly under his desk, his eyebrows furrowed.

More real. Yeah.

“Well, if you crave that so much then why don’t you write your own?”

Adrien’s eyes widened and he felt his face heat up immediately, Marinette’s words echoing in his mind repeatedly.

Write your own.

“Yeah,” Adrien muttered under his breath, a small smile growing on his lips, “Maybe I wi-“

“Dude. Have you even been listening to me?”

The blond shook his head slightly and turned to face his best friend who looked at him like he grew a second head. He chuckled awkwardly.

“Yeah, dude! Of course, pigeon crap is the worst.”

Nino continued to stare at the boy, his lips formed in a small frown.

“I wasn’t talking about that anymore.”

“I’m sorry, man. Kind of zoned out a bit. And not because of what you were saying but I…”

What was he supposed to say? I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention to you, I couldn’t stop hearing about the updated chapter of one of my favorite fanfictions because it seriously pissed me off since I’m the real Chat Noir and find it ridiculous that the author wrote me as some careless, self-absorbed douche that only thinks about himself?

“I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Nino’s expression softened and he sighed before patting his buddy on the shoulder lightly.

“I swear, if you don’t start getting your snooze on, I’m gonna barge into your house myself and make sure your old man changes your schedule up or else.”

Adrien smiled, amused.

“Or else what? You’ll DJ him to death?”

“Dude, I make some good ass tunes, but trust me if I need to make a torture mix, I can and will. And it won’t be pretty. Just imagine a twenty-four-hour loop of Pen Pineapple Apple Pen except every time he says apple, it speeds up.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

“I’ll try to get some more sleep then for my father’s sake.”

Nino laughed and nudged the other boy with his elbow.

“I’m serious, you need to start taking better care of yourself.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He thought about Marinette’s words the rest of the day.

____________________

“I’m a disgusting human being.” Adrien said, his body turned away from his screens in his swivel chair. His eyelids were droopy and his yawns were beginning to sound more powerful than before, however, all he could think about was the plot he‘d thought up in his head.

Plagg floated over to him, landing on his shoulder with his piece of cheese almost finished.

“While that is completely true, what made you come to that realization?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“And you’re dramatic. What happened, kid?”

Adrien sighed and turned back to his screens, the opened document on all three staring at him judgmentally.

“I’m going to write a story about one of my best friends…ending up with me and they have no idea.”

“Yeah, that is pretty disgusting.”

“Plagg!”

“Well what do you want me to say?!”

“That I’m not disgusting! T-that it’s not weird and that it’s not like I’m going to reveal anything personal about us anyway so there’s no real harm? I don’t know! Humor me!”

“I don’t see why you have to involve me in your creepy romance issues. If you want to do it then just do it!”

Adrien groaned and sunk into his seat, Plagg popping the last bit of his camembert in his mouth before sighing.

“She’s going to hate me if she finds out. I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.”

“Look kid, you’re always busy doing things that other people want you to do. You never really have time for yourself and if this is what will make you happy and hopefully change that around, then go for it. She’s probably never going to find out unless you tell her. And either way, I don’t think she’d be mad.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes, now please turn down the brightness of those things so I can sleep in peace for once.”

Adrien sat up in his seat, his smile genuine and his feet scooting himself closer to his floating kwami.

“Ah, you do care,” Adrien opened his hands on his lap. “Come here.”

“No, gross. I can smell your putrid, human stench from here. But, if you do want to show your appreciation, another piece of camembert would suffice.”

Adrien snorted.

“Yeah, and have you vomit all over my sheets again? No way. Father still thinks the chef tried poisoning me.”

“Last time I ever give you advice,” Plagg floated to his spot on Adrien’s bed soon after. “Goodnight. And remember about the brightness.”

A few minutes later Adrien turned off the lights and retreated to his computers, his eyes staring down at the keyboard in front of him like it was forbidden to touch it. His cheeks flushed as he thought about his plot and he shook his head a little when he heard Plagg’s small snores arise from behind him.

If Plagg says it’s okay then it must be, right?

After a few more seconds of contemplation he nodded and began typing, a small smile on his face as Marinette’s words appeared in his mind again. He tried to make his words sound as genuine as possible when describing his Lady, not wanting to hold back his admiration for her courage, strength, intelligence, and beauty.

___________________

Chapter 1 of “The Empty Streets of Paris”

--by FelineGood16 on FanWorkz.net

He sees her sitting on the edge of the building, her legs swinging back and forth as she stares at their city beneath her spotted feet. Her right cheek is cut from the akuma they fought earlier, the bit of skin revealed under her bangs bruised too. She’s injured yet she’s smiling as if all the happiness in the world is being held in her small hands. He can’t stop looking, not really knowing what to say to the person that saved his life only a few minutes ago. Chat Noir remains standing behind her, wondering how the world looks in the eyes of his knight.

