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violettelueur · 4 years

Text

RYŌMEN SUKUNA || BONDED FOREVER

| featuring : ryōmen sukuna ft. itadori yuji and fushiguro megumi from jujutsu kaisen

| warnings : grammar errors and some graphic/violent actions

| form : imagine

| word count : 1749

| published : 03 december

| request : Can I a request a imagine where it’s super fluffy for Sukuna? I was wondering it can have a story of how he had a wife and she had reincarnated into someone who’s a powerful sorcerer? But she’s the soulmate for Sukuna..does this make sense at all? I hope you know what I mean😭😭

| barista’s notes : hey hey hey guys~ sorry for the really sort upfates, i’ve been having som difficulties writing some of these imagines due to a lack of ideas and writer’s block ʕ ᵒ ᴥ ᵒʔ but i hope you all had a good day today ʕ≧ᴥ≦ʔ but for me, other than coming home at around 5pm in the dark winter night, i had a decent day ʕ – ᴥ – ʔ also i don't think i answered this request properly, so i really do apologies ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ other than that, i hope you enjoy you cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request!) and please come back soon!

The sweet aroma invaded your sense of smell, as you blissfully admired the array of flower petals that surround you in the warm water that you were sitting in right now. Gently, you glided your hand across the water, watching the petals also softly move with the direction of the current causing some of them to stick to your hand like a tattoo. However, before you could even move your hand again to keep you somewhat entertained, you felt an unexpectanted grip on your wrist, only for the same hand to be pulled up as the person behind you placed a kiss within your inner palm causing you to turn around to see what your husband was intending to do.

The man behind you, who still has his lips on your palm, opened his eyes to showcase his charming scarlet eyes as he looked down upon you only for him to smile softly at you - a rare smile that he only reserved for you and you only. Smiling softly back to him, you took the opportunity to caress his cheek as you admired the black markings that were permanently painting on his skin.

To him, at this current moment in time, you were at your most beautiful state as the water glistened beautifully on your bare skin with some of the petals stuck on to you, making you look like a painting made by the greatest artist with your hair stuck upon your neck due to it being soaked with the water that you and him were in right now.

“What’s going on in that little mind of yours?” Sukuna quietly asked as he leaned forward to place a heavy kiss upon your lips, leaving you no room to answer his question as you were so concentrated on the euphoric feeling to which then you felt his arms slowly wrap around your small figure, entrapping you in his embrace, leaving you no choice but to completely turn your body to face him as you then placed your leg on either side of him causing some of the water to overflow over the wooden bath, but that left no concern for you or the King of Curses.

“Nothing,” you answered him with a heavy breath once your both pulled apart, but still this little thought of yours was still plaguing your mind. “Don’t lie to me little one, you know better than not to lie to me ever,” Sukuna muttered, as his hand snaked from tracing your collarbone to having a light hold on your neck. However, it wasn’t the usual hold he would have against his opponent where his grip would tighten to disturb the airflow leading to the suffocation the unfortunate victim but rather a comforting gesture as his thumb moved up and down, expressing to you that you were able to open up to him about anything that was troubling your mind.

“When I pass, I came to the realisation that it won’t bother you at all,” you admitted to him with a soft smile, as you run your hand through his dampened hair. Although, the curse himself, exhibited the opposite reaction to what you were expressing right now making him wonder what caused you to question your importance to him.

“Little one, when you state that absurd comment, it does nothing but infuriate me,” Sukuna voiced out to you as he leaned forward towards you - to the point where you were chest to chest - before leaving a few kisses upon your jawline. “When you pass, I will have no idea how to control myself. I may be sadistic in nature but you have calmed me down to extreme lengths that sometimes I am scared to admit. When you pass, I have nothing left to hold, no other person can take your place. Ever.” Sukuna expressed to you as he then leaned back to look at you in the eye, only to see your surprised express to his admission, “don’t ever, let that ridiculous idea come to plague your mind again Y/N, you are mine for eternity as I am yours, there is no escape from it, we are bonded forever,”.

“Forever ha?” you repeated him in a light breath, only for him to pull you into another heated kiss as his hands began to wonder around your body as if he was tracing everything to memory. Your body, your heart and your soul was entirely bonded to him as the same goes for him to you. As he said, there was no escape from it.

ꕥ

“Sorry, but he’s not coming back”

Stood frozen, you didn’t have the strength to look back on who was behind you nor did you want to lose sight of Fushiguro, knowing out of the both of you, he was in the most danger.

“Don’t be so frightened, I’m in a good mood right now, since I get to physically see you again Y/N, so let’s chat for a bit” Sukuna cunningly commented, causing you to widen your eyes while the cold sweat behind your back began to intensify, fearful on what the King of Curses intended for you.

‘I need to quickly get Fushiguro to a safe place….but how? Damn it! How?’

However, before you could even move, the King of Curses decided that he would move for you to present himself to both of yours and Fushiguro’s view. “This is what he gets for trying to use me without any kind of pact, feels like he’s having some trouble switching back,” Sukuna stated as if he was explaining on why Itadori couldn’t gain control even after showcasing back in Sendai that he could.

“Still, though it’s a matter of time,” Sukuna continued to talk as he casually ripped off the top of Itadori’s uniform, showcasing the black markings on his body. On the other hand, what happened next caused you and Fushiguro to widen your eyes in terror as Sukuna suddenly viciously stabbed himself in the chest with his hand before slowly taking out the beating heart that was inhibiting Itadori’s body.

“I’m taking this brat hostage”

Finally having the guts to move your body, using the extremely little gap of time you had, you swiftly grabbed onto Fushiguro’s sleeve before speedily using your curse energy to form a protective sphere around his body leaving you alone in the open to any attacks the special grade curse could use on you now.

“Y/N!” Fushiguro shouted while beginning to violently bang his arms on the orb that you had manifested around him, trying to obtain a crack or a weak spot to let him out. “What are you doing you, idiot?!” Fushiguro then questioned you in a state of panic, trying to gain some understanding of what you were planning. However, you didn’t answer.

“Your goodwill stayed with you even after 1000 years, there’s nothing more than I expected from my little one, though I am frustrated at the fact that it isn’t reserved for me”

Still somewhat fearful but now confused, you quickly used your curse energy to construct a black katana out of thin air, before raising up to point the tip to Sukuna’s neck. “Oh?” Sukuna expressed before smiling at you with such pride expressed on his face, “it’s been such a long time since you have threatened me like that Y/N, you were powerful in words back then but now you gained powers of a sorcerer, what a magnificent discovery,”.

‘What can I do? I have a limit of summoning 20 weapons at the same time but is that even enough to even get a single scratch on him?’

“Do you not remember me? Little one, you look as beautiful as you did that night, your hair wet from the rain and your skin still beautiful glistens then the water hits your face” Sukuna playfully commented, as he took a step closer to you causing you to take one step back.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you finally spoke to the man in front of you, only for him to smirk even wider. However, before he could even get another single word in, you immediately summoned another 19 weapons - maximizing your limit - from spear, swords and axes behind him, only for all of then to immediately come down with a powerful strike causing a large explosion to erupt as dust from the ground suddenly flared up, blinded your view as well as Fushiguro’s causing his anxiety to heighten on what was going on and where you were.

“You always somehow impressed me, little one. There is never a day where I am disappointed,” a deep voice commented, causing you to widen your eyes once you saw Sukuna standing right in front of you with an uncharacteristic soft smile on his face - leaving you in an extreme state of confusion once a blurred image of a man smiling at you slowly constructed in your mind.

“Why?” you question yourself in a perplexed tone.

‘How?’

“Why do I suddenly feel like I've seen you smile at me like that before?” you quietly questioned, still engulfed in the dusty smoke that was surrounding the both of you. Slowly and gently gripping on to the wrist on your other hand, Sukuna slowly raised it up before placing a small kiss within the palm of your hands causing an almost unnoticeable tiny electric current to travel up your arm to the kissed palm - as if it was something that your body suddenly remembered.

“We are bonded forever, remember that little one” Sukuna declared to you in a softer tone than he had expressed earlier before the black markings slowly started to fade indicating to you that Itadori was steadily coming back, causing you to drop your katana and open your arms once you felt his heavy body fall upon yours.

“Itadori?” you quietly called, still hoping that he was alive somehow even without the use of the vital organ that was now out of his body.

“Y/N?” Itadori called out to you just in time as the dust around you began to fade, “I’m almost done for, but I guess I don’t have to worry you, Fushiguro, Kugisaki and Gojo-sensei anymore, live a long life,”, but before you could even get a single sound in to tell him that he was going to be okay, you felt his body slowly go limp indicating to you that he was now gone.

“Bonded forever?”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna imagines #itadori yuji #itadori yujii #jjk itadori #fushiguro megumi #jjk fushiguro

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rosesloveletters · 3 years

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The One.

pairing: Patrick Verona x Reader

word count: 1,240

warnings: language, cheating, mentions of violence

summary: (Part two to ‘Illicit Affairs’) You catch Patrick in his lies; when you chase two, you lose the one.

notes: What can I say, inspiration struck *shrug*. @mshadows77 asked for this and I wasn’t going to write it so quickly, but for some reason it just felt right. This is completely unedited, so please forgive any glaring errors. The last I wrote for Pat was three months ago; it doesn’t feel normal to even be doing this. I hope you enjoy this heart-wrenching piece. (And Patrick, I’m so sorry.)

I am a tired soul; I’ve always been afraid that if I stand still for too long, it is eventually going to catch up with me.

Her hand hangs limply in my firm grasp, the familiarity of our linked digits long gone; if I let go, she would not notice. Her eyes are cold. I’ve never seen them like that before.

I cannot believe she saw right through me, from the very beginning, but she knows me, my second half, you know... how could I have ever forgotten?

“Fuck you, Patrick.”

I cannot believe you have the strength to say that to my face, but I do not blame you. At the end of the world, you are given a reprieve and I welcome the repercussions of that. It feels good to take responsibility for once, after all the lies. It feels right to tell the truth, but I know it can’t be enough. It never was.

The words, that’s all that they are, words…

“Fuck you...”

For years I've been hiding behind a mask, and I've hated every second of it. This isn't me. This is another who has taken hold of me, gained possession over my actions and forced me from what I’ve known.

No. This is me.

Is this the end of all the lying? I am tired of pretending. I am tired of hiding. I just want someone to care about me the way I want to care about anything. I ran so far and so fast that when I tripped, my opponent gained the lead, karma overtook me. I do not want to run anymore; I cannot pick myself up off the ground. I’m too muddied to clean myself off this time.

I would have been better off to stand still, because when you chase two, you lose the one.

***

You had known that something had been off for months; the seriousness of the situation eluded you and, had you known better, you would never have gone digging for answers that you were not prepared for.

A pebble is enough to cause an avalanche.

Your throat was dry, your voice hoarse from screaming and cracked beneath the weight of unshed tears; being in the same room as him was enough to make you sick. You could not fathom the magnitude of what he was accepting, the gravity of his actions and all, but it all made sense. You had clung to him so tight out of fear of losing him and how silly it seemed; he was never yours.

“I didn’t do it because I wanted to hurt you.”

The echo of his words rang in your ears until you were deafened by the sound; It filled you with rage. Perhaps he had wanted you to know all along. How long could a person keep a secret like this? How long would they want to? Wanting to come clean and actually doing so were two separate things; Patrick had a habit of avoiding both.

“Why did you do it?”

You had caught him on the phone with her. You had not come in the door at the time he had been expecting you and Patrick had assumed you were working late. When you arrived, silently hanging around the corner so as not to disturb his conversation, you thought nothing of the absurdity of his demeanor until he said those words. Everything changed the second he had uttered them and you felt the world crumbling out from under your feet and your stomach lurched; the great claws of uncertainty and disgust gripped your belly and you felt lightheaded.

How could he?

Your heart sank when you heard him. Your life changed forever.

‘I love you, baby girl.’

You knew what those words meant; how many times had he said them to you?

“I thought I loved her.”

You wanted to scream. The thought of violence crossed your mind more than once that night and how many times had you nearly considered taking him by the collar and shaking him like a dog.

His apathy wounded you more than the betrayal.

It was like Patrick had given up. He was not the same man you had met, your high school sweetheart who had never left your side. This man was stricken, painstakingly oblivious to the life that was passing him by. His soul was screaming out for help, but the man himself made not a sound.

You couldn’t wrap your mind around any of it.

You had screamed until you could scream no more, while Patrick remained motionless, a poor rendering of a man who once lived.

There was a time when Patrick got high off the adrenaline rush. When he would burst out the door on his way to her, you now assumed, but something had struck a chord in him. Your words meant everything yet he only felt nothing; your words carried the only kind of pain he wished he could bring upon himself. His hands shook violently and he stuffed them into his pockets to keep them hidden. Memories that were worn with age came back to him, thoughts he had not allowed himself to think in what felt like a lifetime… Patrick did not remember who he had been then. Faces came to him with no names and the laughter was even worse; he preferred the tears because that was what he knew.

Perhaps he had grown up too fast or maybe not at all.

The greatest indignity was the promise ring he’d given you. Three summers had you known your dear Patrick and it made no difference to you; you hadn’t known him then, just like you didn’t know him now. You slid the silver band off your finger and threw it at him. He made no movement to retrieve it as it laid carelessly at his feet.

Then you were gone.

It all happened so fast that Patrick knew not how he remembered your final accusation so vividly and brutally.

“You never loved me. Fuck you, Patrick.”

‘Fuck you, Patrick.’

He had fucked up and he knew that. Patrick was a man of whim and circumstance; he was a child living inside of a young man’s body and as much as he might have said he knew about the world, he knew much less about himself. There was not much one could do when one was responsible for themselves at a younger age than they should have been, let alone being responsible for the adult who was supposed to have been guardian.

Then the tears had come; the hardest part about them, he found, was that you were not there to wipe them away. How could he have expected you to dry his tears when you were the one who had brought them?

Patrick had never meant to hurt you; it hurt him that he had.

He crumbled onto the floor, folding in on himself as the sobs wracked his frail body; the lies had made him weak. He needed you, he had told himself, and how true it had once been. He was blinded by his immaturity and his need to hurt himself.

Most of all, he was a child who carried the full weight of an adult mistake; he was clueless and perhaps too stubborn to have admitted it in the past.

His mistake would be imprinted on your mind, just like those words.

‘Fuck you, Patrick.”

Fuck you.

#heath ledger #patrick verona #patrick verona x reader #10 things i hate about you #ten things i hate about you #10tihay #biblio :: 📖

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mmvalentine · 3 years

Note

prompt request for part 2 of your utm fic? pretty please? :)

NONNIE I ALMOST SAID NO hahaha honestly @asteria-of-mars is cooking up some WILD dark!Rhys and if you're looking to not know if you're turned on or horrified I can recommend her fic Undone. She is better at this than me. But okay I'll give this a little whirl just for you, because your please was so pretty.

Fuck You, Feyre Darling Pt 2 (Mercy)

Read Part 1

Guilty.

That's all that was swirling around in my head for the next two days: guilty, guilty, guilty. I was a bad person, I was a cheater, I was so full of shame I could have choked on it.

But then Rhysand appeared in the same corner of my cell that he always did, and I had a better idea of where to place my anger.

"You fucking prick," I spat at him. He just raised his eyebrows.

"Dear me," he said. "And just what have I done to raise your ire today?"

"You made me cheat on Tamlin," I said, knowing full well that was neither true nor fair.

"I didn't," Rhys said mildly, flicking a speck of lint off his lapel.

"You did," I snapped. I stepped up to him. "You and your fucking mind tricks." My chin jerked up to stare into his eyes. Most powerful High Lord in all of Prythian? I didn't give a damn.

"I assure you, I don't need mind tricks to coax females into my bed," Rhys said, and his unaffected air was infuriating.

"You forced me," I ground out. "Admit it."

"Admit something that's not true?"

"Admit it!"

"Why Feyre?"

"Because!" I yelled. "If I wanted it then I'm a terrible person and I'm here in this horrible place to save Tamlin only to find that I don't deserve him anyway." My voice broke on the last word, and to my horror, a sob cracked in my chest.

Not again, I thought. I couldn't bear the thought of breaking down in front of Rhys, not again. He already had so much of me.

But Rhys just stood there a moment, with his hands in his pockets. Then he said, "Fine," and then the world blurred and we were back in his room.

Rhys pushed me back onto the bed, and I fell, startled.

"So what, Feyre?" he asked. I realised with shock that he was angry. "What do you want?"

Despite the darkness of the room, his violet eyes seemed to glow brighter than ever.

"Do you want me to have forced you, so you don't have to feel guilty? Or do you want to be forced because you deserve to be punished?"

Rhys pulled his jacket off and threw it onto a chair by the wall. I shrank back against the headboard, suddenly nervous.

"Because see now, I may be a whore but I'll not have some mortal questioning my honour." He knelt up on the bed in front of me, and rolled up his sleeves.

"However, if you were after a punishment," he paused, and removed his belt to fold it in his hand. Then he gave me a grin that was all teeth and no smile at all. "You only had to ask."

The anger still coiled in his voice, and now, now I was scared of him.

I didn't know what I was expecting- I had goaded him, but not thought through what would happen next. And now here we were, back in his room, and I couldn't tell where my fear stopped and my anticipation began.

What I did know is that the heaviness of the shame in my limbs had been replaced by adrenaline and that was a trade I was only too happy to make.

"Well?" Rhys demanded. "Is the cruel little creature here to repent for her sins?

And Cauldron damn me to the deepest depths of hell, my lips parted and I whispered, "yes."

"Good," Rhys snarled, and then quick as lightning he had grabbed my ankle and jerked me back down the bed. Disappeared my clothes by magic, rolled me over onto my stomach, where I tried to drag myself away with my hands but he yanked me back by the hips and slapped me hard across the ass.

I gasped, as pain burst before my eyes. I forgot everything, I knew nothing at all expect for the flash of sensation, and then a flooding peace. Yes. This is what I deserved. Rhys buckled his belt around my ankles.

