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static-fanatic-1 · 3 years ago

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Hello, I hope you are doing well today. I was wondering if I can get a semi-angst hc of Pakunoda, Illumi, Milluki, Silva, Chrollo, Kurapika and Shalnark + Setsuno, Overhaul, Chronostasis, Tamaki, Endeavor, Shinsou, Aizawa and Shiggaraki with a s/o who hates them, but once their children gets kidnapped they beg and cry to the boys/girls to find their child and bring them safely home. Hopes that makes sense. Please and thank you.

Pakunoda:

She hates seeing you in pain, in ANY pain, so this doesn’t sit well with her at all. It hurts that you hate her, but to her it doesn’t matter as much as her undying love for you. She is sweet, and she knows despite keeping you captive, you are cared for. This includes your and her child. She will tear the world to shreds with her lovely heels.

She will be more methodical in ending whoever took her child, and no harm will come to the sweet baby. She will not use this against you in anyway, she would rather you love her naturally. So when da baby is returned, she won’t tease you or ask for something in return. She just wants to comfort you both and tell you everything is okay now.

Illumi:

Like Paku, Illumi cares about both of you, just in a really different way. He “loves” his kids more as a tool and as a successor to his lineage, not like he loves you. So when his kid is taken, there will be hell to pay.

He doesn’t really think much on the fact you are begging him, though it is a nice change to your typical screaming. He won’t brag, boast, or use it against you, for the most part anyway. He might be robotic, but he still is smart. He will keep your children in mind next time you try anything too risky.

Milluki:

He doesn’t care about his kids, they are spoiled little shits in his eyes. He probably didn’t really want kids in the first place, but one thing led to another and here they are now. So when they are taken, he sees it as an inconvenience, but also an opportunity once he sees how distraught you are.

He makes it into a big deal and boasts about how only HE can save your kids. HE is the only reason you will get your little babies back. And don’t worry, he will make sure you inderstand that. He will ALWAYS use this against you at any moment of any day. He wants you to know you need him.

Silva:

He doesn’t care about your kids, to him they are an end to a means, and another way to keep you with him. So as much as he knows his kids can take care of themselves, or at least he wants them to be independent through whatever means, seeing you hurt makes him take initiative. You are devistated, fine, he’ll save your kids.

Silva makes quick work of whoever took your kids, and makes sure to savor it. Once he’s done, he lets you take a moment to be happy for your kids being safe, but don’t expect to be in the clear. You will have to give him something in return, and knowing his sex drive, you probably wouldn’t like it. But your kids are safe, so everything is fine, right?

Chrollo:

Like Silva, Chrollo doesn’t care about your kids. A means to an end, to keep you locked with him. Though, he really does care about you, so he will do anything to make you happy.

This means getting that little bundle of attention-stealing-shitness back. Anything for you to get on his good graces. Besides, he has the whole troupe that loves the kid, so they will all pitch in to find the little one. I don’t think he will use this against you, mainly because you should already knows nothing will get between the two of you, not even your child.

Shalnark:

Shalnark is a strange one, to me he seems like a mix between Chrollo and Pakunoda. He cares, a lot, but if anything was to come between you and him, he wouldn’t mind making a point. Still, seeing you in so much emotional pain makes him jump into action.

He calls up his best friends to help find the poor sap who took his and your kid. Yeah, they won’t last long. Shal takes great care in handling the little one to make sure they aren’t too scared. He also spends a lot of down time after to bond with the both of you. Maybe this wasn’t a good thing to you, but to him it only brought you closer together.

Kurapika:

Really big family man, whoever took your kid must have been the most stupid person to walk the earth. He is defiantly on your side with getting his kid back, so he won’t use this against you as much as the others might. Instead of bragging or boasting about how you need him to keep you safe, he will want a little something in return.

He might be on your side, desperately wanting his kid back, but he wouldn’t waste an opportunity to get a little treat from you. He will manipulate you to feel guilty, like it was somehow your fault, just to get something from you. Wether it be some bonding time, or something more suggestive, he will get it through manipulation. Of course he’d love to bond some more with your kids after he retrieves them, just don’t think you are safe around Kurapika.

Setsuno:

This poor guy had a terrible relationship before you, so there is no way in hell he would let what happened before happen again. He hates the fact you hate him, but he refrains from hurting you in anyway, this includes your kid. He will leave the room, break things, anything other than touching you and both of your kid.

When someone takes the baby, you aren’t the only one pissed off. Setsuno is furious, so he will do anything to get your kid back. He calls his friends just in case, and the three of them destroy whoever laid hands on his baby. Setsuno is happy to have everyone together again and he’ll take this time to bond with the both of you. Just don’t push him away or else he’ll remind you who saved your kid.

Overhaul:

Overhaul finds children to be dirty, they are nasty things that need so much attention. With that being said, to an extent, he treasures his kid. He wants them to be just like him, so he takes his time to teach them everything there is to know about ruling the underground. Again, his kid is an end to a means, but he does think of them a bit more than most of the others on this list.

When he kid is taken, he is frustrated for a few reasons. One is because he taught his kid to use their quirk (if they are old enough to have it by now), and two because he has to waste his time trying did of dirty things. Though, seeing you beg for him to save your baby makes it more worth his time. Much better than when you grit your teeth and turn the other way. So when he gets the baby back, he makes sure you understand what he went through to appease you.

Chronostasis:

Another one that actually likes his children and treasures them. Chronostasis is more of a family man, taking care of the children, getting groceries, the usual stuff to help around the house while you are there. He doesn’t keep you stuck, he just uses his profession to threaten you. But other than that he acts like a normal father when he doesn’t have work to do.

Taking his child is a really bad thing. He values work a lot, so he will put work first, so he will only leave to find his kid once overhaul gives him the go. He might get help, but in the end it doesn’t matter. He will tear anyone apart to find your baby. When he does, he brings them home and smiles at you, taking as much time as he is given to comfort the both of you. Everything can go back to normal now, just ignore the spots of blood on the bottom of his white jacket.

Tamaki:

Such a shy guy, he doesn’t do much to your hatred against him, he kinda just lets it happen while apologizing profusely. Though he doesn’t let you go. He does, genuinely, love his kid. In a way it gives him a sense of pride that he helped create such a beautiful baby. So when they go missing, and you grip his shirt and beg for him to find them. Tamaki is relieved you finally need him, but so frustrated at the same time.

He wants to sulk and cry through his frustration at loosing his kid, but your begging doesn’t allow that. Instead he asks his besties for help and makes sure to hurry. He’s so happy to get his baby back he can’t help the tears of joy falling from his face. When he comes back home you both cry and hold your baby as close as you possibly can.

Shinsou:

I think Shinsou has an inner demon when he is a Yandere, this is when it shows itself. He loves his kid, and is a really relaxed guy when it comes to the both of you. It’s just when his patience is pulled by someone out of his obsessive behaviors is when it becomes a problem.

He goes on his own, after all he is a hero not many know about, and his ability is insanely powerful. He will find the people resposible and tell them to “jump off this building” or “go kill yourself”. Things that will force them to get their hands dirty and stay away from his kid. He comforts his kid, tells them everything is okay now and that the two of them are going home to see you. Y’all can all watch a movie too, get take out and simply take it easy.

Aizawa:

He is almost exactly like Shinsou, or Shinsou is almost exactly Aizawa. The biggest difference is Aizawa has less patience, and isn’t afraid to get a little sadistic. With that said, you are more likely better “behaved”, though you still have some fight in you. Your kid is one of your joys in life, so when he comes home from work and sees you begging for your baby back, he’s happy.

He goes on his own and takes out whoever was involved. He doesn’t kill, he isn’t that reckless, but he definalty beats them to a bloody pulp until the police arrive. He does the paperwork, and then happily takes back his kid. Aizawa will make sure you know he did this for you and he will make sure you only think that. He loves his kid, a lot, but if you think you owe him more love, then that’s a win for him.

Endeavor:

Enji thinks his kids are weapons, I mean, that’s obvious right? He does care, but more as it would be a waste if something bad were to happen to them. Also, they are keeping you stuck with him. So yeah, when they are taken he gets pretty pissed about it.