She looks over her shoulder and meets his gaze, her smile still intact and his heart filling the night sky with the sounds of its rapid beating.

“Come here.” She says, patting the empty spot next to her.

She isn’t bleeding anymore, but Chat Noir still feels guilty about the whole situation. She’s hurt because of his own carelessness. He wants to sit next to her, but he can’t shake off that feeling, like it was all his fault. Besides, they both don’t have that much time left until they transform back and he knows how protective she is of her identity.

“Don’t you have to go?” He asks, his voice barely a whisper. He didn’t want her to leave.

She chuckles.

“Just sit next to me, you silly cat.”

_________________

Adrien didn’t really know what to expect when he posted his first chapter. He posted the link on his blog so his online acquaintances could see, so they could give him some feedback. But he never in his right mind expected all the attention his chapter got in the next few days.

He posted it on a Wednesday night, receiving a few likes the next morning from the other blogs he had chatted with before along with a few positive comments that made his day much brighter. And that’s all he really expected. However, the likes and reblogs on his tumblr post started growing. Emails slowly and then quickly began to come through to notify him of all the reads, comments, subscribers, and votes he was getting on his three-thousand-word chapter.

Apparently, a popular blog had reblogged him one day, complimenting his writing and potential and it was history from then on (at least for him that is). He wasn’t really sure how to react for a while, finding himself frozen whenever he stared at his phone screen and saw a new notification.

Do I respond to each comment?

Do I update today or next week?

Do they like the characterization?

Do I make the next chapter longer than the first?

He wasn’t sure what to do in his situation, not having anybody to talk to about it. He couldn’t ask Nino since he felt that his friend would only tease him and ask about his mental state. He felt that if he told Alya, the rest of the class would find out and he couldn’t have that. His online buddies weren’t really much help, only nagging him to just update already. And he really didn’t want to bother Plagg about it since he felt that the Kwami would just give him the whole “You humans and your dumb issues” spiel again, but he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed guidance. And even though he was absolutely certain that Plagg knew crap about anything relating to fanfiction, his kwami was still a small god and still very wise (when he wanted to be at least), so he sucked it up and finally asked him.

“I say live it up my friend.” Plagg simply responded.

Adrien smirked and nodded in both determination and agreement, giving Plagg extra camembert that afternoon. The kwami was right. Why was he freaking out about people liking his writing? He shouldn’t take positive feedback as something to be feared but instead as a challenge to do better, to write something that the people will never forget. His read count was growing by the day. Going from three hundred to eight hundred to a thousand to three thousand. It was almost astonishing, but as he reread his own work and compared it to fanfictions he’s read, he knew that his would end up ranking even higher. He had what they were all lacking. Actual experiences. And yes, he knew that his story was fictional and that what happened in the story never had and or probably never would happen between him and his Lady in real life. But he saw her mannerisms up close. He knew how she used her yoyo and her Lucky Charm – how truly amazing she was. He’d explored almost every inch of Paris thousands of times and knew how the blows from those akumas felt right to his bones.

His story wasn’t nonfictional, of course, but it was going to have that real feeling he’d heard so many desiring and he couldn’t wait to show it to them.

________________

“Did you read the update last night?” Rose asked from behind, Adrien’s head rested in his arms as he grew a small tired smile. They were talking about his story again. A few weeks had passed since he posted the first chapter and now he had almost twelve thousand reads, five thousand votes, and a lot of overwhelming exhaustion. He had finally finished his fourth chapter the day before, staying up till almost two in the morning to post it. He was tired, and his body seemed to desire sleep more than air, but he didn’t care. Everyone was liking his writing – something he did for himself – and he was cherishing every minute of it.

“Of course, I almost wept when I read that Ladybug saved all those policemen from that fire! It was so intense, but I knew my girl would pull through! So badass!” Alya said.

“And when she dodged that left hook from behind! Super awesome.” Juleka added, the three girls continuing to admire the fight scene between Ladybug and Human Flare (the fire creating akuma Adrien made up).

He‘d gotten the idea for the villain from a conversation him and Ladybug had one day about akumas. They had just fought one that could create tornadoes from blended smoothies and Ladybug couldn’t help but comment on Hawkmoth’s creativity soon after.

“I swear, these akumas are starting to get ridiculous. I mean smoothie tornadoes? Really!? Why doesn’t he ever give them a normal power like teleportation or telepathy?” She complained, the two of them laying on top of some vacant office building that had too many windows to count.