"Is this what you wanted?" Rhys hissed in my ear. I hadn't noticed him moving closer.

"Yes," I whispered. Rhys spanked me a second time, and that white hot flash popped in my vision again.

"Is this what you needed, you wicked mortal thing?"

"Yes," I said again, and it came out as a moan.

"Beg me," Rhys commanded. He landed three more stinging slaps, and I couldn't help but gasp at each one. "Beg me for mercy."

He smacked me once more, and leaned down to my ear again. "Beg me, and I will deny you."

And I would never know how to admit this out loud, not to Rhys, not to Tamlin, not to anyone. But it was exactly what I craved.

So I pushed my hips up toward Rhys, turned my face to the side, and breathed, "Mercy."

"No," Rhys replied coldly, and then I was spanked on the top of my ass, on the join to my thigh on either side, and then once right over my bare pussy.

The shock of the last had my fingers curling in the sheets. It was so unexpected that at first my legs clenched together automatically- but then as the pain faded it was replaced by a spreading heat and my muscles relaxed completely.

The next touch was a rub of his hand over my reddened backside and down between my legs, and where he had slapped me my skin was so sensitive I shook hard under his fingers.

"And now what, Feyre darling?" Rhys asked. His voice was low and dangerous. I rode the edge of pain and fear and pleasure, and couldn't form words. When Rhys stroked his hand down me again, I realised I was thoroughly wet from being spanked.

"Do you need to be fucked now?" he crooned.

"Yes," I said, and even though he wasn't touching me at all now, my breaths came in pants.

"Do you need to be pounded so hard it feels like you're not in control?" Rhys asked me.

"Yes," I repeated, not able to say any more than that for the shame of it.

"Beg me again," Rhys said.

"Please," I whimpered. "Mercy."

Rhys's fingers slipped back between my legs, finding my clit and rubbing tight, fast circles into it. My hips bucked at the suddenness of the motion, and then the pleasure began to pool. I wanted to push my knees apart on the bed to get closer to his touch, but his belt still bound by ankles together. I arched my back instead, and Rhys's steady rhythm had me careening toward my orgasm faster than I thought possible.

"Rhys," I moaned.

"Yes Feyre?" he said. "Are you going to come?"

"Yes, oh gods, yes," I said, and my toes curled as my climax crested-

And then Rhys pulled his hand away and slapped me across the backside instead.

I let out a frustrated groan, and Rhys purred, "Again."

It took me a moment to figure out what he wanted. Then, "please," I begged. "Mercy."

Rhys's fingers returned, but this time he was sliding them into me and moving infuriatingly slowly. I rocked my hips back and forth on his hand, trying to build his pace. It was almost enough.

"Please," I said again. Breathlessly. Desperately. "Please."

Rhys's fingers sped up and curled to that spot inside me, and then I was chasing my climax again. My head spun, then buzzed as I found-

Nothing. Rhys's fingers slipped out of me and I was spanked again, on the other side, and hot tears sprang to my eyes. A combination of the sudden pain and the sharper frustration.

"Please Rhys!" I cried out. "Please, please, mercy, please."

Rhys's voice in my ear, one more time. "Do you deserve it?" he asked. "Do you deserve pleasure?"

"No," I whispered.

"That's right," he replied. And then sank his cock deep inside me nonetheless.

Rhys was not gentle, Rhys did not give me time to acclimatise. Just pushed inside my already soaking pussy and fucked me hard with my ankles tied the entire time. As wound up as I was, he had barely gotten started when my orgasm slammed into me. I came soundlessly on his cock, tears blocking my throat, my lips mouthing his name into the sheets.

Once my high had subsided, Rhys pulled out, removed the belt from my ankles, and turned my over on my back. I was so wrung out I barely registered the movement. And then with a shocking gentleness, he came back to me. Pulled my legs around his waist and slid inside me again- but this time moved with a rolling consistency that had me building up again, coasting on the brink of pleasure rather than screaming toward it, and when this orgasm came I was in the middle of it before I had known it'd begun.

My back arched up into Rhys's arms and he pressed kisses down my sternum as I came, and then just when I thought I'd start coming down his hips got faster and his own release triggered a new wave for me, too. I held on to him as he shuddered into me, and it wasn't until he had rolled onto his back and pulled me into his chest that I realised he had stopped punishing me.

"Rhys?" I asked softly.

"Mm?"

"Am I a bad person?"

Rhys sighed into the dark, and when he spoke he did not sound like his usual, arrogant self. He just sounded tired.

"No Feyre," he said, "you're not a bad person."

"I'm betraying someone I love," I argued.

"We're Under the Mountain, now," Rhys said. "We're only just surviving. And here, that is enough.”

We lay there for a while longer, until I thought I could almost fall asleep there in the High Lord's arms. What an absurd thought.

"I'm ready to go back to my cell now," I whispered.

"In the morning," was all Rhys said, and then he turned us and tugged me back against his chest facing away from him. He wrapped his arms around me, and I gave in. After all, there would be plenty of time to feel bad about it all if we survived at all. And maybe that was a mercy I could grant myself.

****

Eeee stop making me go UTM anons, it's toooo sad I'm gonna leave this dark edgy shit to Liz now and go back to my palace of fluff 🥺🥺

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars

#asks #prompt fill #feysand #feysand fic #acotar #smut #angst #mine #am I doing it?#am I writing dark!rhys now?

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spenciegoob · 4 years

Text

Cracked Mirror

A/N: hi, I continued to see a bunch of “season 2 Spencer would be so scared of season 12 Spencer, so I decided why not write them meeting? let’s do it, baby super angsty :P it took everything in me to not tag ‘how it should’ve gone’ but basically this is ‘how it should've gone.’

Summary: Spencer Reid? Meet a very much older Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Season 15 Spencer & Season 2 Spencer

Category: Angst

Content Warnings: no ship, mentions of drug addiction, drug abuse, Tobias Hankel, Maeve, mentions of Jeid

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

_____

Spencer 15:

The smell was always the first thing I noticed when I woke up from a restless sleep. It meant I was alive, that the terrors that danced across my eyelids like a ballad of the doomed were not real. I never believed in the Higher Power, but if there was an Evil Spirit, it possessed my mind the second my guard fluctuated.

The smell, however, the one made up of stiff air that paralyzed you and blood you weren’t sure was yours, that smell meant I got to live another day.

It also meant I could still die.

But now I woke up in a startle because I wasn’t supposed to be here. I escaped this place before, I made it out. Did my only indicator of life just turn into my own personal Hell? Was I finally gone, seconds ago hoping for rest only to come to the conclusion that I would never get the chance?

I was back in a gray jumpsuit, and what scared me the most was how quickly I got up to make my bed.

“Reid, you have a visitor.”

Spencer 2:

They say every person in their career has a moment that changes the way they view their job forever, and I would’ve liked to continue to believe I had mine already, when I put away the first unsub that didn’t deserve the life they were unfortunately gifted to live out. I know I couldn’t sleep much after.

But now that I hurry past empty cells and recreation rooms on my way to a stone box with a killer, I changed my mind.

This was my moment.

I had to keep up with Hotch, and I wish it was because I was scared of getting lost, but it wasn't. If I lose Hotch, I’m afraid I’ll lose my life.

We just had to reach the interrogation room, and we’ll be fine. We just have to talk to... to who?

Who are we here to see? Why am I here?

“Hotch.” The older man stopped his fast pace to turn to me exasperated. I would have that expression too if someone stopped me in a place like this, but here I am, feet stuck to ground like a fear-inducing glue because I can’t remember why I’m here.

“What’s wrong, Reid?”

“Why am I here?” Hotch didn’t get angry, or confused at my question. Instead, Hotch’s face turned into something that was a prized rarity at other times, but right now, it ran my blood cold.

He nodded at me, his face visibly relaxing with understanding, and kindness spreading from his eyes into mine.

“You have someone here you need to see.”

And then he just continued the path we were on until we reached a metal door with a window not large enough to see who was waiting for me on the other side. I didn’t get too close, giving myself a 5 foot head start in case I needed to run, but Hotch would never put me in a position like that, right?

He would never use me as a pawn in a game of life or death.

“Whenever you’re ready.” By the time all the questions flooded through my head like a tsunami that made it to the tip of my tongue, Hotch was gone.

The invisible magnetic field between myself and the door was a force backed up by science. I felt the way it tugged me forward, like negative and positive electrons charming me with the song of the buzzer unlocking it.

When I was ready, he said. Would I ever be ready for the feeling that washed over me? I felt the weight of the world rest on my shoulders, stuck in an ocean made entirely of resin, slowly hardening around me to keep me trapped.

But I still grasped the cool metal doorknob, and I wish I took a deep breath before entering. It was the wrong call on my part, because I walked in and all the oxygen left my lungs in a flash.

The air in the room felt different. It hung with the purpose of imprisoning those who dare breathe it into their lungs. Enchantment and intoxication were meant to hold beauty and grace, leading the charmed to a fulfillment in life worth living.

But the eyes of Medusa were in the room with me, and I was stupid enough to turn to stone.

“Who are you?” How could I ask that? I knew the answer by looking into his eyes. I say his, because they weren’t mine. Sure, they had the same hazel color, and the same round, boyish shape, but they looked so dull. Sadness, the kind that moves mountains and starts wars, was buried deep in the beholder, casting a shadow over his soul.

I didn’t stare for very long. I couldn’t.

“You know who I am.” His voice was worse. “I know why I’m here. Sit down.”

“I- I just... Absolutely not! This is- this, I- I can’t. I have to get out of here.” Insanity! It had to be. I was staring at a person I didn’t know, yet knew every little detail about, and I couldn’t breathe.

“Sit down before you panic.” There was no point in lying and saying I was fine, he knew it would be a lie. We weren’t just profilers.

So I sat, taking my time to round the table and pull the chair farther back to establish a far enough distance between us. He did the same. Of course he did.

“Answer my question,” I whispered, looking down at the place where the leg of the table met the top.

“There are far better questions to ask me.” He was right, there were more pressing matters at hand, but how do you ask someone what landed them in a jumpsuit when you were terrified of the answer?

“Did- is time travel a thing?” The second the question left my mouth, I realized how absurd it was, but so was staring into the cracked funhouse mirror I was currently stuck in front of.

“Come on, we don’t have much time, and that’s what you want to ask me? Dig deeper.” Is this how Morgan feels when I’m always right?

How could I dig deeper when it all went so far that the only thing consuming my soul was a bottomless black hole? The memories flashing from projectors all around me as I sank further until eventually my oxygen ran out. Going deeper meant letting the weight of my heart push against my chest like a rock thrown into the depths of the ocean, but I suppose he would follow me.

“What happened?” I looked up to see him take a deep breath, leaning back in the chair with careful contemplation. There was something more though, something that lingered the second we met eyes.

Jealousy. There was nothing of myself to be jealous about, however.

“We made too many mistakes.” We. Only one of us was in the jumpsuit. There had to be some way to avoid that, right?

“God, this is insane!” I promptly shouted, standing up frantically. “You’re the prisoner here, not me, okay? I didn’t do anything. You did. How am I even here? What is happening, I don’t understand.” At the end of my yelling, I was so far out of breath that I had to lean against the wall. “What is this?”

“Tobias Hankel.” No no no, it can’t be. Am I dead?

“Sit down.” I listened immediately this time, too exasperated to care about being cautious about it.

“You’re with him right now, and from what I can tell, you’re probably in a drug-induced dream.” My head shot up at the mention of Tobias’s coping mechanism for myself. “When you wake up, I don’t expect you to hold onto hope, but for that quick second you let go, don’t feel guilty about it. It will eat you alive if you do.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe, but I’m right, and you need to listen to everything I’m telling you.” I was never one to make demands like this.

“And if I do? Will it stop me from becoming you?”

“No, probably not.” Before I had the chance to get angry again, I watched the way his eyes started to glisten with tears. I watched him crack a little bit more, adding to the already gaping slashes across his heart. How many more until he breaks?

“Leave them in his pocket,” he continued after taking a grounding deep breath. “You don’t need it.”

“What are you talking about?” Secretly, I knew what he was meant, because after this nightmare ended I would be back in a far worse one silently begging to return to this interrogation room.

There were so many thoughts running through my head that it was hard to focus on just one. Plus, I wasn’t really getting any context here.

“I don’t think I can give you many details. I don’t even know if we’ll remember this, or how I got here, but we don’t have much time. There are so many things you need to know.”

“I know practically everything.”

“No you don’t, kid. You know nothing.” He suddenly stood up, walking over to the wall on our left, leaning a hand against it and hanging his head. “When you feel like something is wrong with him, don’t keep it to yourself. Tell Hotch, request time off, do whatever you have to do. Just, go visit him.”

“Who?”

“You’ll know.” There was so much guilt in his voice that I felt it in my chest. It was like a hole was drilled into me, leaving my heart exposed to vultures who wouldn’t hesitate to rip pieces from me.

“What about my mom? Do I... you know?”

“No, you don’t, but promise me something.” He turned to look at me again, hazel meeting hazel. “On days that she’s lucid, tell her everything. Tell her what you ate for breakfast, and that one time Morgan fell trying to kick a door open. Tell her about the dark parts, about how much you love her. Tell her everything.”

“Oh God is she-”

“No. I don’t think I should be telling you that, but no. Don’t think like that.” As if remembering something, he rushed back over to sit down, pulling his chair in and leaning over the table. “Stop running every negative outcome of every situation in your head. Be careful, but don’t be so careful it becomes reckless. That’s how people get hurt, including you.”

“Is that what happened to you? Is that how you ended up here?”

“No. I’m innocent, always was. I ended up in here because I let myself get blinded by a fantasy I had no business dreaming about. There’s going to be times for you to have dreams bigger than yourself, but the second they start to become nightmares, you have to pull yourself back. Don’t get trapped, kid.”

“You know, Morgan calls me ‘kid’. I don’t really know if I like it or not.”

“You’ll come to love it, but with Morgan, don’t push him away. He’s one of the only few people in this world that won’t scrutinize or judge you, and you need to be honest with him.”

“Why?” After asking, I immediately regretted it, because his answer was the one I’ve been dreading the most.

“Because things are going to hurt you, and it’s okay to ask for help every once in a while.”

“What things? Tell me,” I begged, rushing my words and internally cringing at how desperate I sound, but I needed to know. I needed to know the truth.

“When you fall in love, tell her.” He casted his eyes downward, staring at his hands rough and calloused from the years, kind of like Hotch.

“Is it... is it JJ?”

“No,” he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head softly. “You’ll learn one day the difference between being in love with someone, and just simply loving them.”

I couldn’t help the disappointment spread through me for a second, but I quickly gained my composure when I remembered I’m sitting across a profiler.

“This is too much.” My brain was starting to hurt.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.” A question crossed my mind causing my hands to stop their fidgeting for just a moment, but as quickly as it came, it was gone and my hands resumed. He caught it though. Of course he did.

“What was that thought?”

“My d-” I cleared my throat before continuing. “William. Did he ever...?” I let the words fade out, hoping that he would understand where I was going. He did. Of course he did.

“No.” He took a deep breath, eyebrows furrowing and jaw clenching tightly. “He didn’t.”

“Oh.” While I was disappointed, he looked angry. As sick and twisted as it was, I wish I was more like him. Even with the despairing look in his eyes that came with agonizing memories, he was the man everyone expected me to be.

He looked at me as if he also wished the roles were reversed. Of course he did.

The edges of the room slowly started to get fuzzy, my vision blurring for a second. “You’re waking up.”

“Can- can I ask you something?” Even though I was terrified of the answer.

“Of course.”

“When did it all go wrong?” He let out a long sigh before running his hands down his face.

“I can’t tell you the exact moment, because even I’m not sure. I can tell you that even when it doesn’t feel like it, you’re alive. You survived, and on some days that’s all that’s going to matter.”

“Do you smell that?” Please say yes, because the smell of burning fish hearts and livers was burning my nostrils and clouding my head.

“Wake up, Spencer. It’s okay.”

“Wait!”

Spencer 15:

My eyes shot open only to be met with blinding lights that seared my pupils. The beeping coming from the machine next to me was the second thing I noticed, and the third was a very alarmed Penelope.

“What happened?” My voice was raspy, and my throat burned intensely.

“You don’t remember? Spencer, you collapsed.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t think of what else to say. Logically, I knew I probably sustained a head injury from the explosion, but when I tried to think beyond that, my brain got fuzzy.

“Are you okay? You know, besides the whole passing out thing?”

“Y-yeah, I just.” I stopped talking. Just what? Penelope hummed curiously for me to continue, but I couldn’t.

“I think I got a second chance.” No matter how vague it was, how little she knew of what that truly meant, Penelope beamed with joy at my answer, and I smiled right back.

“I’ll go get the doctor.” And when she left, I stared up at the ceiling, hoping that the scared kid I used to be took my advice.

____

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theseshipsshallsail · 3 years

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Chapter 1

The revelry from the bookstore leaves a heady buzz of la libertà flowing through their veins, and as the crescent moon climbs higher in a pin-pricked sky, Rome’s labyrinthine streets bear witness to the loss of their remaining inhibitions. Drunken kisses give way to drunken dancing - and unfortunate drunken vomiting - but the ancient cobbles are their compass on this ferragosto evening, steering them back to the complicit safety of their hotel.

The stale scent of sex still lingers in the room, yet tempted as they are to add to it, the prospect of their imminent separation is a sobering force. Elio’s body is heavy with exhaustion. The oppressive tightness in his chest magnified by all that he’s trying to ignore. Their time is borrowed. Soon, all of this will be naught but memory. The man beside him nothing but a ghost. Haunting his every step with visions of a life denied. A future obfuscated by what-ifs and maybes.

He refuses to sleep, however. Refuses to sacrifice a single minute to unconsciousness in spite of the grappa’s siren call. Absurd though it is, a part of him dreads waking up alone. That Oliver will disappear like a thief in the night - taking what’s left of his shattered heart with him. His guards are down - all his pretences stripped away - but here they are, stretched out on a too-small bed, solemn fingers caressing familiar skin. Worshipping each other by words, if not by the flesh.