Enji kinda rubs it in your face too, I mean you are begging for his help. You NEED him to save your kid. He won’t tell you he would get them back either way either, he wants you to think you owe him. So expect listening to whatever demands he wants from you. Not much time to appreciate your baby being safe.

Shigiraki:

Crusty man actually kinda likes his kid. In a way it’s like he has a distaste for them but can’t help but have a connection with them at the same time. Even Shigiraki doesn’t think he would be too distressed if something happened to his kid, but he was wrong. He takes it personally, and your begging makes him even more pissed. How dare they?!

Shigiraki makes a huge deal out of it, the entire league (those close) will be involved to cause chaos to the idiot who hurt his kid. It will be all on the news, how much carnage he caused, but not a single person will know it was because of his kid. He will boast about how he defeated the final boss for you and his kid, and he expects you to reward him. After you reward his efforts he will relax with the two of you, taking in the warmth from your love.

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salemwritesxx · 3 years ago

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𝓽𝓸𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻.

𝕋 𝕒 𝕜 𝕒 𝕞 𝕚 𝕂 𝕖 𝕚 �� 𝕠 | ℍ 𝕒 𝕨 𝕜 𝕤

⇴ male reader ⇴ all characters are depicted as [18]+

↳ request: Can you write a story where pregnant hawks goes into labor and gives birth? I just wanna know the whole process for him and what he would be feeling

↣ rating: mature ↣ warnings: male pregnancy, c-section surgery

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

“[Your.last.name]-san, we really need to prepare-“

“Just 5 more minutes! Pleas-“, though being interrupted by another contraction made it hard to talk.

His legs and arms were shaking as he was leaning against the bed, trying to breath like he was taught to. Hawks’ wings losing small fluffy, red feathers all over the hospital floor with how nervous and in pain he was.

“He’ll be here soon… Just a little…”

And even though the nurse didn’t look too happy and rather concerned, she nodded again and left the room. She could give him a little bit more time, but not much…

Grabbing the phone, Hawks called you again, yet, once again, you didn’t pick up. With a whine, he threw the phone back onto the bed. Beads of sweat trickling over his forehead and dropping onto the sheets as another contraction made him wince and quietly whimper.

God, he was going to kill you if you wouldn’t come here soon!

Though, before he could throw even more curse words at you, the door opened and a familiar face made his heart jump. Just like that, he broke down with a sob. It was unusual for Keigo to cry, but seeing you finally here was just too much. The situation was so overwhelming. He was about to get surgery to meet your new baby and then-

But, as you rushed to his side and hugged him, he just snuggled into you. Everything already forgotten as he melted into your arms.

“It took too long!”, he whined and sobbed, another contraction making him wince.

“I know, I’m sorry, Baby. But I’m here now. I’m here.”, you reassured him, before finally calling the nurse once more.

It was time to deliver your baby girl.

Watching as you stayed back as he rolled into the OR was hard. But Keigo knew it was only for a few minutes before he was going to see you again. With a little bit of help from a nurse, he stood up from the bed and sat down onto the operating table.

Sitting there hunched over, he hugged a pillow as a nurse held his shoulders. Another nurse softly, but firmly, pushed his wings to the side. A small hiss escaped his throat as they started the lidocaine shots. Four altogether. They were pretty painful, even though he was used to getting beat up as a hero, it still stung and burned. Like that, Keigo had to breathe through it, not even able to react to any of the attempts the nurse made to try and distract him from the pain by trying some small talk.

Thankfully, he did not feel the spinal block anymore due to the lidocaine kicking in almost immediately. At that point though, everything happened so fast as he had to bring his legs up onto the operating table before he completely lost any feeling whatsoever in them because of the spinal anesthesia.

With a pillow under his head and soft blankets to keep him warm, as well as his wings being tucked away comfortably, he laid there for a few minutes until he got his catheter. And then, once that was over, they put the sterile curtain up and he finally saw you again.

As you sat down besides Hawks’ head with the appropriate attire to be in the operating room, he immediately searched for your hand, hence you took and squeezed it gently.

“You okay, Shortcake?”, you kissed the back of his hand.

He just nodded while looking around the sterile room once again. The bright lights and stark walls were a little daunting. And even though he wasn’t cold or that scared, just nervous and intimidated, Hawks couldn’t stop shaking.

Though, thankfully, the anesthesiologist calmed both of your minds when they said it was a side effect from the anesthesia. So, you just squeezed his hand more and kissed his little fingers over and over again.

“I love, Baby, you’re amazing.”, reaching out your other hand, you softly wiped a wet strand of hair from his forehead.

“You’re doing so good. I’m so proud of you, Kei.”

And then, with one last check of his name and birthday, they started. Immediately, Hawks felt tugging and pulling and a lot of pressure. Nothing the anesthesiologist hadn’t told him beforehand, but it was still a weird feeling. As if random people were grabbing his baby bump and just pulling it side to side. Not painful, but very strange nonetheless.

“You’re so amazing, Shortcake. We will meet our little baby girl soon. I’m so excited.”

A crooked, but genuine smile appeared as he sniffled and nodded lightly.

“Me too.”

He was so grateful that you were there. Kei knew he couldn’t have done it without you, even if they probably would have forced him in the end if you wouldn’t have made it in time. But now he didn’t need to worry about that anymore. You were there, holding his hand and being with him while something amazing and almost… surreal was going on down there. Like shit… You were going to meet your little chicken nugget in a few minutes!

The anesthesiologist checked in here and there, making sure Hawks was still doing fine. Which, thankfully, he was. He didn’t feel any pain, just lots of pressure. And his nerves had calmed down to a point where he didn’t feel sick anymore.

“Okay, Baby’s coming out now!”, the doctor in charge suddenly said, hence you squeezed his hand a little tighter.

With just that sentence alone Hawks’ nervousness peaked once again. His emotions all over the place once more. He took a deep breath and grabbed your hand really hard. Though all he could feel was the pressure and before he could really realize what was happening, they lifted your baby up into the air. That’s when you could both see her for the first time. Immediately, he had to swallow his sob as he watched his little girl.

One glance to you was also enough to make him want to cry out of happiness. Your own eyes were glazed as you tried to hold back tears, while a big, happy smile appeared on your face.

“[Your.name]…”, Keigo barely sniffled your name.

“You did amazing, Baby. So amazing.”, you both looked to the side to the small table as they got some fluids out of her lungs and stomach, nothing serious thankfully, just to double-check. The crying of her making his heart ache, because all he wanted to do was grab her and love her already.

Fortunately, the table was only a few meters away, hence he could watch them all the time as they cleaned and weighed your baby. And after just a few minutes, a nurse brought the swaddled girl over and that’s when he could finally hold her for the first time.

That certainly was the most magical moment. With you by his side, the baby on his chest, it was intimate and beautiful.

“Well, she is just as tiny as her Daddy, huh?”, you chuckled and kissed his forehead while softly caressing her small cheek.

Hawks could just nod and smile, before he looked up and whispered “I love you.” with tears in his eyes.

“I love you, too.”, you mumbled back and pecked his lips.

Even though he didn’t want to let go, a nurse gently pulled you away from him together with your little girl.

“Everything will be over soon.”, you reassured him one last time, before you walked out and into the hospital room he had been assigned to.

And while you had your little one-on-one moment with your baby, Hawks was nervously waiting for it to end as they closed his wound and got him situated again.

It took almost 40 minutes where he was alone in the operating room and just craving to be by your side and hold his baby, that he couldn’t help but cry in the middle of it. All of this was a very emotional experience. It was an emotional rollercoaster, really.

Though, when he was laying naked and vulnerable on the hospital bed again, as they had stripped him of the hospital gown completely, he finally came out of the operating room and into his assigned room. Covered in warm blankets to keep his small, yet so incredibly strong body warm. His mood instantly better when he saw you sitting on a chair and holding your baby girl.

You stood up immediately and walked over once he was ready and the nurses left you alone for just a few moments. Softly placing the little one onto his naked chest, Hawks held her again in a tight, yet gentle grip, as if he never wanted to let go again.

