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acollectionofficsandshit · 3 years

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Chapter 6: Three Of Us

Max Verstappen x Reader (Single Dad AU)

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5

Chapters: 6/?

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 11,230 Words

Masterlist

I’d like to thank @lightsovermonaco for being my beta and for more importantly keeping me sane because without her influence it’s anyone’s guess where I’d be. I also owe @sassybatflowerpaper an enormous thank you, not only for being my friend but because this story, at it’s very core, is our love child.

Sunday, September 2nd, 2018- Monza, Italy

Italian Grand Prix, the Autodromo Nazionale di Monza

It hadn’t taken you particularly long to track down GP and Kaia, especially once Daniel had made his excuses, something about needing to find Michael to get in the right headspace for race day, and had gone his separate way, taking with him the vast majority of the distractions that had been plaguing you.

You lingered as Daniel made his departure, standing in the same spot he’d left you in with your eyes locked on his retreating figure and your feet remaining rooted to the spot until he was lost in the swathes of people that roamed around the paddock. You didn’t know why you’d felt the sudden need to pause, to watch until he was completely out of your line of sight, his dark head and team branded attire now swallowed up by the crowds, but you’d listened to the urge regardless.

For whatever reason, once he was gone, the inside of your head now blissfully calm, like it’s not quite as bogged down in the memories of everything that had happened this weekend as it had just a few moments prior. With your thoughts no longer overwhelmed by Daniel’s presence or oversaturated by Max’s, you find that it’s actually quite easy to focus on the moment at hand, the task of hunting down Max’s daughter and his race engineer not feeling quite as daunting as it had been before.

On autopilot, like your body has a mind of its own, you weave your way through the maze of buildings and passageways that make up the paddock, the layout of the Red Bull camp forces you to cut through the public thoroughfare, since here at Monza, or at least during this season’s layout, there’s no direct path from Red Bull hospitality to the garages along the pit lane.

After poking your head into the team’s garage, which at present is sparsely populated and vastly less so than it will be in just a matter of mere hours, it takes you no more than a second or two to ascertain that GP and Kaia aren’t here. Wanting to cause as little disruption as humanly possible, you only ask a handful of people if they’d seen either of them today or knew where they might be, not feeling particularly surprised when all you get back is one clipped, terse ‘no’, one after the other.

About ten or so odd minutes later, when you finally track them down, your reward takes the form of the sight that greets you, of the little mismatched pair placidly sat in the conference room where the morning briefing had been held, their two chairs positioned directly across from one another. The scene is made all the better by their body language and placement, casually mirroring the other like it's somehow escaped both their notice as the silence is interrupted only by the occasional rustling of papers or the scratch of a pen in motion.

Not knowing what else to do, you join the two, pulling out the chair next to Kaia’s, smiling back at the little girl when she briefly peers up at you, grinning brightly before returning her attention to her current work of art, the wooden surface of the table already littered with similar looking drawings.

You exchange a nod in greeting with GP, who returns the gesture before glancing sideways at Kaia, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny as he carefully assesses her little face, clearly checking in on her, not permitting a single detail of her features to escape his notice, only returning to the papers he’d been pouring over once he’s verified that she’s perfectly fine.

Leaping at the opportunity to catch up on some of the work you’d fallen behind on after the insanity of the last day and a half, you decide to capitalize on the moment, for however fleeting it may be. Feeling eternally grateful that you’d thought to bring your bag with you today, you pull your laptop out and open it, as ready as you ever will to start working your way through the seemingly endless flood of emails that sit unread and unanswered in your overflowing inbox.

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

All things considered, you weren’t entirely surprised when, nearly four hours after you’d left Max and Cassandra at hospitality, the former had still yet to come and find you and his daughter as he had said that he would, like he had promised he would.

You’d checked your phone more often than you cared to admit, foolishly trusting that this time, when you looked, Max would have texted or called, only to be met by a blank screen, by radio silence from his end of things, and left feeling marginally stupid for the pang of disappointment that twinged a little sharper in your chest every time.

After the first two hours, where you’d peeked at your phone again and again, until the action started to feel more like a compulsion than a conscious decision, and you’d finally had to make yourself put the electronic away, dumping it rather unceremoniously into your bag and letting it fall to the very bottom where it would remain.

Once you’d forced yourself to abandon your fixation on your phone, it had been infinitely easier to forget about Max all together and to focus the wealth of your attention on Kaia, something which you quickly learned made time pass unbelievably faster. GP had only lasted another 30 minutes in the conference room, leaving you and the toddler alone together, with you glancing sideways at her to gauge her level of continued interest in drawing at increasingly frequent intervals.

As you’d expected, Kaia eventually grew tired of scribbling away on the seemingly endless pages of blank white printer paper that the race engineer had found God knows where, and you packed yourselves up, collecting all of her pictures, safely stashing them in a slightly weathered folder you’d found in your bag and left the room, her little hand held tightly in yours.

The two of you had found ways to kill time until the race, wandering around the paddock under a blue bird sky, enjoying the warmth of the Italian afternoon and soaking up the rays of the early September sun, people watching together as you walked. Lunch had been a lengthy affair, one which had fed into the hour before the race began without interruption, allowing you to take Kaia straight from hospitality to the garage, whilst trying desperately to not look for Max around every corner.

When you enter the Red Bull garage and a quick survey of the room yields no sign of Cassandra, a wave of relief washes over you, immediately easing the tension twisting your stomach into knots but still unable to eradicate the problem in its entirety, leaving you with an infinitely more manageable issue, the pain significantly lessened and the ache somewhat deadened.

It seemed better to not let yourself think for too long about that particularly emotional response, since allowing your thoughts to linger on that subject would only serve to complicate matters further, something which you neither had the time, nor the patience for at present.

So, you forced your mind elsewhere, putting your head down, only allotting yourself the mental room to think what was necessary to get Kaia ready for the race. It took a couple minutes of rummaging around before you finally found the box of child sized headphones that had been bought for when Horner’s children came to a grand prix weekend, which in accordance with the team principal’s orders were always kept on hand, just in case of an impromptu visit.

Letting Kaia dig through the box by herself for a little bit, you keep her safely in your line of sight while simultaneously taking complete advantage of her momentary distraction to check in with Linda, the senior press officer that you’d worked under for almost three years, who was no longer your superior but your equal now, the unprecedented change in the ranks thanks to your newly bestowed promotion.

You were only halfway paying attention to whatever it was that Linda was saying, merely nodding along as she waffled on, slipping a ‘mhm’ here or a ‘right’ there at opportune times, during the lull between sentences and in the dead space left when she stopped to take a breath, in the lulls because, out of the corner of your eye, you were watching Max, keeping tabs on his movements around the garage.

With his suit unzipped to his waist and balaclava already in place, Max paces back and forth like a caged lion, silent and unblinking, his gaze fixated on the back wing of his car, ignoring the people milling about around him. Not daring to interrupt, the entirety of the team leaves him well and truly alone, having long since learned that when the young driver was in one of his moods, it was in everyone’s best interest to stay out of his way and let him sort himself out.

Much to their collective relief, Max doesn’t need to be told when it’s time, instead he proves himself to be wholly self-sufficient, stepping away from the stretch of concrete floor that he’d been monopolizing for quite a while now to collect his helmet from where it sat nearby, the matte surface of which was a wash of the team colors, emblazoned with the Red Bull branding and the charging bull logo, the translucent, navy blue visor unmarred by fingerprints.

Stopping only long enough to give it a once over, he puts his helmet on, pulling it firmly into place without ceremony and with a far off look in his eyes, the expression immediately putting you under the impression that while Max might be physically present, his body going through the familiar steps of climbing nimbly into the cockpit of his car with a practiced, fluid ease, his mind is anywhere but here, lost somewhere a million miles away.

But once he’s seated, properly strapped in and comfortably positioned, it becomes painfully obvious to everyone around that Max is already impatient to be out of the garage, the gloved fingers of his right hand drumming an uneven rhythm against the side of his car. You are quite certain that if he had the space, if his seat and the chassis would have permitted it, he’d be tapping out the same beat with his foot.

The mechanic that had been leaning over the counter of the cabinet built into the wall to left side of the neat, navy painted lines that served as markers for the positioning of Red Bull, at long last turns around, having finally finished with his last second inspection of the #33 car’s steering wheel.

Having found no cause for concern, he gives Max a quick jerk of his chin, confirming that he’s deemed it to be race ready and hands the wheel over, watching closely as the Dutchman goes through the motions of attaching the wheel and running through his own checks, pressing buttons at random, toggling through the options as he peers down at the small screen.

Before you can think better of it, you break off the one-sided conversation that Linda had been having with a mumbled apology, not sparing the older woman a second look as you scoop Kaia up off the cold, concrete floor, grabbing a set of headphones from the box at random and handing them over to her, hoping to keep her hands busy.

The little girl now balanced on your hip, you walk with purpose across the room, weaving your way through the crowded space with far less difficulty than you’d been expecting because today, for whatever reason, be it the confidence with which you move through the space or the daughter of the team’s golden boy in your arms, people are getting out of your way instead of you getting out of theirs.

“Where?” Kaia asks suddenly, her high, sweet voice cutting cleanly through the general discord and den of the hectic garage, the single, softly spoken word commanding your attention.

“To Daddy,” you tell her simply, using the hand clasped at her shoulder to indicate the far side of the garage, singling out the car directly ahead in your path with a point of a finger.

“To Da,” she echoes, attempting to parrot the phrase back at you, her delicate features darkening as she trips up, her temper instantly flaring as she struggles with the unfamiliar word.

“Don’t get mad,” you rub your thumb soothing against the back of her head, where her blonde curls brush the nape of her neck, hoping the combination of your touch and the minor distraction of the random patterns you’re tracing will keep her calm, “try again.”

“Da,” Kaia repeats, trying again but only getting so far as adding the second d to the word by the time you stop walking.

“Your daughter wanted to see her father at least momentarily before the race started,” you don’t feel even a little bad about lying because while Kaia hadn’t actually said anything of the sort, there was more than fair odds that she actually felt that way, but simply wasn’t capable of or hadn’t thought to voice such a desire.

Plus, the guilt you knew you likely should have felt for telling Max this little white lie was nowhere to be found, it’s effect completely diminished by your annoyance with him for not coming to find the two of you like he’d said he would.

Your anger is only amplified further by the fact that he hadn’t contacted you even once since breakfast, with the full extent of your agitation only being made worse by his decision to stay over here and his predisposition to this kind of behavior, when he could have walked over and said hello to Kaia, and instead had chosen to ignore her in favor of sulking, preferring to continue throwing himself his stupid fucking little pity party on the far side of the garage and wallow around feeling sorry for himself.

Max looks at you, only his eyes visible from behind his helmet and says nothing, not a single word in response or in greeting, his behavior failing to acknowledge your presence and that of his child so entirely that if you hadn’t been able to make eye contact with him, then you would have had no conclusive proof that he even knew you were there.

“I swear to fucking God,” you mouth the expletive at him, looking away from the sliver of his face you could see just long enough to whisper an apology to Kaia and force the headphones into place, and then, then you let loose.

“What the fuck is your problem,” you reach out, smacking the side of Max’s helmet with your palm, knowing it wouldn’t hurt him but it would at least be uncomfortable as the motion knocks his head sideways, his head unwieldy with the added weight and not yet stabilized by his HANS device, ignoring the stinging in your hand because the yelp he lets out makes it infinitely easier to focus on the good things.

“Seriously, what in the hell is going on with you? I don’t care what happened with Cassandra, you don’t get to act like a petulant fucking child to Kaia! This is a dangerous sport, and this is lethal fucking track, people die out there, they die all the time, and you were going to go out there without hugging your daughter or at least acknowledging her existence! And of all things, you behave like this because your relationship is going through a rough patch? Really? You’re going to treat Kaia like that because Cassandra hurt your feelings? Fucking grow up, Max, grow the fuck up already!”

“Are you done?” He sounds emotionless, his voice deadened by apathy, like he’s beyond the reaches of your anger and your tirade.

“You know what? Now that you ask, I’m not-”

“Can’t wait to hear it.”

“Oh, fuck you, Verstappen,” you’re not entirely sure why but it seems appropriate to sling his last name at him, like it’s a derogatory term, like it’ll hit harder because it’s impersonal, it lacks the familiarity of using his first name, “I’m not doing this, I’m not gonna make a scene, not in front of all these cameras because Kaia needs at least one adult in her life who can act their age and put her needs in front of their own. But I am about to tell you what we’re going to do and you, you, Max Verstappen, you are going to do as you're told.”

“You have about three minutes before I have to be out of this garage.”

“I only need one,” you jam a finger in Max’s direction, warning dripping from every inch of your face, saturating your words, “you are going to take your helmet off, give your daughter a hug or a kiss or I don’t care what, just something, and you are going to tell her that you love her and you’re going to meant it, and we are both going to pretend like everything is perfect, she is to have no reason whatsoever to be scared or worried. Kaia is going to associate grand prix weekends with fun and excitement until she’s old enough to understand the dangers that her father puts himself in every day of his career. Is that understood?”

“Absolutely. Anything else?”

“Yeah, you’re going to lose that fucking attitude you’re catching with me because I don’t deserve it. I don’t know what happened between you and Cassandra, or what she said that’s gotten to you like this, but you know what? I don’t fucking care. You know why? Because if you had done what you’d said you would, what you’d promised you would, and come to find us, then we could have talked about what happened and maybe you wouldn’t currently be acting like such an insufferable bastard, who knows!

“But you do not to get to treat me like this, because I don’t fucking deserve it and you know it! We are supposed to be a team, whether we like it or not, and you cannot just go off the radar like that, not when we have a child to raise! You could have called, you could have texted, you could have done anything at all, and it would have been okay because we would have figured it out together.

“What you need to learn, what you need to get through that thick fucking skull of yours is that we are in this together. I need you; Kaia needs you, Max, you have a family that needs you and you need us.

“You aren’t on your own anymore, you don’t have to do this alone anymore, because now, you have me, but for us to do this, if we are going to do this, I need to have you too, which means you have to let me in, you have to decide to let me need you, to have you like you have me,” you’re breathing heavy, trying desperately not to let yourself think about how what you’ve just said might sound to Max’s ears, allotting yourself the time to make one more statement, if only to appease your own fears, “like you have Kaia.”

“Understood,” he replies in a terse voice, “can I speak to my daughter now?”

“Fine.”

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

The first two times that your phone had rung, Daniel’s name and contact photo lighting up your screen, you’d taken one glance at the picture you’d chosen well over two years ago, of him, Max and yourself standing together, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, massive smiles across all three of your faces, grinning and blissfully unaware of what was to come, and had hit decline just to make the image go away.

But, the third time the shrill notes of your ringtone began to play, you’d had enough and answered the phone without thinking to check who had called, the assumption that it was Daniel already foolishly having been made.

“Can I fucking help you, Daniel? Someone better be dead because if I have to go deal with Max right now, if I have to look at his stupid, smug, little bitch face, then today is going to be the day he dies.”

“Well, I’m not sure what I was expecting but I think it's safe to say it wasn’t that,” Horner says slowly, like he’s still trying to decide whether he should give you a talking to for that speech or not and was struggling to ascertain if he was allowed to find what you’d said funny or if he was obligated as your boss to not let on if he thought it had been humorous.

“You know what, sir, as team principal you’re probably duty bound to write me up for that, but I think that regardless of that, as someone who knows Max as well as we do, and for as long as we have, you can’t tell me you don’t know exactly where I’m coming from.”

Despite the fact that you don’t have a single clue where this vein of bravery is flowing from, which perhaps might be in part thanks to the fact that's because it’s not actually bravery, it’s merely stupidity and hubris lumped in together, you elect to just give in and go with it, paying absolutely no mind whatsoever to what the proper name for this sudden influx of emotion might be.

“I-” Christian hesitates, clearly unprepared for the angle you’d elected to take.

“He can be a proper fucking dickhead sometimes, especially when he gets into one of his little moods,” you’re just talking now, hoping that you’ll either talk your way out of this or, at the very least, you’ll eliminate some of the back and forth prior to being terminated from your job, “honestly, between you and me, it’ll be a miracle if Max and I both make it out of this little arrangement you cooked up but hey, I’m more interested in sticking around in the hopes that I’ll get an opportunity to take a swing at Jos.”

“Look, in the interest of plausible deniability and all that, I never said this and if anyone ever asks me about it, I will throw you under the bus,” you laugh at the British Team Principal's words, “but fuck, am I disappointed I didn’t get to hit Jos yesterday. I had the opportunity and I hesitated, so I can only hope I get another shot one day.”

“I imagine the man will live out the remainder of his life doing nothing but further our justifications for jumping him,” you say honestly.

“I think you’re right about that,” Horner snorts out, which to your best recollection is the absolute closest thing to a laugh that you’ve ever gotten out of the man, so you’re already convinced this has somehow managed to work out in your favor, “but the reason I called…”

“Is everyone alright?”

“Well, yes, at the moment but if your current state of mind is anything to go by, that answer has a very high likelihood of changing shortly.”

“And that means… what exactly?”

“I think it’s just better if you see it for yourself.”

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

The funny thing was you’d been mostly joking earlier when you’d mentioned killing Max but now, now you were actually starting to seriously consider the pros and the cons of following through on the threat because, for the love of God, he was on his worst fucking behavior today.

When you’d finally gotten back over to the Red Bull building, you’d only caught the tail end of Max’s shit show but what you had seen had been more than enough.

“You can’t act like this, Max! You’re scaring people. Stop acting like a baby for one fucking second and pay attention to the impact your behavior has on others!”

“Don’t call me a child. And don’t you fucking insinuate that I’m in the wrong for being mad at right now, that I got a 5 second penalty for a collision that shouldn’t have happened, that wouldn’t have happened if Bottas had been where the fuck he was supposed to be instead of-”

“You know good and fucking well that was your fault, that collision was on you, not on him. You were the one that forced him off the track, you were the one who-”

“I was the one who got dropped two fucking places! Third should have been mine, that podium should have been mine!”

“Just because you feel cheated doesn’t mean you can throw a fit. None of this entitles you to lash out at every person you cross paths with! You don’t get to take your bad mood out on people who are just trying to do their jobs!”

“Then what the hell am I entitled to? Because if I’m not permitted to act however I want to, in my room, alone, behind a closed door, then what the fuck am I allowed? Hm? Am I just not allowed to have any emotions at all because you don’t think I’m entitled to feel anything at all?”

“For the love of God, Max! I’m not asking you to not feel or to not be mad, I’m just telling you to let it out in a way that doesn’t have every single person out there,” you pointed towards the paddock and to the rest of the Red Bull Racing building, “walking around on eggshells, afraid to do their jobs because you’re being an absolute fucking ass!”

“I’m being an ass? Me?” he chuckles darkly at you, “I’m the one being an ass right now? You’re doing a pretty good job of it yourself!”

“Oh, just shut the fuck up! I’m only saying what they’re all too scared to because-” you broke off as he interrupted you.

“Because what? Please tell me exactly the reason why you’re standing in my room, yelling at me and telling me what to do, so I can make sure it never happens again,” he gestures for you to continue, giving you a smile that feels like more of a threat than any of the yelling or harsh words that had come before it, “I’m just dying to know what exactly makes them think you can do anything about me. And it better be good.”

Before you knew it, you were storming across the small room towards him, fists clenched at your sides.

“Because you idiot, they’re afraid of you but I’m not.”

Lightning fast, Max closes the remaining distance between you, moving so close that you instinctually take a step backwards. Your attempt to maintain space between you didn’t do much at all as he continued to close the space yielded, not stopping until your back hit the far wall.

“Oh, so you’re not afraid of me then?” Max asks, a dangerous smirk playing at his lips, the soft upward curves at the corners of his mouth all but daring you to break, to look down at the soft swell of his cupid’s bow and the tiny freckle dotted to the left of it, “I don’t scare you, lekkerding?”

“Not in the slightest,” you try to not let yourself get sidetracked by the unfamiliar word he’s thrown into the mix, knowing full well that it’s a diversion, one that had been added for its strategic value, to knock you off your game and give Max the upper hand that he’s sorely needs right now, a fact that he is entirely, comprehensively aware of.

“But I scare them?”

“Of course, you do. No one ever knows when you’ll lash out or when you’ll start throwing things!”

“Oh, but you do?”

“I never said that,” you point out.

“But you pretty much fucking did, the implication is right there,” Max retorts, insistent on doubling down, “you implied it and that’s almost as good as admitting it outright.”

“I didn’t not!” Your response comes out a little too loud and a touch too quick to be entirely believable, but you stick by your denial, deciding that if Max can double down on his flawed argument, then you can too, “I didn’t imply a goddamn thing,” you’re lying but you don’t care, “and I didn’t say jack shit.”

“Oh, you didn’t?” He challenges, moving towards you again as you shake your head no, his progress forward not stopping until he has you exactly where he wants you, caged in between himself and the wall at your back, “tell me this, if you know me so well, then what am I thinking about right now?”

“Well, the thing is Max, I don’t think you actually want me to answer that question, now do you?”

“Don’t I?”

“I really don’t think you do,” you can’t seem to decide which way to go with things because of the two answers you have in mind, one leads nowhere good and the other might be good, but it will get you absolutely nowhere, since neither of them are the product of a relatively sound mind.

Your thoughts are now a scrambled mess of nerves, of hyper awareness to how close Max is to you right now, that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body at so close an angle.

“Are you gonna tell me what happened between you and Cassandra?” It’s a cop out but you can’t really be fussed to care at present.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Max retorts with a shrug, but he still refuses to back down, the Dutchman keeping you boxed in, trapped within the space of his arms, “I talked, she listened, she talked, I listened-”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything-”

“We argued,” Max chooses to ignore your interjection entirely, “we made a scene.”

He looks less than impressed by the disbelieving, slightly bemused expression you’re giving him, trying valiantly to not let it get under your skin, the way he’s assessing you so closely, with such attention to detail, as you struggle to not let your thoughts wander, to resist the temptation to latch onto to the fact of the matter, to over analyze the situation and let your mind get ahead of you.

It had been a shouting match, that much at least is obvious, written as it is across the planes of Max’s face, the letters scrawled in a messy, jagged hand, the words smeared here and there, but still easily discernible if you know what you’re doing, if you know how to read between the lines, to take note of the tension held in his body, a muscle feathering at his jaw, betraying how tightly clenched his teeth are.

“We broke up. It’s as simple as that really.”

Because you both know damn fucking well had been anything but simple, one which a more than fair shot of having been a ‘in the trenches’ level bloodbath of a discussion, if it could even be called that when it had in fact been a far nastier thing than could be reasonably classified as anything so dignified as a discussion.

The reality of the situation is that Max, for reasons unknown, is electing to withhold this information from you, he is being purposeful in his approach to the situation, he has chosen to keep you in the dark about what had happened and, by all accounts, intends for things to remain that way.

You’re not feeling particularly inclined to let him get off quite that easily, or at the very least, not quite yet, your change in demeanor unavoidable, having been made rather inevitable by such a succinct, sterilized summation of events that you were thoroughly convinced had been an oversimplification on the part of the storyteller.

“What is it with you and this track, huh?” It’s a low blow, a cheap shot, but you take it all the same because in the lull between the end of Max sentence and the start of yours, in the space of a heartbeat, you’d taken full stock of the man in front of you, had looked him from head to toe and back again, and you had found him to be wanting, “if it’s not the power unit penalties, it’s the women you reduce to tears.”

“Why’d your heart rate go up earlier?”

It’s only a question, a mere handful of words threaded together into a singular sentence, like seven fat, perfect pearls strung in a line, a necklace which at first glance seems to be entirely unremarkable, unnoteworthy but that upon closer inspection, once you’ve moved past the conspicuous lack of bells and whistles, it’s plain to see the purpose to its simplistic, clean cut design- to let the quality of the piece speak for itself.

He’d been paying more attention to your body, to your response to his, to him than you had to your own, consumed as you were by the conversation and his utterly distracting presence in front of you, at such a close proximity, that you’d failed to even process your thunderous heart rate.

The blood rushing in your ears and the staccato rhythm of your heart roaring through your veins create a physiological response you can’t help but love to hate, as your heartbeat echoes through you, like it’s pulsating just below the surface, your whole body flushing with a sudden awareness that leaves your skin feeling a size too small and ten degrees too hot.

“What?” Max has just thoroughly derailed your train of thought, leaving you somewhere in the neighborhood of baffled bewilderment, suddenly scrambling to try and find purchase, “what are you even talking about-”

“You know what I’m fucking talking about,” his right hand has dropped from its place on the wall to the left of your head and you only realize what is about to happen a split second before it does, which incidentally, as you’re about to find out, is all the time you need to make a further fool of yourself.

Max brushes the back of his first two fingers down the column of your throat, the ghost of his skin against yours is so barely there you would have thought you had imagined it if he hadn’t then pressed his fingertips to the shallow curve where your jaw gives way to your neck, applying a gentle but firm hand as he searched for the tell-tale beat of your pulse under his touch, the gesture somehow capable of feeling impartial and impersonal whilst simultaneously imbued with such intimacy.

“Either do something or get the fuck out of my face, Max. I mean it, I’m not playing with you.”

“Something tells me you love a good game,” His fingers still rest on your pulse point, which he taps lightly as if to say ‘this is what told me’, a silent reminder that his hand is as good as in your head or, for that matter, in between your thighs, “if you’re not playing with me then what the hell are you doing, hm?”