And it isn’t easy. Of course it isn’t. Elio’s an individuo reservato. A trait he’s uncomfortably aware of. But he can’t let that stop him from spilling his innermost thoughts. From divulging the things he wishes he’d done differently. Or not at all. In some aspects, he’s sure he’s repeating himself, but there’s just so much he needs Oliver to hear. Things he never dared tell him previously - never deemed vital - when the end of their summer idyll was a nebulous concept.

Like how he’d leave the adjoining door open at night, hoping beyond hope that Oliver would walk through it. Or that afternoon at the tennis courts, when he’d recoiled from his massage for fear of leaning into the frisson of excitement. Needs him to understand his visceral reaction the morning after they first slept together. The crippling anxiety that twisted his intentions, necessitating a hasty - if short-lived - retreat. Wants to beg him not to forget. To remember everything. So that when next he tastes the salt-tang of the ocean upon his lips, the sweetness of apricot juice beneath a cloudless yonder, a piece of Elio - nevermind how fleeting - will slip into that parallel life, too.

All his secrets.

All his worries.

All he’s put off for later.

A futile notion, admittedly, now that there is no later.

No more chance for postponement.

Thankfully, he isn’t the only one speaking, and Oliver lays his own regrets out like a hand of cards whenever he stumbles into a tongue-tied silence. His forearm is slung around his waist, their legs tangled at the knees, and Elio drowns in his eyes as he recalls the steely glares that once pierced him to the core, but which he now appreciates were a means of self-defence. An attempt to stave off the unavoidable.

“Did you mean it?” he whispers, twisting Oliver’s Star of David between his fingertips as he burrows into the sticky warmth of his neck. “When you said you’d been happy here?”

“How can you even ask me that?”

“How can I not?” Elio replies, failing to control the tremor in his voice. “You tried to keep your distance when you arrived. It was me who sought you out. If I hadn’t pushed so hard -”

“I’d have probably spent ten more days kicking myself for my cowardice,” Oliver tells him, dropping kisses to his knuckles as though they’re something to be cherished. “Wearing holes in my espadrilles… trying to hide a semi each time you passed by in those swim trunks...”

Elio snorts. “The feeling’s mutual, mon ami.”

“So we’re both idiots, then?”

“Well… one of us was being purposefully difficult...”

“Goose,” Oliver growls, and Elio giggles despite himself when he’s tickled without mercy. “I’ll show you purposefully difficult.”

It soon devolves into a childish wrestling match, Elio’s wrists pinned above him as Oliver scrabbles along his sides, leaving him bow-taut and winded. “Tutto apposto! Enough!”

“You give?”

“I give,” he says, lungs heaving in his chest. “Dio… I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Nonsense.” Oliver rolls to the side, tipping his chin up to better meet his eyes. ”This is new to us both. It’s only natural to have doubts.”

Elio huffs. “Doubt is the father of inventions.”

“And may I ask what you’re inventing?”

An awkward shrug. “Nothing,” Elio says, afraid his misgivings will lead them down a destructive path. “And everything. You know how my brain works.”

“I do, yes.” Oliver brushes a thumb over his bottom lip. “Though for my sins, I’ve yet to find cause for complaint.”

“Déviant.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Elio nips at the tormenting digit, not quite ready to let the subject go. “I want to hear it,” he murmurs, teeth scraping the nail. “I think I need to hear it.”

“Elio…”

“Just tell me,” he insists, and sighing, Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose.

“It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?”

Impatience flares at the return of his evasiveness, and the remorse in Oliver’s gaze is immediate. “We never talked much about my family, did we?” he asks, and Elio shakes his head, shuffling closer as Oliver draws a shuddering breath. “My parents, they’re.... well. To describe them as traditional would be a kindness,” he continues. “Our relationship has been strained for years, but they have certain... expectations, I suppose. For my future, specifically. You know how it is.”

“Do I?” Elio asks, stiffening as I'm sure I'll pay for it somehow echoed from the not so distant past.

The implication is clear, and maybe there are razor blades in his expression, because Oliver’s own turns instantly apologetic. “I guess not,” he says, sliding a conciliatory hand to his hip. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

Elio frowns. “In what way?”

“With your folks,” Oliver explains. “My father would cart me off to a correctional facility.” A beat. “He still might.”

“Only if he finds out,” his traitorous mouth blurts before his alleged genius can catch up, and Elio’s heart sinks. “But he won’t, will he?”

It’s less a question, more a statement, and Oliver’s jaw clenches as he stares at him in silent concession. “I wish things could be different.”

“I know,” Elio says, the words braver than the sentiment behind them. “Me too.”

But the universe isn’t that lenient. Like Icarus, they’ve flown too near to the sun, and the consequences of such defiance will see their wings clipped once they crash back down to earth. He’d cautioned himself on the journey south to prepare for the blow. Peered out the grimy window of the direttissimo, knowing that when he next stands on the platform he’ll be alone. That he’ll hate it. Those rehearsals, it seems, have done little to dull the pain of what’s to come, and latent superstition has left him fumbling in the dark, regardless.

“E’ la vita,” Elio says, resorting to self-preservation as he dredges up a smile - the over-bright, false one he’s perfected through years of dinner drudgery. “Why risk it all for a bit of fun, right?”

“Don’t do that.” Apparently Elio’s not the only one who can see through a facade. “You mean more to me than some fling, and you know it.”

“But -”

“No. Hear me out.” Earnest, Oliver smooths the hair from Elio’s temple. “These past six weeks… I don’t know how to describe how important they were to me. The freedom. The acceptance.” His throat bobs in the grey strokes of dawn. “You.”

“Me?”

“Us.” Oliver fidgets with a loose thread on Elio’s shirt. “I meant it,” he mutters at last, winding an errant curl around the index finger of his other hand. “I have been happy here. I’ve been happy with you.” He hesitates. A quick flash of indecision. “I’m not sure I was ever really happy before you.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Per carità! That only makes it worse,” Elio says, whirling away to hide in Oliver’s collar. The sour musk of sweat is soaked into the material, and he inhales deeply, hoarding every piece of him while he still can. “You are the very best parts of me,” he confesses, lifting his head. “I don’t know what I’ll do when -”

“Hey…” Oliver’s grip tightens. “Didn’t we go over this? You’ll be -”

“Fine. You said.”

“Clearly it bears repeating.”

Elio touches his face. Watches the ripples of emotion spread out like a pebble cast into the lake. “And you?” he returns, recollecting that night on the rock. His naivety in presuming Oliver’s ghost wouldn’t always be staring out at the horizon. Rodin’s Thinker clad in billowy cotton. “You’ll be okay?”

A breath. “I’ll be okay.”

Elio’s not sure which of them he’s trying to convince, so he kisses him gently in lieu of examining it further, his stomach flipping when Oliver pulls back with an air of exquisite softness. “What time do we need to be at the airport?” he asks, seeking sanctuary in distraction. “You have your passport, sì?”

“I do,” Oliver says, studying him carefully. “The plane leaves at noon. But don’t feel you have to -” He stops. Swallows. Tries again. “You don’t have to see me off. Not if you don’t want -”

“I want.”

“Elio -”

“Non essere ridicolo. I’m coming,” he tells him, fighting a shiver as the cool breeze from the window brings goosebumps to his skin. “Of course I’m coming.”

The relentless tick of the clock rings loud in the sudden silence, and Elio raises up on his elbow, only for Oliver to cup his cheek before he can turn towards the wall.

“Don’t look,” he whispers, sounding choked as he double checks the time on his watch. “It’s ten minutes fast at any rate.”

“Ten minutes?” Elio laughs. Slightly unhinged. “What difference does that make? Ten? Twenty? You still have to leave.”

He detests the unspoken word that hovers between them. The entire phrase a sullen admission of weakness: you still have to leave me.

“Don’t think of it like that,” Oliver murmurs, one hand stroking the base of his spine. ”We have a few hours yet.”

Elio sniffs. “Not like they’ll matter tomorrow.”

“Maybe not. But they matter right now.” Oliver nudges their foreheads together. “Every second, Elio.”

“Every second, Elio,” he echoes numbly, if only to call him by his name one last time.

He’s shaking, he realises, though in all honesty he doesn’t care that his vulnerabilities are on display. That Oliver can see how lost in him he really is. That the situation is gutting him, and he’s unable to stop the bleeding. His chest feels concave. The space below his ribs too small to contain the sheer need and protectiveness that washes through him. He wants to shelter Oliver from the storm that lies ahead. To house him beneath his breast where the burdens of this world cannot touch him. Encapsulate everything Oliver is within the confines of himself, meagre as those confines might be.

But what can he do? Implore him to stay? Ask him to give up his doctorate? His career? His responsibilities? And for what? A life in the shadows? Always looking over their shoulders. Always that sense of shame.

He thinks of the pink and yellow lilies that bloom in the giardino back in B. The delicate petals that unfurl for such a brief period of time. There’s something recherché, he knows, in such transitory beauty, yet Elio’s never lacked for stubbornness. Oliver may believe his story is already written - that their destiny is forged in stone - but no one’s ever survived a freefall by continuing to spiral.

For something so tragically temporary, their bond has left a permanent mark. And Elio? He wants to beat his fists against this odious ending until they’re bloodied and raw.

#cmbyn #fanfic #elio x oliver #angst #last night in rome

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onlyfreds · 3 years

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TRP Prologue - Welcome to the Story of Y/N L/N

Summary: To others, being princess is living the dream. To Y/N, it’s a living nightmare. But, that was until the day that she received the letter that changed her life and met the people who love her for her true self.

Warning/s: use of the word “damn”

Series Masterlist

Anybody else would think that being the first-born Princess is literally living the dream.

Let me tell you, it’s not.

“Y/N, put down the book and head downstairs for the Family portrait.” My mother, Queen Ahnica, snapped as she entered my room.

I sighed, placing a bookmark on the page I was currently reading, “Do we honestly have to do this mother? We already did this last year.”

She glared at me, “Do you always have to ask? Now stop this nonsense and give them a smile when we get down. We don’t want the press giving a bad image, don’t we?”

I mentally rolled my eyes as I followed her out of the room, “Yes mother.”

We headed down to the lounge where the royal photographer, my father (King Michael), and my younger sister (Princess Christel) were waiting for us.

I sat down beside my sister, who gave me a sympathetic smile as she placed her hand on top of mine.

“Don’t worry.” She reassured, “This’ll all be over in a minute.”

And boy did that minute feel like an hour.

When we had finished, Clark, our chief of staff approached us.

“Your highnesses,” he greeted, giving a small bow, “There is someone wanting to see you.”

My mother and father exchanged a confused look, before we followed Clark into the guest lounge.

Standing there was a middle-aged woman, her hair in a tight bun and a stern but gentle look on her face.

“Good day Mr. and Mrs. L/N, or should I say your highnesses.” She said, giving a curtsy,

My father smiled, “Good day Ma’am. What assistance could we offer you?”

The woman chuckled, “My name is McGonagall and I’m just here to give your daughter, Princess Y/N, a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

I looked up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time, “Me?”

My sister looked at me excitedly.

The woman nodded, handing me an envelope with the words, Princess Y/N L/N, Montenaro Palace.

Christel nudged my shoulder, “Go on, open it.” She encouraged.

I opened it and pulled out the letter inside.

Dear Mr/Ms. L/N,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

I looked up again at the woman, my parents were both stunned into silence, “Am I really going to learn magic?”

McGongall nodded, “Indeed dear, and at the best wizarding school Britain has to offer.”

“But magic isn’t real.” My mother interjected.

McGonagall brought out a thin, stick and with a small wave of her hand, bubbles erupted from it. She then pointed to a teacup on a nearby table, turning it into a teapot.

“So magic is real?” Christel asked in awe.

McGonagall nodded, “It is.”

I turned to my parents as I gave them a pleading look, “Please mum, dad. Can I go.”

My parents exchanged a silent argument before my father said, “You may go. But if this is some sort of scam. You will regret dragging my daughter into this.”

The woman nodded, “You will regret nothing your highness.”

She then turned to me, “I’ll be meeting up with you next week to get your school supplies.”

As soon as she left, my mother turned to my father, “How could you let her? She’s ten! She should be attending finishing school, not some sort of magic school with a bunch of idiots!”

My father sighed, “We’ve taught her everything that she could be taught in finishing school ever since she was five. She’ll be fine.”

When September first rolled around, McGonagall brought me to King’s Cross Station and she had instructed me how to board on to Platform 9 and 3/4. Thankfully, I was able to leave before my parents realized that I was wearing “normal” clothes. Because if they did, I would’ve received a full lecture about maintaining an image for the press.

To be honest, jeans and a shirt were a lot more comfortable than a corset and a gown.

At first, I thought it was absurd. But after seeing the serious look on her face, I decided to give it the benefit of the doubt and run into the barrier in between Platforms 9 and 10.

I closed my eyes, braced myself for impact. But a cold chill came over me before I heard the chatter of a lively crowd, I opened my eyes, seeing a red and black train with a sign that said, Hogwarts Express.

A hopped onto the train, looking for a spare compartment. I didn’t expect anyone to recognize me as the princess, and I wish they wouldn’t.

I found a compartment that was occupied by two identical looking gingers.

I gently knocked on the compartment door, sliding it open a bit before asking, “Excuse me, but is it okay if I sat here? Everywhere else was full.”

One of them nodded, “Of course you may. I’m George by the way.” He said, offering his hand with I shook, giving him a small smile.

He then nodded to the boy sitting opposite of him, “That’s my twin brother, Fred.”

Fred stared at me, his mouth slightly agape, “Bloody hell, you’re gorgeous.”

I bit my lip, feeling my cheeks heat up as Fred was snapped out of his trance by George laughing.

“Oh, sorry.” He apologized, grinning sheepishly.

I giggled, “It’s fine.”

The three of us bonded over the train ride and became fast friends.

Despite the fact that Fred and George were identical twins, I had absolutely no trouble telling them apart, though something about Fred made my heart race a bit faster and the butterflies to rise up to my stomach.

It’s been three years since I first met the twins. I was now in my fourth year at Hogwarts.

Before I headed down to the Great Hall for Lunch, I adjusted the necklace I was wearing.

Once I arrived, I immediately slipped into the seat between the twins.

Hermione took a sip of her pumpkin juice, looking up from her book, “Where did you get that?”

I looked at her, slightly confused, “Where did I get what?”

“That necklace.”

I looked down and realized that I wasn’t able to hide my necklace in my blouse properly.

“My mum gave it to me.” I managed to stutter out.

“Why? What’s wrong with her necklace?” Ginny asked, “It seems alright to me.”

Everyone in our group was watching me and Hermione, obviously interested in the exchange.

“Well, it’s not just any necklace.” Hermione stated, “There’s only one necklace like that.”

Fred chuckled, “Hermione, I’m sure that necklace is one of billions.”

“No.” She insisted, “There is only one necklace like that and it belongs to the first-born princess of Montenaro.”

She stared at me intently, I could almost see the gears turning in her brain. Besides, she was called the “brightest witch of her age” for a reason.

“Oh Godric!” She gasped and I knew she had come to her conclusion, “What was your last name again?” She asked.

I sighed, “L/N.”

“How did I not notice it before?” She said, most likely to herself, “It makes so much sense now.”

“Hermione, not all of us are geniuses here. So, mind catching us up on what exactly makes sense?” Harry joked.

“The reason why Y/N has that necklace, even though it’s super rare, is because she is the first-born princess of Montenaro. She’s part of the L/N family, she’s basically royalty.” Hermione explained excitedly.

The group looked at me for confirmation.

“Is it true love?” Fred asked softly, “You’re a princess?”

I nodded, letting out a quiet, “yes.”

Everyone was dead silent; you would have thought that someone had just dropped dead in front of us.

Angelina was the first one to break the silence, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

I sighed, “I didn’t want you guys to treat me differently. Because when your royalty and others see you, all people can think about is: she’s the princess, she’s next in line for the throne. And being princess, I’m never free. Every decision is made for me, every word, every moved has to be supervised because there’s always some sort of protocol that’s against it. You guys love me and care about me not because I’m the princess. But because you see the real me. You don’t see me as ‘Princess Y/N’, you guys see me as just Y/N.”

I felt Fred hold my hand under the table as I continued, “Here, I am able to be myself, without having to worry about the damn rules or the press. That’s why I spend every holiday I could at the Burrow. Because I like being free. Because I’ve felt more at home there that when I’ve spent a portion of my life at the palace. That’s why I kept my identity a secret. I feared that when you guys learned the truth, you would treat me differently.”

Fred and George encased me in a “Weasley twin hug” as the former kissed the top of my head.

“We’ll always love you darling.” He whispered, “Whether you’re royalty or not.”

I smiled, “Really? You’re not mad that I kept all of this a secret?”

George chuckled, “Of course we’re not.”

“Fred’s right. To us, your being a princess is just a title, but what matters is the side of Y/N that you want to show us.” Ginny added.

I laughed as all of them wrapped me in a group hug, “What did I do to deserve friends like you guys.”

Fred laughed, running a hand through my hair, “What did we do to deserve being friends with an actual princess?”

“Way to ruin the moment, Freddie!”

“Did you have to bring it up now?”

The rest of the group chimed as they playfully scolded Fred.

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@lumosandnoxwriting @gostupid-godumb @famdomhideout @nova-darling @gaycatlord-stuff @pandaxnienke @escapingrealitybyreading @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts @lunylovelovegood @thefallengodesse (Send a Message/Ask or fill out my taglist form if you want to be added!)

𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@dobbys-leftsock @freddiemylovelg @georgeweasleyswhre @gostupid-godumb @robinisfreddieshoe @potters-heart @evieevergreen @fandomscombine @messagesinthesky @the-romanian-is-bae @thefallengodesse

#fredweasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fredweasleyimagines #fred weasley fluff #fredweasleyfanfic #fredweasleysmut #fred weasley angst #fred weasley series #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #royal!au

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clearlynotjanus · 3 years

Text

Loceit Appreciation Week: Day Four, Debate

READ ON AO3

Chapter Summary: Tired of the neglect he experiences at the hands of staunch Morality, when Janus is sent to the Dark Side, Logan attempts to follow some years later. CW: Food mention, Moceit fight Word Count: 3448 Genre: Gen, Hurt/comfort Rating: Gen Ships: Platonic Loceit

taglist: @sanderssidesangsttrash @catalinaacosta @whatishappeningrightnow @anxiousbean4404 @vexelore @the-dead-and-the-decaying @serpentinesomebody @poptartsaysurloved @robertdownerjr @dangitsbrightinhere @iamuncomffy @sanderdarksides @evertriedsoywithyourpopcorn @dragonfander @virgilstarantula @a-rudethude @indubitably-emo @gay-artist-626 @cosplayhanna @edupunkn00b @wouldntyou-liketoknow @awesomerandomgirl1 @rizzyluke @sevencrashing @all-panic-nodisco

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Though Logic and Self Preservation never had the chance to spend very much time together before the older boy’s disappearance, the conversations they did have were constructive, engaging, and supportive. Which was quite the opposite of what the others had to offer as the years dragged on. During the six that followed the unfortunate event, Logic found himself dismissed and belittled at every turn. Eight years old at the time, he didn’t exactly understand what had happened to his friend. It was confusing, and no one seemed willing to talk about it. The other Creativity mourned like Self Preservation was dead. Fear didn’t seem to notice. Morality cringed whenever Logic brought it up. He didn’t understand.

Time went on well enough then. Eight years old turned into nine, then ten, then eleven; then Fear morphed into Anxiety and the other Creativity disappeared. Even Logic could have called that one -- and he had. If only Morality listened to him and his advocating for the curly haired Creativity’s ideas. If only Fear had let him help more instead of jumping to improbable conclusions. All of it was a shame and it made Logic’s stomach hurt. He had liked that Creativity.

Eleven, twelve, and thirteen passed; then Anxiety disappeared as well, giving Logic a foreboding sense of loneliness. He didn't get along perfectly with Anxiety, but still. It felt like the Sides were dropping like flies. At this rate, Thomas would be more Dark than Light, Creativity said. Morality told them that was nonsense; as long as they three stayed good, Thomas would be fine. But Logic couldn’t help thinking this one was more his fault than the last. Perhaps if he had better communicated reality to Anxiety, things could’ve been different. Morality assured him it had nothing to do with anything like that; Anxiety just couldn’t be worked with. That didn’t sound right.

Through the beginning of his teenage years, the dismissal deepened. Too young, too inexperienced, too angry, too serious, too silly. No matter what Logic did, he couldn’t get through to them -- especially Morality, who seemed adamant that he had no idea what he was doing yet. The arguments ranged from petty to serious. No, Logic would say, Thomas can’t afford another Lego set, Morality, he has to save for textbooks next semester. No, Thomas shouldn’t have extra dessert just because he did his laundry today; he just had cake yesterday and God knows why. Irresponsibility began to overwhelm Thomas as he indulged in his Feelings more. He daydreamed a more fulfilling life, as he’d have himself convinced, through Creativity’s delusions. Logic was never considered. In fact, Logic was bad for insinuating everyone else was wrong.

At fourteen, Logic had had enough. One morning he woke up and decided he didn’t belong with the others -- with Creativity and Morality. He belonged with Self Preservation and the other Creativity. The one that he liked and the older boy who had always listened to him. The thought of enduring another day of disagreements and neglect dried his throat, so as the sun rose, he sunk out.

The Dark Side was, well, dark. Logic didn’t know what he expected but couldn’t find it in him to be surprised. He went to turn on the living room light but curiously found the switch already flipped, the bulb already illuminated. He went to open the blinds and found them already drawn. Rather than foreboding, as Self Preservation found it upon his initial arrival all those years ago, Logic found it fascinating. Not fascinating enough to keep his stomach growling though. Were the others already awake? Did they not have breakfast over here? Perhaps he was just early.

Unceremoniously, Logic grabbed himself a bowl, a box of cereal, and milk from the fridge to construct his breakfast -- a task Morality had always insisted he do for Logic until recently, when he spitefully went a full month of refusing to eat anything Morality made him. He was old enough to make his own breakfasts and lunches, thank you very much.

“You’re up early,” A voice followed the sound of footsteps down the stairs. “Are you making breakfast for once, Vir--” Janus’ words and feet came to an abrupt end when he reached the bottom landing and his eyes rested on Logan; the teen was small but bigger than Janus remembered, bigger than he was the last time they had spoken for sure. He did the mental math quickly -- it’d been six years since he left the Light Side, Logan had been about eight at the time and had always been six years Janus’ junior; so the boy was fourteen. Logan’s back was ramrod straight at their table as he mindlessly sucked Cheerios off a spoon. Across the room, the television droned the news, but Janus was unable to hear it due to the ringing that pierced his ears.

“Good morning, Self Preservation,” Logan greeted after he swallowed, as casually as anything despite his stare that lasted a second too long. He noted the shine on one half of Janus’ face; the way one pupil had slit and changed colors. Fascinating -- but was he okay? He seemed okay at least.

“Self Preservation?” Janus said with a mask of amused absurdity. “When I left I was Prezzi.” The conversation was good, distracting enough to quell his panic as he glanced up the stairs again. Logic’s room hadn’t appeared -- or perhaps he had missed it?

“Sorry, I didn’t know if you still liked being called that,” Logan explained down at his cereal and Janus felt his heart breaking.

“Of course I do,” His brows knitted earnestly at the boy, a hand clutching his collar as though it choked him. Again he glanced up the stairs. “If you’re alright,” Janus took a step back, “For just a moment. I’ve forgotten something, I’ll--”

“My room isn’t here,” Logan’s voice edged with annoyance as he clinked his spoon against the bowl. “I tried everything and it just wouldn’t move,” He mumbled as he aggressively stabbed a Cheerio.

“You tried to make it move?” Janus’ voice gained a shrillness. He couldn’t believe the boy’s audaciousness! “Logan,” He reprimanded sternly but to no avail. The boy continued to sluice quiet mayhem through his cereal and Janus was at a loss.

He glanced up the stairs a final time. It was early, Virgil wouldn’t come out of his room for a couple hours at least, if he did at all that day. His mind quietly asked what Remus would be doing, forgetting for a moment in the emotional chaos that he had run away to the Imagination months ago. Janus sighed and crossed the room.

“So,” He said in a decidedly conversational tone as he sat down at the table. “Anything interesting happening today?” He gestured at the television and Logan shrugged. Janus frowned. The topic of why he was here would have to be breached eventually, but as long as the Subconscious was refusing to move Logan’s room, Janus didn’t think it was an emergency. What was an emergency, however, was the poor boy’s emotional state.

“Do you want more cereal?” Janus offered quietly as he eyed the nearly empty bowl. Surely the Cheerios that were left were too soggy to be enjoyed at this point.

“I can get it myself,” Logan nearly spat with a venom Janus hadn’t heard from him yet. His brows raised, both concerned and entertained.

The Logic he knew would never use such a tone, the contrast was almost funny. Though Logan hadn’t changed completely he noticed; Janus had several memories of Logan insisting he could do something himself. From climbing on counters for scissors he definitely shouldn’t have been using, to pulling bookshelves down instead of asking one of the older Sides to get a book for him, to stubbornly using the side of his fork with both hands to cut a piece of chicken when he would refuse help with dinner. But it would all be done with apologies and explanations, assurances that he’d be safer next time, growing understanding that though his mind was large, he was still small.

“Logan,” Janus said patiently, the humor in his expression dissolving to reveal patience and worry. The boy grit his teeth and continued to glare narrow eyes down at his cereal bowl. “Why did you come here?” Janus asked softly, leaning forward to try and meet Logan’s eyes.

Then Logan remembered that in the short time they had been on the same side of the Mindscape together, Self Preservation had always listened to him. He had always been there to turn to when the others ignored him. Remembering this made his anger ebb away, though with that, the sadness he had been trying to ignore washed ashore. The hardness in his expression softened, but he still refused to look up.

“Morality and Creativity don’t listen to me,” Logan admitted quietly and shame filled his stomach, colliding with his breakfast in a way that made him nauseous. “I’ve tried everything but Morality always says I’m too young to tell him what to do,” His brow twitched and Janus watched as his sad expression morphed back into something more callous.

The sight hurt his heart, but mostly it made anger warm his chest. What on earth was Patton doing? The root of all their issues so far had been a distinct lack of listening. From fighting with Janus over developing moral stances, to stubbornly refusing to consider nuance in the pursuit of art and self expression, to the apathetic dismissal of welling fear and anxiety as adulthood approached -- was there anyone Patton listened to?

“So you came here,” Janus sighed, attempting and somewhat failing to keep the rage out of his tone. “Because I had always listened to you,” He guessed but then Logan shrugged and shook his head.

“Sort of,” He replied and Janus blinked curiously. Had he missed something? “Mostly I just assumed this is where we came when Patton hated us.”

The straightforward words punched Janus in the gut, knocking the wind out of him like he had just unexpectedly stepped off a building and was now free falling with panicked arms that reached for anything to hold on to. As usual, Logic’s assessment wasn’t incorrect. In a way, this was where the Sides Morality didn’t like ended up; but it was deeper than that. At least Janus had to hope it was deeper than that, or else he’d never find it in himself to forgive his closest friend. Janus swallowed his hurt and sat up, shoving his shaking hands under the table. It wasn’t Logan’s fault and he wouldn’t hold the injury against him, though he did need a moment for a deep breath before he was able to find his voice again.

“Patton doesn’t hate you,” Janus reassured baselessly on reflex, but then he stopped. He couldn’t think of anything else to say that wasn’t just blatantly lying -- which, of course, he had no issues with, but it was a sad realization, nevertheless.

“Then why doesn’t he listen to me?” Logan asked as Janus faltered. “Why did he send you and Anxiety and Remus away?” He looked around the shadowed room as he spoke before meeting Janus’ eyes again. “Creativity calls this the Dark Side which implies that he and Morality make up some sort of Lighter half,” Janus’ hands became unsteady once more as Logan continued asking questions he didn’t necessarily have answers to. At least no answers he wanted to admit. “But if they’re just going to keep dismissing me, then I don’t want any part in that,” He said decisively and pushed his cereal bowl away like it contained the subject matter. “If being a Dark Side means being listened to, then that’s what I’ll be.”

“No, you won’t,” Janus said much harder than he meant to, making Logan’s eyes shoot up. “You’re going back,” he said resolutely, leaving no room for misinterpretation in his tone. Logan opened his mouth but then Janus stood, the chair squeaking loudly against the floor. “If Patton did actually hate you as he does myself and the others, your room would be here,” Janus pointed out, flaring his own heartache with the presumed fact. Logan frowned angrily and balled a fist on the table.

“I’ll just sleep on the couch then.”

“No. You won’t.”

“Fine, I’ll sleep in Remus’ room. He’s used to sharing.”

“This isn’t a debate, Logan, you’re going back.” Janus said evenly, without raising his voice, which somehow made the seriousness in his tone and the steel in his eyes even more intimidating.

In the glaring silence of Logan frantically trying to think of more argument points, Janus’ phone vibrated in his pocket. With a short and aggravated huff, he fished the object out and rolled his eyes at the displayed message.

[SMS From: Patton]

PLEASE tell me Logan isn’t with you

“Well,” Janus sighed, “It seems we’re both in trouble now.”

[SMS Re: Patton]

Oh no, not at all. Whyever would you think that

“That’s Morality, isn’t it,” Logan guessed, looking miserably down at the table. He didn’t want to think about what Morality was saying.

“Yes,” Janus confirmed as he ignored the message that popped up almost immediately. Shoving the phone into his pocket, he sat back down quietly.

Logan was smart, far too smart for his age which is why everything was very difficult for him. Morality was childish and couldn’t see past the fact that Logan was the youngest. Even so, it wasn’t as if he was an actual child. He was the manifestation of Thomas’ Logic; undeveloped, easily frustrated, overwhelmed by his Feelings and in desperate need of acknowledgement for simply trying his best. But even when Janus would convey it to Patton in that way, there was no getting to him.

The fear that Logic would be cast aside and hidden away in this Darkness along with him was real, however. If that were to happen, Thomas would be in a very dangerous situation. It was terrifying enough that his natural Fight or Flight was already over here -- that his very will to live was as well. Janus didn’t want to think about what metamorphosis Logic would go through in that process. From Fear to Anxiety, now to Paranoia; watching Virgil suffer was already more than enough heartache for him, which wasn’t even to mention what was happening to Remus.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so angry at you, Logan,” Janus spoke softly, folding his hands on the table. He watched with a frown as Logan continued staring down. “But I really need you to understand that this is no place for you.” He leaned forward, trying to meet Logan’s eyes again, to no avail. “I know it’s hard, I know Patton doesn’t listen, but you have to keep trying,” Janus’ tone and expression were beseeching and genuine, his brow creased with a deep worry he didn’t have words for. “You have to promise me that you’ll keep trying,” Logan looked up, defiance and confusion hardening his eyes. He opened his mouth but Janus continued. “You have to. Even when you don’t want to. Even when the others don’t want you to. You have to, for Thomas.”

Logan stared at him, confusion slowly overtaking his rebellion. Janus looked…sincere and earnest, but he didn’t understand why. What was the point of arguing with Morality and Creativity if they would never listen? What was the point of going back when even Self Preservation knew he’d always be dismissed? It sounded exhausting. At fourteen, Logan was already so tired of it. But there was something in Janus’ eyes that convinced him to stop fighting; something that told him there was more he just didn’t understand yet. If that were true, if that were ever true, he’d believe it coming from the Side in front of him now and him, alone.

“Okay,” Logan sighed and Janus smiled in relief.

“Good,” He nodded at the bowl as he sat back in his chair again. “You can finish up your breakfast but then--”

“There you are!” Patton’s voice, coming from behind Janus, stopped his words dead in their tracks. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, kiddo!”

“Morality,” Logan said, the word easily mistaken for a greeting. The boy glanced between Patton and Janus, the latter having lined his lips in a pensive, unhumored smile.

“Whatcha doin’ over here, bud?” Patton asked as he approached the table. Janus rolled his eyes and leaned as far away in his chair as he could manage.

Watching Janus’ reactions to Morality, Logan felt equally annoyed; both at the fact that Morality came here to get him, and also for how interrupted their conversation had become.

“Eating,” Logan said curtly, reaching for his cereal bowl.

“Well you know we have plenty of cereal in our kitchen, so why don’t you come on back and I’ll pour you some!”

Patton’s positivity grated Janus like sandpaper. Years of assumptions and miscommunications soured his stomach. His body reacted to Morality like something toxic.

“Maybe he prefers the cereal over here,” Janus mumbled sarcastically and Patton bristled as though he had honestly expected Janus to stay silent this entire exchange.

Logan bit his tongue to keep the appeased smile off his lips but his interest bubbled over. No Side had gotten under Patton’s skin like that since Anxiety was sent away. It was almost a missed sight.

“He wouldn’t know what the cereal over here was like unless someone made him try it,” Patton not-so-subtly accused as he reached for Logan’s wrist.

Logan refused at first, pulling with half strength against Patton’s grip. “I’m perfectly capable of pouring cereal myself, Morality,” He mumbled as he met Janus’ eyes. His sardonic and cynical expression seemed to say, it’d be easier to just go along with him I guess, much to Logan’s dismay. “But fine,” He sighed and let himself be pulled to stand, though he immediately shook off Patton’s hand.

“Thank you,” Patton gloated as he turned to leave and Janus all but groaned out loud.

Logan paused. The moral superiority that rolled off Patton was familiar, but at the same time something new against the kindness Janus had shown him. He could easily see why they didn’t get along; their methods were very different. Morality was overbearing, insistent, stubborn, rigid, and often narrow minded. Having developed from Thomas’ Feelings, Patton was silly, immature, and hard to take seriously. Self Preservation was the opposite somehow; smart, clever, flexible, nuanced, and able to see the whole picture with ease. Janus was sarcastic, mature, and deathly serious when need be as a result. Comparing them, it was easy to see why Logic had an easier time getting along with Self Preservation, and why it was pointless to hope that would ever change.

“I’m not doing this because you convinced me to,” Logan told Patton as he trailed after.

Patton turned to blink at Logan, looking mostly confused with a hint of offense. “Of course not,” He saved face, “You’re coming back because over there is where you belong.”

“No,” Logan said slowly, glancing behind himself at Janus, who stayed sitting facing away from them. “I’m doing this because Thomas needs me,” He informed Patton as he began to sink out. “And because you and Creativity would be hopeless by yourselves.”

Janus snickered, covering the sound with a cough into his hand.

“My word, Logan sure has developed quite the backbone while I’ve been gone,” Janus snarked once he and Patton were alone.

“What did you say to him?” Patton accused, his tone somewhere between antagonistic and wounded.

“Why, nothing of course,” Janus mocked and Patton’s eyes narrowed. “We just bonded over our mutual dismissal, is all.”

“I don’t dismiss him!” Patton sputtered and Janus snorted. A tense silence rose before Patton continued. “Anyway, you shouldn’t be talking to him.”

Janus stood finally and turned to face Patton, his brows raised. “And why’s that?”

“Because you’re gonna i-influence him or something! Like you did with Remus and then Logan will be over here too!” Patton stuttered and Janus scowled.

“Oh please, you know I’m the only reason he went back so willingly,” Janus waved a limp hand. “Though I doubt he’ll try this again anytime soon, so you don’t have to worry your simple little head about it, darling.”

“Well, good.” Patton finished, glowering at Janus’ smirk. He hated that expression. Why was Janus happy about them fighting? It certainly didn’t make Patton happy. He was anything but having to face him like this. Without much more to say, he sank out as Janus offered a caustic wave of his fingers.

“Good riddance.”