He was groggy, but so happy. The selfie you took showed you both beaming with happiness. A photo you would forever treasure.

“She is beautiful.”

“She is. Our sweet little Ava.”, you whispered back and kissed his forehead.

“You are really… the most amazing man I know, Kei. I love you so much.”

And as he grinned from ear to ear with how happy he was, his golden eyes filled with tears and shimmered as he whispered those love-filled words back. So incredibly thankful that everything turned out alright and he could hold Ava in his arms and have you by his side now.

He knew it would get tough from here on out. Not only because he had to recover from this big surgery, which meant you had to take care of Ava almost alone in the first few weeks, (which was pretty hard for him, because he wasn’t someone to just lay down and let everyone serve him), but also because family life was going to be so new. Yet, he was also excited. To experience this with you, because he could have not wanted any other man by his side right now, than you.

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@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

⇻ salem.talks: this request came in like two days ago? and yeah like i said, i saw it and knew i had to write it! i loved it! such an intimate moment with our birb boy is just lovely, no? 💌 and i have lots of fun finding names for the baby that have something to do with birds or flying or something lmao

#salemswriting.#takami keigo #hawks x reader #hawks x male reader #bnha x male reader #bottom hawks #hawks x you #male pregnancy #mpreg #bnha x reader

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soldmysoultootomeboys · 4 years ago

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Cuddling with the Brothers

why were some of these so hard to write it felt like pulling teeth omg i'm so sorry Mammon, I couldn't think of anything for you ﾟ(*´□`)ﾟ

Lucifer

A rather tricky demon to sleep on and one that requires immense planning

First of all it has to be private, otherwise expect to wake up alone with only his coat thrown over you.

His room or his study would be the best place to start. And that's what you had originally intended, that is until you hear the solemn notes of a piano echoing through the halls

Having only gotten up for a midnight snack you take a detour wandering past the kitchen until you reach the music room where Lucifer sits playing a somber tune

It's one you don't recognize, but it feels familiar nonetheless

His playing doesn't break in the slightest when he asks you to come in and you wonder how long he knew you were there

You do as he says, sitting down on the great long bench and watching his fingers dance along the keys. It's cold, having only expected to be out for a moment you're only wearing your pajamas

Lucifer says nothing when you huddle closer, resting your head on his shoulder, even though it must be constricting his playing. But he relaxes at your touch

And slowly you fall asleep, to the lullaby of piano and the gleam of stars far above you

Mammon

Like Lucifer he requires some planning, if only because he absolutely melts the moment you try to hold him

As an absolute sucker for cuddles he would be more than happy to be held at any time if not for the fact that he's also a complete tsundere

But with a little effort and a bit of bribery in the form of his recently revoked Goldie (Thanks Lucifer!) you are finally able to get him to sit still

He looks so embarrassed, fidgeting with his shirt and avoiding your eyes but when you finally go to hold him he just melts

Just be prepared for the puddle of cuddly demon that does not want to share you with any of his brothers

Levi

Levi’s labyrinth of a room was something you questioned constantly, filled with all sorts of curious things from sacred treasures (i.e, figurines) to old tombs (manga). However there was something that you knew for a fact, and that was that Levi slept in a tub.

Why? Was it comfortable? Did it hold some weird secret that would explain Levi’s behavior? You had to know.

So you do what any sane rational human would do when living in a house full of demons. You sneak into his room.

Levi was supposed to be out today for the new release of one of his video games.

You peek inside making sure the coast is clear before shutting the door. Inside the bathtub is a mess of blankets plus a full body pillow with a picture of the famed Ruri on it. At the very least it seemed somewhat comfortable.

Time to try out this new bed.

With nothing left to lose you bodily fling yourself over the side landing with a soft whump into the cocoon of pillows.

Immediately the sheets begin to move under you, limbs flailing for purchase and a familiar face pops up from beneath the covers. When Levi sees you he turns bright red, a flustered expression replacing the confusion on his face.

But if anything his thrashing becomes even more panicked. You roll to the side accidentally pinning him under you and he freezes.

“Mc what are you doing here???!”

When you finally explain he looks disappointed

Of course this was just a mistake you didn't want to see a stupid otaku like him

Before he could continue his rant you wrap your arms around his chest

“I guess this is fine.” He mutters still refusing to look at you.

With your new partner secured you’re free to nap as you please

Asmo

He has the BEST bed

Of course you want to get your nap on in his room

The problem is how to do it without implying something more

Knowing Asmo if you tell him you want to sleep on his bed he'll show up au natural which is not something you want to see when you're trying to take a nap, gorgeous skin or not

You decide to sneak in when he goes for one of his shopping trips

Once you actually lie down all your suspicions are confirmed

Asmos bed is amazing

Feather soft and absolutely covered in pillows you feel like you're in a cloud

You're almost asleep when you're awakened by an ear shattering squeal

If you wanted to sleep with him you should have just said so!

Asmo throws himself at you talking of all the "fun" things the two of you could do in his room

Like Levi the best option at this point is to just smush his body with your own, just make sure not to mess with his hair

It might seem counterproductive but pinning him down limits how much he can actually touch and after a few flirtatious comments made by yours truly he'll settle down enough for you to drift back to sleep, now with a new cuddle partner

Expect to wake up to a million new devilgram pictures of you two in bed and an angry Mammon banging on the door

Satan

The hard part is figuring how to do it without him getting mad.

You decide best time to do it is when he's reading or watching a drama as he probably won't move, as long as you don't obstruct his view. It takes a while to actually catch him like this. The man paces.

When you finally do see him in his chair you flop onto him curling on his lap.

He's more amused than angry.

“What are you doing mc?”

“Taking a nap :)”

After that he lets you be.

Satan is a surprisingly good nap partner. No one bugs you since most of the other brothers are too afraid of his wrath making it a good place to go if you want some peace and quiet.

You do notice that he starts sitting down more once you join him. It's more common for him to be already sprawled across a chair with a book in one hand.

It's fun for exactly as long as it takes Satan to get angry at one of his dramas and accidentally yeet you across the room.

He'll apologize but it might be time for you to get a different perch.

Beel

Beel uses the cat rules

If you lay on him he will not move unless absolutely necessary. It could take a direct order from Lucifer to make him budge

But if he really has to go he's taking you with him. Holding you carefully so he doesn't jostle you he'll walk around with you in his arms until you decide to wake up

He will try so hard not to get crumbs in your hair and he mostly succeeds

but at one point he does drip guacamole down the side of your comatose face

Freaks out but it's okay because he uses a chip to scoop it back up and everything

what you don't know doesn't hurt you

lets just hope you don't notice the strange sticky spot on the corner of your cheek

Belphie

The king of naps

Sleeping with him ensures good dreams and deep sleep

It's not hard to find him passed out somewhere and if you flop onto him the most he'll do is give a sleep grumble before throwing his arms over you and burying into your chest.

Just don't expect to get up any time soon

If worst comes to worst Beel is more than willing to carry both of you wherever you need to go

on the rare cases where he's awake and your not he will see how many of Beel's snacks he can stack on your head before you wake up

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me mc #obey me beelzebub #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me belphie #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me satan #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #headcanons #obey me headcanons #imagines

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fitz-higgins · 2 years ago

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What are the wonderful boys' favourite books?

Monty: It would probably be easier to compile a list, but I decided to choose just three books. Well, Henry advised me to.

The first one would be, of course, The Accents and Dialects of the British Isles, by a certain Professor Henry Higgins. I truly love it, and not just because its author happens to be my lover. It's not some boring academic book. No, Henry wrote an excellent book on a difficult subject, interesting to a layman and a scholar alike. I think everyone gets more interested in accents after it. My copy is a nomad of sorts, because all our friends want to read Henry's book, and I give it to them. Right now it's with our friend Dara, he is very enthusiastic about it and tries to guess different accents.

Another book I'm very fond of is Astronomy by Observation, by Eliza Bowen. It was a gift from my sister, and I treasure it greatly. As a child, I loved illustrations in it, especially the sky map. Which is very handy, because now I can point to Henry different stars when we go stargazing (we do it quite often). Astronomy is a little hobby of mine, though I've never had a telescope, strangely enough. But I did make stars at home, by wrapping a piece of paper with little holes in it around the lamp. We did it on Christmas Eve in the library, by the fire... Oh, but I digress.