“Well, why don’t you tell me, if you’re such an expert?”

“I don’t pretend to know how your mind works,” Max says with a shrug, the gesture causing his touch at your throat to slip slightly, grazing against your collarbone as he shifts back to where he’d been before but as he does so the drag of his fingertips over your skin sends a rolling wave of goosebumps erupting across your body, making you shiver, “but i think I could figure out how the rest works.”

“I’ll bite your fingers off, Verstappen.”

“Oh, I know you would, lekkerding.”

“I-” the both of you startle at the unceremonious entrance Daniel has just made, barging in without warning, without so much as a knock on the door or a shout of notice, his eyes missing nothing as Max takes several healthy sized steps back, his hand falling limply to his side, though you can still feel the ghost of his touch, like the tips of his fingers have left behind a tangible, tactile memory of their presence behind for your remembrance, “am I interrupting?”

“Yes,” Max snaps at the same moment you huff out a laugh.

“No,” shaking your head at the pair of them as you skirt around the Dutchman, crossing the room in a matter of strides. You hesitate in the doorway, pausing only as long as it takes to look back over one shoulder, meeting Max’s eyes which had already been on you when you’d turned around, you make it clear who in the trailer you’re addressing, “it’s not an interruption, there was nothing to interrupt because you, once again, choked. You should probably work on that. see a counselor or something.”

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

Max was so entirely drained after the events of this weekend that all his stores of willpower, of wherewithal, of pride that he didn’t have the executive functions or the mental capacity to spare on such a minor, inconsequential emotion as shame.

No, Max had long since abandoned that particular concern, too tired and too sapped to give a damn about what people thought of him, of his demotion to 5th place following his collision with Bottas and the subsequent time penalty that the stewards had handed down, nor did he spare a moment to consider what everyone, from the media to his fans to his peers across the grid, had to say about the situation he’d found himself in.

Something told Max that people didn’t think too highly of his current predicament, but he couldn’t bring himself to fucking fret about that at all.

He cared only for getting back to Monaco and finding a way to survive through tonight without being driven insane by the sluggish passage of time, the excruciatingly slow pace of seconds turning to minutes and those minutes into hours is only exacerbated by his bone deep desperation for Sunday to hurry up and yield itself to Monday, the darkness of night fading away into the early grey washed dawn.

All Max wanted was for it to be morning already, since morning meant it was time to check out, to get a ride to the airport and to board that flight to Nice, the one that departed from the same private hanger in the same charter plane he’d flown to Italy in, that he’d shared with Daniel and Pierre Gasly of all people.

Morning meant he could go home and Max, well Max had never been this ready to be home.

Luckily for Max and his dogged determination that he would make this work, come hell or high water, under the current circumstances, making do translates quite simply to doing whatever it takes, by going to any length necessary, to get himself and his two-year-old daughter through to morning light with as little damage done as humanly possible.

Of course, he would prefer if he and his daughter got more than five hours of sleep tonight, but he is more than willing to accept just one of them getting that deeply needed, sorely missed rest, if, and only if, while Kaia is asleep, Max can somehow manage to get a few minutes to himself.

That being said, Max wouldn’t be entirely opposed to a quiet moment in select company. Of course, he’d only accept that eventuality if such an opportunity arose on its own, because as far as he’s concerned, he’d already more than exceeded his personal quota for shoddy decision making and shitty fucking ideas for the weekend.

So, out of the interest of maintaining the slim margin of boundaries that remained between you and him, what little there was left that had not fallen victim to the events of this weekend, Max had come to a conclusion while he’d still been sitting at a table downstairs in the hotel’s restaurant, one which he’d not been particularly fond of then and only tolerated now.

As he’d pushed his food around his plate, drowning out the steady stream of Daniel and Kaia’s voices, Max had caught himself wondering where you were, and if you’d declined the invitation to eat with them that his teammate had extended to you for reasons beyond the excuses you’d given, or if you were still pissed off with him and that was why you’d declined.

After that, feeling more than a little pathetic, he’d decided that tonight wasn’t about to be allowed to become a repeat of the night before.

It had been an exercise in patience to get Kaia to release the iron grip she’d had on Daniel, which had then been followed up by the absolute nightmare that had at been at first him trying to explain to his daughter why ‘Uncle Dad’, as she’d taken to calling him, couldn’t just stay in their room with them tonight, but that had eventually become him repeating over and over, again and again, for the entirety of the time it took for them to get back to Max’s hotel suite that she would see Daniel again, first thing in the morning.

Because even now, feeling as if he was waging war against the toddler, who was fighting a losing battle against the dual opposing forces of her father and sleep, the latter of which she resisted with every ounce of determination she had in her little, hard-headed body. Max had learned quite quickly that her resolve to stay awake ran bone deep, tears in her big blue eyes as she asked for her mother, for you, for Dan- essentially for anyone that wasn’t him- then the same three all over again.

Remaining steadfast and still refusing outright to give in to the same temptations that had, in the end, won him over last night, Max instead put his head down and focused on the task at hand. He knew, with absolute certainty, that if he started down that path, if he let himself bundle his daughter up in his duvet and plod on down to your room, he would have a hell of a time coming back up it, if he could at all.

The fact of the matter remains the same, regardless of all else- Max absolutely cannot, under any circumstance, afford for you to become his crutch, his weakness, less he wake up one of these days to find that you are gone, only to learn then that you are something he simply cannot do without.

‘Just checking in. Things running a little more smoothly than they did last night?’

Max had been under the false impression that he’d considered all possible variations of how tonight would unfold but somehow, like the fucking dumbass he is, he’d failed entirely to contemplate what now seems to be the most obvious one. He should have seen this coming, honestly, he could kick himself right now for this rather major oversight because he should have seen this coming, he should have known that this was coming.

In all the years that Max had known you, he couldn’t recall a single time when you’d not been entirely oblivious to the rather confounding affect you and your infuriating ability to pop up when he least expected it, seemingly always during the moments in which he needed desperately to be out of your presence less he cross lines he didn’t think you had ever or would ever wanted him to cross.

‘You do realize your read receipts are on, right?’

He snorted at that, his thumbs now hovering over his screen, but they remained unmoving as he watched the little bubble pop up and then vanish three times over before he finally found the words with which to respond.

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

In all honesty, if Max were to be brutally honest with himself about it, he would have no choice but to admit that ending up here, sleeping in the same room as you and sharing a bed, had felt like an inevitability and he’d merely been delaying the irrevocable.

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

Monday, September 3rd- Monte Carlo, Monaco

Max’s Apartment

Max had lost his goddamn mind, which wasn’t really saying much, all things considered, not when his default factory settings fell somewhere in the region of menace to polite society but this? This was unparalleled, unprecedented and most crucially-

“Oh, this is just fucking uncalled for,” Daniel mutters, letting out a low whistle, as the four of you surveyed the scene before you.

“I- I didn’t know what to get so I- I…” Max rubs at his jaw with one hand, a dazed look on his face like he’s not quite processing the present situation, “I just got everything?”

While in theory, you knew with the utmost certainty that Max’s penthouse apartment had to have a floor, because rational thought dictated as much, which still seemed like pretty shoddy grounds on which to base the existence of something that you could not see and must instead try merely to imagine.

Because where once there had been a floor, the view of which had only been interrupted by the shape of furniture at regular intervals, was now entirely obscured by the packages of all shapes and sizes which covered every surface available and littered every space imaginable, stacked one on top of another.

To say that he’d bought everything would still be to make a substantial understatement.

“We can fucking see that much for ourselves, mate,” Daniel snorts derisively, “you don’t have to tell us shit.”

“Watch your language,” Max grumbles at him, evidently electing to ignore the remainder of the remark in favor of turning to you, “why is that when he cusses you don’t say anything but when I do it’s the end of the world?”

“He’s my favorite,” you roll your eyes at him, “and honestly Max, swearing was appropriate here because… this is- that is to say you’ve- well- you’ve outdone yourself, truly-”

It’s anxiety inducing, the number of packages at stretches in every direction, filling the open concept living room with cardboard box after cardboard box until there is no option but for the collection to expand beyond the boundaries of the space, to spill out into the rest of the penthouse, and leaving what’s visible from the entryway of the kitchen beyond choked out by the shape of more parcels.

“What she actually means and is too kind to say to you is that, after all the time and money and effort you’ve put into it, you’ve finally done it- you’ve finally lost your fucking mind,” Daniel claps Max on the back as he makes the pronouncement, projecting his voice like he's making some speech to commend the Dutchman for his completion of such a prestigious achievement.

“Be nice,” you swat the Australian on the arm, opting to ignore the glower the physical reprimand earns you from him, “he was doing the best he could… he just went a little overboard with it.”

“No, I won’t be nice,” Daniel tries valiantly not to start laughing at Max and the wounded expression he’s giving the other man at the moment, but he fails spectacularly, “because if this is Max doing his very best then we have issues to handle that’ll make his September credit card statement look like child’s play.”

“Behave or I’ll send you home,” you’re not in the mood for this right now, not when you’ve barely slept in the last 36 hours and the toddler in your arms seems to be getting exponentially heavier by the second.

“What, and leave you to deal with the pair of them and this certifiable mess all on your lonesome? Not bloody likely.”

“I’m standing right here,” Max sounds thoroughly unimpressed by his such exclusion from the conversation, his role in the exchange reduced down to that of a wayward child or a poorly behaved dog that’s been deemed unworthy of consultation, “you two do realize that, don’t you?”

“Course we do,” Daniel concedes with the wave of a hand, dismissing the aggravation in Max’s tone without having to look away from the package he’s currently prodding experimentally with the toe of one shoe, “but that hardly means we’re under any obligation to include you if we don’t want to.”

“But- you’re in my house,” Max splutters.

“And this is your daughter,” Kaia wiggles around in your arms, the little traitor no longer drowsy and already reaching for Daniel, who scoops her up and spins her around, pausing just long enough to dangle her in front of Max tauntingly before he’s bundling away.

He pauses, coming to a halt in the doorway that leads outside onto the balcony that runs the length of the apartment, he looks back to where you and Max still stand side by side, his eyes narrowed in careful assessment and quietly whispers something inaudible to Kaia, who nods solemnly.

There’s no question who’s being singled here, not when there’s a chubby pointer figure leveled in your direction, Kaia’s expressive little face scrunched up as she musters everything she’s got into the job she’d been assigned by her uncle, as Daniel remarks, “oh and how could I forget? She’s your new roommate.”

You can practically see when the Australian realizes that he’d missed the mark, that what you’d been expecting him to say and what he’d actually said had been two vastly different beasts, forcing you to watch, utterly petrified and completely helpless, as the comprehension dawns on his face, understanding casting his features in a new glow.

“No-” Max must have read the same warning signs in Daniel’s expression that you had, noting the dangerous twinkle in his eye, alight with mischief, and come to the conclusion that he had no choice but to take proactive action, “oh, don’t you dare, don’t you even think about it.”

Max’s hands are held aloft in silent warning, the palms of which are gingerly turned outward, facing away from him, and his arms extended in front of his body, both of them raised in placation, the motion cautioning Daniel to think before reacting, counseling him to consider the consequences before responding when guided by instinct alone.

“Let’s not do this right now, Daniel. Actually, let’s not do this all, like ever,” the tone of Max’s voice is hard to read, the intent of his words virtually impossible to glean, all emotion leached from his pitch, utterly oblivious to the fact that the facade of apathy he’d put up betrays just as much as a genuine performance would, but you refrain from sharing such information.

“You’re only encouraging him,” you tell Max softly, resolutely looking anywhere at all but in his direction while you speak, preferring to address the room around you instead of the man himself.

“And that’s only okay when you do it?” He had a point there, but you weren’t about to cop to that, not when he was this close, standing calmly next to you like that, his body language cheated towards you, communicating what your stubborn evasion of his gaze and your stalwart resolve to not look him in the face had shielded you from gleaning.

“Yeah, basically,” you grumble back, still staring anywhere else but at him, trying desperately to ignore the nonverbal conversation he was trying to coax you into having, “but don’t pretend you’re not as bad about it as I am.”

“I can admit that. I don’t have any problem admitting to it because you’re right about me, I am bad.”

“That’s a first, you admitting to anything at all,” you speak without even hearing the words, uncertain of whether or not what you’d just strung together had made any sense at all because inside your head, it’s the same thing time after time.

All you can hear is Max’s voice saying ‘you’re right about me. I am bad’ over and over, repeated again and again in perpetual repetition until your thoughts start to sound like an old 45’ record when a needle gets hung up on a bad scratch on the vinyl and all that’ll play from the record is the same looping audio.

You’re right about me. I am bad. You’re right about me. I am bad. You’re right about me. I am bad.

Daniel mumbles something to Kaia first, who pouts, clearly less than impressed by whatever has been whispered in her ear. It takes some coaxing and another round of muttered words before she finally complies, though not without first making a show of things, and making it abundantly clear to all parties present that while she’ll do as her uncle has asked, she’s not particularly happy about it.

He waits patiently, carefully giving Kaia all the time she needs to cover her ears before beginning to perform a quality assurance check, gently poking the back of both of her hands with his pinky finger to verify they’re pressed flush to her head, and only then does he allow his thoughts to relocate, his sights now entirely focused on the two of you, a wicked smile playing at his lips.

“Look, we’ve only been back at this,” Daniel points out the three of you, excluding Kaia from his count, “for like less than 36 hours and yet, fuck me, just in yesterday alone I walked in on the two you not once, but twice, well three times if we count whatever the fuck I stumbled in on in Max’s hotel room when I was on the hunt for Kaia’s jacket and let myself in while he was in the shower-”

“Daniel, I swear to God, you finish that sentence and I’ll make you pay-”

“Pay with my life, yeah, yeah, I know,” the Australian waves Max away with a dismissive hand, wholly unfazed by the threat, which in your mind, merely implies it's something he hears fairly regularly out of his teammate’s mouth, “really, Max Emilian, you need to get some new material, because at this point, I’ve heard your old faithfuls often enough that I recite them in my head at night to put myself to sleep.

“But, anyways,” Dan claps his hands, “I don’t know what the fuck is going on with the two of you, but you need to figure it out. Here’s the plan. I’m going to take my niece and we are going to go be menaces to the principality of Monaco until it starts getting dark out or some foreign government gets involved and we have no choice but to flee the city to seek refuge-”

“Are you having a fucking stroke?” You’re too tired for this, for Daniel’s antics, for the warehouse of children’s items that had formerly been a living room, for the way Max was looking at you and especially, above all else, for the fact that you had to fly out of Nice tomorrow night to go pack your life in England up in order to relocate to Monaco for the foreseeable future.

“I’m not but thank you for your concern,” Daniel dips his head to you, sketching a bow that earns a scoff from Max, “no, but seriously, when I get back I either want to hear all the dirty details or i want to find the two of you acting like you have some sense. Does everyone get that?”

“Whatever,” you grumble back.

“Get fucked,” Max retorts, immediately glowering when Daniel just beams at him, a shit eating grin on his face, winking dramatically.

“Pleasant as always,” Daniel remarks, waving Kaia’s hand back at the two of you over his shoulder, “I expect everyone to be fully clothed when I return.”

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

Wednesday, September 5th- Monte Carlo, Monaco

Max’s Apartment

Five More Days

He hadn’t been expecting for the house to feel quieter when he woke up this morning, but it had, like somehow even though there had only been two days between getting home from the Italian Grand Prix and your flight out of Nice at 9 pm Tuesday night, you’d managed to make an impact on the apartment.

It was easy to tell that Kaia already missed you and it had been only slightly more complicated from there for Max to figure out that he did too.

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

Thursday, September 6th- Monte Carlo, Monaco

Four More Days

In all reality, Max was entirely aware that you had only been gone for two days, he knew that not just because he understood basic math but because he’d also spent enough time staring at the calendar that you’d put up on the refrigerator in his kitchen before you’d left- though he had no idea where it had come from and you hadn’t had the time to order it, so he could only assumed this meant you’d just had a wall sized calendar on hand- that he was wholly convinced that the month of September was now permanently etched into his brain.

Max knew objectively you left Tuesday and today was Thursday, and he understood that it had been a standard weekend’s worth of hours since you’d flown back to England to pack up your flat and tie up whatever loose ends you had there, but the thing is, if you were to ask Max and he were to be completely honest with you, he would have no choice but to admit that it felt like you had been gone for an eternity.

And actually, he wasn’t even embarrassed to admit, well he was a little embarrassed about it and had only just started admitting it to himself but whatever, that’s hardly the point, because regardless of his pride or what marginal sense of shame he still had, Max couldn’t bring himself to deny the truth flat out- he wanted you to be back in Monaco and he wanted you to be back now.

Because, unmistakably, he loved Kaia very much, but he was also halfway convinced he was losing his goddamn mind here with only a two-year-old for company.

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

Friday, September 7th- Monte Carlo, Monaco

Three More Days

Things have devolved to the point that now, under the guise of helping Kaia understand how long you’d been away and when you’d be back, Max had turned the first two weeks of September on the kitchen calendar into a countdown till your return, and at present, he was beginning to get convinced that crossing out each day right before his daughter’s bedtime was the only thing tethering him to reality.

To add insult to injury, Max had been sat on the sofa in his living room, having intended to play a video game to get his mind off things, as he’d done for as long as he can remember, only to have the sudden realization halfway through getting himself situated to settle in and play until he fell asleep or the sun came up, just how fucking loud his gaming system actually was.

He’d immediately turned it off, cutting the tv out in the seconds follow, having quickly ruled out the option of watching something instead, his fear of waking Kaia vastly outweighing his boredom and serving only to further undermine his resolve to not bother you once for the entirety of the week you’d be away.

For lack of anything better to do, Max found himself resorting back to a habit he’d had since childhood, one that he couldn’t particularly remember starting but which he simultaneously couldn’t really recall a time where he hadn’t done it.

Perhaps it was escapism, or perhaps it was just an activity that a lonely little boy had come up with when he wanted to pretend, even just for a moment, that he was someone else. Max had been avoiding letting his mind wander to this exercise but not for a reason other than he knew how pathetic he’d look, but he did it anyway, closing his eyes and imagining his dark living room from above, his thoughts easily supplying him with the scene.

Thanks to recessed lighting that lined the undersides of his kitchen cabinets, a soft glow slips into the space from the curved arched way to his right, his figure backlit by the glittering, golden visage of Monaco visible through his balcony windows, the far of glint of the moon reflected off the harbor deepening the warm color of the city lights.

From this angle, even as a figment of his imagination, Max didn’t think he looked his age, and he knew for certain he didn’t look much like the man you would have expected to have his career, just sitting in his living room like this, all alone on a Friday night in Monte Carlo, pretending like it wasn’t fucking weird that he was shrouded in the shadows, one ear pricked for any sound of his daughter down the hall, fretting over something so inconsequential as sending a text message.

Before he could think better of it, without affording himself the time with which to overthink things, Max picks up his phone, eyes watering after so long in the dark, the sudden artificial illumination of his screen is almost painful but he adjusts, blinking away the haze that gathers along his lash line as he opens his messages, scrolling down until he sees your name.

It had seemed prudent at the time, that time being a little of three nights ago, for Max to set your contact to muted notifications because for some God forsaken reason, Daniel had suggested it and like the idiot he was, he’d gone along with it.

And now? Now he was met by the running series of text messages you been sending him since Tuesday night, the grouping of which was periodically spaced out over each day, coming in bursts of one message one after the other, giving Max the impression that you had no patience for anything so frivolous as concerning yourself with double texting him, clearly preferring to text in the same manner that you spoke, interjecting with each thought as it came along.

The longer he looked, the harder it became for Max to discern one feeling from another as the myriad of emotions gathered in the pit of his stomach grew more and more wild, the intensity of the individuals increasing exponentially, trapped as they are in such a confined space, until all that’s left is one central, localized seething mass of consciousness.

Max already knew full and goddam well that between you, Daniel and his own rather overactive sense of guilt, a facet of his personality that often got out of hand and ahead of itself, he was never, ever, going to live this down.

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

Saturday, September 8th- Monte Carlo, Monaco

Two More Days

Since the way things seemed to be working out for him as of late, Max was altogether unsurprised when Saturday was just yet another day in week that seemed to be solely comprised of one untoward event after another.

For whatever reason, he had gotten it into his head that the best way possible for him to approach the reconvening of communications with you would be to follow your lead about when, where and whether or not the two of you would ever discuss his status of missing in action for four days straight, while he simultaneously racking his brain for some idea of apologizing without exacerbating what was already a perilous situation.

Needless to say, his master plan did eventually come to him, taking shape in the later hours of the day, when the sun had already set and Kaia was in bed, tuckered out after a day spent dicking around Monaco with Daniel in tow.

He could admit, however begrudgingly, that he had gotten a little caught up in the moment and had then wasted absolutely no time in getting more than ahead of himself. But, unfortunately for Max, he didn’t come to terms with the fact of the matter until it was too late for him to do anything about it.

It had been in the lull between Max sending you a text saying that he had cancelled the car service that you had scheduled through Red Bull, the details about which he had known and thus been able to rescind because you had booked it in front of him on the previous Monday, as the two of you, Kaia and Dan had ridden from the hotel to the airport together, and the message that had followed it, explaining that he’d be picking you up instead that he finally stopped long enough to wonder if what the fuck was going on with him as of late.

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

Sunday, September 9th- Monte Carlo, Monaco

One More Day

After he had filled Daniel in on the minutiae of his current predicament, the two teammates had hatched a plan, one which the both of them were perhaps a little more proud of than they strictly should have been. Max chose to blame their hubris on any number of different things, on the last tumultuous nine days, the sudden appearance of the two-year-old daughter that he hadn’t known about until last weekend, and on the race this weekend, the Singapore Grand Prix looming large on the horizon.

And it was no one’s business if, privately, Max knew that the only extenuating circumstance actually at fault here was not one of those that he had listed. It seemed in poor taste to acknowledge, outright, where the responsibility should actually be held when it was the most glaringly obvious of the unspoken answers.

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

Monday, September 10th- Monte Carlo, Monaco

Today’s The Day

At first, when Max jolts awake, sitting bolt upright in his bed, he can’t figure out why he such an overwhelming sense that he’s forgotten something, but he’s certain that whatever that something is, it’s very important, if the state of overt panic burning a hole in his chest is anything to go by.

Sluggishly, pressing a hand to his head in an effort to ease the riot of thoughts shouting in chorus with one another, the volume inside his mind so deafening he can’t even hear himself think, Max is glancing down at his phone, the blurry lines of the clock slowly coming into focus when it clicks.

The clock reads 10:30 am, which is a good three hours after your flight had landed and five hours after he’d supposed to have gotten up. He must have turned his alarm off in his sleep he thinks dazedly, swearing as he tears back his sheets, so consumed by the task of getting up, dressed and out the door as fast as is humanly possible, he doesn’t even realize he’s not alone until he’s got both feet on the floor, and he hears a sharp intake of breath from the doorway to his bedroom.

Kaia had stayed at Daniel’s last night, since it hadn’t particularly been feasible to try and wrangle a toddler along with him this morning, and honestly, Max had desperately needed the night on his own, so he’d known who it would be standing there before he’d even looked up.

“Uh, good morning?” Max offers you a sheepish smile, trying not to wince when he finally forces himself to hold his head up high and meet your gaze.

“I- You-” you bluster wordlessly at him.

It’s not until then that it even registers with Max that since he’d been home alone last night, he’d gone back to his old ways, which meant at present, he didn’t have a lick of clothing on.

“Well… I guess Daniel will finally get his answer about which way it curves then, won’t he?” Max doesn’t know why he says it but he does.

“I-” you clap a hand over your eyes then, the motion so sudden it snaps him out of the same shock induced stupor you’d been experiencing, “it- um- curves to your left… right?”

“Yeah, yep, definitely, my left, yep.”

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

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559 notes · View notes

after-witch · 3 years

Note

Fuck off, Scaramouche. I’m not your doll to dress up and put wherever you please. You have thistle and rot where your heart should be, you’re so far removed from what a person should be that you can’t hurt me in any way that matters. (my inner brat and dramatic bitch read your post about him and decided to contribute lmao)

notes: yandere, forced marriage, abuse, implied mentions of noncon

Before you've even spat out the last words, the air has become thick and tense, filled with a dread that you can practically taste on your tongue. It's a metallic bite, a sharp pinch, an electric sizzling that makes every hair on your body stand on end.

His hands, which had been busy arranging your hair to his liking, drop to his waist. His gaze drops with them, and you can just make out his eyes narrowing as his thoughts turn and turn.

"Thistle... and... rot?" The words come out slow, enunciated, almost said in disbelief. That you would dare say such a thing at all, much less to his face, is beyond comprehension.

Scaramouche's eyes slowly rise to meet yours, pupils almost pinpricks, pointed and sharp. Meeting his gaze is like being pieced with the thinnest of needles, a pain that will make its presence known well after the fast, shocking point of contact.

His hand rises smoothly to grip your chin, and if you weren't already tied to the bedpost like a pretty little present, you'd feel firmly rooted to the spot by his intensity.

"I've let you read too much poetry, it seems." His nails dig into your skin and you steel your expression to avoid giving him the satisfaction of your winces and whimpers. "And not paid enough attention to instructing you on important things. Like manners," he says pointedly, squeezing your chin harshly for emphasis. "And respect."’

He drops your chin and stares, then scoffs when you refuse to look away, still riding the bravado rushing inside you that could come crashing down hopelessly at any moment. You cling to it like a life raft, keeping you float in the storm of your life.