Chapter Three || Chapter Five Part One / Part Two

#loceit appreciation week #loceit week #loceitweek2021 #loceit #janus x logan #sanders sides fanfiction

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cafeinthemoon · 4 years

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Tobirama with s/o who’s secretly developing a new (and dangerous) jutsu 🌊

So this is the continuation of the anon request and Hashirama’s part was already posted (you can read it here). I posted it first because when I finished writing it I thought it was too long and it would be better if it remained as a separated post. But now we have the Second Grandpa dealing with his own s/o who’s developing a new and potentially dangerous jutsu. I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Naruto | Tobirama Senju

Symbols: 💗 | ◽ | ▶▶

Warning: longass post ahead

Having his own business to mind, of course Tobirama wouldn’t interfere in your activities unless he has a good reason for that

He knows you prefer to train by the evening/night to avoid the hot weather and intromissions, so that he never does an interrogatory or try to keep you at home, things he would normally do in case you’re going on a dangerous mission or if he thinks you are hiding something from him

And that’s why you know that you couldn’t keep your secret for much longer when he starts doing this

“Are you sure you are carrying everything you need with you? Have you enough medicine in case you get hurt? Are you taking breaks during a session and another?”

It’s becoming harder to dismiss his suspicions worries as the days pass

Truth is that he has been noticing some changes in your mood

You’ve been more tired, more serious and more anxious these days, as if you had a problem in mind that you couldn’t just keep aside until you get it fixed

Besides, this is exactly your behavior when you are trying to overcome a specific difficulty during your training… or when you’re trying to develop a new technique

Tobirama knows that because he recognizes these traits in himself, and you’re always there to keep them under control, otherwise he would spend days without proper rest and meals, as well as sleepless nights. So it’s only natural that he does the same towards you

However he doesn’t take any attitude based on suspicions, so he waits until he gets some proof that you’re getting into danger

When you get home and the first thing he sees is the bruise you got on your shoulder, he recognizes it as the proof he’s been looking for

He doesn’t say a word about it, but you see it in his eyes: he’s worried and is preparing to do something about it. Right now he’s just trying to be fair by giving you time to speak for yourself, but you know, he’s going to act

Still, you’re determined to keep going: the jutsu is almost finished, you can’t just give up on it now

You keep thinking like this even during that night, when the physical damage is increased by the chakra’s consumption: at first you could hide some of the scratches and bruises you got, but now this is impossible

There’s just some little details to fix, and then the jutsu is complete

You are working on this right now, bruised, exhausted, but full of hope. Your hard work is finally going to pay off…

But you never see the last second

You sense something cutting the air close to you. You look at the object’s direction and find a kunai. But not just any kunai: this one has a seal wrapped around it. A seal you know well

Before you do anything, the environment around you suddenly changes and now you find yourself in a place away from the one where you were performing the technique

And you’re not alone: Tobirama is there holding you in his arms

You are almost running out of chakra, but the exhaustion doesn’t stop you to understand what happened: he followed you, found out what you’ve been up to and used his Hiraishin to stop you

After stopping you in time, he lets you there, goes catch the kunai and comes back to you in a flash

Right now, you’re numb: you’re unable to feel anger, fear, desperation or frustration. You can’t even think of arguing

You just let him take you back home using his jutsu

You don’t know what happened then. You have a vague memory of being carried to your bed and then passing out

When you wake up, it’s morning. You look around and find Tobirama looking through the window. He immediately turns to you when you try to sit on the bed

You’re still weak. You don’t want you, but you are forced to accept his help

He gives you an explanation you didn’t ask for

“You have lost almost all of your chakra. I used my kinjutsu to heal you as a first aid, and thanks to it you have a chance to recover. Despite that, you are not leaving this bed for some time”

Now you’re capable of some reaction, and your reaction is to ignore what he just said and try to stand up

Of course you fail and he catches you before you reach the floor. You try to dismiss him, saying you’re just going to get some water

“I can get it for you. Go back to bed”

“STOP THAT”

He falls silent and you fall back to your spot, because the effort you put into that scream was too much

You two stare at each other, and this time you’re the first to speak

“Why did you do that?”

Tobirama tries to avoid the question

“Y/n, we are not having this conversation. Not in your conditions”

“Yes, we are!”, you don’t scream, but just because you can’t and not because you don’t want to

You continue to speak between one sigh and another

“Do you have any idea of how hard I’ve been working to complete that technique? How many time and effort I’ve spent on it? How many nights I’ve needed to dedicate to it? I was almost finishing it! And you just screwed up everything in the last moment! That’s unforgivable!”

Since you chose to have this discussion, he’s now engaged on taking it to the end

“Unforgivable is to let you kill yourself and do nothing about it. What you call screwing up everything I call saving your life. Show some gratitude at least”

“How could I show gratitude when you interrupted my work?! Would you do it if I interrupted yours? Or are you going to try and convince me that your work is not that important?”

As the creator of countless techniques, that’s a sensitive spot for him and you know that

But this attempt to make him put himself in your shoes only gets him irritated

“A technique is not as important as someone’s life, y/n. You are an experienced ninja. You should know that!”

“Good! Now go and tell this to the ones on which you used your Edo Tensei!”

Tobirama stands up and for a second you see a strange bright in his red eyes. You never saw that before, but once you do it you know you’ve push it too far. You even think he’s going to kill you right now

But what he does is almost as serious as it, or so you think

“And for what reason you think I declared it a forbidden technique?! Think of it and you will see that it’s the same with the present case! It’s true that I completed Edo Tensei, but if I could undo this, I would. However in your case we still have a chance, so you are not going to finish this jutsu. I will seal it as a kinjutsu!”

Now you can’t believe you ears. He wants to seal your jutsu, for which you’ve worked so hard?! Who he thinks he is?!

“Tobirama! I created that jutsu! It is my jutsu, not yours! I don’t need to justify myself because of it if you won’t hear me, so once I get out of this bed it will be completed, whether you like it or not!”

Now his tone changed

“Y/n, you know what will happen if you insist on this”

But now you don’t give a damn

“I know what will happen if I stay here and let you take over everything. Right now I regret giving you permission to mark me with your seal. If I knew things would get to this point, I would never agree with such absurd”

You see the change in his expression and body language. However, it’s too late for him. Now you made up your mind and you’re not willing to change your decision

“If I can’t leave this bed for now, I will stay until I’m fully recovered. But once I get better, I’m leaving”

During your treatment (that extends for the next days), you barely talk. Tobirama refuses to say anything that slightly sounds as an apology, and so do you. You just talk when it’s necessary, like when you need a favor from him or when he asks if you’re feeling better

You do your best to get well soon and to be able to walk without help. The sooner you get better, the sooner you will leave. Tobirama notices your effort but keeps quiet about it. If you want to leave after the recovering time, then you will leave. He won’t stop you

One day, he enters the room and finds you on your feet, looking through the window

He closes the door without making a sound. He tries to stay composed, but it’s impossible to hide the nervousness in his eyes: you are leaving him today, and since you are as stubborn as him, there’s nothing he can do

When you turn your back on the window, you see he didn’t come with empty hands: he’s holding some scrolls that he puts beside the things you started to pack

You don’t need an explanation: you recognize the scrolls of your jutsu

You raise an eyebrow

“I thought you said you were going to seal my jutsu”

He doesn’t seem bothered by your tone

“I brought it here not only to give it back to you, but to propose an agreement”

An agreement, uh? You should have expected something like this. It is so like him

“I’m listening”

Tobirama explains that he has been studying your notes and thanks to it he came to understand the structure and nature of the technique. This is how he found the failure that resulted in the abnormal chakra consumption that almost killed you

His idea is basically this: he would help you to fix this weak point since you will continue to work on the jutsu. If it works, everything’s fine, otherwise the jutsu will be sealed

You are determined to have your technique back, so you accept the offer. However you state that it won’t make you stay. He agrees

You two start working as soon as you can

At first, your stubbornness and resentment get in your way, and it seems it’s not going to work. You’re still mad about the way he interrupted you before and can’t help thinking he’s doing the same now, and he thinks you’re being childish instead of focusing on what’s supposed to be the most important, the jutsu

You spend a long time arguing with each other over minimal stuff. Many times, you think of giving up and restarting everything without his help

But your pride doesn’t let you do that, and you keep trying

As the days pass, however, Tobirama observes your determination and his criticism diminishes. Apparently he starts to understand how this is important to you

You, on the other hand, see that his will to help you is not an excuse to make you give up as you first thought. Besides, you start to remember of his dedication when he was taking care of you even though knowing you were determined to leave him

It’s when things start to work

Now you both are willing to talk and to listen to each other, as well as to agree with each other. And when things don’t happen as expected, you don’t blame each other; instead, you try to find a solution together

And then there’s this time when you find yourselves stopping the work and talking as you haven’t done in a long time

You end up saying that when Tobirama stopped you from completing the jutsu, the thing that hurt you most was not the interruption, but he fact that he never asked you your reasons to create such technique, or why you were working alone on it

To you, being heard, understood was the least you expected from the person you love, and not having this was both painful and frustrating

Tobirama, on his turn, admits that this argument was similar to the ones you’ve had before because the source of the conflict was the same as in their case: the lack of clear communication

As much as he didn’t listen when you tried to speak and didn’t make an effort to understand your side, you ignored the fact that taking action towards what he sees as a problem is his way to show that he cares about you

Once you two make things clear, all the tension of the previous days slowly start to disappear. You don’t say proper apologies, and you don’t even need to: speaking your minds is your way to do it

He doesn’t ask if you’re still determined in leaving, neither you confirm your decision for now, but you have time to talk about it when you go back to the house

Well, you don’t exactly talk

You just unpack your things and never say a word about it again

#naruto requests #naruto scenarios #tobirama #tobirama x you #tobirama senju #tobirama headcanons #tobirama x reader #founders trio

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honeybeezx · 4 years

Text

Armor - Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand - Part 2

Author’s Note: Hey all! Thank you for all the love on the first chapter! This one will have a lot more of our favorite prince and paramour and the reader is such a badass. I’m really having the most fun writing this you guys have no idea😄

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: mentions of murder, mentions of sex

Enjoy, love you all and as always, feedback is welcome!

——————

The brothel smelled of incense and sex. The men who had paid for the services apparently had no reservations about silencing their pleasure, nor the women. You were mildly annoyed by it all. You didn’t care or consider it lowly to work or attend a brothel, but it just seemed so...fake. People pretending that what they were feeling was love or passion when really it was just men finding release, both from sex and from their normal lives, and women getting their coin.

Not that you really knew what actual love was like, but you did know it wasn’t this.

One of the girls brought you to a room near the back. The ornate doors swung open to reveal who you could only assume was the prince and his princess. You weren’t really sure what you expected, but you found yourself shocked. He looked princely, certainly, but you weren’t expecting him to be so...striking. Bronzed skin against golden cloth...he looked like a work of art. And his princess was equally captivating. Her dark locks cascading against her dress seemed to compliment her lover’s own clothes. They both seemed to have a strong demeanor, even while they were allowing themselves to be vulnerable, wrapped in each other’s arms. Both of their heads turned to look at you, brown eyes meeting yours. You wondered how their gaze could even fall upon you when you were presenting them with the finest women the capital could offer.

The women you now know as Ros introduced you by both birth name and the one bestowed upon you through the tales spread throughout Westeros. The prince smirked and narrowed his eyes at you. The woman in his arms might as well have been undressing you with her eyes.

“The Silver Hawk.” He smiled, taking you in. He left his paramour’s side to stand before you. Your guard wasn’t easily lowered by attractive people, but even you had to admit they were both intimidatingly beautiful. The prince’s exposed chest and the heat of the princess’s eyes had your heart beating faster than you cared to let on. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My brother told me the stories about you and your silver arrows. Is it true that they were enchanted by the gods so that you can never miss?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I trained hard to achieve the level of skill I possess, I assure you.” The stories people told about you these days were becoming more absurd by the day. And you were slightly offended. To just be handed a gift with no hard work, no sense of accomplishment was no gift at all.

“Will we get the chance to see you prove that?” Ellaria asked hopefully as she joined her prince’s side.

“Perhaps.” If the Lannisters or any other of the terrible people in this city continued to annoy you, you didn’t doubt it, but you were not going to put on a show...Even if the Dornish woman did make your heart beat faster in your chest.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” She smiled with a wink.

You cleared your throat and focused. You were here for a reason after all, and that wasn’t to entertain the guests with your skill. “The hand of the king, Tyrion Lannister apologizes for his absence this evening, but he wanted to offer these ladies as a welcoming gift and hopes you’ll excuse him.”

“A gift indeed.” His eyes raked over you, the woman behind him smirking. “A shame that Tyrion hides such an exquisite woman behind the ugly walls of the Lannister dwelling. You should be out in the sun, letting more people admire your beauty. Too bad...In Dorne, it would be a crime to hide such a rare gem.” It almost seemed like the prince couldn’t hide his desire, even if he wanted to (which he most certainly didn’t). His eyes traveled everywhere, from the tips of your boots to the smallest hair on your head.

You’ve never experienced whiplash before, but you imagined it felt a bit like this. To say you were surprised was an understatement. Not many people could catch you off guard, but not many people were so bold, especially towards you. You could do little to disguise your shock and you took a moment to find your voice. “Prince Oberyn, I am not an option here if that is what you are implying.” You retorted, rather defensively.

“That is not what I am implying, but it is interesting that the thought occurred to you.” He flashed a devilish smile and you wanted nothing more than to punch it off his handsome face.

“That is not what I-“

The prince placed a finger to his lips and you wanted to scream with anger at how easy it was for him to silence you with one simple action. He grinned before backing away, returning to the Dornish woman. “Ellaria Sand, my paramour.”

“It’s a pleasure.” She greeted, her voice dripping with a sultriness that would have made someone with less composure than you blush.

“The pleasure is all mine.” You replied, trying to recover from their boldness. You tried to remain calm, you made a promise to Tyrion that you would make the guests feel welcome. Why he trusted you with this particular task was beyond you.

“Hmm, I doubt it.” Ellaria grinned her eyes still raking over you.

A room full of half-naked women and they settle on me.

Both of them, flirting with the same woman right before their own partners. It intrigued you that they both shared the same lover. Neither of them seemed to care much about the gender of whom they chose to sleep with, only their beauty. They possessed a different type of freedom, one you were unfamiliar with. Your freedom was found when you were hunting, climbing trees, the rare times you found yourself near an ocean. For them, it was shameless passion and love, taking pleasure anywhere they could get it unapologetically. Life was theirs to enjoy, nothing could take that from them.

Which is why you found the fact that they were singling in on your armor-clad body so shocking. You couldn’t comprehend how anything you were wearing could draw their attention in a lustful sort of way.

“You should reconsider, by the way. We are very generous lovers. What a privilege it would be to say we made love to the stunning Silver Hawk of the North.” Oberyn raised a brow at you as he took a berry between his teeth, tongue swiping against the tips of his teeth, making a show of himself before actually eating it.

You cursed your skin for becoming so hot.

“Let me make myself clear Prince Oberyn.” You began, finding some strength to your voice again as you remembered your place, your. “I am not a whore. These women here, they are your options. What you decide to do with them is your business, but I am a guard to the king’s hand and I demand to be treated as such. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must return to the palace.” You turned on your heel to leave, impossible without the prince having the last word.

“One more thing.” His voice stopped you in your tracks. You turned just enough to face him.

“When was the last time you experienced pleasure?”

All you could see was red.

“The first time I shot an arrow through an arrogant man’s chest.” Before you could stop your words they were already hung in the air. You were prepared for the prince to draw the dagger you noticed hanging at his hip, but he made no such move, his hands still around his paramour.

And he smiled.

“I look forward to seeing you again, Silver Hawk.”

“If I see the Red Viper again it will be too soon.”

You stormed out of the brothel, drawing looks from all those around you, but you didn’t care. They both got to you, in more ways than one. How did they break you down so easily? Not even the queen regent possessed such power.

And you prayed to the gods old and new that neither of them would tell Tyrion. You knew it was a false hope, but the last thing you needed was Tyrion scolding you and even worse, letting people know they could both get to you. Your whole life you let your rage burn quietly in your chest, letting it fuel you rather than consume you. But their smirks, their roaming eyes, their words made you feel something you hadn’t in a very long time.

And you threatened him, the Red Viper of Dorne. It wasn’t as if his reputation and stories escaped your ears. He was skilled with every weapon you could think of. To top it off, if he didn’t wish to kill you with a weapon, he was an expert in poisons as well. It was a relief that he wasn’t staying in the palace now, you’d have to find somewhere else to eat and drink every night just to avoid death.

King’s Landing was becoming its special sort of war zone. This was the game of Kings and Queens, Prince and Princesses, none of which you were. It was as if you had been dealt a hand that everyone knew you were going to lose. The Lannisters and the Martells, amazed you how two completely different families could be toying with you, a pawn in this royal game.

Oberyn and Ellaria were just the most skilled players.

As if you needed more people in King’s Landing to worry about.

—————————

“I like her.” Ellaria laughed, still in the arms of her lover. The couple had chosen their girls for the night but sent them waiting for a moment as they discussed you. “You were right, she’s stunning lover. And she has a bite, not many people would challenge you, a prince and a fearsome warrior. I fear we may have scared her off though.” Her smile faltered a bit at the idea of losing their next lover. She wanted you, and there was only so much time before they would be separated by their return to Dorne.

“She is a wild one. Not many women like her. I’m not sure I know many soldiers with her reputation and skill, whether they be man or woman.” He noted as he tucked a strand of his paramour’s hair behind her ear. “I did not expect her to be so offended by us. I don’t think she is as familiar with the pleasures of the bed as we are. We may have to...coax her.” He suggested, scanning Ellaria’s dark eyes, as if he were attempting to read her thoughts.