Now, what third book should I choose?.. It is always so difficult! Truth be told, at the moment I would call the new collection of Saki's stories my favourite, simply because I'm reading it now. You see, if I read a book and I like it, it becomes another favourite of mine, simple as that. And I adore Saki's humour, even though it is a tad dark sometimes, especially to Henry's liking. And many of the types he (Saki, not Henry) depicts are very familiar to me.

But really, I could just as well name A Room with a View, by Forster – after all, this novel gave us 'Enery's name, and I just loved it, in general. And I'm sure if you asked me later, I would have added Manalive, by Chesterton, which I'm going to read next. I've read other Chesterton's novels, and I loved The Innocence of Father Brown (I have a soft spot for mysteries, and just in the beginning of our relationship we found out that both Henry and I liked it), so I'm sure I will love it as well.

There. I should just leave it at that, I suppose, because otherwise, I will return to this list, wanting to expand or change it.

Henry: I see Monty has admirably reined himself in and kept to his promise of listing three books (more or less), and he is very kind to mention my own. I endeavoured to persuade him to choose another as his first, but he insisted in his usual Fitzgerald way that of course I gave in.

My favourite books are rather an eclectic mix, so it is difficult for me to choose, but one thing I've never been fond of reading are gossipy sort of things (hence my avoidance of the daily or weekly gossip column, although it's rather difficult now when your lover is a journalist in his own right). But from the top of my head, two which I enjoy are Mrs Gaskell's North and South and – this is one of my guilty pleasures – Henry James' The Turn of the Screw.

I'm rather fond of the works of Arnold Bennett. The Card is a relatively recent one that I've enjoyed and also read out during our reading evenings by the fireplace in our library. The author himself has a fine, admirable view about the democratisation of art which I share strongly. Art and literature, and I would like to think many of our artist friends would agree, are not something that only an educated minority feel they are most entitled to enjoy, but the whole wider public, no matter your background.

#e.m. forster #arnold bennett #north and south #dark academia #ask #monty and henry

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drustvar · 3 years ago

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The Lion’s Path : Book 3

A retelling of the Arcana Prologue featuring Rosie Springwald, a vindictive hedgewitch searching for herself. Huge thank you to my beta readers. This is also available on ao3 here (link in reblog)

WC: 2863

Portia led Rosie through polished hallways with ceilings of marble that arched high above them. A servant in a blue feathered cap hurried up to them and bowed deeply; which made Rosie jump back in surprise.

“Chamberlain. How are we doing on time?”

“Terribly late! The fifth course is over! Her ladyship is in a most unhappy state!” Portia chewed her lip and handed Chamberlain her fruit basket.

“Have the sommelier fetch a bottle of the Golden Goose.” The Chamberlain nodded and darted off, vanishing through a panel in the wall that shut seamlessly behind them. “Too bad. I’ll escort you directly to the dining room.” “Dining room?! But-but I’m not dressed for it!” Rosie sputtered, backing up.

“You look fine!” Portia laughed. “Don’t tell me you thought we wouldn’t feed you!” She hurriedly ushered Rosie along through a fine mahogany door.

The dining room was chic and elaborate; a long table stretched from one end of the room to the other. Faint string music could be heard from a small, hidden alcove near another doorway.

“Ah, Rosie. Welcome to the Palace,” The Countess stood, greeting her from the head of the table. “Have a seat. You’re too late for dinner, I’m afraid.” She said as she drank deeply from her glass as Rosie nervously slid into a far chair. A servant whisked away what would have been her dinner plate.

“I was beginning to think you had forgotten my invitation. But...perhaps you are simply unaccustomed to travel? You look exhausted. Why, I can see your cheeks gleaming from here.”

“Please don’t be mad at Portia ma’am!” Rosie suddenly blurted, surprising both the Countess and Portia, who had reappeared at her side with a bottle wrapped in shimmering foil.

“Mad at….Portia?”

“Aye! Please don’t punish her! It’s my fault we’re so late, I’ve-I’ve a bad leg, you see,” Rosie said, sweat beading on her brow. The Countess and Portia exchanged a confused look.

“Neither of you are in any trouble, I assure you.” The Countess said gently.

“Oh,” Rosie said quietly, her cheeks red from embarrassment as she sank in her seat. The Countess cleared her throat, turning her attention to Portia and the bottle in her hands. “How thoughtful of you, Portia.”

“My pleasure, milady,” Portia said as she filled both of their glasses. The Countess sipped from hers the second it was filled.

“A golden goose? A marvelous choice, Portia.”

Rosie threw back a gulp from her glass, trying to calm her nerves. She froze suddenly, transfixed on the painting across from her.

It depicted a great feast, shared amongst a host of figures with the heads of beasts. The central character had the head of a goat, and sat wreathed with a glowing halo. It’s piercing red eyes seemed entirely too life-like, and made her recoil.

“Do you like it, Rosie? The painting?” The Countess asked, following Rosie’s eyes.

“No,” She whispered, clutching her amulet. The Countess set down her glass, and watched her with an unfathomable expression.

“No? My husband treasured that piece. It was one of his favorites.” Rosie said nothing, her eyes locked with the central figure. “...Though I suppose his tastes were...rather strange.”

‘The Countess’ husband, Count Lucio….Late Count Lucio. What I’ve heard of him…what little Asra has told…’

“He is the goat in the middle, of course. Ever the provider. Lucio had the populace eating out of the palm of his hand. Much like the painting, I suppose.”

‘Eating what exactly? Famine rocked Vesuvia in his time,’ Rosie thought bitterly, wrinkling her nose as she sipped from her glass.

“Whatever he offered, the people devoured. They worshiped him. My husband was particularly loved for his yearly Masquerade.” The Countess set down her glass, folding her hands and resting her chin on them. “Did you ever attend, Rosie? The whole city came alive for the Masquerade. Revelry took the hearts of the young and the old...All in celebration of Lucio’s birthday. And what a celebration, when he opened the Palace gates to all…” The Countess sighed, watching the wine swirl in her glass.

“Such a fond memory for many, and now it is shrouded in sorrow. A terrible shock to the guests...to find their host murdered so violently at the last Masquerade.”

‘Murdered?’ Rosie's eyes flickered back to the painting. ‘Had it coming, from what I’ve heard of him…’

“My poor husband. Burned alive in his own bed, and at the celebration of his own birthday. What did he do to invite such hatred? After such a shocking scene, guests to the Palace have been scarce.” Rosie managed to pull her eyes away from the painting, finally meeting the Countess' gaze. “But now that you are here…”

Rosie tilted her head. “What does any of this have to do with me?”

“Rosie, the Masquerade is precisely why I called you here. This year, I intend to hold the Masquerade once more.” Everyone in the room stared at the Countess in astonishment; except for Rosie, who just looked mildly bored.

“The festivities in Lucio’s honor will be more fanatical-excuse me, fantastical than ever. There is but one loose end in need of tying.”

“Which is…?”

“Count Lucio’s murderer still roams free to this day. Doctor Julian Devorak, my husband’s former physician.” Rosie raised her eyebrows, the wanted posters in her memory suddenly coming into focus; remembering the intruder in her shop...she straightened up, her interest suddenly piqued. “Oh?”

“Doctor Devorak confessed to the crime when we caught him. All that is left is his sentence. Execution by hanging.”

There came a terrible crash and Rosie jerked around in her chair, meeting Portia’s eyes. Portia’s face was stricken with horror, the broken remnants of the golden goose lay seeping at her feet.

“Portia?”

“F-forgive me, milady! Slippery hands.”

“You are forgiven.” Two servants rushed to Portia’s aid, sweeping away the mess. Rosie sat back, her hazel eyes stormy and unreadable.

“This is where you come in, Rosie. Doctor Devorak has been very elusive. But you have quite the reputation; rumor has it you have surpassed even your master, Asra. I...myself see the future. In dreams, whether I like it or not...and this is how I know that you are the one who will be able to find Doctor Devorak.”