You can feel the tingling in the air that promises pain, whether he uses his Vision or not. Instead of feeling the indescribable crackle of electricity or the harsh sting of a cane, you feel his lips, pressing against your ear in a way that makes your blood run cold.

"Ungrateful thing. You are mine to do with as I please.” His words leave no room for argument, and who are you to argue, tied to his bed, in the outfit he chose, in the makeup he ordered put on you?

One hand reaches to fix the ornamental comb in your hair, which went askew during your struggles. "So beautiful on the outside, aren’t you? You’re lucky I don’t gag you on a daily basis with your rotten tongue.”

He eyes your bound, helpless form with a lingering, increasingly pleased gaze. Yes, you’re dressed in the outfit that he chose, wearing the makeup he ordered and tied snugly to the place he insisted. He’ll remind you of these things and his control over every minute detail of your life until you’re unable to forget them.

"For now, why don't I find a way to make you thank me for that?"

#yandere scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere #afterwitch writes #yandere interactions #ANON PLS #thistle and rot so poetic and drama #just like scaramouche's hat.

521 notes · View notes

tiens-letters · 3 years

Text

with these hands, I vowed to love you

with these hands, I vowed to care for you

and with these hands, I ruined you

Childe (angst)

tw : slight gore and just pure pain

...

It was that time of the year again, going back to the snowy region was a bliss for you. Having to visit your fiancée's family was an unspoken tradition after he introduced you to them. They practically took you in as one of them immediately, especially that little angel brother of his.

Teucer.

The train ride was comfortable , the window giving you the familiar beauty of the snowy landscape of snezhenaya. It was snug inside the rather spacious compartment Childe rented out, even when you told him that you'd rather share a normal one due to your thrifty nature he'd shrug it off, claiming it that he has too much mora and nowhere to spend it on other than you.

Gifts from him would scare you as you knew these weren't anywhere cheap. Everything he gave was expensive, he loved showering you in gifts and it made you feel so overwhelmed.

"Ajax, you're spending too much." you were visibly sweating beside him as he picked out another one of the dresses on display at the local boutique of Liyue.

"I think this one would suit you better, don't you think so love?" of course he wasn't listening, placing the dress in front of you

"Ajax." you frowned at him

" I just want to spoil you." he whines

"I know but sometimes its just..." you stopped yourself before saying anything further in fear of offending him

"Was it too much again?" the tone in his voice softens as he puts back the dress, he knew how you didn't like that habit of his, formed from the first time he saw you down by the docks.

"One dress, Ajax. One is enough since you picked it out for me." you gave in not wanting to see him so dejected, he immediately brightens up as he pecks you on cheek before rushing off to a different aisle of clothing. Sighing, you sat down on the sofa present in the shop, watching the ginger decide thoroughly of what dress to buy.

But of course, your love for one another runs deeper than things bought off gold nor silver. No, it ran deeper than anything else, rivaling the oceanic depths.

"What are you thinking about hmm?" he hums below you, head resting against your lap.

"Im just happy to be visiting again, that's all." you smile, nimble hands brushing through his soft hair "Sleep well?"

"You bet I did." he grins taking your hand and placing a kiss to your beating pulse and then another and another, showering you in his deeply rooted affection. Soon his kisses reached where they are supposed to belong, those soft lips of yours and then inching their way to the sensitive spots on your neck, leaving marks only he can place on you.

Breathless and bothered, you pushed him back "The attendants are gonna see, you idiot." at least you still had some control in you

"They will only arrive when we call them , so its fine to have a little fun before we arrive." there was that sly grin of his as he continued in where you both left off, ears perking to hear more sounds exclusively for him and him only.

"You horny bastard!"

...

It was cozy by the hearth, you and his siblings huddled together in one single fleece blanket, steaming cups of hot cocoa in hand. Childish giggles and hushed stories erupted amongst you. Teucer having wrapped in your arms as he snuggled closer. Anthon and Tonia flanking your sides.

"Hey, who's fiancé do you think you guys are coveting?"

"Oh don't be like that, your siblings just miss them." his mother chided from the couch where she sat, an open book on her lap, she didn't seem to age and always looked so young that at first you were shocked to have been introduced to her.

"But mom, I haven't seen her all day." her son pouts as if he were still a child denied his candy

"Give me a break, you're always clinging onto her you know." his sister rolls those identical thalassic eyes at him "You wont die if you go a day without her."

"Listen here you little---"

"Ajax." you interjected, as much as you enjoy the siblingly banter of theirs, you cant have them going at each other with offensive words. His pleading gaze aimed at you as he practically begged for you both to go home.

"Please?"

"After I put Teucer to bed." you sighed, standing up with the youngest in your arms

"Seriously this guy." his sister groaned "I was having a good time."

"Tonia dear, we can continue our conversations tomorrow." you winked at her, it was a promise

"Fine."

Both of you bid farewell to his mother and made your way towards Teucer's room and tucking him in.

"Happy?" you turned to your fiancée, a narrowed look in your eyes as he grinned beside you

"Of course, sweetheart!" he pecked your lips as he pulled you closer

"Can you not do it in Teucer's room? Have some shame." his siblings' comments were endless, this time it was from his older brother.

"That's why were going home." Childe picked you up as you made a surprised yelp making the other party roll his eyes "Also, get ready to lose tomorrow brother. I'm getting that white deer for my lady."

"I'm looking forward to it."

The walk was short towards Childe's home as he preferred living alone. It was a grandiose manor and you were sure you will never get used to how big it was and filled with such furnitures of the finest quality.

"Well, how was your day darling?" you hummed, arms snaking around his neck

"Oh you wouldn't believe it."

...

It was there.

You felt it in the cold breeze that wafted into the room.

A shift in the flow of the wind, it was different yet familiar at the same time. Leaving the window open as the harsh temperatures of the night climbed and crawled inside. The curtains danced in the turbulent current of the gale, carrying songs only you could hear. Songs that made mountains tremble and build civilizations at the same time.

there was something foreboding, something terrifying and something heavy and dark that devoured anything in its path.

You heard him first before he came in through those doors, that tousled ginger hair of his caked with melting snowflakes in the warm glow of the lamps. His rugged appearance caused by the hunting competition between him and his older siblings induced his worn out state. That soft yet jaded smile of his was what welcomed you as he trudged inside the bedroom, lazily discarding his clothes on the basket for dirty laundry and entering the bathroom for a quick shower.

"why is the window open? " he asks you, sliding inside the warm covers

"I just wanted fresh air ." you smile as you shut the windows and pull the blinds enough for you to see the moon that hung above the sky. Joining him under the covers, you cradled him, his head resting on the crook of your neck. Your hands finding their way into those soft locks of his , entangling them as he hummed softly against you. Those arms of his that held weapons and skin littered with scars both old and new now held you close, so tenderly as if he'd never taken a life before.

"sing me a song, sweetheart. " his queries were simple yet genuine

"of course." you sang until you equated him to a sleeping newborn

It was warm, so warm that you could have mistaken it for a summer afternoon in Liyue, resting on the couch with silken pillows and window showcasing the view of the harbor below. The steaming cups of soothing tea Beidou would brew for you when nights became cold at times she would pay you a visit after trading that would take weeks, months and rarely years.

you slept.

Why is it cold? you wondered, Did Ajax open the windows?

You were blessed by the tsaritsa so such climates shouldn't matter to you.

You woke up.

A shadow was cast over you by the man youve sung to sleep. Virulent blue eyes looked at you with so much abhorrence, for a second you couldnt recognize them and thought it was a stranger to which you were ready to terminate.

"Ajax?" your voice was hoarse, as you slowly lost the feeling in your lips.

He was crazed, still trapped in that dreaming state of his, drifting between experiences. Today was a re-enactment of a memory he would never speak of, not even to you. There were parts of him he'd never tell you, such a soul as yours should never hear.

You choked and coughed as the metallic taste of mortal ichor filled your throat. How could you have not felt anything earlier? Was it because of your futile attempts to coax Ajax back into reality or was it because of the numerous thoughts your mind came up with to he answer as to why he is in such a virulent state. Excruciating pain filled your whole body as you writhed and struggled under his grip. It felt as if something was being ripped out of you.

"Ajax, darling come back to me." you cried, it took so much to even utter a word as you bled out, you know not where but you could feel it. The liquid vital for your survival was seeping out of you, flowing like a lazy river on an autumns day, only that it was warm, sticky and addicting.

"Ajax?" a hiss comes from that mouth, he cringes as you freed your numb hands to hold his face and he let you, seeing as to there was no point in stopping you as you dangerously danced on a tight rope of life and death. You couldn't tell in that delirious disposition of yours if his eyes were shifting between Ajax or the primal eyes of a beast hunting its prey.

It wasn't too late was it?

But why didn't your eyes meet his?

Who snuffed out all the lights?

"I've abandoned that name a long time ago."

The cold took over you completely, freezing you until you broke under his touch with words left dying in your ichor filled lips

and then fear was the last thing you felt.

fear that he might not return to his sweet, charming self.

fear that he will curse everything in his path.

fear that he might attempt to use different various methods to bring back what was lost

and fear of his ruination.

you care not for your death, even in your last minutes of life, you dare not blame him for what he's endured so far. only wishing he never had to experience such in the first place.

This is what the wind warned you about in its lullaby.

...

Childe woke up for the second time.

Oddly more worn out than the day before, but your songs always worked, how come? . He wondered if you left to make breakfast as the covers felt empty as he reached out for you. No, you were a late riser, always having to slumber in the middle of the warm covers of the bed you both share. It was he who mostly did the cooking in the morning. So your presence gone was a displacement in the moment of his waking.

His eyes had to adjust to the view of the room as he sat up, a yawn escaping his lips as he called for you. The pitter-patter sound of the water on the bathroom tiles were non-existent as he strained his ears to hear for any trace of you.

"What..." he was confused as to why the room was trashed, furniture broken in half and strewn about the room, the drapes shredded and laying on the floor and the mirror shattered to pieces, shards sharp enough to cut through skin yet he slept through such a thing?

his first concern was your safety as you had not been present in the room and it him.

the heavy stench of blood lingered in the air. His enjoyment for such things turned into something suffocating because blood was never shed in his own home nor in his very room. In the state of confusion, something dark caught his peripheral vision. A large blemish in the covers beside him, it was dyed a deep dark crimson and he knew well what it was. He began to shake in worry, telling himself not to panic until he finds you safe. All he could remember was you singing him to sleep, held captive in your soft arms, encased in your warmth, so how did it come to such a morning that looked like a result of a monster's tantrum. He calls out for you, his bare feet on the floor as splinters punctured them and he didnt care. he had to find you.

The hallways looked haunting, the portraits on the walls taunting him and he swore he was going lose it if he hadnt found you sooner, every room was achingly vacant and it felt like a dream. He calls for your name again in a frenzy as he rushes through the place, had the mansion been this big? he thinks as he runs down the stairs.

There in the fireplace, the dying embers of fire lit from the night before, wood giving away and turning into coal as the burning smell mingled with similar stench that engulfed the bedroom, the same dark liquid on the sheets was present as well, only that it was painted into the wall and bled down creating a cascading waterfall.

Because there you were, with arms spread out as if welcoming each and every sinner for solace and blessing them with forgiveness, the drying mortal ichor behind you creating a halo. Your lips upturned into something soft as if you'd do anything disgraceful to keep the effeminacy on a soul lost to ruin.

an angel crucified.

that oh so heavenly face of yours could rival anything beautiful, even statues would crumble under you, nations would go to war for you and bodies of those who want you would turn into a throne built for you and you only. You were immortally ethereal even in death.

Ajax, dear sweet Ajax felt his legs give away, energy having siphoned from him as he trembled so much that it could rival the mountains when they shook. Thalassic eyes, wide blown into grief, anguish and all other emotions crashed against him like strong waves that could drown anyone caught up in it. He knelt as pain spread through him like wildfire, burning, scorching and killing. Agonized cries filled the room and if someone were to pass by, they couldve mistaken it for a dying animal. He gasped and choked on his own breath as he dared to look at you, the tears freely flowing from his eyes, down to his pale cheek and finally falling off his trembling chin to be hungrily absorbed by the carpeted floor that was also tarnished by ichor.

He felt crazed as he wept and in that moment of insanity, he remembered. That most disgusting sin he's ever committed that he should never be pardoned for in the life he has right now and the next ones he will be in. Through the blur of tears, he saw his hands and he wished he didnt.

Sullied hands befitting a murderer.

He screams into the ground, doubling over as his hands find their way into his hair, gripping it and ripping out those jacinthe locks of his. He could never forgive himself now and he never will. He wails out loud until his own throat collapsed into a croaking mess.

and then he couldnt find himself no longer.

The sand of time seemed to trickle down slowly. His eldest siblings came looking for him, to continue the hunt. A once peaceful encounter turned into a nightmarish reality as they witnessed their brother rocking back and forth with you gingerly wrapped in his arms, mumbling your name. Lips pressed to your forehead as he prayed and begged for forgiveness over and over in hushed torn whispers as if it were enough to bring you back and cover that gaping hole in your abdomen.

"What did you do?"

...

"Brother, when are they coming back?"

Oh darling Teucer, innocence reflecting off his eyes as he tugged on his brother's sleeve. The toy you gifted him clutched tightly at his side.

"I dont know kid, their mission was sudden so its best to wait. Can you do that Teuc?" the truth about you was kept behind closed doors, only adults can speak of and if they did, it took time to keep the conversation smooth and off of any grief nor sadness when your name reached their tongue. The younger ones would never know until the time is right. When everything was taken care of and hearts moved on.

Your funeral was held in secrecy yet was it was grand. Something that would hold the significance of your memories with them. It was beautiful, your favorite flowers lined along your coffin, and you. Looking ever so ethereal even when death has kissed you, clad in that dress Childe bought for you.

"uh huh!" the youngest ginger nodded eagerly and skipped away as the eldest sighed into his hands, the pressure weighing heavily on his shoulders as he worried more and more about his younger sibling. Another memory, a mind broken and a his soul withering. was there any way to save him?

Days seemed to go by as any glimpse of the man was scarce. Until one day they ceased to see him altogether. It started at lunch, a week after the funeral when it took everyone to coax him into eating more as he lost weight and trickled down to a whole day. Cooped up in his room, clinging to a pillow with the fading scent of you. and then he was gone, like a snowflake melting upon ones forehead. They grew anxious and thought of the worse until they caught wind that he was back in Liyue from one of the agents only then were they allowed to breathe a little better.

"Childe, what finds you here?" the calm tone of the geo archon's voice broke him out of his trance

"Have you seen my fiance?" Zhongli blinks at the question of the harbinger, he knew what befell you and yet this man before him seemed clueless enough as to what he committed. How Childe did what he did, he seemed to sympathize with in a way that would make him understand his behavior.

" I have not." he couldnt bring himself to tell this man the truth. Perhaps he was sparing him, spearing that mind of his into spiraling down into nothingness and a heart that was held by a thin piece of thread. "Perhaps it is better to enjoy yourself while you wait for them."

To deviate oneself from the loss might be the best way Childe right now until his mind is ready to accept the torment of the heavy truth that would slew this man.

"I see. " he smiles and yet it feels so empty to Childe, the reason? He wouldnt know or atleast his mind wouldnt allow him to know

"Ill see you around then Xiansheng."

Everything that he portrayed lacked and all he could do as he's always did.

...........

i had to.

I hope yall would get Childe :)

#genshin impact #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact drabbles #childe #childe angst #childe one shot #childe imagine #childe drabble #ajax #tartaglia

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theladyismyshepard · 3 years

Note

37 kill for Daniela the red head, She kills one of the servents because of jealousy but the maiden is into it?? Maybe kinda nsfw

Sorry for the wait, my friend

I Always Feel Like Somebody’s Watching Me (NSFW)

TW: Violence

The sun was beating down on your back as you tended to the garden that you grew in the back courtyard. You had appealed to the Dimitrescus the benefits of planting your own vegetables and fruits and possibly the occasional pretty flower here or there. The Lady seemed uninterested in the thought altogether, making it clear that her mind was reserved for more stimulating subjects. Bela seemed halfhearted with her thoughtfulness, quickly zoning out. Cassandra had rolled her eyes and walked away after the word “garden”. Daniela was smiling though, her eyes glittery before she nodded along almost vehemently.

“I agree,” she said unabashed, ignoring her mother’s arched brow and Bela’s scoff. “Think of the ingredients we could grow ourselves instead of sending for delivery every other week.”

“Daniela, dear,” started Alcina, sighing almost exasperatedly, “Do you plan on going out and tending to this “garden”, hmm?”

You wanted to interject, it was the perfect moment to take responsibility for the care of the garden, and possibly even the grounds just to improve your worth around the castle. Yet, it required a lack in manners to interrupt a Lady when she’s speaking, and Alcina had a severe standard when it came to manners. And so you were forced to go with the smart move and bite your tongue as Daniela’s face dropped. That didn’t stop you from attempting to gain eye contact to give her a beseeching look.

“I’m sure we can find someone.” insisted Daniela, her eyes cutting to you before snapping back to her mother. “Someone very dependable,”

“I can do it,” you piped up, taking the opportunity, eyes dropping to the floor once Alcina’s gaze fell onto you.

“The question is will you,” drawled Alcina, eyes narrow as they looked you up and down. “As in, will I allow a human thing as yourself to control anything that is mine?”

You would have fell to your knees beneath the weight of the Lady’s attention had it not been for a certain redhead to stepped closer to you. You wanted to grab her hand, pull her close, wrap yourself around her for comfort, but you don’t. You never act on it, and she never dragged you to her bedroom cackling and giggling wildly as she did with other maids when she needed to get off. Though you were also the only one who didn’t emerge scarred and torn up.

“Of course, my Lady,” you conceded, bowing your head to show a sign of submission.

“Mother,” said Bela quietly, calmly interjecting, and waited until Alcina turned to address her. “I also think that a garden would be beneficial.”

Daniela had clapped happily when she realized her sister was aiding her in swaying their mother. Your eyes couldn’t settle between the three of the Dimitrescus. Alcina cocked her head to the side, adopting a fake look of thoughtfulness to cover how unimpressed she was.

“Oh, you do, darling?”

“Yes,” pressed Bela before her mother could continue on. “Imagine the access to ingredients for remedies to give the livestock. We could even grow foreign plants required for different potions!”

Fuck the fruits and vegetables, I guess.

And that was how the Lady was worn down and forced to give into her daughters desires. The garden didn’t necessarily consist of the produces that you originally planned for, but it got you out of the castle for extended points of time, and you weren’t complaining one bit. Castle Dimitrescu was a rather large estate, so there was plenty of room for the several varieties of roots, plants, and flowers that the Dimitrescus requested you take care of.

The heat of the sun had you pulling at the hem of your shirt to bring it up and wipe the sweat from your brow. The warm breeze hit you squarely on your exposed midsection, and you felt the dripping sweat drying grossly against your flesh. It felt as though eyes were upon you and when you let go of your shirt, ready to turn to check the windows of the castle, a person standing next to you nearly had you jumping out of your skin.

“Oh!” gasped the woman — a maid, “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s alright,” you assured, breathless and attempting to return your heart rate back to normal. “What’re you doing out here?”

Being outside was a luxury that none of the other maids could afford, so you were confused as to how this maid, Elle, had managed to avoid the lingering eyes that were everywhere. Her eyes averted as a slight blush came to her cheeks, and that’s when you saw the glass of water in her hand and your brain put two and two together. Oh.

“It’s hot today,” said Elle nonchalantly, even shrugging. “I figured you might need this.”

“Thank you,” you replied earnestly, grabbing the glass and taking greedy sips before you handed it back. “I appreciate it.”

“Well, I can’t have you fainting and bringing attention to yourself, now can I?” joked Elle, smiling bashfully.

You could’ve sworn that eyes were upon you, and you even went as far as to turn and check the windows, and while you thought you saw one of the curtains shifting, it also could’ve been a trick on your eyes. You furrowed your brow but turned back to Elle, who was looking at you expectantly, and for what, you weren’t sure. You smiled warmly.

“Thank you again, Elle, but I don’t want to hold you up any longer than I have.” You warned, making a face to emphasize, and she nodded in disappointment but reached forward to squeeze your hand.

“Stay safe,” she said, the maids’ usual words of departure.

“Stay safe,”

Eyes were watching you, but you couldn’t see from where, and that was the most dangerous predator: the one who hides before striking, and there was one predator who always had her watchful eye on you. Daniela. You gulped at the thought of Daniela catching another maid outside just to talk to you... no one, not even you were allowed to bend any of the rules, not even once... not when you were so easily replaced. Hopefully if you just went back to attending to the garden (rather stiffly), you could pretend that nothing would be amiss when you went back inside.

***

There was tension hanging in the air, thick enough to choke, and it had your spine as straight as a rod as you trudged through the pristine castle with your overall dirtiness, your shoes abandoned at the door. It was oddly quiet, and when the maids spotted you, they turned away quick, eyes wide with fright. Every step you took towards any of them, the maids took about six or seven steps away from you. Castle Dimitrescu might’ve been weird, but that was a new one...

You gave up on making conversation and instead wandered off to find a clean uniform to change out of the more comfortable wear you wore to tend to the ingredients. There was the nagging feeling that something was off in the air... Where were the Lady’s daughters? Their signature cackles failed to echo off the walls, and it left an uneasy silence in its wake. Now that you thought about it, you weren’t running into Elle either as you wandered deeper into the castle and found the maids’ quarters.

You quickly changed and made yourself presentable for your next task, and then you were again walking through the silent halls as you made your way to the kitchen. There was no real warmth to the kitchen, not when the stove had gone untouched for as long as you had been there. It wasn’t your place to question things around there, but you couldn’t help but to ask questions when you stepped inside and there was a silver platter with the cover still hiding what was underneath. What had you puzzled was the note that simply read your name propped right up against the cover.

You craned your neck when you felt eyes upon you yet again, but nobody was there... you knew better though and that’s what had needles prickling your skin and a cold sweat to break out. All that was missing was the giggling, but this really seemed like one of Daniela’s games she enjoyed playing. You turned back to the platter, and reached for the handle of the lid. After a shaky moment of building yourself up, you ripped the cover off like a bandaid, and froze, arm still raised.

Placed neatly upon the silver platter was Elle’s severed head. Her eyes were closed, and for that, you were grateful... you were too ashamed to look her in the eye seeing as this was all your fault. As your breathing hollowed out, that was when you finally heard a deep chuckle, one that had you going rigid... this wasn’t the Daniela that you had gotten used to, but it was one you were aware she could possess. Was she directing it towards you? You dropped the lid with a clatter.

“I didn’t like her very much.” said Daniela simply, and you gulped. “She liked you too much.”

You couldn’t miss the edge in her voice on the word. You finally blinked (your eyes suddenly burned) and looked away from the platter to connect eyes with the redhead. She wasn’t smiling and that was never a good sign. You forced a smile, one that you were scared was too obviously false.

“I didn’t like her either.” You choked out, fully turning your body away.

“You didn’t?” asked Daniela, her voice suddenly small and seeking reassurance, and you were struggling to keep up with her complete 180.

“Daniela...” You couldn’t say what you really wanted to... She was just bringing me water! “Why does it really matter to you so much?”

“Because you are mine!” She snapped, and you frowned.

“Doesn’t every maid here belong to you?” You countered, though you had to admit, you have more leeway than others did.

“They belong to the family, but you, you are mine, darling.” purred Daniela, stalking forward very slowly until she was before you. “No one else can even look at you the way I do.”

“But the other maids that you’ve...” You cringed, unwilling to finish, but Daniela picked up on what you were trying to say.

“I feed from them and that is all... Getting them a little scared makes the blood just a bit sweeter.” chuckled Daniela, and you frowned yet again.

“I thought you-”

“Slept with them?” Daniela drawled, now it was her turn to frown at you. “As tempting as it was, I think there’s one delicacy that I’m saving my pallet for.”

Her eyes roamed over your body with no holds barred, and you weren’t sure how you felt about the shiver that tingled down your spine. The fact that there was a severed head behind you was kinda throwing you for a loop. Daniela had her index finger and her middle finger tiptoeing up your arm until she was gingerly holding the side of your neck with obvious care. You gazed into her eyes and you were thoroughly entranced by the red headed beauty that would kill for you.

“Do you love me?” You whispered, almost afraid that what you were asking was a stupid question. Daniela’s face softened.

“I absolutely adore you, my love,” cooed Daniela, pulling you into a searing kiss that had your heart stuttering in your chest, and when the need for air had you pulling back, she already had her eyes open and watching you. “No one can take you away from me.”

Any sane person would hear the threat for what it really was, but there was nothing sane about the feelings she evoked from you just by being near you, even with Elle’s head served up right beside you. There was something about her possessiveness that could make you either feel very secured, or somewhat aroused, and you could hardly think of anything else but the fingers scratching at the hair at the base of your neck.

“I doubt anyone would be capable of taking me away from you.” You mused, and it was true. Bless the soul who tried to free you from the clutches of Daniela.

“Hm,” she hummed, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as her eyes cut over every inch of your face. “Perhaps I should leave my mark for all to see?”

What surprised you the most was it seemed as though she was genuinely asking you. Her hand was still scratching the back of your neck, and her free hand reached up to rub soothing circles along your jugular with the pad of her thumb. Daniela’s compulsive attitude can lead her to doing whatever the hell she wanted without fear, but here she was, asking for your permission to drink from you. This redhead never failed to be full of surprises, and you found that you kinda liked that Daniela was so crazy for you.