“She is a strong woman, in every sense of the word. That it itself is something rare, and she knows that. I suspect she thinks we are mocking her, somehow undermining her.” Ellaria noted, recalling your behavior. “She thinks we want to pay for her services, thinks she’s just another girl for us. You may have chosen the wrong moment to be so bold, my love.” Ellaria tried putting herself in your shoes, but it was difficult. Many people knew the legends of the silver hawk, the assassin who never misses, but fewer knew the origin of your tale, how a young woman came to possess the skill of men twice her age, maybe even better than that. But she imagined if she worked as hard as you said you did, only for a man, a prince, to single you out among brothel girls, as if you were one yourself, she could understand your anger.

“Think about it my love,” she began, “you did not exactly explain to her what we were proposing. You cannot blame her for assuming we saw her as another one of Little Finger’s girls.” Ellaria chided as she traced featherlight touches against her lover’s exposed chest.

“A gentler approach may do us good. You are anything but withholding when it comes to who you desire, and at least now she knows. But you may want to start winning her favor with some sort of peace offering.” She ran her hands through Oberyn’s dark curls as he looked at her like a man in the desert looked at water. The Sand woman knew her lover like she knew her own heart, and she knew she was not the only woman who had turned him on this evening. “Go to King’s Landing tomorrow and find her. Don’t apologize for wanting her, never that, but offer our friendship. That may be a good place to start?” She asked, wanting to know what her lover thought.

Oberyn gave a hum of approval before taking his lover’s hand and kissing her palm. “You are the wisest of women.” His hand moved her own so that her palm was now resting on his cheek, his soft, brown eyes still raking over his paramour. “I will go tomorrow to offer our friendship and make peace. I have a feeling that even if we remain friends with her, she will be a powerful and useful ally. She could be just the person we’re looking for to get me information on my sister’s murder.”

The prince’s face turned somber. Ellaria closed her eyes and placed a kiss to his exposed chest. “Do not forget that she works for a Lannister, lover. She may not be so willing.”

But Oberyn shook his head. “No. When I went to the palace the Hawk had her sights on Cersei the entire time. I thought she was going to pierce her with an arrow right in the throne room. She makes an exception for Tyrion, but otherwise, I suspect she has a distaste for Lannisters as much as we do. She may be at least willing to listen to my proposal.”

Ellaria sighed and ran her hand down the prince’s toned arms. “Perhaps, but I don’t want her slipping through our fingers. I want justice for your beloved sister, but I want her too. She is a strong woman, capable of defending herself, but she should not be put in harm's way.”

Oberyn nodded, but he could not shake the deep-rooted desire for vengeance. Every time he saw a Lannister all he could think of was his enchanting sister and her sweet children, and the unfair fate they were given. “I will simply speak to her and offer friendship tomorrow. Her spying was just a thought.” He added, keeping his calm. “We have to earn her trust first and foremost, a task that I’m sure will prove difficult all on its own.”

“Neither of us have been known to back down from a challenge.” She laughed before kissing his collarbone.

“We will just have to convince her of our desires.”

———————

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@ilikechocolatemilkh

#armor #oberyn x reader #oberyn x reader x ellaria #oberyn x you x ellaria #oberyn martell #ellaria sand #game of thrones #game of thrones fic #got #pedro pascal #pedro pascal gif #prince oberyn #oberyn martell imagine

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thenightgazer · 4 years

Text

A Long Way Home

While still trapped in the Underworld, Dante and Vergil have to resolve their family issue. One that can't be solved only by swords and guns.

It's been two years since Red Grave incident, one week after Christmas, and still no news about Dante and Vergil. That leaves Nero terribly upset, but little did he know that miracle will come to him very soon.

Merry Christmas @nibbbs! Surprise surprise, I’m your secret santa from @dmcsecretsanta! Hopefully you enjoy the gift I wrote for you! Happy reading and happy holiday!