“Or the ability to control any element! Now that would be interesting to see.”

Ladybug snorted.

“I see someone watches Avatar.”

“Hey, that show was purrfect and you know it!” He defended, turning to face her. She did the same.

“Fine! I will admit that you have a point there. Even though you could’ve made it without the horrible pun.”

“My puns are cat-tastic and I know that you secretly enjoy them.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Your affection and approval always does the trick, my Lady.”

She rolled her eyes before looking back up at the sky, her gaze turned away from him.

“Then it looks like you’re going to have trouble sleeping, Chaton.”

“Meow-ch,”

Ladybug giggled and Chat felt warmth spread throughout his body. They stayed silent for a while, the two of them staring at the birds flying above them, the color in the sky beginning to turn from blue to dark shades of red.

“Yeah, controlling fire would be neat, huh?” She said.

Chat hummed peacefully in response and Adrien smiled at the memory as he continued listening in on the girls’ conversation.

“The fight scenes were very descriptive. But I think the akuma’s costume needed more pink!”

Juleka snorted.

“Rose, you think everything needs more pink.”

“Because it does!”

The three of them laughed and Adrien had to suppress his own chuckle. Rose was so innocent.

“What about Chat Noir?” Adrien’s eyes widened a little at Marinette’s abrupt words. Whenever the three others would talk about fanfiction, the blue-eyed girl would usually remain quiet since she didn’t seem so interested in the subject. However, there she was behind him, asking about his story with her tone sounding a bit serious and Adrien was honestly surprised and curious as to what she was going to say.

“What about him?” Alya asked, sounding a bit surprised herself.

“I’ve heard you guys discuss these updates but I never really hear you guys talk about Chat Noir in this amazing story as an individual. Did he do anything in this chapter during the attack or was it all just Ladybug?”

Marinette’s emphasis on that certain adjective made Adrien nervous.

“Well, he did use his Cataclysm, but Ladybug mostly did all the work.” Alya answered.

“Hmm,” Marinette simply said, the blond not knowing what to think of that vague response.

Does she find something wrong with that?

What does she mean?

“Well, looks like amazing writer here doesn’t really know how to write them well then, huh?” She elaborated.

Adrien felt his heart stop.

What?

“Mari, you haven’t even read it yet. This person has got their personalities on point.” Alya defended.

“In what way? Because it sounds like they think Chat Noir is just some useless sidekick. And that’s not very realistic, is it?”

Adrien felt his body stiffen for a reason unknown to him and his cheeks began to warm up. He didn’t understand what he was hearing or why he was acting that way.

Nino seemed to notice his sudden shift in behavior since Adrien felt his friend’s hand rest on his shoulder.

“Hey, dude everything alright?”

Adrien brought up his head slightly enough so to give his best friend a small nod and a forced reassuring smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine. My phone vibrated in my pocket and it just startled me a bit.”

“Ah, okay. Well, go back to sleep dude. Homeroom’s almost done and you look dead.”

Adrien nodded again before laying his head back down, concealing his tense expression.

Not realistic? How was he not realistic? The fight sequences were written based on his own experiences. The moves he wrote for both of them were what usually happened. He wanted so badly to ask Marinette what she thought Chat actually did in a fight to get her take on things, to see what she sees. But, he couldn’t and it was frustrating him.

However, Alya ended up asking her for him.

“What do you mean useless? The writer wrote him using Cataclysm, his signature move.”

“But that’s not all he does, Alya. He helps plan. He hides civilians from danger. He’s saved Ladybug plenty of times! He risks his life almost every damn akuma attack! This author is pretty much saying that all he does is cause destruction when he actually stops it from happening. Yeah, Ladybug does work and helps a lot, but without Chat Noir, she wouldn’t be able to succeed. They’re equals and the writer just doesn’t seem to understand that. That’s all I’m saying.”

So that’s what she sees.

Adrien was honestly touched by his classmate’s words. Even though she‘d ragged on his story, he truly appreciated her reasoning for it. It wasn’t every day that he heard a civilian defend him like that, especially not as passionately as Marinette had.

He wanted to hug her.

“Damn girl. I didn’t know you felt so deeply about this.”

“Yeah, Marinette! Your speech was so sweet! I hope the writer writes more about Chat Noir like you said!” Rose chimed.

Juleka didn’t say anything, most likely nodding in response. Adrien was tired and although he’d promised himself the day before that he wouldn’t start writing the next chapter for a few days to catch up on sleep, after hearing Marinette’s words, he wanted to write it immediately. He wanted to impress the girl that thought he was more than what he’s worth, even if he had to suffer through a few more sleepless nights in order to do so.

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