“I belong to you,” You said quietly, unwilling to break the atmosphere that was enveloping the two of you, and you knew you said the right thing when her eyes shone with nothing but adoration and if you looked closer, love.

Daniela continued to cup the back of your neck with one hand, and used the other to hold you carefully by your shoulder, and she gently guided you to expose your throat just a bit more before she slowly bit into your throat. You gasped at the initial sting of your flesh giving way beneath the power of her teeth, but you allowed her to continue what she needed to do and permitted the subtle pull at your bloodstream. You felt the vibration of her own moan against your skin and it had you lightheaded.

“Daniela,” you groaned, feeling her teeth still inside of your skin with every syllable, and it also felt good when the hand on your shoulder rubbed down your arm and up your back.

“Does that feel good, darling?” pressed Daniela, unlatching just long enough to pull back and bat her eyelashes at you. “Do you love this as much as I do?”

Her tongue flattened against your bite mark, cleaning you of any trickling blood before she moved to the opposite side. She placed an open mouthed kiss there before she latched on once more, prompting your whole body to flinch within her grasp, but trust Daniela to hold on tight. It felt as though there would be a couple bruises by the time the next morning rolled around, but something told you that was a good thing to have within Castle Dimitrescu. It was like your own charm to ward off the evil that could lurk around the many hidden corridors.

You felt her pushing you back up against the table, and your foot brushed against the lid, causing it to scratch against the floor with an unflattering sound. The small of your back connected with the table, leaving you no more room to go backwards. Your hands flew to the edge as you used the table as support as Daniela basically leaned her full weight into you as she fed and marked you.

Your eyes flew open when she abruptly pulled away, her chin smeared with your blood and her eyes crazed with desire, but also soft with emotion and it was directed right at you. She never broke eye contact as she slowly dropped to her knees before you, and your breathing became irregular as she reached forward to push the end of your uniform up higher and higher until you had to shiver at how exposed you felt.

“Do you love me?” asked Daniela suddenly, bringing your wandering mind to a complete halt, and you looked down into her wide, almost innocent eyes as she stared earnestly up at you. “I never heard you say it to me.”

“I love you more than life itself,” You responded and you were surprised at just how honest it felt... You could die tomorrow and you’d have felt content enough to just allow it.

Daniela’s megawatt grin was so wide that you knew there was no way of it coming off anytime soon, not with the pure happiness radiating from it, and certainly not with the way it reached itself to her eyes. She giggled madly and soon it was the only indication of her because she disappeared beneath the skirt of your uniform and you jumped at the warm tongue that was persistent in searching your body. Your knuckles turned white as your grip on the table tightened and you lost yourself to the wetness of Daniela’s tongue on you, and you found that it was true...

No one could ever steal you away from the perfection that was Daniela. Not when she was the only one that could turn you on with a familiar severed head just inches away..

#bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu's daughters #lady alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village #resident evil 8

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quicksilverownsmysoul · 3 years

Text

13 Going on 30 pt.1

A Peter Maximoff x reader fanfiction based off the movie 13 going on 30.

Summary: You are so excited when the most popular girl in your school agrees to come to your 13th birthday party. But after a cruel prank you find yourself wishing that you were popular and older. By some miracle your wish is granted but isn’t as wonderful as it seems. You turn out to be a major jerk and you don't even talk to your best friend Peter anymore. Can you fix everything and get back to normal or are you stuck living like this forever

Warnings: Angst and some suggestive content. But it’s mostly pure fluff. (Also peter has no powers in this and some scenes will be changed to better fit Peter and so I can be creative with it!)

Word Count: 2759

I am so excited to share this fic with y’all! 13 going on 30 is one of my favorite comfort movies and I thought that adding Peter Maximoff to it would make it even better.

It was 1987 and your birthday party was next week. You were so excited you could barely contain yourself. You were turning 13, you were finally becoming a teenager. It was time to abandon all childish things and live a life of adventure and romance. One that all the movies told you was guaranteed once you became a teenager. You were writing in your notebook during lunch checking off the things you had already gotten for your birthday party. “Balloons, check. Party favors, check. The cutest outfit, check!”

“Your best friend in the whole world who is getting you the best present. Check!” Peter added as he sat down across from you, dropping his lunch tray down on the table. You just rolled our eyes at him.“So I was thinking for this year we should go to the arcade then get ice cream.” Peter muttered his mouth full of the school’s signature sloppy joe sandwich. “Cause if I eat too much ice cream before we play that dance game you love, I'm gonna get sick again.” Some of the sandwich meat dripped out of the corner of his mouth. You handed him a napkin to wipe it, not even disgusted at this point.

You and Peter had been best friends since birth. You had lived right next to each other as kids and you had done everything together. Learning how to walk, the loss of your first tooth, the first day of school. Always together no matter what. That’s what made you so nervous to tell him what was on your mind. “Actually, I was thinking of having a party this year.” You gave him a nervous smile.

“What?!” He choked out in the midst of a coughing fit having nearly choked on his milk. Kids turned around to look at him and you shushed him. ”Peter stop shouting.” You scolded through gritted teeth.

He spoke up again this time, his voice back to it’s normal level. “But it’s always just us.”

You winced, you had figured he was going to respond like this. “I know, I know. But hear me out.” Peter sat back in his chair, arms crossed. “Lucy said she’d come to the party this year, and she’d bring Dylan! You know how much I like him.” You gushed and Peter narrowed his eyes at you.

“How did you convince the most popular girl in school to come to your party?”

“Way harsh peter.” You reached over to his tray attempting to steal one of his fries. His hand slapped yours away. “You make it sound like she doesn't even know I exist.”

“That’s exactly what I’m implying, you and I are at the bottom of the social food chain and you know it.” He pushed his chair back even further, now only balancing on two legs. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” You defended.

He held your gaze with narrowed eyes as you tired your best to maintain eye contact. The minute you looked away he knew he had you. “I know you're lying (y/n). When you can’t look me in the eye you’re hiding something. Spill it.”

You muttered really quickly. “Imayormaynothavedoneherhomeworkforthepastmonth.”

He gave you an exasperated look. “What?”

“I said I may or may not have done her homework for the past month.”

He gave you a disapproving look. “Don’t look at me like that. “ You pouted. “It was the only way she was going to bring Dylan.”

“I don't even know why you want that guy at your party. Or Lucy for that matter. They’re all a bunch of jerks.” Peter got up to put his tray away. You shoved your notebook back into your bag and got up to follow him.

“You don’t even know them Peter.”

“Neither do you.” You frowned at him before turning on your heel and walking away from him. “(y/n) wait.” You sped up and he sped up with you. He caught up to you and grabbed your arm. You refused to look at him.

Peter’s harsh look softened and his grip on your arm loosed. “Look.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “ I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

You gave him a soft smile. “I won’t especially not with my best friend around.” You bumped your shoulder into his. He returned your smile after a while and your face lit up. “It’s going to be fun!”

“If you say so.”

On the day of your party you couldn't even sit still for a single second. Pacing by the front door waiting for Lucy and her friends to arrive. The doorbell rang and you threw open the door, but your smile dropped when you saw it was just Peter. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Geez, it's good to see you too.” He pushed his way into your house as you closed the door behind him.

“Sorry I just thought it was Lucy.”

“And you were disappointed when it was me.” He joked making himself at home on your couch.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“No, I get it. Suddenly you get new friends and I’m old news. Hung out to dry. Dead and buried without a moment to grieve.” He milked his performance trying to make you feel guilty. You sat down next to him knocking his feet off your mother’s coffee table.

“Shut up.” You laughed, he watched you and smiled. You noticed the keyboard strapped to his chest and groaned. “Did you have to bring your keyboard?”

“Duh. It’s part of your gift.”

“I hope that’s not all you got me.”

“Hey!” He mocked being hurt by your words. “And it’s not by the way.” He sat up and made his way to your front door. “I gotta go get it, I left it on your doorstep.” He opened the door and was gone for a minute, making you anxious with anticipation. He poked his head through the doorway and a sweet smile plastered on his lips. “Close your eyes.”

You quickly covered your eyes with your hands. You heard Peter’s sneakers shuffling as he made his way closer to you. “No peeking.”

“I’m not!”

“Yes you are, I can see you looking through the slits of your fingers.” You giggled at the accusation and squeezed your eyes even tighter. You felt the couch dip from his weight as he sat back down next to you. You feel his hands close around yours, and the small action making you blush. He carefully removed your hands from your eyes. “Ta-da!”

Sitting on the coffee table front of you was a huge handmade pink doll house. “I decided to make you your own (y/n) dream house.” Your eyes widened taking it all in. It was beautiful.

“Petey did you make all this?” You asked, heart swelling at the sweet action.

“Yeah,” He admitted a little embarrassed. He scooted closer to the table. “See that’s you in your bubble bath. Reading your favorite magazine” It was a Barbie doll with a picture of your face tape on it. You giggled.” And there’s your room with the giant closet you’ve always wanted and a huge stereo collection. I know how much you love music. And there’s that bum Rick Springfield, sitting on the couch.” As you took in all the details you fell even more in love with the house. Peter had put so much time into this and you adored it.

“And uh, there’s me.” He smiled sheepishly. A picture of him was glued to a piece of cardboard. His picture was making that ‘I’m watching you’ gesture at Rick Springfield. “I’m making sure that creep keeps his hands to himself. He’s only here for his musical talents, nothing else.” You smiled at him. He smiled back and for a second you could have sworn he glanced down at your lips. “Oh! I almost forgot.” He pulled out a red packet and shook it lightly. “Wishing dust.”

You scooted closer to him so you guys could read the package together. “It says wishing dust knows what’s in your heart of hearts. They’ll make all your dreams come true.” He whispered the last part, his eyes cast downward as you watched him rip open the package. He stood up and sprinkled the dust down on the house. You watched in wonder as all the different colors rained down together and decorated the whole house in a pretty shimmer. Your eyes met his and you could feel yourself tearing up. He was so sweet and he didn't even know how much this meant to you.

Just then the doorbell rang and you jumped to your feet. “They’re here!” You wiped away the tears that threatened to fall really quickly before dashing to the door.

“Yay.” Peter cheered sarcastically. You ignored him and sprinted to open the door. Lucy was there along with her friends and Dylan in the back. She was wearing a neon pink dress, the same one you had begged your mom to buy you last week. She had said no obviously.

“Hi Lucy! Thanks for coming!” She just gave you a tight smile and let herself in. She looked around your living room and a sneer made its way to her face when she saw Peter on your couch fiddling with his keyboard.

“Sup Freak.” Lucy shot Peter a sickly sweet smile.

“Sup slut.” Peter replied, mirroring her smile. You felt your mouth open in shock and shot him a deadly look. Lucy just pressed on trying to get a reaction out of Peter.

“I see your hair is still as gray and as ugly as ever.”

“At least my hair is naturally this color. From the look of your roots you should really look into getting a better stylist. You ain’t fooling anybody honey.”

They continued to glare at each other until Lucy finally broke away from his gaze and turned to face you. “Where is this party happening anyway.”

“It’s um downstairs, in the basement.” You motioned towards it, Lucy and her friends made their way down the steps. Peter followed them carrying your dollhouse, but you held your arm out to stop him. “What was that? Why were you being such a jerk?”

“She started it!”

You huffed. “I know, but it’s my party so please try to be nice to her.” He opened his mouth to say something but then decided against it. He pushed past your arm and went down the stairs to the basement. Taking two at a time.

“So this is it.” Lucy picked at the neon colored table cloth. You didn't know what to say as she looked around. “What are we going to do anyway?”

“Well we could play twister, Peter is really good at it.” Peter gave a small salute in acknowledgement as they glanced towards him. “Or we could watch a movie.”’ You said excitedly, making your way over to the VHS rack.” I have a lot of good ones.``

“Lame.” Lucy announced and her friends echoed in agreement.

You felt embarrassed of thinking that they would enjoy such childish things. “Why don't we play a new game?” Lucy suggested.

“What kind of game?” Peter asked, suspicion laced in his tone.

“A fun one.” She made her way towards you and placed her hand on your shoulder as she turned to address Peter. “Not that you would know anything about fun Maximoff.”

“Not that you would know anything about fun.” Peter mocked back in a high pitched tone.

“Real mature.” Peter stuck his tongue out at her.

She turned back to you. “Let’s play seven minutes in heaven.” She leaned in even closer. “You can go first (y/n), and I think you’ll like who you get.” She glanced back and you followed her gaze towards Dylan. He shot you a smile and you felt yourself blush.

All of a sudden you heard your mom. “(y/n)!” Your mother yelled down the stairs. “Your cake is here come and get it!”

“Peter go get it.” Lucy commanded.

“What? No.” He scoffed. You met his gaze and shot him a pleading look. “Fine.” He put the dollhouse away in your closet on the top shelf and made his way to the stairs. “Thanks Petey.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Lucy took off her scarf from around her neck and placed it over your eyes, knotting it tightly in the back. She led you towards the closet and you felt your heart rate pick up. You could hear the giggles of her friends as they closed the door. You stood there in the darkness waiting for Dylan to come in. It had been a while since Lucy had led you to the closet, you sat down putting your arms around your knees hugging them close.

Peter came back down the stairs carrying your cake, as he was coming down Lucy was going up the stairs, her friends trailing behind her. “Hey where are you going?”

She didn't answer, just smiled at him placing a hand on his shoulder. “(y/n) is waiting for you in the closet.” He gave her a confused look, he didn't know he was part of this game. Lucy and her friends continued up the steps, Dylan swiped your cake with his finger smearing the icing and eating it. Peter yanked it away and continued down into the basement. Madonna was playing softly in the background, he put the cake on the table and made his way to the closet, opening the door. He saw you sitting there on the floor, you upon hearing the door squeak open were smiling up at him. “I didn't think you were going to come.”

He nervously smiled back at you and sat down on the floor across from you. You reached your hands out towards him. “Where are you?” He let his hands find yours, fingers intertwined in one another. He had held your hand before but this time it felt so different. He saw you lean in and he did the same. He was inches away from your lips when you whispered. “Oh Dylan.” He pulled back abruptly.

“It’s not Dylan, It’s Peter.” You yanked your hands away from his and tore the scarf away from your eyes.

“What are you doing here?” You felt panic take over you. “Where is Dylan?”

“He left. They all did, no one is here.” You stood up and saw that Peter was right. Your snack table stood untouched and Lucy, and Dylan were no where to be found. You immediately turned on Peter. “What did you do?”

Peter looked at you in disbelief. “Nothing!”

“Yes you did!” You were screaming at him at this point.

“I just went to get your cake!” He screamed back.

“Get out.” you whispered. Peter looked at you, clearly hurt that you were pushing him away. “GET OUT!” You screamed as you pushed him out of the closet.

“(y/n) wait!” He tried holding the door open as you desperately tried shutting it. “(y/n) let me talk to you!”

“Peter stop.” You cried.

“(y/n)-”

“No!” You managed to shut the door and lock it. You sat back down on the floor and put the blindfold back over your eyes.

“(y/n) Please!” You could hear Peter on the other side of the door even with your hands covering your ears. “Please come out!”

“I hate you!” You screamed as his voice stopped.

“You don’t mean that.” He muttered, tears of his own threatening to spill.

“Yes I do! I hate you! I hate me! I hate everything!” You were so angry and embarrassed and that you really thought Lucy was your friend. And that you were going to get to kiss Dylan.

“(y/n) what are you talking about?”

“I want to be thirty!” You wailed through your tears.

“Just let me play you this song.” Peter yelled back. He slung his keyboard over his head and started to mess with it trying to find the right key. “It’ll make you feel better!”

You ignored him continuing to cry. “I wanna be thirty! I wanna be thirty and flirty and thriving.” You swing your head back shaking the shelf behind you. The wishing dust from the dollhouse fell down all around you but you didn't even notice. You could faintly hear Peter playing some tune on his keyboard but you ignored it. Just muttering through your tears over and over how you wanted to be thirty, flirty and thriving. At the moment you wanted to be anywhere but there.

#quicksilver xmen #quicksilver xmen x reader #quicksilver x y/n #quicksilver x you #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver #peter maximoff imagine #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff #xmen fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #marvel fanfiction #13 going on 30 #13 going on 30 au

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nightswithkookmin · 3 years

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Hi Goldy: I just recently started reading your blog and I would like your thoughts on something. I am 100% convinced JiKook is a real relationship-there's just too much evidence to deny it. :-) I love their connection. I wonder about your thoughts on it being even more difficult for the members/company/fans to accept since JK is often portrayed as the heartthrob/can't do anything wrong member of the group? Do you think that makes it harder for everyone to accept that their Golden Maknae is gay?

Heartthrob who can do no wrong???

Chilee, I can hear Jungkook chuckling in his Itaewon home reading this bit right now. Lmho.

I don't know how to feel about Gay and wrong and acceptance being neighbors in a sentence. Sounds like a set up to an unsolicited, unwanted advice about gender and sexuality.

There's nothing wrong with being gay or queer. If people can't accept Jungkook is gay because they think he does no wrong because they interchange gay and wrong in a sentence then those people need to be castrated and mummified alive.

That being said, I think I understand where you are coming from. Jungkook gets away with a lot within the fandom- not so much within the group. Unless of course, you're counting the messing with his hyungs and making them pay for stuff and him acting bratty with certain hyungs.

I mean being Maknae has its perks.

But I think the group holds him to much higher standards especially within Jikook's dynamic, which to me is crazy because Jimin is the hyung in that group.

Yet most times- untill dynamite era last year- they sort of had this weird Jimin is always right schtick going on within the group. And you could see this especially with RM and Suga when it came to the JK vs JM moments. I have a post saved in drafts on this topic and so I won't get much into it.

But yea, a lot has changed since October and you see this shift mostly in RM and JM's dynamics- I recall dropping hints here and there about how I felt Minimoni needed to spend more time together off cams cos I thought it would be good for their dynamic? There's been a lopsided shift in Kookminjoon's dynamic and I think it's quite telling of how they have handled Jikook's relationship even on that personal level.

I think more than anyone in BTS Jk has gone up against stereotypes and people's assumptions of him and he's always stood his grounds.

People take him as he is. They don't have a choice really. He doesn't bend himself to be consumable. If he did he wouldn't be spotting them tattoes and piercings. I think he is the least consumable member in BTS according to Kpop idol standards- in certain aspects. He don't be moving like a typical idol is what I'm saying- he doesn't sway too far away either.

Do I think he gets away with a lot in this fandom? ABSOLUTELY. A lot of idol's careers have ended for far less- the scandals, the body art, the ghetto gayness etc. He really doesn't give a fuck what anyone thinks of him. If he wants to get a tat he will. If he wants to fuck his band mate he will. Jeikei does what Jeikei wants.

I think if he came out today to say he likes men, or girls, or three breasted aliens- we will say ok and keep it pushing because he's gradually conditioned us to accept and be ok with who he is over the years.

"If army loves me they will accept me as I am. Rather dead than cool."

I don't think he negotiates negotiates his person with anyone. He may make compromises here and there but if push came to shove I think he would what he wants and what makes him happy and not what others want of him. He pushes the boundaries on the limits of what it means to be an idol in KPop and I think more so than Jimin he is the one best fitted to change the status quo in terms of the LGBTQIA discourse.

Jimin is a different case all together. He is an idol true and true and it makes me sad that he used to care so much what people thought of him and that he always tried to make others happy at his expense. And I can understand him because putting himself first and doing what he wants- especially in recent times, have come with consequences. He is constantly negotiating, straddling the line and trying to keep the balance- which is kind of a libra curse so I can't be mad at that really. But it sucks in the grand scheme of the LGBTQ agenda.

Whatever people think Jikook are, I think they are the exact opposite of it. It's just a matter of them showing it or living up to their truth I think. I love Jungkook- as a gay woman. I love that he is with JM because I feel they can accomplish a lot together if only JM will allow him to push his boundaries a little bit more and not resist it so much.

I think a lot of people can't believe and accept JK is gay because they are homophobic period or they have a very narrow view on life and gender and sexuality or they have just been bamboozled and they get thrown off by the mainstream hyper masculine image JK presents- which I think also stems from their being used to the stereotypes of gayness rather than gayness itself. They couldn't tell a gay man if he licked balls right in front of their salad.

A lot of what people see as gay is nothing but tropes and stereotypes of gayness. And so when they see a gay man who doesn't fall under those stereotypes they struggle to wrap their heads around it. In my opinion.

It's easier, for instance, for people to think masculine presenting women are queer than for them to wrap their heads around someone like beyonce being a lesbian- It's a loose analogy but sis work with me- I'm tired. Lol. And I say this from experience, between my sister and I, people often think she is the gay one. Lmho. Yet she is the least likely to be gay in my family. My little brother is bisexual if not gay chilee. Lol. We are the only queer ones in the family I think. But people clock him more so than I because he's effeminate. I often pass for a het- which sometimes I feel guilty about but this is not about me. Focus Goldy. [Also edit n delete ma'am]

I think it's the same for people's perception of gay men though. It's easier for people to wrap their heads around gay Jimin than gay Jk on that spectrum because Jimin fits a more traditional stereotype of gayness.

Truth is, anyone can be gay regardless of how they look or how they present as. Me when I look at BTS, JK is the most likely to dip his dick in some guts or try that gay shit at least once and next to him JM is the most likely member. Put those two together and I don't need my gay crystal ball to figure they might be screwing.

I gotta admit, I know some people who don't want to believe JK might be queer because they know the struggles that come with that identity. It could be they themselves are homophobic and have perpetrated violence and aggressions towards gay people- the karma of them loving someone who might be gay can do a number on them. Imagine that. Imagine hating on something only to find out your fave is that thing🙃

It's a myriad of things really but homophobia is always at the root of it.

I think people should stop trying to beat down their brains to accept something as fact that hasn't been confirmed. They should start with the baby steps- which member is the most likely to be gay in bangtan?

If the answer is any member besides Jikook I am beating you with a sledgehammer🤣

I hope this answers your question?

Did someone send me a Jesus loves me message recently? Y'all are too kind. I'm too gay he's gone wipe me on the hot floors of hell🤧

Signed,

GOLDY

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blacknight1230 · 4 years

Text

The Past Catches Up With You

OUAT Peter Pan Imagine

Prompt: “I know what I have to do. But going back means I’ll have to face my past. I’ve been running from it for so long” & “Once you’re grown up, you can never come back.”

The sound if arrows flying through the air then hitting their target and the clashing of swords filled the area. “Nice one, Devin. Now try letting go of the arrow when you breath out,” you instructed one of the Lost Boys. Devin wordlessly nodded and did what you told him, his arrow hitting the target dummy straight in the head. “Excellent work. Rufio, don’t do such fancy moves. It’s about hitting the target in the weak points, not showing off,” you commanded. “Whatever you say, mom,” Rufio sassed, ignoring your helpful tips. You narrowed your eyes at him and strode up to him, quickly knocking him off his feet with a few well placed punches and kicks. “And this is why Pan ordered me to train you boys. You guys are good fighters, but he wants the best, so you either listen to what I say or you’ll end up worse than this,” you scolded the dazed teen. You walked away, towards Pan’s second-in-command, and one of your best friends, Felix.

“Nice way to show them who’s boss, (y/n),” Felix complemented as he sharpened his sword. “Thanks, Felix. These boys have sure have authority problems when it comes to someone other than Pan giving them orders,” you said, sitting next to Felix on a log. “They listen to me, though,” Felix pointed out. “True. I have theory that they don’t respect me as much cause I’m the only girl here. And I happen to be one of Pan’s most trustworthy,” you told the scar-faced teen. “It’s possible. The boys aren’t too keen on newcomers. You being a girl doesn’t make matters better.” You rolled your eyes; you’ve been here for a couple of years, but time on Neverland was different than everywhere else. “I’ve earned this position despite being a girl. They should know that Pan doesn’t just trust me without a proper reason,” you said, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Speak of the devil,” Felix said, motioning his head towards a figure appearing from the green foliage.

Peter Pan stood to the side of the training ground, eyes intensely watching the boys as they practiced archery, swording fighting, and sparring. Authority and dark magical power radiated from his figure, his green eyes glowing as they seemingly stared into the very existence of his Lost Boys. He was expressionless as he mentally noted what the boys were doing wrong and right. The sight before you made you feel warm, but you tried not to show how the piper affected you. Said boy locked eyes with you, a smirk breaking out onto his lips as he strode over to you. “Tired, love. Are the boys too much for you to handle?” he teased, raising one magnificently sculpted eyebrow. “More like they can’t handle me. Rufio over there is still bandaging his hurt pride when I knocked him to the ground for back talking,” you chuckled, eyeing said boy. He was grumpily pouting on a wooden log across from where you were. Peter found this rather amusing, a sly smirk on his face. “His loss, love. Come, I think the boys had enough training for today,” he said, getting up from the log. He whistled loudly, getting all the, boys attention and told them, “Alright, boys training’s over! Get back to camp if you want your fill of dinner before its gone!”

A stampede of hungry, teenage boys rushed towards the main camp, dirt and dust flying as they did so. You camly got up and followed the horde of Lost Boys, used to their frenzied antics. Peter walked alongside you, as you took your time walking the path back to the main camp. “I’m still surprised you can put up with our rowdiness. Being a princess and all, I’d expect you complain endlessly about how ‘wild’ we are,” Peter said as you traveled through the jungle of Neverland. “Hey, I was a rebel princess. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t even be here,” you defended yourself, punching the King of Neverland playfully, but hard, in the arm. Pan allowed you to hit him, as you knew he could easily stop you, and playfully cried out in pain.