You can also read it on my AO3!

~~~

The Underworld has never been this quiet before.

That forsaken place is the real no man’s land; always boisterous with fights between demons to take over the throne of the Underworld. Be it a slaughter between lower demons or higher demons, they couldn’t care less. Their primal instinct is just craving more power and of course, human flesh. But since the portal to cross into the human world isn’t always unfolded, cannibalism is ineluctable. It’s either eat or be eaten. It’s bound to happen and demons don’t have any choices but to yield to the Underworld’s natural law. Surviving and escaping the Underworld seems like an absurd fantasy for humans, even for demons as well.

Which is why voluntarily jumping into the depth of the Underworld to save the world is considered to be a valiant and honorable act, yet also frivolously lunatic.

Well, for Dante, lunatic sounds like his middle name, if he ever had one.

He chuckles by the thought of that.

“What are you laughing at?” Dante’s problematic twin brother Vergil snarls.

“Nothing,” Dante closes his eyes. “Just having a weird thought.”

Vergil replies nothing. He shows no interest in Dante's daydream, but that’s just probably because he’s too tired to even think of a reply. The twins couldn’t count how many days have passed since they cut the Qliphoth tree down. They spared and killed any demons nearby, exploring other regions of the Underworld simply because they are bored and need some time to rebound their lost time as brothers. Now, exhaustion forces them to take some rest. They lean side by side on the scorched desert, staring at the perpetual black sky while restoring their energy.

Dante can sense a demon’s presence not too far from where he is right now, but that presence fades eventually. “You feel that too, Verge?”

“I do,” Vergil murmurs. “The words have been spoken, I presume. That they better not to disturb us if they still want to live.”

“Well, once we recover, they’re going to die anyway.”

Vergil’s short hum speaks of his concurrence.

Dante shifts his hands under his head as he glances to his brother. Vergil stiffly lies on the ground with Yamato on his chest while his hands gripping on it. He might close his eyes but Dante knows his brother can still attack his opponent while closing his eyes. As hard as a steel, this old bastard, Dante amuses at his idea. “Rest means relaxing, bro. You don’t have to be on guard all the time.”

“I’m preparing for any attack.”

“It’s not like there is a demon near us at this moment.”

“Have some self-consciousness, Dante. You could attack me at any time, given a chance.”

Dante wakes up straight away. “Why would I wanna attack you?!”

“There’s always a possibility.”

“Says the guy who always has the intention to kill me, huh,” Dante lies back again. “Seriously, Verge. Just for five minutes, stop thinking and go to sleep. Bet it’s been a while since you have a proper sleep, right?”

Neither show any agreement or disagreement, Vergil turns his head to Dante. “Why are you still awake then?”

“Huh? To keep an eye on you, of course. Who knows you’d do some weird shit outta there again.”

Vergil curves a smirk, then turns his eyes to the dark sky again. “I see. You are also scared of me attacking you while you’re asleep, aren’t you? We’re twins, after all.”

“I don’t-” Dante almost bite his mouth.. “Man, you’re as sharp and annoying as you always have been.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“Yeah right.”

And there’s silence again. It’s been days, or weeks, since the last time Dante hears any demonic voices around him. To be honest, he kind of expects their appearance. He likes talking to Vergil, but the older brother has an issue in healthy communication. Hell, Vergil is a difficult person and Dante wonders if the eldest children around the world are always like this. But Dante realizes he is also no expert in social interaction, and fighting is also the only thing they both are good at. Vergil would talk a little bit much when fighting, even if it’s mostly taunting and mocking Dante, yet it’s better than having Vergil succumb to the dark side again.

“By the way,” Dante breaks the ice. “Are you ready now to tell me who’s the lucky girl a.k.a Nero’s mom?”

Vergil draws the Yamato above Dante’s throat. “One more word, and I’ll cut you into pieces.”

“C’moooon! I’m curious!”

The Yamato is now touching Dante’s skin. “Final warning, Dante.”

Dante flicks the Yamato’s blade. “Fine. Whenever you’re ready, bro. You might not want to tell me, but you owe that to Nero. He’s your son. He deserves to know.”

Vergil sheathes Yamato, scoffing at Dante’s warning. “It’s not like I’m going back to the human world.”

“Well, we HAVE to!”

“Pray tell why I should agree with you.”

“I have a shop to run and there’s a new menu at my favorite pizza parlor. You should try it, by the way. And you got a lot to explain to Nero. You don’t wanna be a deadbeat like Father, right? Though you kinda already are all this time.”

“You know it better than anyone else that I didn’t know Nero’s existence until you told me so.”

“Which is more reason why you have to come back to the human world soon. You can say you don’t need to catch up with Nero but I know you want it. You left him your frigging book; the same one you didn’t allow me to borrow. Dear ol’ Vergil got some soft spots for his son, huh?”

Vergil turns his back from Dante like a sulking child, ignoring his younger twin’s laughter. As expected from a cold man like him, he won’t ever admit that every single of Dante’s words is true. Again, a long and neglected fear consumes him. What’s fatherhood for a man who ran out of place and time like him anyway? Is there any chance for him to fix his family? Getting back in terms with Dante is one thing, but with Nero, the son he had never met before his escapement from the Underworld? Does he even have a right to call him his son after all he had done to him?

After quite long of silence and battle with himself, Vergil murmurs a question to Dante. “How old is he?”

Dante almost squealed if only he didn’t remember not to ruin Vergil’s mood or else they won’t have any friendly conversation anymore. “Nero? Twenty-something, I guess. Haven’t asked him myself.”

“How did you meet each other?”

“Long short story, some weird-ass cult that worshipped our father as a god turned out evil and wanted to use our father’s power to rule the world-”

“The Order of the Sword?”

“Right! You did your research! Nero was one of them but rebelled after they kidnapped his girlfriend and killed her brother. I came to Fortuna to retrieve the Sparda sword and apparently your kid was able to summon the Yamato and I got the picture already. He got white hair, he summoned Yamato, tried to kill me repeatedly, stab me with Rebellion and Yamato, craving for more power to save his beloved. I wondered where he got that from, by the way~”

A hint of smirk curves in Vergil’s mouth.

“Then we worked together to save Fortuna from a pope who was obsessed with our Father and destroyed the island. We succeeded and brought peace. Nero got his girlfriend back, and we established the branch of Devil May Cry in Fortuna. The end.”

“A heartwarming, and very unoriginal story.”

“You think I made up that story?”

“Didn’t say that. I am merely implying that I heard stories similar to your experience.”

“Hell knows you are the coldest person alive, but you are a terrible liar. You are a man of pride, after all. Lying doesn’t suit you.”

“I can tell thousands of lies as I please, if only that’s necessary,” Vergil takes a brief look at Dante’s mischievous face. “But I won’t, if it’s concerning my son.”

Is this really the Vergil I used to know? Dante can’t hold his grin while elbowing his brother. “Starting to feel like a real dad, huh?”

“Silence.”

“Admitting that you love your son won’t do any harm, Verge.”

“I-” Vergil stumbles upon his own words. He growls impatiently, hurrying himself to get up and sit down as he wipes his face frustratedly. “We’re not having this conversation anymore.”

“Why? Just because you can’t admit that you grew care for your son?”

“Because I’m a terrible person!”

That was the most honest words that came from Vergil, if anything, ever. When was the last time he showed his vulnerable side like this? Even as V, crumbling and dying slowly, he didn’t even spare Dante any sign of defeat and regret. Dante gets up, clapping Vergil’s shoulder. “Only if you still want to destroy the world and kill your own family, then maybe I’d call you the worst shit in the world too.”

Vergil shakes his head. “If only…”

“Huh?”

“Had I known I have a son back then…” Vergil says bitterly. “I would never leave him. I would never go pursuing power or raising that foolish tower and this ridiculous tree…” he points to the remains of Qliphoth tree with his sword. “I would have a better chance to be… a good father for him…”

Regret always comes late, isn’t it? The ‘if onlys’ never come at the front of the mind, merely whispering behind the head but never appearing into the surface before regret comes. Vergil knows that, but never really understands it until Dante tells him that Nero- the very man whose arm was ripped by him and still willing to help him in every way- is his own flesh and blood. His priority was to seal the gate of the Underworld and cut the Qliphoth tree, so that Nero and the rest of the human world are safe and sound. He will stay in the Underworld to redeem himself, for he thinks he has no place in the human world for all he has done. He planned to create a portal to the human world after he fixed things up with Dante to kick him out from the Hell with force, because he knows Dante won’t leave him alone again and will do anything to drag Vergil out from the Underworld. The plan is simple. It should have been easy to execute.

Yet ever since Vergil landed at this hellhole, his steps are getting heavier as time goes on. A haunting voice inside his head kept telling him to come back to Nero as soon as he finished his job cutting Qliphoth roots. Another sound tells him he should stay longer here with Dante to catch up with their sibling bound. The third sound, more demanding and urging, tells him to stay in the Underworld forever as a redemption.

“Y’know, bro,” Dante folds his legs as he seizes the Yamato from Vergil’s hand and puts it on the ground, which dismays Vergil. “Gotta admit that I wanted to kill you because I wanted to free you from evil, and get rid of Nero’s burden of having you as his father. Though he proved to us that we are just a bunch of nonsensical idiots who got unsolved sibling problems between us-”

“I am not an idiot!”

“You might have scored higher on the Math test than me but you’re still an idiot!” Dante barks. “Anyway that’s not my point! What I mean to say is, as much as I hate your dumb-as-rock head, you’re still my brother. And it’s never too late to fix things up.”

Vergil scoffs and takes his sword back to his embrace again. “How can you be so sure?”

“I blamed you, y’know, for that day” Dante admits, his eyes getting darker and the carefree vibe in his voice is gradually gone. “For not rescuing me and Mother.”

Vergil streaked at that confession. “What do you mean?”

“You thought Mother only saved me and left you behind while she died searching for you,” Dante woefully chuckles. “But for me, on that day, I thought you would come to rescue us.”

“I was planning to-”

“She could have hid with me in the closet until you come to save us. That’s what I thought back then when she died, and you never came back. I thought you left us, before I heard one of them say they had you killed. There I was; frightened and thinking that I was alone. My mother and brother died. No one could save me but myself. I was blaming you for running away that day. If you didn’t, we could have defeated them all and protected our home.”

“Or, we could have died. All of us.”

“Exactly. Instead of blaming you, I blamed myself for picking a fight with you. Should’ve left you and your book alone,” Dante stands up, spinning the Ivory before shooting a flying demon that approaches them. “I lived by loathing myself, until I met you again in that cursed church, remember? I was genuinely happy to see you.”

“I remember,” Vergil nods slowly, recalling a blurry picture of their younger selves. “You said you are a devil hunter and will be filthy rich someday.”

“Still waiting for that day, actually. Yet you fucker started being a dick, saying shits about power and stuff,” Dante’s harsh voice trembles slightly. “I thought we could start over as a family, but you decided to fucking stay in the Underworld. I couldn’t save you at the gate of the Underworld. I couldn’t save you at Mallet Island. I could save everyone else, but not my own family.”

Vergil raises up. His arm is reaching Dante’s shoulder, but it never touches him. His hesitation is rational, for he knows words can’t describe how Dante must have felt towards Vergil. Hatred might be the wrong word; it sounds too soft. Too lenient, too merciful.

One could tell it’s disappointment, Vergil gets his answer as Dante turns over to face him. The mischievous little brother side of Dante has gone as he aims his gun at Vergil. It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend. Let alone a family.

Dante wails horridly. “Always the quiet one, ain’t cha? Remember how our parents always told me to be quiet like you? ‘Why can’t you just behave like Vergil?’ Guess what? At least I’m not the one who fucked the world up and ripped off my son’s arm-”

“Dante-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Dante’s grip on Ivory is slightly trembling as he snaps. “I’ve been through shits too, Vergil. I missed Father and Mother. I missed you, for fuck sake! After all this time I believed I killed you in Mallet Island, then you came out of nowhere to destroy the world. I came out with the conclusion that you didn’t even change a bit, just an egomaniacal who thinks the world only revolves around him. I needed to kill you again because I don’t want my nephew to kill his own father. Don’t you fucking realize how maddening was that?!”

A bullet passes through Vergil’s head. The older hybrid stands still without any intention to return the attack, only wiping the blood from his forehead. I don’t have the right to be irritated, he reminds himself while his mouth forms a bitter grimace as Dante puts the gun on Vergil’s forehead, ready to pull the trigger anytime soon. For a second Vergil can sense Dante is going to lose his temper as he catches a glimpse of red flash in Dante’s eyes. Ever since they were kids, Vergil was always aware that Dante in his total wrath is dangerous. A ticking bomb , Vergil recalls what their father said about Dante’s anger as he watches the raging fire in Dante’s eyes ignite until it’s slowly fading.

“But I changed my mind again,” Dante continues. “Instead of blaming you and carrying on the bad blood, I choose to start over. And that’s how I can be sure,” he pokes Vergil’s head with the gun before putting it back into his coat. “That everyone deserves a second chance and it’s never too late to fix what you have done.”

The red devil yawns as he slams himself on the ground again, stretching his hands before he closes his eyes. “Sorry for raising my voice. It’s just impossible to use soft words whenever I’m talking to a stubborn jackass like you.”

He opens one of his eyes to see what Vergil would react. His older brother sighs heavily, sitting beside Dante’s lying body and puts his katana on the ground. For a man with a soul of a true warrior like Vergil, putting weapons down on the ground is a sign of defeat. Which is the reason why he was slightly aggravated when Dante seized the Yamato and put it on the ground as if he told Vergil to surrender. It should be a humiliating act, but for once Vergil throws his pride away.

Because you are right, Dante.

“Dante,” he calls his brother. This time there’s no hostility in his voice, only sincerity and repentance. “I am ever so sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Dante smirks playfully. “Why do you think I’m here if I still hold a grudge against you?”

“I mean it,” Vergil emphasizes. “Truthfully. For everything I have done… and my sincere gratitude for taking good care of my son while I wasn’t there for him.”

“Honestly, Verge. Forget it. I only do what I have to do.”

Watching his little brother finally howls in laughter, a surge of warmth fills Vergil’s veins as he joins the laughter. It’s comforting, since they can’t remember the last time they laugh together without any fight and bad blood. I barely remember how it feels like to have a family, Vergil chuckles while Dante kicks Vergil’s knee mischievously. Was it always this… warm?

“Dante.”

“Yup?”

“I think we should go back to the human world now.”

Dante whistles in joy. “Ready to meet your grandkids?”

“Do tell me the truth,” Vergil growls, impetuously tugs Dante’s collar. “Are you serious about grandchildren or you just make it up?”

“For fuck sake, Verge! Didn’t you know that already when you ripped your son’s arm?”

“I didn’t pay much attention... I can only recall a voice of woman called Nero for dinner- not the voice of that mouthful friend of Nero-”

“Yeah that was Kyrie. Your soon-to-be daughter in law. Anyway they adopted kids called Carlo, Kyle, and Julio,” Dante pats Vergil’s shoulder with pride and teasing manner. “Congratulations, you’re officially a grandpa! What a fine day for revelation!”

As if my life could get any worse, Vergil grinds his teeth in frustration as he releases Dante from his grip. “How unfortunate.”

“C’mon, swing that flimsy sword of yours and make a portal to the human world. We got plenty of things to do! I gotta pay those bills, refurbish my shop, return Kalina Ann to Lady, and buy a birthday present for Patty.”

“Rather a cumbersome list you got there, Dante.”

“What can I say? I’m a busy man! Now get your ass up, old man! Nero’s waiting!”

---

It’s already two fucking years.

Nero was never a believer. There’s no such thing as a miracle, he told himself. Protecting Kyrie and the kids is an endless responsibility that bestowed upon him. There’s nothing he won’t do for their happiness and safety, even if it means to cost his own well-being. He relies on nobody but himself. He doesn’t pray. He never tries to exceed any expectation, because hope is a dangerous and fragile thing. Hope bothers him, and he hates to be bothered.

Yet, lately, he almost surrendered by the temptation to hold some hope.

What hope? Nero rejects his own thought. For those douchebags to return safely? Gimme a break.

Sitting in his garage and polishing the Red Queen, Nero takes a brief look at the snowy ground outside of the house where the children are building a snowman. He grins at Kyle who waves at him; the youngest from the three children he adopted, who’s now taller and braver than he used to be when he found the little boy searching for some scraps at Fortuna’s slum. Nero chuckles when a glimpse of a picture of Vergil meeting Kyrie and the boys pops out from his head. Would they be pleased to meet him? Would Vergil be pleased to meet them? Would he himself be pleased to meet Vergil again? There’s no fucking way for them to coming back, Nero slaps himself. They either die or shit themselves in the Underworld. Probably fucking fighting again like toddlers.

Still, the thought of his father and uncle somehow return and meeting his little family is overwhelming. Nero can’t even hide his smile anymore. He throws away the rug he uses to wipe the blade and hangs the Red Queen on the wall.

Come to think of it, that fucker ripped off my arm in this garage too.

He lays a hard punch on the wall.

“Keep punchin’ the wall, and ya would destroy the house.”

Nero glances at his friend and partner in crime, Nico, who rests her back on the van and lights her cigarette. He still finds it strange to witness Nico in her winter outfit, a contrast to her usual tanktop and shorts she used to wear before winter comes. "How many times have I told you to smoke outside the house?”

“Ya blind or what? It’s cold outside!”

“Darn it, Nico! Then don’t smoke!”

“Too late~” Nico barks a laugh while blowing a smoke. “Anyway, why did you punch the wall like a madman?”

Nero shrugs nonchalantly. “Nothing. Just feeling like punching something.”

“Cut the bullshit. Ya missed yer old man, ain’t cha?”

“Buzz off, Nico.”

“Aaaaw, don’t be so meanie~”

“Seriously, Nico. Go bugger off someone else. I’m not in the mood for having a chit-chat.”

“Everyone’s worried, ya know,” Nico exhales exaggeratedly, pointing at the children outside. “Those lil’ brats asked me if somethin’ pissed ya off because ya look like ya wanted to punch someone in the face since the Christmas party last week.”

“I indeed want to punch a certain person,” Nero lets out a cackle. “But he’s not available at the moment.”

“Y’know, I’m not an expert of daddy and son shits, and yer dad is obviously not an ideal father, but it’s totally okay for ya to miss him. The jackass did save the world, at least.”

“Thanks, Nico. That’s so motivational. I’m deeply touched- ouch !” Nero swears when a sturdy plug lands on his head. “What the fuck Nico?!”

“Talk to Kyrie,” Nico lowers her voice. Her brash mouth always sounds kinder and empathetic when she talks about Kyrie. “Ya locked yerself in this garage the whole day! You’re making her worried, ya know?”

“I think you should double your eyeglasses. I didn’t lock myself. See that door? It’s unhinged, because I need to make sure the kids are alright.”

“Yeaaah whatever. Go talk to her, pretty boy. I’ll watch over the brats.”

“Fine…” Nero scratches his nape as he walks away from the garage. “Don’t let the kids go anywhere near my weapons!”

“Gotcha~!”

Nero never meant to worry anyone, of course. He lives a happy life; he married the love of his life, adopted a bunch of orphans whom he loved and took care of equally, and ran a business with his best friend whom he considered a big sister. The world is currently safe from danger. So what's to worry about?

His confusion disappears when he sees Kyrie’s figure covered in a thick blanket at the terrace. She smiles happily as the snow continues to fall and catches a drop on her palm. Nero feels like he could melt anytime he sees Kyrie’s soothing smile. He takes his time to watch her catching snow as he leans against the door, ignoring the cold breeze that sneaks inside his body. It doesn’t take a long time for Kyrie to be aware of Nero’s presence as she asks him to join her at the terrace.

“You should put your coat on, Nero. It’s cold here.” Kyrie speaks her concern while she wraps him with her blanket.

“Chill out. I’m fine,” Nero gives her a light peck on the forehead. His right hand envelopes Kyrie’s waist to give her a sense of comfort. “The kids are building snowmans back there. Been hours and who knows when they will stop.”

Kyrie giggles. “The more they grow up the more energetic they become! At least we don’t need to worry about how to get them to sleep on time. I believe they’ll get exhausted after play and filling their stomachs with delicious dinner would quicken their way to sleep!”

“You’re right.”

Kyrie looks up at her lover’s tensed face. She brushes the tip of Nero’s nose slightly to make him smile. That little maneuver always succeeded to cheer him up. Kyrie rests her head on Nero’s chest. “Are you not happy with the Christmas party last week? I know you hated surprises but-”

“No- I liked it! Really! You know we rarely celebrate things lately and last week was one of the best days in my life! How could I hate that?” Nero tightens his grip on Kyrie’s waist, gazing at Kyrie’s eyes deeply. “I’m happy, Kyrie. I’m happy here with our little family.”

“Then it must have something to do with your father and uncle, is it?”

“That obvious, huh?” Nero smirks bitterly. “I just… I don’t know. You know how Dante is. To think that he’s actually my uncle is… weird. Then I found out the man who screwed up Red Grave was his brother. My father. Vergil, he left me when I was a child… as V, he manipulated me to do his agenda. He reemerged and left me again. And Dante didn't even bother to tell me the fact before Vergil was back. That made me feel… kinda betrayed. It still doesn’t make any sense to me. I got a pair of dysfunctional family members and I don’t know what I should do if they come back. I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

The only parental figure Nero ever had was just Kyrie and Credo’s parents, and they didn’t even live that long to give little Nero more love and parental advice. Kyrie truly understands Nero’s struggle to accept his heritage and keep holding on his humanity. “Nero… do you forgive your father?”

“What?”

“I don’t mean to bring it up again, but after all the ill he caused to you, do you forgive him?”

The memory of him and Vergil on the top of the Qliphoth tree rises again. He succeeded in bringing some sense back to his father and the old man entrusted him his precious book- the one which Nero kept safely on the shelf- before jumping to Hell and finishing what he started. Vergil didn’t say much, but his promise… his damn promise!

“I won’t lose next time. Hold onto that until then.”

“I forgive him,” Nero admits. “I think… I just miss him. And Dante. I really want us to be a proper family. That's all.”

“Just as I thought,” Kyrie cups Nero’s jaw with her hands. “I’m glad that you’re honest with yourself. There’s nothing wrong with missing them. They might be flawed, but they are your family."

Nero carefully caresses his beloved hands as if he's afraid of hurting her. "I'm sorry I keep putting you to my demon lineage problem…"

"Hey, we talked about this. Demon or human, it's you I want to be with…" she kisses him on the lips. "I love you, Nero."

"I love you too." He returns the kiss deeper.

Nero wraps her around his arms, seeking comfort and warmth from her presence. Kyrie's words succeed in getting his head together. He can feel a degree of burden has left his shoulders as he finds himself finally letting go his worries. Kyrie is right. There's nothing wrong with missing those douchebags. They're my family-

"NERO!"

Nico appears out of nowhere at the terrace, panting and panicking like she ran for her life. Every single nerve inside Nero's body tells him that something wrong is happening, but the sassy smirk on Nico's face while she tries to breathe normally tells another thing. "You're not gonna believe me if I told you this-"

"Are the kids safe?" Kyrie asks anxiously.

"Yeah they're fine. They have company."

What the fuck? "Company? What are you talking about?!"

Nico rolls her eyes as she grabs both of Nero and Kyrie's hands. "Just follow me quickly!"

Nico seems excited… if it wasn't a danger, then what?

The children are giggling and shouting happily at something Nero can't see yet. But as soon as Nico delivers them in the backyard, he spots two familiar figures among the kids. The red-coated man joins them to decorate the snowman as he helps them crafting the pile of snow with stones and branches. He summons a cowboy hat and a shiny red scarf from thin air- which excites the kids- before he puts the hat on the snowman's head and wraps its neck with the scarf as the last touch. The children are applauding and hugging him, saying their gratitude and bombing him with questions on how he could summon stuff only from thin air. The cocky red man barks in laughter and tells them that he learns some magic tricks.

In a contrast to the red man, the blue-coated man stands a bit far from the crowd, facepalming and reluctant to do anything despite the children's curiosity as they glance at him and whisper their surprise on how similar his face is with the red man. Carlo states that the blue man is scary, and quickly hides behind the red man when the blue man hears his mutter and glares at the poor kid.

"C'mon, Verge, stop glaring at the kids! You're scaring them!" The red man chuckles.

Dante?

Vergil?

How-? Since when…?

"You…" Nero breathes heavily, barely trusts his vision. "You guys are alive…"

Dante grins and waves a salute at Nero. "Heya, kid! Miss me? I know we're late, but Merry Christmas!"

Kyrie holds her giggle when she catches Nero's dumbstruck face. She grips his hand and whispers him a word of advice. "Time to let your doubts go, Nero. They are here, at last."

Nero gives a nod, but his mouth isn't capable of forming any words. He reluctantly approaches Vergil, who seems nonchalant about his surroundings, if only Nero failed to catch his father's warm gaze as he stands before Vergil. A minute has passed and none of them say anything. Words cannot describe how they feel towards each other.

But Nero decides to solve the problem in Sparda's family old-fashioned style: punching his father hard right in the face.

There echoes Dante and Nico's laughter as Vergil's body lands violently on the ground, covered with snow.

The older son of Sparda can taste a metallic scent liquid dripping from his lips.

"That hurts," he murmurs and proceeds to get up as he wipes the blood from his mouth. "Two years and still have no manners, I see."

"Fuck you, old man!" Nero spats angrily.

Dante, still laughing at the picture of his brother getting sucker-punched by Nero, sloppily walks to approach them. He pats Nero's shoulder in pride. "You're doing the right thing, Nero. You gave him the right Christmas present-"

The legendary devil hunter gets a very lethal slap from his nephew before he finishes his sentence.

"And that's a present for you, deadweight!" The young devil hunter shouts.

The view of Dante and Vergil getting slammed by Nero only increases Nico's laughter.

"Why did Nero punch Mr. Dante and Mr. Vergil?" Carlo asks Kyrie. "Nero always punches bad people. Are they bad people?"