“And if I say no?” Rosie asked, her lip curled and her arms crossed.

The Countess sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples. “Then I will ask you to reconsider.” There fell a heavy silence between them, in which neither woman spoke.

“Perhaps you misunderstand me. I do not relish in executing the doctor, but justice must be served. Not only for the Count, but for the city. And so, to commence the festivities...the doctor must die on the gallows for his terrible crime.” The Countess rose, and Rosie did as well.

“Portia...Portia.”

“Yes, milady!”

“Show Rosie to the guest quarters.” The Countess said, and dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

“Right away, milady.” Portia took Rosie’s hand and whisked her through the door. She was silent as she escorted Rosie down the twisting hallways.

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

“So,” Rosie cleared her throat. “Am I being held captive until I comply with the Countess’ demands?” Portia forced a smile. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Good...good.” Rosie murmured, looking around them. “I’m really not...used to all this. I cannae really say I like it.”

Portia squeezed her shoulder gently. “You’re doing fine. You’ll get used to it. Remember, you’re a guest, not a prisoner.”

“If you say so.” Rosie grumbled as they continued onward through the marble halls.

After a few turns, they passed by a wide staircase, veiled in shadow. Rosie stopped in her tracks, staring up at it. A faint draft drifted from the floor above, blowing her hair and making her shiver. Curled up on the bottom step were two large, lanky dogs. Their fur was pure white, almost ghostly. The dogs raised their heads in unison and rose slowly, soundlessly.

“Hello sweeties,” Rosie said, a smile returning to her lips as she held her hand out for the dogs to sniff. Their plumed tails started to shyly wag.

“Well, this is bizarre,” Portia said, appearing again at Rosie’s side. “They never take kindly to strangers. It’s just how they were trained, but… I’ve never seen them act like this.” One of the dogs pressed their nose against Rosie’s satchel, sniffing loudly. He sneezed, and the pair drew back, looking up at her expectantly.

“Aw, what is it babies?” Rosie cooed, reaching out and running her hand along one of their silky coats.

“I wouldn’t do what if I were you!” The dog skittered back, and Rosie frowned, disappointed. “Sorry. They’re a little unpredictable. They seemed to like you, but I’d rather you keep that hand.”

The dogs trotted back to their spot, blending in with the marble again. “Oh!” Portia snapped her fingers. “No wonder they’re like this, they haven’t had their chamomile cakes! Wait here, Rosie. And it’s probably best to keep your distance… I’ll be right back with those cakes,” Portia said warily, eyeing the hounds before she hurried off.

After Portia left, the dogs returned. The bigger one sniffed at Rosie’s side insistently. “What is it?” She asked, looking down. The hound simply pulled back and stared up at her. She spun around when she felt the other one nosing into her satchel, suddenly remembering Pippin hiding inside. “Oh, no, that’s not for you,” She said as she gently pushed the dog’s snout away. It sat back on its haunches, watching her cheekily. She stared into its sanguine eyes, and an unsettling wave rippled through her body.

“A guest?”

Rosie gasped at the disembodied voice and whirled around, her eyes darting every which way. “Who’s there?” She asked as her eyes settled on the top of the gloomy staircase. But there was no one.“

Hey!” She jolted as she felt the dogs suddenly yank on her clothes, dragging her up the stairs. She stumbled; their white plumy tails wagging. “No, I really don’t want to go up there,” she said, struggling against their jaws as the hallway loomed ever closer. At the top of the staircase the dogs finally released her. She wrapped her arms around herself against the chill as she scanned her surroundings. The floor and walls were frigid stone, and the air smelled heavily of ash. She shuddered, and turned to retreat back down the stairs, but the dogs blocked her path, suddenly growling with their hackles raised.

“You little-!” Rosie snarled at them, and begrudgingly turned away, summoning a small ball of light in the palm of her hand. She peered through the gloom, and spotted a door ahead, partly open. Inside, it seemed as though the darkness was even deeper, seeming to swallow up any light. Hesitantly, she pushed through the door; as she did so the light in her palm flickered weakly. The room felt warmer, and the air had a strong, peppery taste. She stood in the doorway, her eyes roaming over the room. It was shadowy and decrepit, but it must have been grand once; from the looks of the dust-caked velvet curtains and the heavily canopied bed. She slunk past an intricate suit of armor, a marble writing desk, and a rack of ornate swords—all coated in a layer of ash. She clutched her amulet, her hair standing on end.

‘I shouldn’t be here,’ Rosie paused, her light flickering over a giant portrait on the wall. The light hovered slowly up the canvas, illuminating the painting’s subject: Count Lucio. She squinted, her lip curling.

‘He’s younger than I thought...or this portrait is old. Or maybe the artist was just pandering to his ego…’ The red of his coat was the same cardinal hue as the painting from the dining room. Her eyes shifted to his golden arm; it was said to be a marvel of prosthetics and alchemical art. The furs in the painting that were draped over his shoulders look impossibly fine.

“Go on. Touch it.”

Rosie yelped, frightened as a thick miasma of scorching air forced her hand onto the painting. Damaged canvas and ash crunched under her palm. She yanked her hand back, frantically wiping it off on her skirt. A snickering sounded from all around, as hazy smoke drifted around her.

“Nothing like the real thing.”

Rosie shook as warmth like an ember radiated on the back of her neck and around her middle.

“Seeing, but unable to feel...”

Despite her terror, she slowly managed to pull a drawstring pouch from inside her shirt.

“Such sweet torture...”

“Stay back!” Rosie hissed as she flung salt everywhere, the light in her palm flashed brightly before it flickered out. The voice let out a pained cry and the sensation of touch faded from her skin. When it spoke again, it was fainter.

“Sassy, sassy! But there, in your energy...oh, it’s him. Could you be..?”

It reached for her again and she backpedaled, but her foot caught on the edge of the rug and sent her reeling .She crashed backwards onto the bed, a cloud of ash being thrown up around her by the impact, making her cough.

‘The Count’s bed, right where he was burned alive,’ Rosie’s eyes widened in abject horror. ‘I’m breathing in a dead man!’ She pursed her lips, struggling not to scream as she scrambled back to her feet.

“Going so soon? You’re no fun.”

“Get away from me!” Rosie said, covering her ears against the voice that emanated from all corners of the room. She reached for the door...right as it slammed shut. She recoiled, both hands clutching her amulet. “What do you want?” Her voice was barely more than a terrified whisper. High pitched, distorted laughter seemingly shook the room as a stinging heat swept past her.

“What do I WANT?” The last word was snarled and inhuman. Rosie pressed herself back against the door as closely as she could, white-knuckle gripping the handle. The heat seemingly vanished, and her panicked breaths formed a fine mist in front of her face. She shut her eyes tightly as something shuffled towards the portrait.

“Chains of gold, but no neck. Beautiful, beautiful furs, but no back. No perfect face to smother with kisses. So I want nothing…” The voice trailed off.

Rosie was able to turn the door knob, free to leave. Emboldened by a way out, she no longer held her tongue.

“You deserve nothing,” she spat as she vaulted through the door. An enraged roar from behind her brought the suffocating heat back ten fold.

“WHAT?!”

The force of the voice made her stumble. Vicious heat clawed at her heels as she scrambled to her feet and broke into a sprint down the hall, her bag bouncing wildly against her hip. Pippin poked his head out and squeaked in terror. At her familiar’s frightened cry, Rosie dared a look over her shoulder.

“YOU NASTY WITCH! Come back! Come back…please...” For a moment, she saw it: a silhouette stark against the shadows. Claws, horns, and hooves like onyx.

‘A goat?!’

It’s red eyes were fixated on her, equally enraged and pleading. But Rosie didn’t wait; the halls fell silent and cold once more. She leapt, bag protectively clutched to her chest as she slid down the bannister on her hip, and landed with a thump and rolled on the floor.

“Rosie!” Portia hurried over.

Rosie grunted and rubbed her hip, allowing Portia to help her to her feet.