Before you were the first Lost Girl on Neverland, you were a princess, although not first in line to inherit your kingdom. Unlike the other inhabitants of Neverland, you were not from the Enchanted Forest or the Land Without Magic. You were a princess from another dimension, and you hated your royal roots. You hated the stuffy dresses, the countless rules, the strict and stone faced members of the royal house ... hell, you couldn’t even talk to or hang out with anyone that wasn’t humanoid or a royal non-humanoid from an allied kingdom. Like the monsters that were repressed by your people. It was suffocating and you didn’t conform to your families strict ideals.

As such, your family finally had enough of your “rebelliousness” and decided to send you off to an institution know for “correcting” wayward princesses. You, in turn, had enough of royalty and fled your home without a word, seeking out the freedom you dearly longed for. Eventually, you found your way to Neverland, encountering Pan and his Lost Boys, who met your arrival with them encircling you with weapons drawn, aimed to kill. The only reason you were still alive today was that you were able to hear Pan’s flute, meaning you were lost, and therefore part of the Lost Boys. It took awhile for everyone to trust you, especially Pan, but it happened and you were never felt more like you were home.

Back to the present, you and Peter finally reached the main camp, a raging bonfire going on in the middle of the layout of tents and huts. The boys were either chowing down or were dancing to the beat of the drums. Peter left you to go include himself in the boys merry making as you grabbed a bite to eat. Grabbing a slice of meat from the day’s hunt, you silently greeted a few of the boys with a raise of your cup. The younger boys dragged you to sit with them, happily chatting away as they told you about their day.

Soon you were done with your meal and the music called to you. Like you were under a spell, you jumped into the frey of wildly dancing bodies, letting the music guide your movements. You danced freely with your fellow lost brothers, your mind focusing on the sound of the pan flute and the drums. As you danced around the fire, you saw Peter staring intensely at you with his green eyes, the light of the bonfire casting shadows across his face, intensifying the strikingness of his attractive features. You couldn’t help but keep his gaze as you danced, enjoying the way he was looking at you with such intensity, an undistinguishable emotion flowing in his eyes.

Unfortunately, the party was interrupted by a loud sound and a bright light. Everyone stopped in the middle of what they were doing, staring at a hole ripped into the fabric of space and time right near the center of the campgrounds. The portal seemed to shine brighter as two figures appeared from the other side of it. As they stepped through, the portal closed behind them, allowing you to see their features now that the unnatural brightness was gone. One of the figures was a teenage boy, characterized with tan skin, dark brown hair, and a mole on his right cheek. He was wearing red hoodie over a light grey shirt, dark grey skinny jeans, and olive/white sneakers on his slender build. His brown eyes eyed the Lost Boys nervously, his hand twitching over the hilt of the sword in his sheath. The other figure was a teenage girl with long blonde hair, light blue eyes, and fair skin. On her head, she wore a magenta headband with devil horns, paired with a green and mint collared short sleeved dress, pink and purple striped leggings, white boots with pink tips and a star on each heel, along with a black spider necklace. But the most astonishing part about the girl was the pink heart shaped marks she had on her cheeks.

Peter and the Lost Boys immediately surrounded the two newcomers, weapons pointed at them. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing on my island?” Peter growled. The boy immediately pulled out his sword and took a defensive stance. The girl on the other hand, raised her hands up and yelled, “Stop! We’re not here to hurt anyone! We’re just looking for someone!” Peter dismissed her claim, saying, “Whoever you are looking for is not here! Now leave before my boys and I make you wish you never stepped foot here!” The boy raised their weapons, slowly drawing closer to the new girl and boy. The girl now raised her up hands up and took a defensive stance, her hands glowing purple with magic.

Before any violence could come to a head, you shouted a command out to the Lost Boys and Peter, breaking the tense air. “Everyone put your weapons down!” you shouted, voice strong and dominating. The Lost Boys, confused by the order, slightly lowered their weapons and allowed you to walk through the crowd of them to the new visitors. As you showed yourself to the newcomers, the blonde haired girl’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in shock. “ (Y/n)?” the girl said. “Star,” you said breathlessly, unable to bite back the smile that made its way to your face. Star’s hands stopped glowing and she tackled you ina hug, which you gladly returned. “Um, what’s going on?” the hoodie wearing boy asked, completely clueless. “Marco, this is my cousin I told you about? I’m pretty sure I told you about my favorite family member,” Star explained, looking at her friend while still holding on you.

“Oh, isn’t this precious,” Pan sneered, interrupting the moment. “A family reunion. How wonderful that they’ve come to visit.” You decided to ignore Peter and his terrible attitude, continuing to talk to your four-years younger cousin. “How did you find me, Star? Neverland isn’t on any map and can’t be visited through ordinary means,” you asked. “I was able to use your old tiara to finding out what dimension you were in! Pretty cool right,” Star bragged a giant smile on her face. Before you could say another word, Peter got in between the two of you, creating a distance of a few feet. “Peter!” you exclaimed angrily. “What the hell?” “I don’t care that you’re her family. I want you off my island. (y/n) has already told me about the way you treated her and I don’t want someone like you here because of it,” he coldly told Star. “Hey, man, back off!” Star’s friend, Marco, yelled stepping in front of Star protectively. The Lost Boys didn’t like this, murder in their eyes as they crowded around you four, fingers itching to use their weapons. “Everyone stop! I don’t want any fighting!” you shouted, dreading for any blows coming to a head. The Lost Boys slightly calmed down, but they were still tense.

“Peter, Star was the only one in my family that I could be myself around. I see I rubbed off on you a bit,” you said. “You guys keep talking about our family as if they were abusive, keeping you locked up and so on,” Star pointed out. “I forget you were too young to understand at the time. Grandma Etheria and the rest of the Butterfly family constantly looked down at me, finding fault in everything I did. I didn’t dress right, talk right, sit right, walk right ... and they let me know. It practically destroyed my self-esteem. And to make matter worse, Grandma Etheria decided to send me to St. Olga’s,” you explained to your younger cousin. “Oh no, not St. O’s!” Star exclaimed in horror. “Please don’t tell me they tried to turn you into a mindless ‘perfect’ princess!” As she said this, she grabbed your forearms and shook you a bit. “Calm down, Star, I didn’t go to St. O’s. I left home before I was forcibly shipped off. I had a pair of dimension scissors and used them to hop from dimension to dimension until I eventually found my way here,” you continued, smiling when you reminisced about finding Neverland, your true home.

“I’m happy you found a place you could finally be yourself. If I wasn’t so desperate for your help, I wouldn’t even ask you this,” Star said. This worried you; what did she want you to do? Star quickly answered your question before you voiced it, saying, “I need you to come back to Mewni with me.” “What?!” you shouted, eyes wide and mouth agape. “I’m sorry, but I really need your help! My mom has disappeared and I can’t find her, the Butterfly castle and kingdom are destroyed by Eclipsa’s half-monster daughter and she escaped her crystal! I can’t do this on my own and everything is in disarray!” Star cried.

All this new information shocked you, making you stand there in silence. Peter decided to step in, angrily setting in Star’s face. “You might be royalty, but I’m the king here. I say who steps foot on and leaves my island. This includes (y/n). Since she’s lost, that means she belongs here and with me. Shfe’s mine, and she’s not going anywhere off this island,” he threatened. Star stood her ground, staring into his harsh green eyes that seemed to glow with dark power. “Then you don’t know (y/n), because she hates other people making choices for her.” She turned towards you and continues, saying, “(y/n), I’m sorry for our family treating you so terribly and I understand your reason for running away. But I still care for you and so does my mother, both of us missing you terribly when you left. If you still love us as much as we love you, I beg you to help me. I need you, my mom needs you, Mewni needs you!”

(y/n) could only stand there in silence, which Peter mistook for her not wanting to return to her home, while in reality she was pondering over her beloved cousin’s words. “Get off my island. I never want to see your faces again,” he threatened, before whistling loudly, causing the Lost Boys to snap into a a violent, wild frenzy. The area was quickly filled with the sounds of weapons clashing, cries of pain, and angry shouts as Star and Marco fought the Lost Boys. Luckily, Star and Marco were successfully able to defend themselves, despite being greatly outnumbered. Star’s voice filled the air as she shouted spells and Marco yelled as he used karate moves/defended himself with his sword. You tried yelling at both sides to stop fighting, but neither side listened to you, either not hearing you over all the noise or not caring enough to listen to you. This made you angry, so angry you used your magic to cast a powerful spell to end the violence.

Unlike Star, you didn't need to verbally say a spell to use your magic, simply sending out a wave of bluish-white magic to emit from your magically glowing figure. As the wave of magic hit the Lost Boys, Peter, Star, and Marco, they were enveloped into a quartz of crystal, frozen in place. You sighed as you stood past the crystal prisons of your fellow Lost Boys, stopping at Peter’s crystal, staring at his evil smirk on his face and the magic accumulated in his hands. “You just couldn’t wait and let me think for a moment could you, “ you said sadly. You used your magic to reverse the spell, and on Star and Marco as well. The three teens fell to the ground, gasping for breath. “I’m so sorry, guys. This was the only way to get you to stop fighting and listen to me,” you apologized, helping Star up first. “Was that the Crystal Imprisonment Spell that Rhombulas uses? Where did you learn it?” Star asked, amazed that you could do such advanced magic. “Glossaryck used to give me private lessons. He said that I needed to learn magic, too, in case something happens. But he wasn’t specific on what that was,” (y/n) explained. “That sounds like Glossaryck.”

You turned towards Peter as he growled, getting up from the ground and his green eyes trained on you. “You little ... How dare you use your magic on me!” he yelled, “Release the Lost Boys right now (y/n)!” “You left me no choice, Peter. You all were attacking my family and I couldn’t just stay by,” you said sternly, brows furrowed as you scolded him. “How can you defend them? They’re the main reason why you are on Neverland in the first place! Or haven’t you forgot that?” Pan seethed. “I haven’t forgotten what they did to me, Pan. But this just isn’t about my family anymore. My homeland is in danger and you’re wrong to think I’ll just sit around and watch shit hit the fan!” you yelled, turning around to walk away, thinking that was the end of it. But it wasn’t and Pan wanted to let you know it. “Oh really? Well, know this, princess, you’ll eventually be disappointed as nothing is going to change. You’ll still be the miserable, insecure, little girl you were when you came here, scrutinized by your family and your people,” Peter threatened, teeth clenched and pure hatred seeping from his pores.

You stopped, back still facing Peter. Said boy smirked, thinking he won this argument. But what you said surprised the male, saying, without looking at him, “I know what I have to do now, Peter. I know going back means I’ll have to face my past. I’ve been running from it for so long but I have to face it sooner or later. And I choose now.” Pan stood there shocked, mouth open a bit as he contemplated your words, and watched as Marco effortlessly opened a portal to another dimension with a pair of scissors, then entered the hole in the fabric of time and space while mumbling about ‘nachos,’ whatever that was. Star on the other hand, nervously looked behind her at Peter, seemingly contemplating if taking (y/n) away from her current home was a good thing, before regretfully entering the swirling portal.

Before the (h/c) haired girl followed the two, she turned her head to the side, looking at so called King of Neverland. “I promise I’ll come back as soon as I can, Peter, to my home, the Lost Boys, and you,” she said, so much raw emotion held in her eyes. But Peter didn’t care, only focussing on the frustration that took over his heart and mind. “I forbid you from leaving, (y/n)! When you leave this island, you’ll eventually grow up, and once you’re grown up, you can never come back!” he shouted angrily. (Y/n) physically flinched and quickly turned her head back towards the portal, trying not to show the tears in the corners of her eyes. “Goodbye, Peter. Until we meet again.” And with those words, she stepped through the portal and left Neverland, seemingly forever.

As the portal closed behind her, (y/n)’s magic seemed to leave with her, as the crystals imprisoning the Lost Boys started to melt, freeing them from their containment. Felix was the first to get his bearings, stroding over to Peter and placing a hand on his shoulder, said King of Neverland not tearing his eyes away from the spot in which (y/n) walked into the portal. “Pan, what happened? Where’s (y/n) and the other two?” Felix asked his fearless leader, a scowl on his scarred face. “She’s gone, Felix. She left Neverland,” Peter told his second-in-command emotionlessly.

Before the taller male could question him some more, the green-clad boy turned and walked away from the center of the campgrounds, towards his own private tent. Felix knew he was taking the Lost Girl’s departure harder than he let on. But he gave his trustful leader some space, allowing Peter to let his emotions loose in private. “(Y/n), I hope you know what you’re doing,” Felix said quietly to himself, before moving to help his fellow Lost Boys recover from the recent events.

~ Time Skip ~

“Again! I expect you to redo everything until you lot get this right! I have no excuse for weak, boys in my army of Lost Boys!” Peter seethed. It was several months, possibly a year, since (y/n) left Peter and Neverland. At first, Peter was angry, at (y/n) and her cousin, for leaving Neverland. Then, he was angry at himself for letting the Lost Girl leave, thinking he should have done everything he could from letting the girl leave. Eventually, Peter’s anger faded away and was replaced with a longing to see his favorite girl again. It was only until (y/n) left did Peter realize he felt something for the rebel princess, seeing her more as just another inhabitant of Neverland and a pawn in his games. And when he realized this non-platonic feelings, he regretted being so heartless to (y/n) before she left, hating himself for letting that be the last thing he ever said to the (h/c) haired girl.

Since (y/n) left Neverland, Peter changed, unfortunately for the worse. He was harsher and more cruel towards his Lost Boys and those that had the misfortune of being his enemy. All Pan cared for now was power, stopping at nothing to increase his magical strength by achieving immortality, regardless of the lives he had to take. And that meant he was setting in motion the events that would lead to taking the heart of the Truest Believer from a young boy to remain young forever.

Hence, the current intense training session the Lost Boys were doing, as Pan need them to be prepared for everything and anything, failure not being an option. “Who knew (y/n) leaving effect Pan this much? He’s been running us into the ground during training even since the girl left him,” Rufio mumbled to a couple of other Lost Boys. Pan heard this, and he did not like it. “What was that Rufio?” he snarled and turned towards the wise-cracking Lost Boy. Rufio’s face paled in fear as Pan strode towards him, his friends that once surrounded him nowhere to be seen, as they fled from Pan’s wrath.

The poor Lost Boy stood quaking in his boots as the King of Neverland stood in front of him, the slightly shorter leader wrapping a hand around Rufio’s throat, crushing his windpipe and preventing any air from reaching his lungs. Rufio gasped from breath as the other Lost Boys stood there in fear induced silence, unable to do anything but watch. “You’ve been mouthing off too much for my tastes. Looks like I’m going to have to put a stop to it permanently,” Peter growled. He shoved his hand into his chest, fingers wrapping around the boys heart. “Please, no...” Rufio pleaded.

Pan was just about to rip the boys heart out of his chest and then crush it to dust, when a loud noise and bright light shook the camp site. Everyone turned their heads to the sky, where a giant multicolored portal hung just below the treetops. Something or someone, came out of it, falling to the ground, and the portal closed violently with a loud bang. Peter and the Lost Boys were unable to do anything, as the figure got up from the ground and their features finally revealed by the light of the fire. (H/c) locks framed a (face shape) face, (e/c) eyes looking over everything as a bright smile broke out on the female’s (thin/plump) lips.

Felix was the first to break the silence, calling out the name of the person. “(y/n)? Is that really you?” the second-in-command asked, shocked that the girl had finally returned to Neverland. “Yeah, it's me,” the former Lost Girl replied a smile on her face. Felix immediately caught the girl in a hug, picking up the (much/slightly) shorter girl in his excitement. It seemed the spell was broken, as the Lost Boys immediately started moving towards the former Lost Girl, chatter filling the silence.

“Welcome back, (y/n),” Felix said to the girl, after he pulled away from her. “It’s great to be back,” (y/n) replied, her face so full of light and joy. Her (e/c) eyes caught Peter’s, causing the girl to stare straight into the piper’s eyes. He was stunned; here she was, the girl Peter has been obsessing over ever since she left, popping out of the blue, acting as if she never left in the first place. Their longing glaze was broken by a younger Lost Boy tugging on (y/n)’s hand, her attention turning towards the little one. “(Y/n), will you be staying here? Please don’t leave us again,” he said, his voice honey sweet and blue eyes looking at the (h/c) girl with pleading eyes. “Don’t worry, Jack,” (y/n) said, lowing herself so she could be eye level with the young boy. “I won’t be leave you.”

She rose to her full height and announced with a loud voice, “In fact, I will never have to leave Neverland again. From this moment forward, this island will be my forever home!” The campsite erupted in cheers and howls, all the Lost Boys loudly showing their approval. “If that’s the case then, let’s celebrate! To our one and only Lost Girl!” Felix cheered. As if it wasn’t already possible, the boys got even louder, happily cheering at the chance to party. Peter could only stare on wordlessly, as (y/n) was swept away by several Lost Boys, losing his sight on the magnificent girl.

~ Time Skip ~

The Lost Boys howled in delight as the drums were banged and the fire in the center of the campsite crackled. Peter watched from the side lines as they danced wildly. But his gaze was focused on one very special dancer. His green eyes followed (y/n), watching every move of her limbs and bend of her body as she danced without a care in the world. She was one with the music as she her body followed the rhythm of the drums. Peter’s eyes caught (y/n)’s (e/c) ones, everything around him seeming to slow down as did so.

He immediately tore his gaze away from her, pretending to be watching Felix wrestle some unfortunate soul into the dirt ground. In the corner of his eye, he saw (y/n) stop her lively dancing and steadily make his way towards him. Peter felt his breath get caught in his chest as she came closer, but was able to calm himself down before (y/n) got close enough to notice the effect she had on him.

“Enjoying the party?” she asked him, leaning against the bark of a tree next to him. “Of course. I enjoy seeing my boys let loose for once. The drinks help a bit, too,” he replied, gesturing towards the wooded cup in his hand. (Y/n) gazed out at rowdy group of wild teenage boys in front of her, a closed-mouth smile on her face. “I missed this. The freedom, how carefree everything is, not having any responsibilities,” she admitted. “You missed all of this? Even Rufio’s attitude?” he asked, surprised.

(Y/n) let out a short laugh, music to Peter’s ears. “Is it so surprising I missed my home. There wasn’t a day where I didn’t long to come back here and just let loose,” (y/n) continued, (e/c) eyes glowing in the firelight as she stared out at the wild party goers. It was silent for a little bit, a hint of awkwardness in the air. “So, um, what exactly happened back on Meowy?” Peter spoke up, desperately trying to break the silence. “Mewni. And so much happened. Everything has changed. And I couldn’t be happier,” (y/n) explained, a smile on her face as she reminisced. “Tell me about it. I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Well, I won’t go into the long and detailed history, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to hear about that. But I will tell you that Mewni is now unified between its people and the kingdom is in the hands of its true queen,” (y/n) explained as shortly as she could. “Well, that’s good,” Peter replies. A pregnant pause filled the air, until Peter thankfully broke it. “Is what you said before actually true?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “What?” you question, thinking you misheard him. “You said would never leave Neverland again? Was that true? Or was that just something you said that was in spur of the moment?” Peter continued. In the back of his mind, he couldn’t believe what she was true. Why would she want to stay here and be with me? he thought. Especially after how I treated her the last time I saw her. “Peter,” (y/n) said softly. “I was serious when I said that. Nothing will make me leave Neverland and you guys again.”

Peter felt his heart stop for moment, in disbelief at what she just told him. (Y/n) turned her kind gaze away from looking down at her hands folded in her lap. “Besides, it’s not like I can return home anyway,” she said softly. “Wait, what?” Peter thought he heard wrong. “It’s no big deal. You already know I never saw Mewni as my home. Neverland is my home. When the chance came for me to spend forever in my homeworld or spend forever here, I made my choice,” she explained nonchalantly. Peter could only open his mouth wide in shocked silence. He never thought she would such a thing. Give up her family and everything she known just to be with for him and the Lost Boys. It was almost insane.

“You really did all of that? Even after what I said to you before you left?” Peter gaped. “I’m sorry ... for what I said by the way. I wasn’t thinking straight and -” “Wow, the Peter Pan apologizing. To little old me,” (y/n) teased a goofy smile on her face. “Don’t make fun of me. You know I’m don’t ever apologize ” Peter pouted. (y/n) giggled, forcing a hidden smile to make its way to Peter’s lips. “I missed you, you know. Can you believe that?” Peter admitted, trying to hide his warming cheeks. (y/n) was astonished at his confession.“You really missed me? I thought you would have forgotten about me.” “I would never. There wasn’t a day I didn’t think about you,” Peter continued, gently taking the girl’s hands into his. (Y/n) looked down their combined hands, cheeks red at the feeling of Peter’s warm hands. “I did, too. The thought of Neverland and you kept me going. You were my reason to keep fighting, so one day I would be able to return to you.”

Peter gently placed his fingertips under her chin, directing her downcast eyes to look at him. “(Y/n) ...” he trailed off. He didn't know what he was going to say, his eyes flicking to her luscious soft lips. Peter couldn’t help but subconsciously darted his tongue out to wet his own, longing to meet them with hers. His hand trailed to cup her cheek, enjoying the site of her reddening skin under his rough fingertips. (Y/n)’s luminous (e/c) orbs nervously flew to look back at him, her breathing hitching in her throat. He watched her for a moment, looking for any indication that she was uncomfortable. But there was none, so Peter slowly inched closer, stopping until there was little more than an inch between them. He heart stopped as (y/n) closed the distance between them, the organ soaring at the feeling of her luscious lips on his own. Peter felt her wrap her hands around his neck loosely, his other hand moving to grip tightly to (y/n)’s hip. He could taste the Neverberries from the juice she had before, along with a specific taste he couldn’t quite identify. But he couldn't get enough it, shown by him adding more pressure into the kiss. (Y/n) reacted positively, fingers gripping onto the hairs at the base of his neck, a little mewl coming from her lips as she relaxed into his hold. Peter was just about to kick it up a notch when they were rudely interrupted.

“Hey, lovebirds! Get a tent will ya?” Felix shouted from across the campfire, hands cupped over his mouth and announcing the scene to everyone. (Y/n) was the first to pull away, face red as the Lost Boys howling once they noticed what their leader and Lost Girl were doing. “Shut up all of you!” Peter hollered at the boys. He was just about to teach them all a lesson when he felt (y/n) lean her head onto his chest. He looked down she was hiding her face in his shirt in embarrassment, the sight causing his heart pang in pity. “Peter, let’s go somewhere else. Please,” (y/n) quietly pleaded. “Alright, dear. Let’s head back to my tent. I still want to be with my favorite Lost Girl,” he whispered in her ear, placing a kiss on her forehead. Peter wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist and gently led her away from the center of camp. The Lost Boys started cheer and make lewd comments, which Peter when stopped at the entrance of his private abode, (y/n) continuing on inside without him. “Not another word from any you, or else I’ll be locking you in the cages for a week!” he threatened, glaring at them with darkness in his eyes. The boys shut up, knowing their leader was serious as they avoided eye contact. “Felix, knock up into shape if anything happens.” The second-in-command smirked, giving Peter a quick wink. The green-clad boy ignored it, heading inside and back to the beautiful girl waiting for him. (y/n) was laying on his fur-covered bed, patiently waiting for him. Peter sighed and crawled next to her, pulling her into arms once he was comfortable. He snuggled into neck, placing soft kisses onto her exposed neck. “Stay with, darling. I want you in my arms tonight,” Peter pleaded, already feeling his eyes close in bliss. “With you. Always.”

#ouat imagine #ouat #peter pan x reader #peter pan imagine #ouat peter pan #ouat peter imagine #ouat peter pan x reader #prompt au #prompt imagine #prompt

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need-a-fugue · 3 years

Text

Trustworthy (Chapter 6)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating… and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slow burn)

Warnings: language and just plain being miserable

It’s cold and wet and fucking miserable.

Your day so far… wake at the ass crack of dawn to a jerking, sputtering, clearly about to go down helicopter. Get – essentially – tossed from said helicopter into the midst of a bunch coca farmers out in an Andean valley. Become an accomplice in the unwarranted deaths of a few said coca farmers. Mill about the tiny community – wary eyes watching your every movement – as Santiago trades money for those lives… and for a handful of donkeys. Or mules, or whatever the fuck they are. Load up said donkeys with millions of dollars – certainly the type of cargo these poor animals are used to carrying – and head off into the jungle. With a sprained ankle. And a probable concussion. And – you realize just as that familiar ache begins to set into your hip – a shit ton of rain headed your way.

You’d lost track of how far precisely you’d gone, how many miles you’d traversed through this treacherous environment. And you refuse to ask, afraid that it’ll be just a fraction of how far you feel it’s been. By the time the sun descends and everyone hunkers down beneath a cluster of heavily rooted trees – just enough of an overhang to provide a bit of shelter from the once-again assaulting rain – it feels like you’ve all piled four damn marathons one on top of the other. But looking around at the thick foliage around you, noting the relatively small trail tamped down by your group as you climbed and trampled and fought your way up and out of that valley, it’s very clearly been closer to the length of a 5K fun run. Minus the fun. And the free T-shirt.

You let out a ragged, rather dramatic harrumph, the sheer annoyance at your predicament currently outweighing any fear or discomfort. But the discomfort is there none the less, every single nerve ending either on fire or vibrating from the utterly depleting fatigue that this day has caused.