"Well… no, they are good people! Mr. Vergil is Nero's father and Mr. Dante is Nero's uncle," Kyrie chuckles to hide her worry and struggles to find the correct way to explain the situation. "They haven't met for a very long time. Nero misses them so much that he… doesn't know what to do anymore. But punching people doesn't solve problems, so don't ever do that, okay?"

The kids nod obediently despite not completely understanding the circumstances.

"Can we stop Nero from punching them, Kyrie?" asks Julio, the oldest one from the three. "Family doesn't hurt each other, right?"

"Nah, don't worry. They will stop soon," Nico says as he points at the three hybrids. "Let 'em get the reunion they deserve."

They become calm and smiling at the sight of Nero bringing his father and uncle in a tight embrace together as the young man lets out a cry.

"You both are full of shits and stinky… like a scavenger…" Nero sobs, his teeth grinding hard. "At least take a shower before you show up, dumbass…!"

Dante sneers as he taps Nero’s back. “Yeah, I miss you too.”

The red devil glares at his twin. Say something to your son!

Vergil, unmoved and stiff, doesn’t know how to react from this awkward embrace. He feels uncomfortable, yet finds himself melting between this fuzzy feeling. “Nero…”

“Shut up,” Nero interrupts while breaking his embrace and burying his teary eyes on his palm. “Just fucking shut up.”

“Forgive me,” the blue devil insists to continue. “For leaving you again.”

“Yeah yeah, just shut up...”

Nero jolts by the unexpected weight on his head; Vergil’s hand ruffles his hair as he curves a very subtle smile.

“I’m proud of you, son.”

Oh how Nero wanted to punch him again, if only he could bring himself to.

“Uhm…” Kyrie comes to Nero’s rescue as she smiles politely to the twins. “I’m sorry to interrupt this reunion. It’s dinner time and… we would be very happy if the two of you join us for supper.”

“We’d be glad!” Dante accepts cheerfully. “Nero once told me you cook the best meal in Fortuna!”

“Shut up, Dante!” Nero grunts. He remembers he hasn’t told the twins that Kyrie and him are married. He pulls Kyrie closer and holds her hand firmly. “Anyway, Father. This is my wife, Kyrie. Kyrie, this is Vergil. My father.”

Kyrie smiles warmly at Vergil. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Vergil.”

Vergil appreciates Kyrie’s bravery and gives his sincerest nod of approval. There is not a single hint of fright from Kyrie as he recalls how people tend to tremble and stutter in fear whenever they talk to him. He can see why Nero loves her and is very protective towards her. “Thank you for taking good care for my son all this time.”

“Sorry for missing your wedding party, babe. We’ve been busy cleaning up Hell,” Dante grins at Kyrie. “Congratulations. My nephew is lucky to have you as his wife.”

“Can you shut up already?” spats Nero, feeling terribly embarrassed.

“I’m hungry~!” Nico shouts mischievously. “Let’s continue inside! It’s damn freezin’ out here!”

Kyrie gives the twins a final nod as she invites them to come inside the house. She runs to the kitchen with Nico while Nero gathers the kids to enter the house. Dante chuckles like a cocky cool uncle when Julio asks him to do another magic trick, and the little chuckle turns into a bigger laughter when he sees Vergil’s hand tucked in Kyle’s hand as the youngest child calls him Grandpa Vergil.

“Grandpa’s hand is cold!” Kyle says, unaware of Vergil’s death glare. “Once you eat Kyrie’s food, you’ll be warm in no time!”

“Let go of my hand, little rascal.” Vergil scoffs, uncomfortable by the strange kindness from the little child.

Kyle laughs and keeps guiding him to the kitchen. The food is prepared and everyone is about to get their seats. Carlo drags a chair beside Dante’s seat and shyly asks Vergil to sit there, which Vergil accepts.

“Starting to feel like coming back home?” Dante asks his brother.

“This is not bad.”

“I’ve contacted Lady and Trish. They will be here soon,” Nico says as she puts the cigarette on the ashtray. “Lady said something about returning her Kalina Ann. Trish gave her regards, and said that ya need to pay the rent as soon as possible.”

“Damn… those devilish ladies…” Dante buries his face on the table.

“Your office looks like shit without you.” Nero sneers at Dante.

Further family resolvement can wait. Now let them enjoy their first family dinner for the first time. Christmas might have passed a week ago, but Nero thinks his most valuable present had just arrived today. He still wants to beat the shit out of his father and uncle for some unknown reasons, but it can wait for later. His eyes meet Vergil’s, and his father forms a warm smile to him. He never says much, Nero knows that, but he can give him time to adjust in the human world.

Amidst the chants and chatter in the house, unbeknownst to each other, the three descendants of Sparda secretly hope that this rare moment can last forever.

#dmcsecretsanta #dmc #devil may cry #dante #vergil #nero #kyrie #nico #nero x kyrie #night writes #nibbbs

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amethystpath-writes · 4 years

Note

Hey! Could you write a story about a hero going undercover to infiltrate villain’s organization and being afraid of torture once they’re found out? The hero is unaware of the fact that villain has fallen for them during their undercover imposter mission and can’t bring themselves to hurt hero.

Ask and you shall receive! I'm not too sure this is what you were looking for, so feel free to correct me if you'd like. I always enjoy the requests!

******

Dizmay strode down the halls with a straight spine. She needed to appear as though she belonged. A hunched over figure would be too suspicious and would draw way more attention than she could afford. Even with an employee's suit, it was too risky to reveal any sign of cowardice.

It seemed like such a small task; get in, get the chip, get out. Three G's. But it wasn't as easy as that. Of course it wouldn't be. Why would it be easy with Hardan meandering down any one of these halls?

What if he recognized her? Sure, she was disguised as one of his own, wore a wig with bangs, wore thick-framed glasses, and wore makeup- something she never did. Dizmay could hardly recognize herself when she looked in the mirror. So how would Hardan recognize her? He wouldn't.

But what if he did? It was always a possibility that he did see her for who she was. Diz wasn't in her own quarters, which meant that if Hardan discovered she was roaming his halls, she was as good as dead- no. No, he wouldn't kill her. He would have her captured by all of his employees, he would stuff her in a room, handcuff her to- to a table or chair or something. Would he be so sadistic as to chain her to something?

Stop it! she demanded of herself. Her hands were beginning to shake at her sides as she walked.

The hall forked off to the right. Dizmay stopped, squinting at the new path. Others crowded around her, continuing with tasks of their own while she was stopped in the middle of the hallway. She needed to move before she looked lost- even though she was.

First right, second left, straight...then what? Did she go down the forked path? She didn't think so. God, she had the whole floorplan memorized, but in her dizzy fear, it was all becoming lost. Maybe if she back-tracked and started over then it would come back to her. That would waste so much time though. Dizmay should just continue. It couldn't be that much further away, right? The halls were long with many of these forked paths. She'd passed a majority of them already. The computer labs had to be near.

The question now was this; go straight or fork right?

Right is always right, she supposed. If it didn't seem to lead anywhere then she could always come back and go straight. Diz did seem to recall the labs being just right of the center of Hardan's base. Surely this would take her closer.

And it did. After a long series of guessed turns, Dizmay found herself staring- from the outside- at a room of blue-tinted glass. Inside was row upon row of computers. At the front of them all was a desk, Hardan's desk, one with six drawers, one of which containing the SD chip she was searching for. There would be all kinds of things on the chip- hopefully.

Kilding, Diz's director, was hopeful of learning some of Hardan's plans. Recently, he'd been laying on the down-low, but Kilding knew he was up to something.

The door to the lab had no lock on it, so Dizmay easily pushed it open. She turned on a heel to ensure it would close. Truly, it didn't make much of a different, but she was used to the heavy- metal doors of her own base. She wasn't used to the silently shutting glass ones that Hardan incorporated all around his base.

Turning, she jumped with a gasp. There he was- Hardan- sitting at his desk. And he was staring directly at her as she stood frozen in front of the door. Diz dropped her chin, allowing for her bangs to shield her eyes and for the shadows to cover the rest of her face.

"The walls," Hardan said, "I was meant to be undisturbed."

Dizmay swallowed. "Right, I-" She coughed, turning on a heel. "I should go. I'm sorry, Sir." She made her voice light, airy. To add onto the act, Dizmay was speaking in an English accent one she was always told she did good at. Now seemed a great time to use it.

Diz reached for the vertical handle on the door, pulling it open slowly, calmly, but a hand shot out, pushing it back shut. Her jaw clenched. She kept her head down.

What about the walls said 'Do Not Disturb'? They were glass walls and they were mostly clear. She would have seen him in the room if he had been. What was happening? Why was he in here and how hadn't she seen him from the outside? Panic was gripping her throat and stomach like nothing else had before.

"I should guess you are new." Hardan's hand was still on the door, preventing her from leaving. Was it possible that he already knew who she was? No. No, of course not.

She nodded her head.

"Then I should also guess that no one told you when the room appears empty, it means you have no business walking in."

So what then? Was the glass rigged with some wiring mechanism that created false images? It was the only explanation Diz could come up with.

"Right," she said quietly with a careful nod of the head. "Good that I know now. I'll leave you to your work and come back at a more appropriate time."

Scared goosebumps rose on her arms as she watched his own fall from the door. She was nearly ready to grab the door and rush through it, but his hand found her left shoulder, pulling it back so that he could see her, but her head was still held down. God, it probably looked so obvious to him by the way she was hiding herself.

"Your posture has slackened," he noted. "There's no need to feel discomforted if we've already met." Hardan leaned in, his lips almost touching Diz's ear. "I meet all of my employees before they begin their duties."

Now her eyes snapped up. He did know.

Hardan said nothing for a moment. Dizmay could only imagine he was thinking of what he would do to her.

Gag her. Tie her down on a table. Poke her with-with knives. Let her down just to kick her in the gut and-and...there were too many cruel possibilities and she only found herself breathing too quickly in front of Hardan. If he didn't know who she was then, he would now.

"There's an easy way to go about this. You know you're very much surrounded. There is no chance of you getting out of here on your own. So, I offer a proposal." He held both of her shoulders now while she tried to maintain herself. It didn't feel like she was breathing. "I- myself- can take you back to your base after you tell me where it's located, or you can stay here and give me the name of your director. The difference is a peaceful interaction versus a much more complicated one."

"I didn't learn anything here," she rushed out. "I don't know anything at all. I can just go back without a report and-"

He rose an amused brow, "And what? Try again later?" He gripped her glasses at the joint before pulling them away. She didn't stop him. She couldn't move. "I know how your little operations work, dear hero."

Some small shred of confidence rose in her. "Not well enough to stop us from foiling your own previous operations."

Hardan whispered as he began to undo the wig on her head, "You're brave, you know?" Her eyes widened. "You know how many of your friends have been captured by mine. You are always consciously aware that you could be, too, and even as you have been right now, you still have hope. I can see it."

Hope that you won't hurt me, she thought. It was true about her teammates. Many of them had been sent on this exact same mission and none of them ever returned. Kilding assumed they were all dead, so Dizmay assumed the same. "Are they still alive?"

He seemed taken back by this question. Yes, they were still alive. Hardan had them tortured for information, of course, but they were alive.

It was unfortunate they sent Dizmay to do their dirty work. She wasn't any stronger than the rest, and it was clear as day to see. Small enough to fit in, to hardly been seen, but her headquarters didn't have enough information on his own operations that any of them would succeed in infiltrating the base and getting what information they needed. The little bots that Dizmay's director sent in recorded visuals, not audio. They lacked an important sense in employee training. A false employee could always be spotted in a difference of mannerisms.

She knew all of this, and yet, after just a single day of sending their last mission recruit, she still came. Determined, Dizmay was. Very determined.

"Are. They. Alive?" she pressed.

"Yes."

"Then I'll stay."

The truth was, he knew, that she would have stayed either way. With determination came stubbornness, and Hardan was certain she wouldn't give away secrets so easily. Dizmay would be the last of them to expose her base.

"I am giving you the choice to go home without being hurt."

"I'm more likely to break than the others," she said and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Let the others go and keep me."

It was a preposterous deal, one that would get Hardan absolutely nowhere, but he found himself agreeing anyways. He knew she wouldn't break.

"Very well," he said.

Keeping her and releasing the others was absurd and would only make his own trainees question him. They might overthrow him if he proved to be soft, so he would find a way around it. Lying to Dizmay wouldn't be as bad as physically harming her, right?

***

Despite himself, Hardan shoved Dizmay through the open door in front of them. She fell, of course, not expecting the sudden push.

"You'll have my company again," he told her. Dizmay looked even smaller, even frailer, on the ground than she did standing up. Hardan glanced at the rest of the room, at the leather straps used as restraints, at the clothes used for waterboarding, at the gags to muffle tortured screams. A pit grew in his stomach.

After watching the hero make her way for so long, after seeing the stubborn-assed determination she had, after seeing how much she cared to save her team- after seeing her, he couldn't hurt her. Hardan wanted to know her beyond being a hero. He wanted to know Dizmay as a human and he wanted her to learn the same about him.

What was her favourite time of day? Her favourite colour? Her favourite meal? It sounded so ridiculous in his head, but when he matched the thoughts to the vision in front of him, it was all he wanted. It was all he wanted for a long time, to know her, and her him.

She was trembling where she lay, and Hardan knew she was terrified. He knew word of the others' treatments had spread. Dizmay probably only thought her people were dead because of how harshly they'd been hurt. She thought Hardan was going to hurt her in the same way. He couldn't.

"I should go," he said, but he wasn't sure why. He didn't need to say anything at all. Hardan stared at her long enough that she had probably been waiting to be struck. Either way, he shut the door.

To his companion on the other side of the door, he said, "At dinner, I want her brought to me. I have a new method to test with this one."

Dizmay wouldn't be harmed. He could never do that to her, to someone so willing to put themselves in harm's way to protect others, to someone as stubborn as he knew himself to be.

She would be brought to dinner, treated as well as he was by the maids and cooks. She would be given her own room, and although she wouldn't be allowed to leave, she wouldn't wish to.

His excuse for her well treatment would be that if she were treated nicely enough, nicer than where she had once been, then she might just volunteer information to him out of spite. Why defend her old base when this new one cared for her so much more?

******

Thank you for the ask, nonny!

#asks and answers #writing request #hero x villain #undercover #undercover hero #fear of torture #torture #capture

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merakiaes · 4 years

Text

Truth Will Set You Free - Oscar “Spooky” Diaz

Pairing: Oscar “Spooky” Diaz x reader

Requested: Yes.

Prompts: None.

Warnings/notes: This is not proofread so I apologize in advance for any mistakes, and I also apologize if it’s a mess😂 Let me know what you think xx

Wordcount: 2253

Summary: Oscar finds out you’ve been keeping it a secret from him that you come from a rich background and naturally, a conflict ensues.

Oscar was fuming where you stood in front of each other in the living room of the Diaz residence, his hands balled into fists at his sides, constantly clenching and unclenching.

You took in his rigid posture and met his murderous glare with no fear, throwing your arms out in exasperation.

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you.” You told him, shaking your head. “I knew you would react like this.”

He was up in your face in no time, poking a harsh finger into your shoulder as he glowered down at you. “Don’t even try to put the blame on me.” He seethed through his teeth, his lips pulled into a tight line. “You think I’m mad because you’re the daughter of some presuntuosa arrogante?” He questioned.

You swallowed as he shook his head and let out a dry laugh.

“Nah, chica.” He continued, his face getting hard again. “I’m mad that you give me all this shit for not telling you every little detail of what’s going on in my life and then you go and pull something like this.”

You swallowed again, guilt bubbling up in your stomach at his words, that you quickly tried covering up with a glare of your own. You weren’t scared of him, not by a long shot, but when he was angry at you he made you feel so small. So vulnerable.

“It’s always something with you. Do rules not apply to you, ¿es eso? What happened to honesty is the best policy?” He continued, challenging you. “I had to find out find out from Sad Eyes that he saw you strutting around with some pedante in a suit in Brentwood. How do you think that made me feel?”

When his right hand had brought him the news, a regretful look on his face, Oscar had almost blown up from anger right then and there.

He’d been self-conscious and scared of you walking out on him for someone better ever since you first started seeing each other and his first thought when hearing this was that you were cheating on him.

Naturally, he had confronted you, and you had been forced to spill your entire life story, that you had been working so hard to hide the past few years. Reluctantly, you told him that the man Sad Eyes had seen you with was your father and that you had grown up in Temecula.

The first feeling he had felt was relief, knowing you weren’t seeing someone behind his back. But the relief had only lasted a few seconds, quickly being replaced by anger. Because even though the possibility of you cheating was now completely out of question, the betrayal still ran deep.

Cholos held no respect or acceptance for the rich bastards that lived effortlessly on the less fortunate’s hard labor. If it made the streets that he was dating one of them, things could get really bad. Not only for him, but for you, too, and even though he was basically fuming and absolutely resented you at this moment, he would rather die than see you get harmed.

You couldn’t find the right words to say once he had gone off on you because even though it was hard for you to drop your pride and admit your fault in the situation, you knew he was right.

Wealth was a big thing to lie about in these parts. Privileged people weren’t welcome and you knew it. It was because of that you hadn’t told him.

Partly, anyway. The rest of it was just you being a complete asshole; something you realized now that you stood in front of him and saw the angry hurt behind his eyes. It made your heart ache with regret.

“That’s what this is, huh? You’re with me because you want to act up? Get your father to notice you and give you attention? No más.” As you were momentarily stunned, fighting with yourself in your own head, he kept talking, breaking you out of your trance and pulling you back to reality.

And when those words left his lips you finally found your ability to speak, a glare settling on your face at his accusations.

“Do you hear yourself right now?” You asked. “Don’t you think our relationship would have ended a long fucking time ago if this was just some rebellious phase?”

You could understand why he didn’t trust you anymore, but this was just absurd, even in these circumstances. You had been with each other for over five years. Anyone would have been able to see that you were in it for the long run.

But Oscar only shook his head, taking a step away from you. “I don’t know what to think about you anymore.” He spat out, and you rolled your eyes.

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

His eyes narrowed into slits and before you knew it, he had marched over to the front door with two long strides and flung it open, the loud bang cutting through the room as the door hit the wall behind it causing you to jump.

“Leave.”

As that one little word reached your ears and processed in your brain, you felt all of the anger you had previously been feeling melt right off. “What?” You questioned, voice small and stomach dropping.

It was only then you realized the severity of the situation, the panic settling in that he was truly about to cut you off.

He didn’t even seem to notice the fear now evident in your eyes, and even if he did, he didn’t seem to care. He simply threw a head-motion to the door, urging you once more.

“You heard me.” He confirmed. “We’re through. Go run away with some blanco, make your daddy proud.”

“I only live to make myself proud. Fuck everyone else.” You fought back, tears now starting to build up in your eyes.

When seeing your eyes turn glassy, he finally seemed to react, turning his head to look to the side in order to avoid your gaze. But he was persistent, nostrils flaring and chest heaving up and down as he breathed heavily. “I don’t give a shit. Go.”

You couldn’t hold back the small sniffle as the first tear fell, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t move.

“You’re calling it quits after all this time, after everything we’ve been through together, because I was born into money?” You questioned, your question making him turn his head back in your direction.

“I got a rep to uphold around here.” He spat. His face remained stoic but as his eyes met your tearful ones, they turned slightly softer, a strain forming in his voice as if it was physically paining him to say. “I can’t be fooling around with no freza. Keeping you around will make Cuchillos and the boys doubt my loyalty. I gotta remember what I come from and stand by it.”

“I’m not asking you not to!” You exclaimed, walking over to him.

He watched your every move as you reached out for his hand on the handle of the door. You expected him to back away from your touch, but he didn’t, letting you grab a hold of the hand and remove it from the door.

“We’ve been together for five years, have I ever asked you to change something about yourself?” You asked sadly, staring up at him. “Have I not been here every day and every night, patched you up without judgment every time you’ve gotten beat up and covered for you when the cops have been on your ass? Did I not visit you every week when you were in the hole and take care of your brother like he was my own during that entire time?”

His body remained tense and his face was still as stern and you could practically feel the anger of betrayal radiating off of him, but he let you speak, eyes not once leaving yours.

“My father cares more about his brand than he does about me.” You confessed, running your thumb over the back of his hand. “We don’t have a good relationship, we never have, and if it’s what it takes to get you to stop being a stubborn asshole and drop it, I’ll gladly cut him out of my life for good because you’re the one I want to live every moment of my life beside, even the moments like this when you’re acting like a complete cabrón.”

His eyes narrowed and his fist tensed in your hand. “Watch your mouth.” He scolded, staring down at you with a warning look.

But the corner of his lip still twitched at the sound of the Spanish word leaving your lips. No matter the situation he would always get proud when hearing you pick up his language.

You gave him an apologetic look and waited, allowing him to process your words in his own time. A few seconds later, his body relaxed and he stepped away from the door, shoving it shut as he took a step closer to you.

“You’d really do that for me?” He questioned with a raise of his head and you nodded in return, squeezing his hand.

“Yes.” You let go of his hand and brought your hands up to his neck, pulling him down to your height. “I don’t need my father’s money or status to be happy, Oscar. I only need you.”

You smiled as you felt his hands make contact with your waist, pressing your forehead against his.

“You could marry rich. Get a stable life with a happy marriage, a family, a nice house in a nice neighborhood. I can’t give you what they can. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.”

His face was guarded as he spoke but you could see right through him. You would have been able to identify the self-doubt from miles away, without a second thought.

“I don’t care. I don’t care about all that stuff.” You frowned, shaking your head.

“And that’s the problem.” He fought back. “Those things should matter. You deserve better than this shit. Being with me is not good for you, it never has been.”

His eyes narrowed and his body tensed up again, but he still made no move to let you go.

Out of pure instinct, a glare settled on your face. “That’s not your decision to make.” You told him. “And you know damn well I would slap the living shit out of you if you ever tried to make it for me so don’t even think about breaking up with me because you think that’s what’s best for me. I’m the only one who gets to decide what’s good enough for me. Not you, and certainly not my dad.”

“I’m not good for you.” He kept persisting, glaring back, causing you to shake your head, your foreheads rubbing together.

“No, you’re not good.” You agreed, and you saw his jaw tense for the slightest second. “You’re the best for me. You been treating me real good, papi. Better than anyone else.”

Before he could even think of a response, he felt your lips tilt up and make contact with his. His hands automatically squeezed down harder on your waist and his feet moved closer until you stood pressed together by your chests.

You smiled into the kiss, hands placed on either side of his face. When you broke apart, his eyes remained closed, allowing you to admire his features.

“You’re too good for me, mamita.” He spoke, hands now caressing circles on your waist. “I don’t deserve you.”

You caressed his cheeks right back, nodding your head. “Yeah, you do. Ride or die, for better or for worse, remember?”

You touched your nose against his. “No marriage will be happy if it’s not with you and you’d catch me dead before I get pregnant with a temecula. I only want you. And I know that you want me to, no matter how tough you try to make yourself.”

His eyes opened at that, and your heart swelled when your eyes made contact with his deep browns. “I want you more than anything, mi amor.” He confessed, and you pouted slightly.

“Then give me a chance to let me prove to you that you’re worth more to me than my family’s money.” You begged. “Let me show you how much I really love you.”

His eyes fell shut once more, his hands squeezing your hips as he battled with himself and you bit the inside of your cheek, anxious that he was still going to want you to go your separate ways.

After a good few seconds of standing in silence, he released a heavy breath through his nose and his eyes opened once again.

He stared at you, jaw tense and eyes warning. “If I find out you’ve been lying about some other shit-“

“You won’t.” You hurried to cut him off, your eyes widening as you shook your head frantically. “I’m really sorry I lied to you, Oscar. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

He nodded his head, “Te perdono.” He muttered.

Before you could say anything back he pulled you into an embrace and you happily obliged, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your head on his chest, closing your eyes as you listened to his heartbeat.

It was clear by the look of his hard stare and the feel of his still tensed up body that he was still very angry, but you were forgiven and at the end of the day, that anger would be as good as gone because he knew you would follow through with your promise and chose him undoubtedly. Just like you had for the past five years.

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