“Are you okay? What happened? You look like you’ve seen a…” Portia trailed off as she noticed the ash all over Rosie’s clothes. “Why are you covered in ash? Oh no, what did those naughty dogs do?” She asked as she handed Rosie a kerchief.

“I...I’m fine,” Rosie murmured as she wiped ash from her hands. “You sure?” Portia gently squeezed her arm. “I’m gonna leave these cakes right here,” she said as she set a dish full of pale green cakes on the bottom step. “Let’s get you off to bed.” Rosie nodded and followed, close to Portia’s side.

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

After only a few more turns, they stopped in front of a door that Portia opened with a sweeping gesture. It was a comfortable room, with a luxurious looking bed nestled against one wall, a window seat, a desk, and vanity.

“These will be your quarters while you stay with us, Rosie. You can put your things wherever you like. Breakfast is at sunrise, I’ll wake you.”

“See you then,” Rosie said, and gave Portia a tired smile.

“You look ready to drop! I’ll leave you be, sleep tight.” Portia gently shut the door behind her. Pippin darted out of Rosie’s bag and started to chatter anxiously at her.

“Look I get it. Insulting the pissed off ghost wasn’t a good idea!” She said, batting the squirrel away. “We’ll be fine…” she said as she emptied out the little pouch of salt in front of the doorway and around the bed. “See?”

Pippin scrutinized it, small hands on his hips before nodding. Rosie sighed and collapsed onto the bed, burrowing into the soft linens without another thought.

#Rosie #Rosie Springwald #the Arcana #Arcana Apprentice #Nadia #Nadia Satrinava #Portia #Portia Devorak #Lucio #mine #2022 #will rb with an a03 link this evening or tomorrow!

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ibijau · 3 years ago

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Concubine nhs pt4 / on AO3

Because there is a war to organise, because the emperor is a busy man, it is a full two weeks before Nie Huaisang gets formally summoned to the imperial palace to play weiqi with the emperor. But there can be no doubt that such an invitation is still planned, because Nie Huaisang receives two different notes stating that the emperor hasn’t forgotten about it. Those notes are carefully put away in a small box, alongside a few pieces of jewellery that belonged to his mother, and a jade hairpin that Nie Mingjue gave him.

While waiting for his next encounter with the emperor, Nie Huaisang keeps busy. He doesn’t have an official position in the house, and his cousin refuses to give him one for the time being, stating he’s waiting to see how things will go. Without any clear instructions, Nie Huaisang either helps Meng Yao with his duties, or reads up about the Wens, or plays weiqi against himself so he won’t disappoint the emperor when they play together.

Then, at last, the much awaited invitation arrives, requesting Nie Huaisang’s presence at the imperial palace a few days later.

Nie Funyu intercepts the letter and reads it before giving it to his cousin. He immediately sets out to ruin any joy Nie Huaisang might have felt with a list of strict instructions regarding the way he should behave. Considering the things Nie Huaisang admitted to saying on that very first meeting with the emperor in Qinghe, he supposed his cousin can’t be blamed for being worried. He tries to explain that he’d just been surprised that day, that he hadn’t realised who he was talking to, but Nie Funyu won’t hear it and orders him to be on his best behaviour.

What he wants, in short, is for Nie Huaisang to pretend he isn’t himself, that his personality is so mild as to be nonexistent, that he doesn’t have any humour. He is allowed to be good at weiqi if he must, but not too good.

When he helps him prepare to go meet the emperor, Meng Yao has some very different advice to offer.

“Master has many qualities, but he doesn’t understand the heart of young men,” he says, neatly tying into place the last layer of Nie Huaisang’s outfit.

It is a gorgeous robe in a soft green that makes Nie Huaisang look nobler than he is, in a cut that gives the impression he’s not as short as he is. Meng Yao selected the fabric, chose the sash to go with it, decided the way it ought to be worn, and turned Nie Huaisang from a country boy into the perfect picture of a fashionable young man.

“If His Highness took notice of you that day, then it must mean your behaviour pleased him,” Meng Yao adds, motioning for Nie Huaisang to go sit so his hair can be dealt with. “So don’t change your manners too much, and don’t be too serious.”

Nie Huaisang promptly obeys, and abandons himself to the clever hands of Meng Yao.

“I don’t know why my cousin worries anyway,” Nie Huaisang says, closing his eyes to enjoy the pleasant sensation of hands on his hair. “The emperor probably only wants to make sure I’m comfortable so he can tell Mingjue that he’s a good friend.”

Meng Yao’s hands slow down to the point of stillness, then start working again.

“Maybe it is so,” Meng Yao cautiously says. “But there are many people who have sent their relatives to the capital because of the war, and this humble servant doubts the emperor is making time for them, or apologising when he doesn’t have that time. Young Master Nie must have pleased him.”

“Don’t say that, I’ll get ideas,” Nie Huaisang mumbles, his cheeks burning.

“This humble one will keep quiet if Young Master Nie orders it,” Meng Yao retorts with a smile. “But this one won’t stop thinking that he’s right.”

If Nie Huaisang were a real noble, he’d scold Meng Yao for speaking so insolently. But of course it is because they both know what they are and where they stand that Meng Yao allows himself to chat so freely.

Still, it’s a little unkind to encourage him in his delusions, and he wishes Meng Yao wouldn’t do that.

That afternoon with the emperor goes well. It wasn’t supposed to be a whole afternoon, but one game of weiqi turns into three, until some ministers come knocking at the door, insisting that the emperor really must attend to certain business now. Only then do they separate, and with great reluctance. Nie Huaisang is brought back to the gate of the imperial palace, where his cousin waits for him.

Strangely enough, Nie Funyu doesn’t seem in a bad mood, in spite of being made to wait longer than was planned. He does however insist that they head home directly, even though Nie Huaisang is now starving and would have liked to stop somewhere to grab some food. But a letter from Father has arrived, Nie Funyu explains, and it contains some instructions for Nie Huaisang that must be discussed in private.

In spite of his growling stomach, Nie Huaisang doesn’t protest and lets his cousin take him home. Perhaps there are news from Nie Mingjue in that letter. It would be nice. Nie Huaisang wishes he could talk to his brother, because they’d have more to say to each other than ever before.

But when they get home, Nie Funyu doesn’t share the contents of Father’s letter. Instead he takes Nie Huaisang to his private room, orders every servant to keep away, and locks the door.

“Tell me everything that happened,” Nie Funyu orders. “You were there for over a shichen, surely something must have happened. Tell me.”

Nie Huaisang, startled by the demand, the tone in which it is made, the locked door, hesitates.

It feels wrong to share what happened, especially with his cousin for whom he has little affection and only as much trust as is required toward a relative. What happened isn’t to be shared with just anyone. The emperor opened up to him over the afternoon and spoke, not as a son of heavens, but as a young man almost his age, lonely and in need of a friend, of a companion, in need of affection.

Nie Huaisang isn't stupid, he can tell the emperor was flirting.

The most powerful man in the world, flirting with him. It should be something to boast about, and instead Nie Huaisang wants to keep it secret. The knowledge that out of everyone in this world, out of every scholar, every beautiful man and woman, he’s the one whom the emperor might want at his side feels like a treasure. It is something to be kept away from prying eyes and enjoyed in private. He wants to take that realisation and put it away in his little box, alongside memories of his mother and brother, to be kept safe forever.

It is not something Nie Funyu deserves to hear about.

So Nie Huaisang tries to hide what he can. He describes the three games they played, praising the emperor for his skill, mentions that he tried to lose but was scolded and forced to play seriously, proving that the emperor is a wise man who values honesty.

Nie Funyu isn’t satisfied with that. He asks question after question, demands details for every answer he gets, slowly forcing his young cousin to reveal everything, how the emperor smiled at him, how he laughed even as he scolded Nie Huaisang into playing well enough to beat him, his excitement as they spoke of poetry. Nie Huaisang can’t keep anything to himself, not even the way the emperor took his hand and squeezed it with such tenderness after making him promise he would visit again.

When everything has been laid out, Nie Funyu is satisfied while Nie Huaisang feels ashamed. He wasn’t asked to keep any secrets, but this still has the aftertaste of a betrayal.