Benny scoots closer to your side, tucking you back behind his shoulder just as you let loose with another full-body tremble. The action pins you even tighter to the wall of roots and mud and bark behind you, and to Frankie, who flanks your right side. “This fucking sucks,” you mutter, the final word coming out in an odd shuddering trill as the chill works its way out of your body.

“Yeah,” Ben breathes out with a soft chuckle before leaning back with an exhausted sigh. “Well, we’re dancing with the devil now.”

“Dancing?” Frankie returns, causing your tired gaze to swivel his way. “We were dancing when we got on the plane to come down here. I’d call this full intercourse.”

You all release a threadbare laugh, little more than a trickle of amused breaths being about all anyone has the energy to emit. Your arms wraps tighter around your core as you tuck yourself a bit deeper into Benny’s side, your eyes still trained on the man to your right. “Let’s just pray this is a one-night stand,” you smart, lips pulling into a sly smile the moment Frankie turns your way.

It takes a moment for his face to falter, the pained set to his features slowly melting into something just a little bit more relaxed as he snorts out an amused breath of his own. He gazes down at you, watches as you lean further back, burrowing even more into Ben’s warmth. He stares deeply, his dark brown eyes cutting through the onslaught of rain that continuously dribbles from the brim of his hat. “How’s your ankle?” he says finally. And the question catches you entirely off-guard. Not because it’s so strange or unwarranted, but because you’re certain that whatever thoughts and questions were just tumbling through his head, that rather benign inquiry wasn’t among of them.

You offer a small shrug. “S’fine,” you lie, biting the corner of your lip as the twisted appendage continues to throb. “Not like I got shot or anything,” you say as you lean forward and peer around Benny, trying to catch a glimpse of Will through the heavy rain and dark surroundings. “How ‘bout you, Ironmaiden? You still with us?”

You hear a short snicker from the man – and from Ben too – just before a deep rumble of, “Not dead yet,” cuts through the impending night. His face remains hidden in the dark, but you’re convinced that a hint of a smile flitted over it at the very least, and that’s enough to make you feel like a good deed’s been done.

But when you look back at Frankie, his shoulders heavily slumped as he leans away from the relative shelter of the trees, out into the pounding rain, you feel that tiniest hit of triumph swiftly uncoil and fade away. “Hey,” you bark out at him, nudging him with your foot as you lean back once more. “You’re gonna freeze out there.”

His lips tug up at the corners, but the small, closed-mouth smile never reaches his eyes. He makes no move to duck back beneath the leafy canopy, instead turning away and letting out a long, deep sigh. You nudge him again, saying nothing, but raising a questioning brow when his gaze connects with yours. “Pretty fucked up,” he mutters blandly before dropping his head again to stare down at the wet earth beneath his boots.

“Yeah,” Ben agrees beside you. “Pretty fucked up.” He uses his shoulder to jostle you a bit, get you to sit up and turn towards him. He holds up a giant, ripe mango, giving a little nod in place of an order to take it.

“Thanks,” you say, plucking it from his grasp. He merely nods again, this time a silent no problem, before shifting to present another to his brother. You look back at Frankie, his broad shoulders still slumped, now thoroughly soaked as well. “Hey,” you begin, the word coming out more as a pained grunt as you reposition yourself and fold the twisted ankle up beneath you.

His eyes fly up, wide and worried at the hurt in your voice. But the last you thing you want is for him to feel even worse than he obviously does right now. So again, you brush off the pain, shaking your head and rolling your eyes at the unasked are you okay? emanating from his stare.

“A little help?” you ask, holding the mango out to him. He reaches for it with a look of confusion. “My hands are so cold, fingers are numb,” you state with a shrug just before leaning forward and capturing his arm. Before he has the chance to even register what you’re doing, you’ve already wrapped yourself around him, tugging him with the only remaining energy that you have back beneath the tree’s canopy.

He lets out a little groan in protest, but appeases you all the same, scooting back until he’s flush with the wall of roots behind you. “You could just bite into it,” he mumbles as he settles back and uses his thumbs to break into the fruit.

“Mmm,” you hum out, no real response at all. His left arm is still held tight in your grasp, your cold – though not actually entirely numb as you had led him to believe – fingers pressing into his bicep, gliding along the soaked-through fabric of his windbreaker. You scoot closer to his side, still feeling Benny at your back, but now craving the heat being put off by the man in your hold instead.

“Here,” he breathes out, handing you a mangled chunk of mango.

The smallest titter of a laugh blows past your lips as you accept it and drop your heavy head down to his shoulder. “Don’t you have a knife?” you ask before shoving the food into your mouth.

He stills in your grasp. “Huh,” coming out of him in a surprised sort of grunt. He moves the mutilated, dripping fruit up to his lips, licking at the juice before tearing into a hunk of orange meat with his teeth. He shakes his left arm free from your clutches and deftly wraps it around you to tug you close, all without ever disturbing your cheek’s perch atop his shoulder. His wide open palm slips down to your hip and presses its warmth right over the dull ache of that damn old injury, and the deep tenor of his voice resounds in your ears as he says simply – mouth still full – “didn’t think of that.”

000

The sun rises somewhere around your second or third hour of hiking. You think. The burner phone you’d brought along had long since gone dead, and it’s been ten years or so since you’ve worn an actual watch. But it certainly felt like two to three hours went by from the time Santi roused you from your shivering near-sleep and the ominous birth of a new day.

Thick mist and fog gathers round, clinging to the ground, the trees, obscuring the way and growing heavier the higher into the mountains you climb. You take to doing rollcall every fifteen minutes or so, each calling in turn to the person behind, making sure that no one’s been lost to the surrounding haze.

You lose all sense of time, not even realizing how long it must’ve taken to get to the terrifying and precarious footpath cut into the side of the mountain until you look up to see that the sun is now high in the sky, closer to its journey down than up. The fog had just begun to abate as you all reached the narrow trail, and while that was very clearly a good thing – because if ever there was a time when you needed to see exactly where your feet were stepping, this was it – a part of you cursed the cloud for lifting and allowing an unobscured visual of all that lay below.

You can’t help it. With every step you take, your eyes veer from the placement of your feet along the narrow, rocky trail over to the steep drop off and then out to the endless acreage of mountainside and jungle below. Every step. Every plodding, breathless, horrifying step. And to make matters worse, to ratchet your heartrate and blood pressure just that much higher, the children in front of you have chosen this time to begin petulantly arguing and hurling accusations.

You roll your eyes and try to tune out the thinly veiled allegations and insults being tossed back and forth, each man’s voice carrying a different shade of I’m tired and hurt and hungry and I need a damn nap.

It was really only a matter of time, you figured, before the grumpiness managed to overflow into conflict. That’s just what happens when people – men in particular – go without rest for this long, carrying the burden of survival on their backs for endless hours of drudgery. Sure, you’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this… if anyone could find their way through unparalleled stressors without cracking, it’d surely be a team of elite special ops guys. But, then again, these men were all retired. They had real lives that they’d left just to get sucked into this shit. They had families and jobs and car payments waiting for them back home. And they’d been under the mistaken impression that they’d be able to get back to them all in just a handful of days. A week, max.

Also, one of them had been shot… and everyone else harbored at least some injury from that helicopter crash that you still hadn’t been able to fully mentally process. So, sure, it makes sense that they’d eventually devolve into juvenile bickering. But did they have to do it on the side of a fucking mountain?

You stop short, a small gasp of surprise shooting from your lungs as you nearly faceplant into a donkey’s ass, Will and Ben both having come to a sudden halt in front of you. “The fuck” you nearly shriek, but neither of the men so much as toss a glance your way. You peer around the animal in front of you and glare at Will, tired eyes burning into the side of his skull. “Fucking move!”

He turns then, shooting you a confused look, taken aback, it seems, by your sudden irritation. As though this moment of impatient annoyance should be reserved for just him and his brother. But before you can say another word, before he’s able to come to the obvious realization – that there are other people in this world! – on his own, his stare veers, eyes blowing wide as they lock onto something behind you.

A crunch of rocks, a shuffling sputter of movement, a terrified scream blossoming from the mouth of the donkey in the rear. By the time you’re able to maneuver yourself around to see to what’s happening, all that’s left is a cloud of cash slowly trailing behind the fallen animal, and a stricken Frankie cemented up against the side of the mountain. You catch his horrified gaze, hold it for a moment before finding the words, “Are you okay?”

He gives a weak nod as he pulls himself upright, slowly making his way behind your – now nervous-as-hell – donkey. Ahead of you, the arguing has intensified, though what’s being said, you can’t quite glean. And you don’t honestly care. Frankie pushes past, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze on his way, and finally makes it to the front of the group where he directs everyone to keep moving… convinces them, somehow to let go of whatever the hell it is that they’re bitching about.

Had to get all the money…

Fucking Lorea…

Just move, damn it!

That’s about all you manage to get from their conversation. It’s all you care to get. Blame, accusations, words in general, none of that matters right now. Frankly, the sudden loss of a donkey and millions of dollars doesn’t matter to you right now. Nothing matters right now except continuing to put one foot in front of the other for however long you have to do it… however long it takes until you reach a place where you can collapse into the exhausted, pained heap of a being that you are and simply sleep.

Taglist:

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @icanbeyourjedi @greeneyedblondie44 @mrscrain-x7 @kyjoraven@elephants-are-a-thing @nakhudanyx @thirsty-flygirl @leannawithacapitala

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #santiago pope garcia #will ironhead miller #benny miller

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lemonadesoda · 3 years

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Prelude story: Parting Words

Summary: Snatcher has a few more words to say to the Captain before he makes his final departure--words best not said in front of the kid.

Notes: Tumblr-only post for now, to give the interested folks the opening context story for the main fic I'm working on (so that some things referenced in future previews will make sense as well.) Once the main story goes up on ao3, this one will go up there too. As always, hope you enjoy!

When the meeting room doors slammed shut, both the Captain and the First Mate let out low breaths simultaneously. In the presence of the two strange Earth beings representing the child, a suffocating pressure had been steadily building--whether real or imagined was difficult to say, but in the empty hallway leading back to the ship’s bridge, the air no longer constricted their chests, no longer sat heavy on their necks.

The two of them walked in silence, the First Mate tense and staring at the ground but constantly glancing sidelong at the Captain whose narrow gaze remained fixed in the distance, far beyond the extent of the corridor, beyond the walls of the ship, beyond the present moment.

The First Mate flinched first when the blanched white light of the corridor flickered once, then again. They blinked and shook their head as the normally faint shadows deepened, sharpening the corners where the walls met the floor. Finally surfacing from his reverie, the Captain stopped mid-step, going completely still as the room darkened around them and the clamping weight returned to the air once more.

“I have something more to say.” The shadow that stretched out in front of their feet across the void-dark floor opened familiar gold eyes. Before them, projected into the floor with the silhouette of his hands clasped behind his back was the one called Snatcher, the proclaimed King of Subcon.

“What are you-” the First Mate yelped, dancing backward. They looked to the Captain who remained rooted in place, then back to the intruder. “You can’t be here!”

Snatcher lifted upward out of the floor to stand face-to-face with the two of them. He grinned far too broadly for what his theoretical bone-structure should have supported, a burning crescent splitting his expression like a volcanic fissure. “Our contractual business has concluded. What I have to say is of a personal matter. Off the record, you could call it.” As it had before, his voice echoed, layered as though he were speaking from multiple directions at once. Though his grin held, his eyes narrowed by a fraction, giving a bladed edge to the expression. “There are some things that are better not to say in front of my child.”

“This could be considered an act of aggression,” the Captain said in a low voice. He had recovered his composure after the initial alarm of the consuming shadows, returning to his rigid posture from their formal meeting.

“Good,” Snatcher snapped. “Because I really must emphasize that the only reason you are still alive is because that little kid, for some reason, prefers you to be.”

The Captain stood eye-level with Snatcher, forced to dig his heels into the floor to hold his ground. “What is your purpose in making these threats? I have already agreed to your terms.”

Just behind him, the First Mate straightened themself and moved up alongside the Captain. Snatcher’s lantern gaze flicked toward them, and he stared them down, holding the sickle-sharp smile in place until the First Mate’s jaw hurt from clenching their teeth. Like a bonfire, Snatcher radiated an aura that urged a retreat, that lit up the neurons in the brain that cried warning.

“Because I want to make some things very clear,” Snatcher said to the Captain, though still bearing down on the First Mate off to the side. “It would be in your best interest to make sure none of you come back. Because no one comes here to make threats or demands of our child. I don’t care if it becomes a diplomatic incident.” Snatcher’s shadowy form dissipated, melting like fog back into the floor.

“If it came down to it,” his voice came from over the Captain’s shoulder now, close as a whisper, making both the Captain and the First Mate whip their heads around, catching only darkness. “I would start an intergalactic war if only she asked me to.”

“That strikes me as irresponsible,” the Captain muttered, eyes searching the dark corners of the hallway for Snatcher’s reappearance.

“Then don’t make her ask me,” Snatcher said in a sing-song tone. His wheezing laugh rattled low in the air, shuddering through their rib cages. “I’m only warning you what’s at stake here. No matter what you or any of those people from wherever you came decide, we will protect our daughter above all else. But I can promise you this-” Snatcher materialized in the wall, shaping his silhouette in mimicry of the Captain’s form beside him. “If it really came down to it, you wouldn’t be around to witness the magnitude of your failure.” He lifted a clawed hand in the shadow and mimed a crushing vice with it. “So what happens next is really up to you.”

Snatcher peeled out from the wall, walking back into the center of the corridor as if from a hidden door. He looked at the two of them over his shoulder, the edge of his smile still visible. “Your move, Captain.”

With the echoes of a final cackle that shook the panels of the ship, the darkness blinked out all at once, replaced by the flash of the fluorescent white returning to the hall. Several meters ahead, the transport staff stood glancing about in confusion.

“Sir, what was that?” one of the staff asked as they approached. “There seemed to be a power failure just now, but we received no alert.”

The Captain remained silent for several seconds, prompting the staff to peer at him, brows furrowed.

“Sir?”

“Have engineering check the power couplers in the central hall,” the Captain said quietly, glaring over the shoulders of the staff. They ducked their heads, nodding at the command and one of them tapped a message into their hand-held terminal before hurrying past them to finish teleporting the entourage from Subcon back to the child’s ship.

As they neared the bridge, the First Mate looked up at the Captain. “You’re really just going to let that slide? We’re well within our rights to issue a reclamation of the time pieces after that.”

“When considering our options, it would not be worth the risk,” the Captain replied, striding just ahead of the First Mate and not turning back.

The First Mate hastened to walk in line with him, trying to catch his attention. “And leave that level of technology in the hands of a child? With those sorts of people as her guardians?”

“I can trust that she understands what’s at stake.”

“She’s a child! How can she uphold the Oath? If those things or anyone else on the planet wants to get ahold of that power-”

The Captain halted as the doors to the bridge chimed to alert them to their opening, finally whipping his gaze to the First Mate. “A child who apparently has the power to start wars with a word, given who is protecting her. The time pieces will see no misuse without her say so.” He bit the words out, an edge of aggravation hastening the statement more than his habit.

The First Mate snapped their mouth shut under the Captain’s scrutiny, only returning a sullen look as the two of them stepped back out to the bridge, the command crews all turning in acknowledgment.

As they took their place at the helm overlooking the various control stations of the ship, the First Mate muttered, “You’re setting a dangerous precedent here. Are we really going to kowtow because of a few verbal threats?”

The Captain’s jaw flexed. The nearest control crews looked up for prompting as to the upcoming course of action.

“What would you do, then?” the Captain asked in a low, steady voice. “Compel an invasion of a planet so far beyond the system that we had no existing record of it? For a derelict ship and its crudely harvested time power? Is that what you’re asking me to risk?”

The First Mate stared at him, mouth parting in disbelief. “He actually got to you, didn’t he? You’d jeopardize the stewardship of time because you’re afraid?”

This time, the Captain turned on them, pivoting on his heel in a lightning-sharp about-face, and though he did not actually advance a step, the First Mate took a half-pace back from the force of their commander’s attention, eyes going wide.

“You feel so strongly about this?” the Captain snapped. Though his voice remained low, his tone drew the nervous attention of the crew. “Then you make the decision, and you take the responsibility for it. I will defer to you!” He turned, addressing the rest of the bridge. “The First Mate will relay upcoming orders. Proceed as they command.” He stepped back, tipping his head to the First Mate, but holding eye contact throughout.

The crew all watched the tense showdown in silence, waiting on the First Mate who glanced helplessly between them and the Captain. Finally, with a last, frustrated glare at him, they stepped forward to oversee the crew. “...Chart courses for Cerian. Prepare for hyperjump,” they said, the orders so barely audible, the nearby staff had to relay them to the rest of the bridge.

As the crew hurried about to prepare for the jump, the First Mate stepped back, once again in line with the Captain.

“The Board won’t be happy with this,” they said.

“I will deal with the Board, if that’s what you’re worried about,” the Captain said, an underlying snarl barely contained by his professionalism worn thin.

The First Mate hazarded a glance at him. The Captain stood, focused ahead as he always was, as the crew always saw him. But the years working as his second reported to the First Mate the weight that currently bore down on him, the tightly-reigned frustration at having his hand forced and stress at the upcoming confrontation with the rest of the powers of the Enterprise. And if that Snatcher was true to his word, with the Captain’s own safety dangling precariously in the mix. They lowered their head. They shouldn’t have pushed.

As the alerts on the terminals warned of the impending hyperjump, the First Mate grimly replied, “It is what I’m worried about.”

The Captain made no further response, and the ship launched them across spacetime empty-handed.

#long post #ahit hide and seek #tbh dont really feel like tagging this as anything else #i just know there are some of you who would be interested in this

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alexandenigtscreations · 3 years

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Chapters: 5/7 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Summary:

Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev make a good team. But when a bank job goes horribly wrong, the injured pair are forced to lay low and hope the Carte Blanche can make it back to them in time.

(Note: Bold Italic script indicates Nureyev speaking Brahmese)

Chapter 5

“God Damnit Thief! Pick up your damned coms when the bloody doctor calls!"

"Again, apologies Vespa, I-" he coughed weakly into his hand, tripoding over his knees.

"Do you know how many times I had to call you? Do you?"

Nureyev sighed "Afraid not-"

"Seven ! Seven goddamn times! Thought you were dead ! Or Steel! Or captured or whatever! We're in enough crap as it is without you two adding to the pile!"

“Vespa, I-”

“If you say you’re sorry one more time, Thief; I swear to god I’ll snap your scrawny neck!"

"I'm-" he caught himself mid apology, "Understood-"

"I haven't heard Steel's voice, where is he?"

"Juno's- sleeping." Which is what he himself had been doing up to the moment Vespa rang. Stupid- a rookie mistake-

"Oh? And how sure are you of that thief?"

Nureyev wiped the sweat off of his face, "I'm sure-" it had been the first thing he checked when the beeping of the comms woke him. Even from here he could see the frantic rise and fall of Juno's chest. The lady wasn't doing well.

"Completely." He coughed harder into an elbow.

Vespa sniff on the other end of the line. Plainly suspicious, but that was nothing new.

"Fine, now you're on, we can get back to business…." There was a clatter outside, his head snapped towards it ".... temperature down, or it can cause…." and another- "gotta make sure he's in the recovery…" and another and confound it all Nureyev, focus! He shook himself back to the conversation just in time for Vespa to say "Did you get that Thief?"

"Hmm? I ugh-" he floundered. No, no he had not gotten it, and was just about to say so when he heard voices-

Lord, not now, please not now-

"Thief?"

Nureyev limped to a window. Even in the dim light of the street lamps, he could make out the security uniforms of Galactic Stars First Bank.

No-

Anxiety spiked his chest, making him queasy- or perhaps he already was-

Juno was in danger. That much, he was certain of. To say nothing about himself.

He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping lady. Even with his features pinched and weary, he was beautiful-

And vulnerable-

Plans began to formulate in his mind. His first impulse was to find some crevice to hide in, to disappear. But even with Juno’s help, he only just managed to get him to the sofa last time- If they were found- well, he didn’t want to find out what they’d do to him.

“Thief?!”

He could lure the guards inside, dispatch them quickly and save his leg the trouble- But no, that would be too messy. To say nothing of Juno’s sensibilities, inviting guards into their hiding spot introduced more blind variables than he’d care to gamble with.

Which left luring them away- Sharp teeth worried away at his bottom lip. The injury would make things- challenging. But he didn’t have to be fast. After all, it was a fool who thought the best getaway vehicle was the fastest-

What he needed now was a strategy; and to know how many employees he’d have to contend with.

“God Damnit Ransom, the hell-”

“Apologies Vespa, I need Rita.”

“What?!”

“Ha-How many guards, am I dealing with- Rita?” Nureyev grimaced, pressing his back tight to the apartment's tinker toy brickwork. Rita’s voice was going fuzzy around the edges, as though muffled.

It had been harder than anticipated to pick his way past the patrolling guards, yet alone work his way out of the safe house.

“Two, maybe four in your sector Mista Ransom.”

“Which is it? ”

“Hugh?”

“Which is it? The- er- two, or the four?” there was a throb of pain that made his breath hitch. Along with that ever present burning, biting its way deep.

“Not sure but- are- are you alright Mista Ransom?”

“I- am a tad worse for wear. Which is why I’d like to resolve this matter quickly.”

“Ohhh, ohh right! Well Rita can help with that!”

“Thank you Rita. Now- which way to the two or four individuals?”

He allowed Rita to guide him through the quiet streets. She informed him that a dome wide lockdown had been initiated while the intruders were at large. Sure enough, when he tried a few doors in passing, they refused to yield under his touch. The citizens took the lockdown seriously.

Nureyev made sure to make plenty of noise. He needed a show if he wanted this plan to work. What worried him was that he was only half acting as he stumbled his way over the cobbles on a stiff leg. He allowed himself to knock into bins and topple items into cars. The noise he raised wasn’t loud, per say, but it was conspicuous on the quiet streets.

“Where are these guards Rita?”

“They’ll be coming up any minute Mista Ransom, you just keep your eyes Peeled! Make a right up here-” she directed “Peeled, hugh, ever consider what a weird thing it is to say. That you should keep your eyes peeled? I mean you do that and your eyes ain't gonna be good no more, least of all you. Oh! But there was this one stream where the monster worked its way out of a beautiful man! Which was such a waist but what do I know about streams? And its eyes were doing this crazy-”

“Any- minute?” he was starting to have doubts about using his own injured self as bait. He filed that deep in his mind.

“What? Oh! Yeah! You got some baddies commin’ up right behind you.”

“Behind- Are you sure?” he panted.

“Yeah of course I’m sure Mista Ransom!”

A quick turn confirmed Rita’s intel. He was indeed being followed.

They shouted something at his back, and Nureyev picked up his pace to a skip-hop, while his pursuers broke into a run. A plasma bolt shot past his ear, sending a jolt of adrenaline through. In answer he flipped over several barrels. They cascaded into the small space, messing the ally nicely. That should slow them down some. It had to.

There was no time to pay attention to the ache of his lungs or the fire coursing through his leg. Even as each step pushed him that much closer to being physically ill.

File it away, Damn you- just file it away-

He screwed his eyes shut and pushed forward. Forcing himself to keep moving, to keep breathing, to keep-

He plowed headlong into an old chain link fence with enough force to knock him to the ground with a strangled cry. The traitorous links rattled and clinked all the way up to their restraints. As if to add insult to injury, they stretched maybe ten, fifteen feet in the air. There wasn’t a hope of making it over before his acquaintances caught up.

“Mista Ransom?!” Rita sounded scared, she’d even stopped typing. “What happened?”

“There’s-” he coughed “There’s a- barrier- ” There was another word, a better word, but he couldn’t for the life of him think of it. It was taking all his effort to push upright on shaking arms, threading his fingers into the wire mesh to haul himself to his feet.

“A barrier? Like a wall or a buildin’ or somethin? None of that is showing up on my schema-”

“A fence- Is there another way round?” He took a moment to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry but, there isn’t anythin’ on the map. Ya gotta get to the other side before ya have options. Can’t you like, break through or somethin?”

Break through, of course, Nureyev could kick himself; it was so simple. He extracted one of his plasma cutters from a pocket, heat humming through the blade. In the end, it wasn’t even a good fence. The blade made quick work of the links, slicing through them as one might margarine.

Another blaster shot forced him through the cherry red ruin of a hole before it had a chance to cool. He brought his arm up, shielding his face even as the sharp edges racked along his coat, hitting his leg- he hissed, nausea threatening to overtake him.

“Mista Ransom?”

He scrambled to the other side, barely keeping upright.

“Mista Ransom! You’ve got more company comin’ straight at you!”

“What-” his voice cracked in exhaustion. Through the gloom, he could just make out the second pair barreling down the narrow passage. He could hear them barking orders at him now, probably instructing him to surrender or other such nonsense that he had no intention of following.

“They’ve brought reinforcements! They’re gonna’ block your escape roots!”

“Reinforcements?”

“There’s at least four more heading straight at you!”

Nureyev glanced back and spotted the first pair shoving through the debris. Then that would make six- Six on one, he didn’t like those odds. A wrong step sent a jolt through him, his weakened leg nearly buckling under his weight sending him into a wall. Again the world went fuzzy, blood rushing to his ears.

He wondered if the Carte Blanche really would come back for him if he’d got captured. Something made him doubt it even as he shoved the ugly thought deep into a file.

Think Nureyev.

Time, he needed time. A had drifted to the modest arsenal on his chest. There were a few smoke bombs he hadn’t touched, but the situation called for something more dire-

He plucked a pepper grenade from the clip, lobbing it over the fence with the practiced ease of one who’d spent hours on throwing knives. Smoke tracked it’s flight through the air. It struck the ground at the guard’s feet. They yelled, scrambling back just as it erupted. The choking fumes swallowed them in seconds.

Nureyev was no longer paying mind to them, attention bent entirely at the remaining guards. Four on one were more....manageable.

He rushed the closest set, drawing a twin to his first blade wheeling them in tandem. The man was no fighter, as soon as he got into their space, the man shrank back, his blaster forgotten.

A tingling burn flushed across exposed skin making his heart plummet. He’d made a mistake. Nureyev hadn't accounted for the wind-

Spurred by the change in fortune, Nureyev dispatched the man quickly; maneuvering out of the way as he crumpled. Life’s blood spilled over the cobbles soon obscured by smoke.

Smoke?

Twisting and contorting, the smoke seemed to grow till it engulfed everything in its path. Pouring down the cramped space. The remaining guards tried to run, but were soon overtaken, same as the Thief.

Nureyev's throat closed against the onslaught. He gagged and coughed over the very air, vision hopelessly obscured by tears. The only good news was that he could hear his attackers do the same. Panic began to fog his reason.

He no longer noticed the burning of his skin or eyes, or the way his nose was running; no longer could feel the pain in his leg. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn't breathe . The single thought spun round and round in his brain, desperately trying to figure a way around it. He clung to the wall with every ounce of strength he possessed. The coughing picked up even harder now till his chest crushed in like a deflated balloon.

Try as he will, his lungs would not expand. There was simply no more air.

“Mista Ransom?” Rita, in the coms! Rita who was still very much with him. There was hope!

Just then a hand clenched around a fistful of his hair, dragging Nureyev lower still. He’d been found, even in a place like this, they’d still found him. The employees of Galactic Stars First Bank were more like his creditors than Nureyev liked. Even now she was growling at him in anger.

Though he couldn’t understand the language, he knew she was asking questions. Her breaths were short and forced yet still she managed to talk. Had he not been in the grips of fear, he would have found her admirable.

“Mista Ransom?!”

Through his bleary eyes, he could make out the cyan glow of a blaster pointed down under his nose. She meant to shoot him, but was hesitating. At any other time, he'd wonder why- Instead he reached up to claw, to cling at her wrist, still with a grip on his knives. She twisted and he bowed lower, leg quaking, his hand slipped and-

“Ah!” she squealed as his plasma blade bit into her arm, flinging him back to a wall. The impact miraculously forced air back into his lungs. Though as soon as he got it, his body started to cough it back up. Furiously he clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to hold it in.

It didn't work.

“Mista Ransom!” If Rita had sounded scared before, that was nothing compared to now. Her voice was small and tentative in a way that would break any heart. Even so, he latched onto her voice with everything he was worth.

The light of the guard's weapon danced before him. She may have been hurt, but she wasn’t down yet. What’s worse was that she seemed to be calling for backup.

The blade sang out of his fingers, digging itself into her thigh. This time she screamed and hacked, scrambling for the off switch while Nureyev made his escape. It hadn't been where he'd been aiming, but close enough. With any luck, she'd have trouble moving for a time.

“R-ita-” he choked out, managing tiny gasps, every one a massive effort.

“What’s going on! Have you been Gassed!!!!!” thank stars he would not have to explain.

“Y-yes-” he gave into a violent coughing fit.

“Oh-Okay, you need me to show you the way out!”

“Yes-” the fight had turned him around, making it impossible to tell which way to go. He wanted to be free of the smoke as soon as possible.

“Can Do! Oh! This is just like one of those Spy streams like- well, never mind that right now. Alright Mista Ransom, I’m gonna need you to move forwards about a hundred meters.” She instructed conspiratorially. He obliged, thankful to leave the thinking to her. Using the wall to keep him straight. “Be careful when you reach the fork!” she cautioned “The passage on your left has a few baddies, the one on your right is clear!”

On his right- he could just make out two voids stretching before him. Stealing his resolve he propelled himself right and mercifully broke through the miasma. He crashed into a dumpster, nearly running smack into the center of another set of guards.

It had been the wrong way.

There would be no time to recover, no time for rest. Furiously he wiped his eyes and gulped down recycled air.

Rita shrieked in his ear, “Not your right, my right!” but he had no choice but to tune her out.

The fresh opponent rushed him, their partner charging their blaster. Nureyev stumbled back towards the smoke, just managing to use his attacker’s momentum to spin them round into their partner. Their partner roared, firing shots off at random as they fell. Blaster spun out of their grip on impact. A stray bolt savaged one of Nureyev’s coat pockets, scattering it’s contents on the stones. Hopefully there wouldn’t have been anything important in there.

Nureyev readjusted his knife grip and threw at the tangle of limbs. One of the figures stilled. He hobbled towards them as fast as he could, retrieving the blade. He’d already lost one and that was one too many.

It was a mistake.

Pain shot through his leg making him cry out. He fell hard separated anew from his weapon. He’d been struck down by the spare guard. They spat words that were sure to be insults as they disentangled themselves from the motionless body.

Nureyev gasped, twisting away towards the fallen blaster. It had landed some distance away, but one advantage of long limbs was reach- The guard growled and caught his foot, drawing him backwards. He kicked out and the hands clawed higher. It seemed they both were trying for the same weapon.

"Let go- " Nureyev bit out attempting to dislodge the guard.

"Never, scum- " they shot back in perfect Brahmese. Before that could sink in, fingers jammed into his bandages, into the wound- Nureyev keened, paralyzed by the shock of it.

First rule of thriving Pete, you can't afford to be loud.

Rita shrieked all the louder. Nureyev was at once hot and cold and utterly overwhelmed.. He knew he was hurt, thank you, he knew it! He could do without the constant reminders.

The guard made use of their opportunity by clambering over Nureyev. Hand planted on his spine, pushing him down. The thief refused to let it be that easy; scanning for something, anything he could use-

There!

His pocket knife!

Nureyev’s arm shot out, scooping up the tool and flicking it open. He twisted, simultaneously throwing them off and swiping upwards. The blade bit into cloth and flesh. They reared back startled, leaving Nureyev to wriggle free. On hands and knees he scrambled to the blaster.

Nureyev may not have the skills of a certain lovely sharp shooter, but at a distance like this, he couldn't miss.

The stunner went straight to their chest and all went quiet. He folded over, resting his forehead on the damp of the grimy street, forcing down bile once more.

"Mista Ransom!!! Oh Mista Ransom! Are you there? Please say you're there, cuz I'm not sure how I could face the boss if I…."

"Rita-"

"....got you blown up or somethin, cuz know I'd miss you oh so much but Boss- oh I couldn't imagine-"

"I'm- ha- I'm fine- Rita-" he tried again, louder this time. His voice was thick and rough, entirely unlike the persona he’d been so careful to maintain around the crew.

There was a loud clatter from the other end and a sharp intake of breath. It sounded as though Rita knocked something over "Mista Ransom! You ought to feel ashamed! Scaring a girl like that! Don’t you know that-" she cut off abruptly “Ugh oh, Mista Ransom! You gotta get out of there, stat! There are reinforcements on the way and I don't think they are too happy!”

Nureyev groaned and thanked Rita. He supposed it was a lucky thing that he was so averse to capture. It had been a long time since cold stone had been so welcoming.

“What are you waiting’ for Mista Ransom?”

“N-nothing- Rita. Merely -becoming acquainted with the cobble work.” he murmured. In truth, he was drained to his core. His head was spinning, body aching, leg burning and he was just so- thirsty. There was at least something he could do about the last one, but not for a while, and not without getting up. The entire distraction had taken far more out of him than anticipated.

“Mista Ransom, you know I don’t speak nothin but Solar-” she started, but he wasn’t listening.

Distraction. His mind snagged on the word.

That was right, he was luring Galactic Star’s First Bank away from Juno. Juno, gorgeous, wonderful Juno who’d taken a poison dart for him, who needed him right now.

Nureyev had to get back to him, no matter what.

In the end, Nureyev had trusted Rita to guide him back to the safe house. She’d insisted after he nearly ran into another set of guards. He was too tired to fight. More than once considering folding himself up into a corner and waiting for the excitement to die down. Moving in the open like this- didn't sit well with him.

It took a lot longer to return to the grubby street of the safe house, and longer still to check and recheck he hadn’t been followed or bugged.

“Thank you again- Rita-” Privately he vowed to do something nice for her if and when they’d return to the ship.

“Oh and Mista Ransom?”

“Hm?”

“Take care of yourself, alright? Ya make Mista Steel real happy- and- and I want ya both back in one piece okay?”

Nureyev was taken aback for a moment, mind blanking over the words. It was- touching, and he had no idea what to do with that.

He cleared his throat. “I will do everything in my power to make that happen.” and he meant it.

[Special thanks to Scarlet_Trust who got me excited about this again. Please, Please go over and read their wonderful works!]

#tpp #the penumbra podcast #junoverse #jupeter #juno steel #peter nureyev #fic #AlexandeNight #whump #hurt/comfort #tw blood #tw nausea #tw killing #tw fights #Nureyev is a baddass #my writing #fanfic

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the--highlanders · 3 years

Text

2. “You have no proof.”

on ao3.

He stood in the doorway, hesitating, his mouth half-open but his words reluctant to come out. Well, he thought, he could hardly blame them. They were not exactly pleasant words to have to speak. And he had no desire to inflict them on Jamie, of all people. A small part of him was still wondering if he couldn’t just turn around and walk away, never say anything at all. But it had to be done. The plan demanded it. And it was fairer to tell Jamie himself, rather than let it come from someone else.

His other option, of course, would be to go and tell Victoria first. An even harder proposition. No, he thought. Best to practice on Jamie, and leave Victoria for a little while longer.

Jamie had not yet looked up and seen him, thank goodness. He was sitting on the bed, turned slightly away from the doorway, hunched over something – a lump of wood, the Doctor guessed, from the flashing of a knife in his hand. Whittling away, totally innocently. Not knowing what was coming.

How he wished he didn’t have to do this. But it was too late now.

Who knew how long he would have stood there, debating what he ought to do. But luckily – or unluckily – enough, the universe took matters into its own hands. As he shifted his weight forwards a little, the floorboard beneath him creaked, and Jamie’s head jerked up. He hissed, holding out one hand before raising his finger to his lips, and the Doctor winced as the tang of blood floated up into the air. It would not be the last pain he would cause Jamie this afternoon.

Again he wondered if he should just turn and leave, but Jamie moved before he could even decide on what to do, twisting around to catch sight of him standing there hesitantly. His eyes lit up, and the knife of guilt twisted further into the Doctor’s stomach. “Ah – hello, Jamie,” he said. “I do hope I haven’t startled you.”

“Eh?” Jamie glanced down at his finger. The blood had been sucked away, revealing a mercifully narrow slash, but redness was welling up beneath the skin again. “Och, it’s just a scratch.” He grinned, shuffling over like he had to make room on the bed. But the Doctor made no move to sit next to him, and his face fell. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell you something.” Both the Doctor’s hearts were pounding, almost loud enough that he could not quite hear what was coming out of his mouth. He could only hope it was convincing. “Something you’re not going to like.”

Why on earth had he agreed to this? he wondered. To scapegoat himself? Oh, there had been a knife at his back when he had said yes – but could he not have been brave enough to take the fall? Not that Jamie and Victoria would have liked that any more. And with a little luck… well, a lot of luck, if he was completely honest with himself, his gamble might pay off, and this could all be sorted out rather neatly, without anyone getting hurt.

If he was wrong, though…

It was not so much the thought of punishment that bothered him. He could take anything dished out to him, so long as Jamie and Victoria were safe. It was the thought that they might believe the worst of him, and go on thinking that for the rest of their lives. If he failed to prove his innocence and ferret out the real killer, he would end up locked away, never knowing what they thought of him. Whether they could ever trust him again. Not that it would matter, with him mouldering away in some dark dungeon.

No time like the present, he supposed, drawing in a deep breath and closing his eyes. He could not bear to see Jamie’s face as he spoke. “It was me. I killed Thani’lar.”

Dead silence.

He had expected rage. Disappointment, maybe. To be thrown out of the room in anger. He had not thought about what he might do with silence.

“I’m going to hand myself in,” he carried on haltingly. Still not a syllable from Jamie, and still he did not dare to open his eyes. Perhaps seeing Jamie’s face would be better than the dark and the quiet – or perhaps not. “You won’t have to worry about me. There’ll be a trial – a formality, you understand, seeing as I’ll have confessed – and then they’ll lock me away. Everyone will be quite safe.”

More silence.

“They’ll look after you here.” What more was there to say? “The Cathions have one of the most advanced travel systems on this side of the galaxy, you know – they’ll be able to get you anywhere. Even back to Earth, if you so wish. I’m afraid you won’t be able to return to your own times – but I don’t suppose either of you would want to, anyway, so that’s rather a -”

“No.”

He fell quiet, his mouth still opening and closing without a sound emerging. Had Jamie been agreeing that he would not like to return to his own time? Saying that he would not like to leave the planet? Something else entirely? How could he know?

Would it be safe to open his eyes?

Slowly, steadily, he opened them. Jamie was still not looking at him, staring down at the wooden block grasped loosely between his hands. His voice had been firm, but his expression was firmer, and the bottom dropped out of the Doctor’s stomach when he realised why he had said no with such certainty.

“I don’t believe it.” There he was, then. He had been right. “Ye wouldnae have killed him. It’s no’ – that’s no’ you.”

There was another thing he had failed to plan for. Jamie simply refusing to swallow the story. What on earth was he going to do about that?

“I can assure you, Jamie, I did,” he said gently. “I – I found him in the catacombs, and -” He had always thought nausea in the face of a simple idea to be a rather distinctly human reaction. Quite disgusting, and evolutionarily silly. But he had no other word for the feeling rising in his throat. “I broke his neck. It was all over very quickly.”

“No,” Jamie said again. “No, I don’t believe you. You’re – you’re just sayin’ it for some reason -” At some point, his hands had started shaking. The wood dropped to the floor with a clunk, rocking back and forth. “It’s no’ funny, aye? I’m no’ laughin’.”

“Neither am I.”

“Why?” Jamie snapped his head up to face him, his eyes blazing. “What reason would ye have for doin’ somethin’ like that?”

“He -” This was something he had prepared for, but it did not make it much easier to say aloud. “He wanted to stop me accessing the archives. I had to get past him.”

“Ye wouldnae do it like that. You’d talk to him. Break in there if ye had to. But ye wouldnae kill anyone to do it.”

Oh, Jamie. He always was a smart one. Too smart for his own good, in this case. “I didn’t plan to,” he said quietly. “He was just – in my way.”

“How did ye do it?” Oh, goodness, there were tears brimming in Jamie’s eyes, and in his voice. Whether they were tears of fright or anger or sadness he could not tell. Perhaps they were all three. “How did ye break his neck? With your bare hands?”

“Well – my people are rather stronger than humans, you know, Jamie. I’m perfectly capable of it, physically speaking.” Just not mentally speaking, as Jamie so clearly knew. But he could hardly say that.

“You’re no’.” All but launching himself up off the bed, Jamie strode over to take the Doctor’s hands, turning them over to inspect his palms. “You’re not – they’re no’ a killer’s hands. I know they’re not.” Seeing him up close was even worse. Don’t start blubbering away, the Doctor told himself sternly. His lie was apparently flimsy enough already. Crying wouldn’t help.

And then his hands were being lifted and fitted around Jamie’s neck, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Go on, then.” Jamie sounded like he was holding back tears himself. His grip on the Doctor’s hands was only just steady enough to hold them in place. “Do it. If ye can kill someone else, ye can kill me. But I’m bettin’ my life that ye couldnae do it.”

“Well – well -” He tried to wrench his hands away, but Jamie’s hold on his wrists was strong. “Jamie, be reasonable.”

“Ye couldnae do it!” Jamie cried, his voice full of something that could either have been elation or torment. Maybe a little of both. “Ye couldnae kill me, an’ ye didnae even have the strength tae throw me off.” Letting go of the Doctor’s hands, he swept away to pace across the room, gesturing wildly as he spoke. “Ye couldnae have killed him. I know ye wouldn’t have. I dinnae know why you’d say ye did.”

“Because I did kill him.

“Ye didn’t,” Jamie spat. “Ye have no proof. No proof.”

What more proof did Jamie need, besides his own word for it? What proof could he give, when none existed?

“Please, Jamie,” he said. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“Ye have no proof,” Jamie repeated. “I know ye didnae kill him. I don’t know why you’re sayin’ that ye did, but I’m gonnae find out.”

That was the last thing he could afford. For Jamie to go poking around. Too smart for his own good, indeed. He was certainly clever enough to pick up the trail, perhaps even resourceful enough to follow it all the way to its root. And he would be killed for his trouble, without a doubt. The Doctor could not let that happen. He would never let that happen.

The one silver lining, he supposed, was that Jamie would not risk allowing Victoria to become mixed up in all this. If she ended up in danger, too – well, that would be far too much for the Doctor to bear. He would never forgive himself.

“Jamie,” he said again. When he reached out, Jamie backed away from him, so he paused, standing there lost and unanchored. “I know you’re hurting. I know you’re confused. But please – please, you must trust me. I’m doing what’s best for everyone.”

“Ye don’t always know what’s best,” Jamie snapped back. “Dinnae go tryin’ tae convince me, ‘cause it’s not going tae work. I’m never going tae believe ye. An’ I’m not going tae stop until I find out why you’re sayin’ this, an’ put an end to it.”

And the worst part was, he thought, that he had no doubt that Jamie was telling the truth. He knew the depths of Jamie’s loyalty, after all, and the depths of his determination. Never once had he imagined that it might turn against him like this.

Oh, dear.

This was going to be harder than he had thought.

#second doctor #two/jamie #fanfic archive #my writing #fictober 2021

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queerbrujas · 4 years

Text

like maybe you are magic

blades of light and shadow pairing: mal volari x reva of riverbend (female human) wordcount: 2.1k rating: T

read on ao3

kicking off my participation in @bladesappreciationweek with a little idea i’ve had bouncing around in my mind since blades was still airing—mal and reva and the sharing of magic.

—

It was Reva who led them to the caves.

Both she and Mal were unfamiliar with these woods, the ones they’d been exploring for the past day and a half—even their name had somehow evaded them, tried as they had to find out as they passed the nearby villages.

Reva was unfamiliar with this entire area of Morella, in truth, as was the case with much of the kingdom—that was neither unexpected nor new (her knowledge had been steadily improving, but there was so very much to learn still). It had taken Mal half a day, however, to admit to not knowing where he was, and only after hours of Reva’s teasing and needling he'd confessed.

(Not that she’d needed the confession to know the truth; or that he’d even expected to deceive her in the first place. It was only a matter of pride.)

Even so, unfamiliar as they were with the area, there was a pull that Reva had felt ever since they had crossed the treeline—and the only reason they hadn’t left the woods yet. Something like a thread of gold tugging at her, invisible currents and tides in the air that guided her further and further in. And in the depths of the woods, it was her woodslore skills that told her the rest of what she needed to know: there was a water source nearby, somewhere underground.

And still that thread pulled and pulled and pulled.

(She’d felt something like it when they’d met the voxper in the Deadwood, though she hadn’t recognized it then, inexperienced as she had been.)

Mal didn't question it, her drive to follow and find the source of it—he never did, not when he saw the determined look in her eyes and the purposeful stride of her movements, the way she always acted when she sought something, when she sensed something.

He was curious, too. Intrigued, even if he couldn’t feel what she felt.

It was high noon when they found the entrance, low in the ground, half-hidden by underbrush and overgrowth. Unassuming, inconspicuous—it seemed so easy to ignore and so undisturbed Reva was sure no living being had stepped inside in gods know how long.

“Can you hear that?”‌ Reva asked, more out of habit than anything, but she was starting to learn the difference now. The difference between the sounds she could hear, that anybody could hear, and the things she could sense that only seemed like sounds to her because she had no other words to describe them.

“I‌ hear water,” Mal said after a moment.‌“You hear something else, don’t you?”

He was starting to get used to it, too.

Reva nodded. She did hear the water, the flow of it running further ahead in the caves—but that wasn’t what she’d meant at all. There was, like the golden thread, the faintest sound of something she could only imagine as silver bells (and she had never heard silver bells before, but the thought came to mind and seemed to fit).

A vibration in the air that made her skin prickle and raise into gooseflesh.

He followed, close by, as she led them deeper into the cave—close, always close, trailing behind her with a hand on her back and his presence a steady comfort next to her.

(Steady. Reliable. It was the last thing she would have called him, back when she'd first met him—she'd called him out on it, even. And yet, now—)

“Kit, are you sure—” Mal started, after a good while of walking (and he had never stopped calling her this, not after months and months, but she barely noticed it anymore), but Reva only shushed him, trying not to lose the sound of the bells.

She was vaguely aware of his pouting, but he didn't say anything else, and she was too focused on following the trail of this thing that called to her.

He still followed her, curious, and she knew—she knew he would follow her anywhere, as she would follow him anywhere, as she had followed. Even if it meant not having a place to settle, even if it meant narrow escapes and having to hide, sometimes, having to run. Reva was a practiced liar and an even better charmer, after all, and the thrill of adventure had always called to her—but it felt different with him, somehow.

They walked on, their steps leading them down, down, down; the air humid and cool, darkening as they walked deeper inside. The cave turned as it descended, dark and damp, but the pull of that golden thread grew ever stronger, and there was a scent in the air, too—something that almost felt metallic.

The bow of Gal’dariel almost seemed to hum in response, strapped to Reva's back, and a brewing tension coiled within her.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of walking but was probably closer to minutes, the tunnel started to grow wider and the sound of the water louder than the rest of them. A hint of light seemed to filter from further ahead; Reva and Mal exchanged a look and pressed on.

The tunnel led into a small but open space—the walls curving towards the low ceiling, and in the center of it, a small blue lake, nearly (but not quite) sparkling, nearly (but not quite) glowing.

They had seen something like this in the Deadwood, but it was so much stronger here, so much purer. It was almost overwhelming and made the blood in Reva’s veins want to sing.

—

“You won’t join me?” she’d asked, and that was all it took.

Armor and clothes set aside (and she would never get tired of the sight of him, like this), they stepped into the water together, waist-deep—Reva had expected it to be cool as the air around them, but it was warm, almost unnaturally so. As soon as it touched her skin she felt a burst of energy around her, small explosions on her skin that tingled and tickled, not unpleasantly. Magic, pure and raw, stronger and more concentrated than she had ever felt it.

It passed through her like a conduit, warming her skin, her body from the inside; almost as though it replaced the blood in her veins with pure Light.

“You can’t feel it, can you?” Reva asked, turning to look at Mal, though the answer was obvious. She could feel the flow and the current now that it had settled into her, how it reverberated in the cave and dipped back into the water—and how it ignored him, weaved around him without touching him at all.

(It was the strangest thing, something she could both see and not see, something that could not be described with words but she knew it was there, all the same.)

“Not much. I can feel there’s something about this place,” he said, shaking his head. And that much was true, reflected in the way his usual demeanor had fallen into something quieter, admiring. “Aside from the glowing water. But that’s all I’ve got.”

How odd that was—the pure essence of this place seemed steeped in magic and Reva couldn't imagine how it would feel, how it look without it.

She wondered if—

“I want to try something,” she said, suddenly.

Mal raised an eyebrow at her, but any comment he might have thought to make seemed to die on his lips at the unusual expression on her face, replaced by something both like tenderness and apprehension.

He looked unsure—as he did often when around magic and especially when Reva’s own use of magic was concerned—the conversations with Nia and Tyril about Light and years and time no doubt present on the back of his mind.

But here, in a place like this, she wouldn't have to draw from her own Light. The air was brimming with it and she felt charged—it almost felt like a waste not to use the magic for something, as though it was itself asking to be spent, having been trapped in this underground cave, building and building for gods know how long.

“Please,” Reva said, and this too was unusual—unusually gentle, unusually quiet. An idea had taken root in her mind and she wanted to, wanted to.

Mal eyed her for a moment longer, amber eyes narrowing minutely before he nodded.

(He would always put his trust in her, without fail.)

She took her hands in his then, warm and calloused and he relaxed immediately at the touch of her fingers.

Nia and Tyril had taught her, taught her how to reach for magic within and without, how to extend it and project it and hold it in her hands—this was surely not, couldn’t be too different from that.

Magic is will made real. Tyril’s words, echoing in her mind.

Will made real.

So she willed it.

She closed her eyes and reached, felt—saw, saw with her mind as clearly as she saw Mal himself, as she saw the water and the cave walls—the golden threads of energy around them, swirling and delicate. She willed them to curve into her, into her body and out through her hands.

She felt resistance, too—as though the magic did not want to extend out of her body and into Mal’s (and magic has a will of its own, she had learned, independent of hers and what she would wish it to do. Especially in a place like this).

He repelled it, his body repelled it, but she insisted, coaxed it—focused on the warmth of his hands as they grasped hers tightly. A different warmth, solid and soothing instead of wild and unpredictable.

Different, but not incompatible.

That was the thought she focused on.