"It's as I thought then," his cousin says when he’s decided that he’s heard everything there is to say. "I'm glad I immediately wrote to your father. He's already answered that he also sees the advantage to be gained in this."

"I'm not sure I understand?" Nie Huaisang replies, too tired to keep his tone polite. He’s starving, and feels a headache pressing behind his eyes… or it might be that he just wants to cry.

"Your duty is to obey, not to understand," Nie Funyu snaps. "You will continue seducing the emperor, and ensure he doesn't turn on our family. Everyone knows his uncle is against this war, we can't have that young idiot change his mind. But what the brain can't achieve, the heart will do. So do your duty, and serve your family in the way you can."

“Seducing?”

Nie Funyu glares at him, and hands him Father’s letter at last.

Most of it regards ordinary business, a few requests regarding the war, some news from Nie Mingjue. The most interesting part comes last, when Father states that he sees no objection to letting the emperor have Nie Huaisang in whatever way pleases him. It is important, Father says, that Nie Huaisang doesn’t balk at his duty, whatever the personal cost. Everything must be sacrificed for the good of the empire… and what’s good for the empire is to make sure the emperor listens to the Nie family.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t cry. It would make his cousin angry, he thinks, and he’d rather not deal with that on top of the rest.

He doesn’t cry but he desperately wants to.

That afternoon with the emperor was so good, he had so much fun. Aside from Nie Mingjue, he doesn’t think anyone has ever been so warm and kind to him, so eager to get his good opinion. Nie Huaisang was so happy, and now it’s all been ruined, because he’s not allowed to just enjoy the fact that this gorgeous, powerful young man likes him.

He’ll do what Father asks, of course. He has to. It’s for the good of the empire, Father says, and it’s to make sure that Nie Mingjue gets all the support he needs while fighting the Wens. Nie Huaisang can’t take part in that war, but if he can help like this… He has to be a good son, a good brother.

It’s fine to be doing this. He’s not lying to anyone. Nie Huaisang wants to continue meeting the emperor, wants to see if they can be friends, if they can be more.

It’s fine to be doing what everyone wants if he also wants it, right?

#xisang #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #concubine au #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #I'll probably have at least one more chapter for that AU for sure #and then it's anyone's guess if it still holds my attention

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delimeful · 4 years ago

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the shapes in the silence (11)

new chapter at the behest of one of my patrons! hope you enjoy! >:)

warnings: terrible coping mechanisms, antagonistic but not "evil" deceit, semi-vivid panic attack, suicidal implications/thoughts, arguing, an antagonistic and also genuinely evil cliffhanger, take care for realsies

After a few days of solitude, Logan emerged from his room with a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

He dropped a comically large stack of paper onto the lounge table, interrupting their bi-monthly binge of Parks and Rec. Patton obligingly paused the television, smiling at the sight of the other Side.

Roman probably would have complained, except Virgil-- as Puff-- had been dozing on top of his head for the past twenty minutes, and one of his wings was draped over Roman’s face like a makeshift blindfold. So, he hadn’t really been watching anyways.

“I’ve figured it out,” Logan said, gesturing to the meticulous lines of not-so-meticulous handwriting. “The shrinking.”

Everyone seemed to perk up in interest, and Virgil dropped onto Roman’s shoulder, kneading his claws lightly into the sash.

“You know why?” Patton prompted after another moment of Logan preening.

“Yeah, Specs, don’t leave us in suspense!” Roman demanded, valiantly restraining his gesturing for the sake of not accidentally unbalancing Virgil. The two of them had only had to learn that lesson once.

Logan nodded, adjusting his glasses briefly. “My current hypothesis is that our reduced states are the result of a sort of… mental lock. We shrink when the locking mechanism is triggered, and it takes a figurative key to restore our previous, normal stature.”

“A key?” Patton asked. “You figured out how to undo it?”

“Not for everyone. Think of it as customized locks. There’s a different key for each of us, and I’ve only discovered my own.”

Virgil tilted his head curiously at Logan’s words. The first bit was about what he’d figured, but a ‘key’ to change back? He used to think he only changed back in his room, but there had been a couple of occasions where he’d shifted forms unexpectedly. None of the others had had to be in their rooms to change back, either.

Roman was frowning in thought. “Wait, how in the name of Disney did you figure out your key?”

Logan looked delighted at the question. He moved to sit in his usual armchair, and then closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly and his mouth dropping into a frown.

In the next moment, he was doll-sized. “Extensive and rigorous experimentation,” he said, carefully getting to his feet on the plush chair fabric.

Roman and Patton immediately burst into excited chattering, each theorizing or commenting on Logan’s tiny stature, and Virgil quickly abandoned ship before Roman really did gesture him right into the air. He trotted along the back of the couch and kicked off of it, landing on the arm of Logan’s chair.

Logan looked up at him for a moment, before referring to a pile of tinier-than-normal flashcards pulled from his pocket. “Puff. I hope there’s no ‘hard feelings’ about my former hypothesis. It was nothing personal, I can assure you.”

It wasn’t like the theory had been too far fetched. Virgil hopped down to the seat of the chair and brushed against Logan’s side like a large, scaly cat. It seemed to do the job of convincing Logan that they were cool.

Logan looked back over at the other two. “Time to continue the lecture, I believe.”

With that, he clapped his hands together in a familiar pattern, one that had been used in countless classrooms in Thomas’s life. Two normal claps, and then three rapid ones.

Almost immediately, Patton and Roman clapped the returning pattern, paused as though registering what they’d done, and then turned to face Logan.

“Was… Did you just teacher-clap at us?” Roman asked, astounded.

Logan looked incredibly smug at his gambit working so perfectly, and Virgil barely had time to claw his way back up onto the armrest before the logical Side was back to normal.

“My key,” he said, “is being listened to.”

Then, as though he couldn’t resist, he added, “Who’s falling behind now, Roman?”

Roman spluttered with exaggerated indignance, and Virgil was absolutely certain that Princey was going to spend the next several days rising to the challenge. He shook his wings out, the dragon equivalent of rolling his eyes.

Patton, on the other hand, clapped enthusiastically as though Logan had performed a magic trick. “Wow, way to grow!”

Logan sighed deeply. Patton grinned, and then paused.

“See, the only thing I’m wondering now is, why is this happening to us all of the sudden? It’s certainly not something we’ve had to deal with before.”

There was a terse silence.

“I’m still working on theories in that regard,” Logan finally responded, mouth pinched slightly. “There have been many periods in the past where certain upheavals in Thomas’s life have led to our surroundings or our very selves changing. It’s entirely possible that this… ‘shrinking’ effect is a similar case. That brings me to my next point: we need to speak with Thomas.”

Virgil noticed Roman grimace for a moment. “Does he really need to know about all… this?”

“We certainly can’t keep it from him!” Patton replied as he walked closer to the rest of them and held out his arm. Virgil scaled it with ease, clambering up to perch on Pat’s shoulder like a parrot. For once, he agreed with Roman. He wasn’t sure this would end well, but... it wasn’t his job to bring up doubts right now. “He’s going to have to learn about it eventually, whether now or whenever he calls us up to talk about whatever is bothering him.”

“Precisely,” Logan agreed. “The more information we gather on this matter, the better.”

“I guess…,” Roman crossed his arms, but conceded. Patton gave him an encouraging hug.

“Plus,” he added as he pulled away, “if we go now, we can have Thomathy meet Puff!”

A beat late, Virgil realized just what that meant, and a flood of panic washed out the peaceful haze in his mind. They couldn’t take him to see Thomas! What if his host recognized him?

… What if he didn’t?

“It’s fine with me,” Logan added. “He does seem to be a rather permanent fixture in the Mindscape, though I’m not sure what that says about Thomas.”

“It says that he’s simply the coolest,” Roman shot back, his spirits seemingly lifted by the idea. He reached over and lifted Virgil off Patton’s shoulders, holding him in the air and spinning in a dizzying circle. “You’ll love Thomas, Puff, just you wait.”

“Why wait?” Patton chimed in with an excited smile. “I’ll go let the kiddo know we’re coming!”