Her eyes still closed, she knew it was working when she heard him gasp. She smiled, but did not dare look yet—focused on holding the magic together just a little longer, extending her will so it enveloped them both, together.

The sight of him when she opened her eyes almost took the breath out of her.

The soft glow from the water, which had avoided him until then in all but reflection, bathed him now—bronze skin gleaming and highlighted, features alight.

But even more than that, it was the look on his face that made her heart beat faster—almost boyish in its awe and wonder (and she thought she must have looked much the same the first time he showed her the sea in Port Parnassus), eyes wide and his mouth silently parted as he stared at her, tightening his grip on her hands.

Reva’s smile grew—a small amount of pride swelling in her at being able to show him something for the first time, as he had done so many times now—in the time they'd been traveling together he had never made her feel lesser for her lack of knowledge about the kingdoms, but there were few things he had not experienced.

“And now?” she prompted, quiet, almost too quiet but this seemed a precious moment and she wouldn't risk breaking it.

He was still looking at her, a smile spreading on his lips but instead of speaking he laughed, something like a sharp exhale, breathless and delighted—and not a second later he leaned forward, sure not to break the contact between them.

He let go of one of her hands, raised his own to cup her cheek, the back of her neck (and oh, the touch felt like sparks dancing on her skin, his fingers and the magic flowing back into her)—and then he was kissing her, and she knew nothing else: magic flowing freely now between them through every point where his skin touched hers, his lips softer than they’d ever been, his hand on her waist and hers in his hair; golden threads, silver bells, all of it enveloping them.

When they parted and she opened her eyes—when had she closed them?—the hum was dimming, the light around them back to what it had been when they first entered the cave, but the light spark of energy still lingered under her fingers where they rested on his cheek.

Mal’s eyes were still closed, and he let out a low, appreciative whistle. Reva laughed, still a little giddy.

“I had to pay you back for the sea somehow,” she said lightly, the tinge of laughter still in her voice, breathless as she was.

“Ah, that's what this was?” he replied, opening his eyes. There was a softness to them that wasn't new, had nothing to do with the air around them or the water or the flow of energy that passed between them. It was something entirely earthly, fully him, and it still made her breath catch and her heart beat faster whenever she saw it.

“Are you ever going to stop surprising me, kit?”

“Not if I can help it, no.”

#playchoices #blades of light and shadow #bladesaw #mal volari #qbwrites #qbwriteschoices #blades #alright i'm tired of looking at this up it goes

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randomposterofstuff · 3 years

Text

Why I still appreciate AOT/SNK despite how it ended

Hi, all!

I still have a lot of thoughts running rampant in my mind. I plan to express each idea individually. By this, I mean that one idea will be the subject matter of one post. I have many thoughts, and it would be a really long post if I include all of them in just one. Haha.

But for this particular post, I would like to express that even though I have mixed feelings about the conclusion, I still appreciate Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin. I admit that I only joined the fandom recently. Haha. But I became invested in the story and its characters fairly quickly.

I have mixed feelings about the ending. And as of now, they lean more towards disappointment and frustration. (I will elaborate more on what I think of it in another post.) Haha. But despite this, the series still gave us many, many incredible scenes and exciting plot lines. Furthermore, it also offered critical insights on complex subject matters.

Fair warning: This is another lengthy post. Haha.

A. It is entertaining

AOT/SNK is very entertaining. The action scenes alone had us on the edges of our seats. And those epic fight scenes were nicely complemented by compelling storylines involving deception, mystery, and power struggles. A personal favorite scene of mine is Levi Ackerman’s fight scene against Kenny’s Anti-Personnel Squad. The action and the conspiracy which led to it were amazing and jaw-dropping. (Side note: Ackerman Supremacy forever!)

B. It offers critical input on relevant issues

But the series is more than just enjoyable. It is also critical and reflective. Many people have said that AOT/SNK is a commentary on the many ills that plague human civilization and society. And I agree with this.

The series has invited us to think critically about war, violence, and trauma and their various effects on different people. It also has encouraged us to reflect on the power of information and perspectives.

1. AOT/SNK on war, trauma, violence and their effects

It showed us how a once innocent girl like Mikasa Ackerman became a highly skilled combatant because she feared losing her loved ones to violence. After witnessing her parents get killed in front of her while she was helpless to do anything, Mikasa became motivated to fight to protect the very few precious people left in her life.

It showed us how a former thug like Levi Ackerman realized that he could put his exceptional skills to better use by staying with the Survey Corps/Scouting Regiment instead of returning to the Underground. When he lost Isabel and Furlan to Titans, he felt unadulterated rage and pain. This also caused him to see the threat that the Titans posed to humans and influenced his decision to remain as a soldier.

It showed us how a once self-centered Jean Kirchstein transformed into a dedicated soldier and reliable leader after seeing the decimated corpse of his closest friend and companion. Jean’s change of heart was admirable. However, it was unfortunate that the change was caused by something as tragic as losing Marco.

It also showed us how a cowardly Floch Forester became a violent and narrow-minded extremist. When he was first introduced, he was afraid of dying in battle. But the war and struggle against Marley caused him to view anyone who wasn’t an Eldian as the enemy, even if they were only unarmed civilians. Ironically, his extremist views had made him a braver fighter. At one point, he had even told his allies to dedicate their hearts to the new Eldian Empire.

2. AOT/SNK on the effects of prejudice, propaganda, and indoctrination

I think that the series had also brilliantly portrayed how prejudice, propaganda, and indoctrination affect different people from different sides.

i. Propaganda in Marley

It showed us how the current generations of Eldians were forced to pay for their ancestors' sins. The old Eldian empire under King Fritz and his successors until Karl Fritz mercilessly conquered lands and destroyed many lives. Understandably, this caused the other nations and peoples of the olden times to hate Eldians. However, this hatred was unfortunately passed down from generation to generation. The crimes of the old Eldian Empire were committed thousands of years ago. Yet, the Eldians who were borncenturies afterward were still despised and viewed as devils.

This millennia-old hatred was also used by Marley to spread propaganda to keep itself in power and to keep Eldians in the internment zones across the world in check. They taught Eldians that because of their ancestors' sins and their supernatural ability to transform into Titans, they were monsters and plagues upon the Earth. They were also taught that they needed to repent to absolve themselves of the crimes of their forefathers.

This propaganda led to many Eldians believing that they deserved to be treated poorly and that they had to work hard to be respected as actual people. This mindset was what allowed the Marleyan Warrior Program to become successful. One privilege that came with being a Warrior of Marley and a family member of such Warrior was being granted honorary Marleyan citizenship. It was viewed as an honor and a sign of respect.

It was because of this that Gabi and Reiner Braun both aspired to become Warriors. Gabi trained as a Warrior because she wanted to prove to the world that there are Eldians who are good people. She herself had admitted that the struggles she faced as an Eldian were what motivated her to work hard. On Reiner’s part, he joined the program because he assumed that becoming an honorary Marleyan would complete his broken family. He thought his Marleyan father would live together with him and his Eldian mother once he became a Warrior. But alas, he was proven wrong since his father rejected him despite his efforts.

On the flip side, it also caused other Eldians to become hateful and resentful of superpowers like Marley. They were tired of being treated as second-class citizens and formed the Eldian Restorationist Movement. The Restorationists believed that Marley was feeding them deceitful propaganda. While this is indeed true, they instead believed that the source of all Titan power, who they reverently called the great Founder Ymir, was a benevolent being who would never harm anyone. It was eventually revealed that this was not true either.

The Restorationists had extreme views. These views caused Grisha Yeager to use his first son Zeke as a means to an end. The Restorationists had wanted to overthrow Marley utilizing the power of the Titans. And Grisha had immediately offered his son without any hesitation to their cause by enrolling him into the Warrior Program to become a spy for them. The Yeager patriarch was so focused and engrossed with their goal that he had neglected to act as an actual father to his then young son. He was more invested in Zeke's progress as a Warrior candidate than in the latter's growth and happiness as his son.

ii. Propaganda in Paradis

It was also revealed that the inhabitants within the Walls were also taught propaganda. As readers and viewers, we all know that the people of Paradis were initially ignorant of the truth of the world and of the Titans because King Karl Fritz erased the memories of the island’s first inhabitants. We all knew that most of them believed that they were the last living humans in the world and that the rest were wiped out by Titans around 100 years ago. The misinformation spread by Karl Fritz endangered the people of Paradis. It cultivated and propagated ignorance which left them vulnerable to attacks from other nations.

As such, they were clueless and defenseless against the Warriors of Marley when they first attacked. And they would’ve continued to be defenseless had it not been for Grisha’s journals and the memory-related powers of Eren’s Attack Titan. The lack of information and the misinformation they received had placed them in great jeopardy.

When the truth came to light, the Eldians of Paradis were divided. One side sought to broker for peace with the other nations. They wished to show that the people of the island mean no harm. The people of this side were willing to overlook the terrible deeds that Marley had committed if it meant that they could finally achieve true peace.

The other side saw the other nations, especially Marley, as enemies who wished to exterminate them. They were disgusted and infuriated by what Marley had done. These Eldians wanted to take arms and fight for the establishment and freedom of the new Eldian Empire.

2. AOT/SNK on the power of narrative in relation to the cycle of hatred

One thing that the series masterfully executed is the portrayal of the importance of narratives.

i. The Paradis Perspective

During the first arc, it was shown how helpless the people inside the Walls were when Titans attacked the Shiganshina District. We also saw the trauma that a young Eren Yeager experienced when he saw his mother get eaten by a Titan. We witnessed first-hand how a young child lost his parents and his home. And how this loss cultivated his understandable anger and became his primary motivation for becoming a soldier for humanity.

Fans, readers, and viewers sympathized and supported Eren because of this. By presenting how the destruction affected him, we all rooted for him and his allies. This narrative also showed us how countless soldiers of the Survey Corps/Scouting Regiment lost their lives during the fight against the Titans. From a spectator's point of view, the Titans were beasts that killed humans who were significantly weaker and smaller than them and monsters that laid waste wherever they went. As such, this perspective had led many of us to resent Bertolt, Annie, and Reiner when they were revealed to be the Colossal, Female, and Armored Titans, respectively.

ii. The Marleyan Perspective

But this all changed when we were shown the Marleyan perspective. When the Marleyan Arc began, we were shown how Eldians on the other side of the sea were poorly treated. We saw how they were brainwashed to believe that Paradis Island's inhabitants were the true devils beyond salvation, whereas they could still be redeemed. When these things were gradually revealed to us, we eventually understood why Bertolt, Annie, and Reiner did the terrible things they did. Because of these revelations, we started to become more sympathetic towards the Warriors.

The power of narrative was especially emphasized in the Raid on Liberio. During Willy Tybur’s declaration of war against Paradis, he revealed the world's true history and King Karl Fritz's plan. He also announced that the founding Titan's power was stolen from the royal family inside the Walls by Eren and that the latter had planned to use it to attach the rest of the world.

Not soon after his announcement, Eren transformed and attacked the people in attendance. The Survey Corps had also arrived to provide manpower and backup. In the process, hundreds of civilians and visiting dignitaries were killed.

All of these things lent credence to the propaganda about Eldians being devils. From the eyes of a bystander, Eren and the Survey Corps were murderers who destroyed a city full of innocents. This was how Gabi Braun viewed them at the time. She was raised with Marley's propaganda. As such, her already present hatred was amplified when she saw her hometown get destroyed and her friends and neighbors get killed in front of her. While her general prejudice towards the Eldians of Paradis was unjustified, the pain and anger she felt during the Raid on Liberio were very much valid and understandable.

iii. On the cycle of hatred and how to end it

It is because of these narratives that the cycle of violence continued on for so long. No one narrative is more right or less wrong than the other. This is because the losses and struggles that each side suffered were all very real and very valid. It is not fair to quantify the validity of a person’s pain.

The neglect and loneliness that Zeke felt as a child were valid. The grief and rage Gabi felt when her friends were killed were also valid. The heartache that Niccolo experienced when Sasha died was also valid. The depression and trauma Reiner sustained after his mission on Paradis Island were likewise valid. The hurt Connie felt when he was betrayed by people he trusted was valid. Jean's sadness at losing Marco and Sasha was valid. The anguish Levi felt when he was left with no choice but to slaughter his transformed comrades was valid. The point here is that no one's pain is more valid than that of others. There are different types of pain, and they are all valid.

It is from these losses and pain that anger stems. Anger is a very valid emotion. However, the way people choose to act on their anger is not always valid. On this, the choice to express anger through violence is the root cause of the cycle of hatred. It is also what perpetuates the vicious cycle. I think that this message was executed well in the scene where Niccolo confronts Gabi and reveals her as Sasha’s killer to the Brauses.

It is also during this scene that the answer to ending the cycle of hatred was explained through the wise words of Mr. Braus.

Screenshots taken from Season 4, Episode 13 of the Attack on Titan anime.

Mr. Braus acknowledged that the world is like a giant forest where violence is nearly always afoot. He understood that violence will continue to exist unless people put a stop to hatred. He sagely advised that it is up to the older generations to bear the sins of the past and their effects and consequences. This is so that the youth of the future could live in peace. And he backed his words with action by choosing not to take revenge on Gabi despite his own grief and pain.

The series also showed that another answer to ending the cycle was through understanding. This was exemplified through Gabi’s character development. Prior to her arrival on Paradis, she thought that its inhabitants were devils that were beyond redemption. But after spending time with the Brauses, she became enlightened. Gabi eventually realized that she was wrong about her prejudices. And it was because of this realization that her hatred disappeared, and she asked for forgiveness.

Screenshot taken from Chapter 118 of the Shingeki no Kyojin manga.

----

Final Words: There are actually a lot more things that the series had touched upon. But I don't think that I can comprehensively cover all of them in this post. Hahaha. In any case, I still like AOT/SNK because overall, it is an epic tale full of action, mystery, intrigue, and most of all, valuable lessons and insights to ponder upon. I know that many fans feel that the ending ruined the series for them. And I understand why they feel that way. But personally, I think that many great things about it deserve to be appreciated. I know that not everyone will agree with me, but this is my take on it.

So, despite my disappointment and issues with Ch. 139, I still thank Isayama-sensei for giving us Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin. Thank you, Isayama! Shinzou Wo Sasageyo!

#aot anime #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #mikasa ackerman #levi ackerman #jean kirschstein #gabi braun #connie springer #ackerman supremacy #reiner braun

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dudeandduchess · 5 years

Note

Can we have Giyuu starting a family? He has a sweet waifu and a baby, he's super happy with them and there's lots of love. Plz he needs it.

Ahhh hello, bby! My friend also requested this, so I hope both of you like it. UwU It’s not entirely complete bc I feel like I need to think more on how Giyuu will be with an actual baby. So there might be a part two??? But I hope this is fine for now. :D

Redemption week. Redemption week. I will write nothing but happiness for Giyuu this streak. Ahaha.

Also, another note: Two hundred yen in the Taishō era was worth alot of money. Just to avoid confusion. Okay, that’s it. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. Ahaha. 💖

***

Giyuu x F!Reader: Accidental Pregnancy (SFW Scenario):

“Alright, place your bets, everyone,” Shinobu chimed excitedly as she dropped a few bills and coins inside a box Mitsuri had found within Headquarters.

Readily, all the Hashira present— save for Gyōmei and Muichiro— dug into their pockets and counted out ample amounts of bills, before dropping them in with Shinobu’s bet. Then, deftly, the Insect Hashira quickly counted through the money.

“We have two-hundred Yen here, whoever guesses correctly gets all the money. If more than one person guesses correctly, then they have to share,” Shinobu explained patiently, all while some of her comrades eyed the reward money in her hands hotly. Two-hundred Yen was already a lot of money; it could get them two-hundred dozen eggs, and maybe a a hundred pounds of cured meat.

So, suffice to say that all of them wanted it.

“Does everyone still have the same bets? Or would anyone like to change their prior bet?” At the prompt, Uzui sniffed haughtily as he crossed his arms over his chest.

And then, the Sound Hashira said, “It might not be flamboyant, but I’m betting that Tomioka will get (L/n) pregnant. That’s how those two will admit their feelings for each other.”

Shinobu nodded in complete agreement, while the others— namely: Rengoku, Shinazugawa, and Iguro— shook their heads. Kanroji, in typical fashion, looked to be a little lost— as she was the only one who had an entirely different opinion.

“Tomioka won’t do it. He’s not brave enough to confess to (Y/n),” The Flame Hashira announced with a laugh, which his cohorts agreed to with noncommittal hums.

“They might think they’re being sly by fucking behind our backs, but when someone says something about it they’re going to stop,” Sanemi added with a scoff, before looking right at Uzui— as if to directly oppose his opinion.

Iguro let his eyes flit over all of his comrades— lingering on Kanroji for a while— before landing right on Shinobu. “That’s most likely the reason why Oyakata-sama is talking to them right now.”

A collective silence hung over all the Hashira, as all of them contemplated their own opinions— which Kanroji took as her chance to air out her thoughts.

“Well, I think that Tomioka-san will take (Y/n)-chan out to a candlelit dinner, and he’ll confess to her there.”

All eyes landed on the Love Hashira, and all of them looked at her as if she had sprouted a new head. Her opinion was outlandish at best, but no one dared to say anything about it.

After all, she was entitled to live in her own fantasy world— no matter how inaccurate her portrayal of the Water Hashira was.

“I still don’t think this is right. Gambling is an unskillful activity. As Buddha once said, ‘In winning one begets hatred; in losing one mourns the loss of one’s wealth,’” Himejima uttered in that solemn tone of his, and it made his comrades all second-guess their decision.

But when they saw the box of prize money still in Shinobu’s hands, the Stone Hashira’s words practically floated away.

“Be careful, (Y/n).” All the Hashira looked up at Giyuu’s familiar tone, only to sport differing reactions when they saw the Water Hashira and the Snow Hashira round the corner with their hands intertwined.

At the sight, Uzui and Shinobu traded knowing looks, while the three who’d opposed their opinion furrowed their eyebrows in mild frustration. Meanwhile, Kanroji almost clapped her hands in joy at the sweet sight.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes at her lover’s overly worried words, as it was all she could do so as not to swoon at how attentive he was being. Ever since she’d told him about the news, he had made a more conscious effort to be around her— and she would be damned if she didn’t admit that it was making her fall even harder for him.

Not that she would ever say it out loud. She was fine with keeping her feelings to herself, thank you very much.

Unless Giyuu confessed first; only then would she admit to feeling the same way.

“Oh? All of you are still here?” (Y/n) asked in mild surprise when she caught sight of the huddled forms of her comrades. “I guess it makes it easier for-”

However, the Snow Hashira had to pause when she caught sight of the box filled with money in Shinobu’s hands. She immediately narrowed her eyes at the Insect Hashira, before stating flatly, “You were betting on this? Why am I not surprised?”

“How long have all of you known about us?” Giyuu asked in his usual tone, which had everyone— save for (Y/n)— looking at him much like they had at Kanroji.

“Everyone had always known, dumbass. You two weren’t exactly discrete about it,” Sanemi practically spat at Giyuu, which made Giyuu frown. He simply didn’t understand why the Wind Hashira was so rude to him.

As if sensing the upcoming squabble, Rengoku stepped in and quelled it before it could even take root in anyone’s mind. “So, would you mind telling us why Oyakata-sama asked both of you to stay?”

“Ah… that…” (Y/n)’s voice rose in pitch, as a blush made its way onto her cheeks. And, reflexively, her free hand moved to cradle her very faint baby bump.

All eyes zeroed in on that minute movement, and she had to quirk an eyebrow at Sanemi and Obanai who had cursed irately before crossing their arms over their respective chests.

“(Y/n)’s three months pregnant,” Giyuu announced, as the faintest of smiles graced his lips. He then looked down at where his lover’s hand pressed against her belly, and he couldn’t help but feel his own gaze soften at the tiny bump. “It’s mine.”

It all felt surreal when (Y/n) had first told him a month ago, but he wasn’t mad. He had never told anyone, but he’d always wanted to have a wife and children.

He had half of that solved, he just had to work on the other half. Hopefully, she wouldn’t make it him work too hard for her hand in marriage.

“Who else’s would it be, Tomioka-san?” Shinobu chimed in with a giggle, as she quickly counted half of the prize money and gave it to Uzui.

And with a smug smirk, the Sound Hashira fanned out the paper bills in his right hand, before using it to fan himself. “Thank you for making me a hundred Yen richer.”

“Yes, thank you. Let’s do this again sometime.” Shinobu laughed once more, before carefully pocketing her prize.

“All of you are insufferable. Come on, Giyuu. Let’s go.” With that, (Y/n) tugged at her lover’s hand to get both of them out of there.

***

So came the days when Giyuu was required to change from a stoic, single man, to a doting, and very-much-in love father-to-be.

He didn’t have a single complaint about his predicament. Not once did he think ill of (Y/n), nor did he resent her for getting pregnant. After all, it took two to make a baby. Besides, he was simply ecstatic at the thought of having a mini version of him and (Y/n) around the house.

Giyuu couldn’t wait to add more babies to their family.

However, the one thing that always got him down was (Y/n)’s lack of response to his feelings. He tried to convey his love for her through all of his gestures, and she was grateful towards him, but it seemed that she was still hiding part of herself from him.

It wasn’t a secret that he was bad at verbalizing his affections— or verbalizing anything, really— but he just wanted some confirmation that she felt the same way towards him.

Gratefulness was one thing, but genuine feelings were another thing entirely. He craved to let her know just how much he loved her, yet he was always hindered from doing so because of the unclear boundaries between them.

“Giyuu…” (Y/n) whispered in the dead of the night, as she propped herself up against her right elbow and gently rubbed her lover’s chest to wake him up. “Giyuu, wake up. Giyuu.”

Reluctantly, the Water Hashira opened his eyes, only to snap them wide open when he realized that (Y/n) was close to his face. He then bolted upright and turned to her, with worry shining in his eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is it time?”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened at that, before she offered him a sheepish grin. It was so adorable that it calmed Giyuu’s racing heart. “I’m sorry for startling you, but… I want to eat something sweet and tart. Like sakura no mi, or yama ichigo. Please?”

He’d been woken up to go berry picking, which was already trivial enough; but to make matters worse, the sun wasn’t even up yet. If he checked his pocket watch, he would probably see that it was only half past two in the morning.

Still, Giyuu didn’t mind. Because he loved (Y/n), and that was the least he could do for her.

So, he slowly got up and out of their shared futon, then pressed a lazy kiss to the top of her head, before getting dressed to go foraging.

It didn’t take long for him to fill a small basket up with the berries she’d requested— as they were in season, and Giyuu knew the area like the back of his hand.

So he was surprised when he came back home, only to find (Y/n) already bustling around in the kitchen. From what he could smell, she was making okayu from what they had in the kitchen.

“(Y/n)? What are you doing out of bed?” The Hashira asked, clearly confused as to why she would be cooking at such an early hour— when she preferred to start her mornings a little later than him.

“I…” She began hesitantly, while she kept her head down to hide the blush on her cheeks.

Normally, her cravings were something easy to make, or something ready to eat in the kitchen, but it was the first time that she’d sent Giyuu out on an errand and she felt bad about it. So she decided to make it worth his while by making something for him.

She just didn’t think that he would be back so soon.

“(Y/n)?”

“I felt bad about sending you out this early… so I thought-” (Y/n) answered softly— but was cut off when Giyuu marched up to her, turned her around, then pressed his lips to hers.

The action served to make her eyes widen, as a blush warmed her entire body— from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.

She didn’t know why, but she was always reduced to a flustered mess whenever Giyuu did something remotely sweet.

Who was she kidding though? She knew exactly why she acted that way around Giyuu; it was because she loved him— immensely. She just couldn’t admit it out loud to him, at the risk of ruining whatever unspoken agreement they had.

“Here. Your berries,” He announced in his usual cool tone— even though he felt so lightheaded from what he’d done that he just wanted to lay down.

In her excitement, (Y/n) as good as forgot her jumbled emotions; so she reached out and grasped the basket with both hands. All the while, she eyed the plump wild berries so covetously that Giyuu felt he was intruding on something private. “Ah! Thank you, Giyuu! I love you even more for this.”

Giyuu, in his surprise, choked on air as his eyes widened at the casually-thrown surprise. He immediately turned away from (Y/n)— more to hide his completely red face than anything else— and began to walk away from her.

He wanted to ask her about her words, and the war he waged with himself was long and bloody, but he eventually relented. So, with his back still to her, and his hand still covering the lower half of his face, he asked, “Did you mean it?”

“Did I mean what?” The young woman asked happily as she popped the first yama ichigo into her mouth. All of her thoughts and trepidations from their earlier exchange had clearly been pushed aside to savor the taste of her berries.

“That you love me?”

That brought pause to (Y/n)’s actions, and she swallowed what was in her mouth before worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. It was now or never, really.

“Of course. I always have, Giyuu. I wouldn’t have been with you in the first place if I didn’t.” Her hands deftly fussed with the sides of the wicker basket— running the pads of her fingers over the rough grooves and indentations of the pattern— to ease her nerves.

“I… I love you, too. You and the baby. I always have, as well.” He was about to continue, when he felt his lover’s warm body press against his back, as her arms wrapped tightly around his middle.

“Good. Because you’re stuck with us now, anata.”

#giyuu tomioka x reader #kimetsu no yaiba tomioka #tomioka giyū #tomioka #tomioka giyuu #tomioka giyuu x reader #demon slayer tomioka #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer #demon slayer requests #kny x reader #kny requests #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba scenarios #demon slayer imagines

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