He sank out, and Logan spent a short moment making sure his tie was properly aligned before following. Roman tilted his head slightly as though listening to an invisible sound before smiling widely. “There’s our cue!”

Before Virgil could do more than feel a sense of impending doom, the world was blurring and shifting around them, and he was dragged up along with Roman.

The dizziness as he entered the real world was so heady that he nearly blacked out, his head spinning. When his vision cleared, he realized he was being held up like an infant Simba.

Right in front of his host’s face. He froze like a deer in the headlights, mind screaming wordlessly.

“Ta-da!” Roman announced. “The newest, cutest denizen of your mind! Aside from me, of course.”

Thomas leaned in slightly, no trace of disgust or fear on his face. It made him look younger. “Woah. Hey there, little guy. Puff, right?”

He held his hand out carefully, and almost magnetically, Virgil placed a tiny, clawed hand on it. An encouraging smile was all it took, and then he was abandoning all caution and climbing right into the arms of the one who was supposed to fear him the most.

Thomas just shifted obligingly to create a better platform, and ran a thumb over his spine scales. Virgil craned his head up to look, and saw only quiet astonishment and awe on his host’s face.

There was no question. He didn’t recognize him.

Virgil had no idea what the emotion in the pit of his stomach was-- an amalgam of relief, disappointment, terror, sadness, so dense it was physically painful-- but after a moment, he let himself go lax. He could deal with it later. He could deal with everything later.

For now, his host was holding him close like he was something treasured, something precious. It was more than he’d ever hoped for and all he could ever need.

Whenever Thomas spoke, he could feel the words vibrating in his host’s chest. It was almost like a hug. He stayed there, content to listen only vaguely as the others explained what was going on and tried to work out the reason why.

After a while of circular discussion, Thomas went a little tense, catching Virgil’s attention. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“We’re trying to figure out what’s going wrong to cause this… inner turmoil, right? Why don’t we get Anxiety in on this? If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s coming up with worst-case scenarios.”

Virgil went still and frozen, and Roman’s gaze darted down to him for a moment before his expression firmed into a frown. “Absolutely not. That villain won’t have anything helpful to contribute.”

“On the contrary, I believe Thomas has a point. Anxiety could have a side to this story that we haven’t heard yet, but if we were just to ask him,” Logan countered, “he may share.”

“Kind of strange that he hasn’t popped up already,” Patton added with a concerned frown. “The kiddo doesn’t generally like it when people talk about him without him there.”

“Let’s at least give it a shot,” Thomas decided, lifting a hand. “Anxiety!”

No, no no no. This wasn’t how he wanted it to go. Virgil braced for the irresistible tug on his core, the breaking apart of his fragile peace--

It didn’t come.

There was no pull. Why wasn’t he feeling the pull? He couldn’t detect even the slightest call, which was impossible, unless--

Perfectly on cue, a dark figure appeared from thin air on the staircase, jumpscaring Thomas and offering a mocking smirk.

“You called?”

It… was him. It was Anxiety, dark hoodie and darker eyeliner, sneer and all. Virgil felt the strangest disconnect from his own identity for a moment before things snapped back into place. No summons, his own desire for secrecy, a perfect doppelganger.

Deceit.

A low, rumbling growl started up in his chest, and his hackles rose instantly at the sight of that liar daring to wear his face.

Thomas’s hands jerked away in surprise, and Patton reached over to soothe him. “Easy, Puff. He won’t do anything to you, promise.”

“That’s right,” Roman agreed in a completely different tone, stepping forwards to put himself between the fake Anxiety and the others, as though Virgil was pathetic enough to be worried about himself and not whatever bullshit Deceit-As-Anxiety was about to feed the others. His growl lowered in volume, but refused to taper off.

“Like I care about your newest pet project,” Fake-Anxiety said, rolling his eyes in disdain. “I’m just here to do what I do best: tell you how you messed up.”

Logan frowned at him. “You believe our current situation is the result of Thomas erring in some way?”

“Not just some way. All the ways. It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Fake-Anxiety said, gesturing widely to Thomas with one hand. “Something’s wrong with you. You’re broken.”

“That’s not true,” Patton said firmly, frowning in disapproval. “Anxiety, I expected better from you.”

Virgil felt his throat close up, even though he wasn’t really the one Patton was speaking to. It wasn’t like Patton knew that. How was he ever going to look anyone in the eye after this?

“Wait, what? How am I broken?” Thomas asked, not as indignantly as Virgil would have preferred. He gently butted his head against Thomas’s arm for morale-boosting purposes.

“I mean, think about it,” Fake-Anxiety said, spreading his palms open in a faux innocent gesture. “How many times have you screwed up in the past couple of weeks? Speaking with family, hanging out with friends, even just basic customer service interactions. Those were all your fault, and you know it.”

Thomas’s hands shook slightly. “I…”

“Falsehood,” Logan cut in sharply, his expression severe. “A person cannot be ‘broken’, particularly not for simple mistakes. In any case, there is no meaningful connection to be drawn between your baseless accusation and our current conundrum.”

Before Fake-Anxiety could respond, Patton’s hands flew to his mouth. “Wait. Kiddo, you don’t really think that about yourself, do you?”

All eyes turned to Thomas, who hesitated just a beat too long. “No… I mean, not entirely. Not all the time.”

“Thomas…” Roman looked stricken. “There’s no reason to feel bad about yourself!”

“Emotions… are often without reason,” Logan said, sharing a look with Patton. “This is important information, though. It’s entirely possible that a negative sense of self could affect us, as aspects of yourself. This could be the cause.”

“Then… How do I fix it?” Thomas asked, voice strained.

“You can’t,” Fake-Anxiety said, inspecting his nail polish as though bored. “You’re going to be stuck like this forever.”

“The first step,” Logan said, with a complicated glance towards the figure on the stairs, “is not letting negative thoughts control you. I was hoping Anxiety would be able to shed a light on our discussion, but it’s become clear that he’s… not in a helping mood.”

Fake-Anxiety clicked his tongue. “I’m helping. Helping you not make an even bigger embarrassment out of yourself.”

“Don’t listen to that villain,” Roman told Thomas, glancing down at ‘Puff’. “You have the power to send him away, Thomas.”

“Don’t bother. I’ve said my piece, and you know I’m right.” Fake-Anxiety gave a mocking salute before sinking out, making brief eye contact with Virgil as he did.

“He’s not right… right?” Thomas asked, his face a little pale. “I mean, it’s Anxiety.”

In his arms, Virgil tucked his limbs in tighter against himself.

“You are not broken,” Logan reiterated calmly. “Take a few deep breaths.”

“You do feel bad, though,” Patton said, a hand pressed over his heart in sympathy. “Kiddo... why don’t you take today for yourself?”

“That’s right!” Roman gripped Thomas’s shoulder comfortingly. “Do something that you’ll enjoy, and you can worry about everything else tomorrow, okay? We’ll sort things out on our end.”

They spoke for a little longer, making new plans and cancelling old ones, and Virgil felt as though his mind was full of static. Eventually, finally, he was back on Roman’s shoulder, ready to sink out.

“Nice meeting you, Puff,” Thomas waved, and something in Virgil’s chest twisted painfully at it all. He chirp-crooned back, and it felt like a goodbye.

Luckily for him, the others were all preoccupied with their own thoughts and plans. It took almost no effort to slip away, and before he knew it he was back in his own room, in the form that everyone hated.

His summon was nonverbal and insistent, and before long, Deceit appeared before him, this time in his own skin. Virgil wanted to yell, to rage and vent the emotions inside of him.

“How could you?” Instead, his voice came out quiet. Cold. Betrayed.

Deceit shifted, a flash of discomfort crossing his face before he composed himself. “They needed a villain. Last I checked, it was you who cast yourself in that role.”

A villain. He felt himself shaking, distantly. “You used me. Like an object.”

“To help Thomas--”

“To frighten him into doing what you wanted!” Virgil said, voice finally rising. “To guide the others like puppets on strings and to make me take the fall for your plan!”

“This is for you, too!” Deceit finally snapped back, before taking a deep breath. “This isn’t a framing, Virgil. It’s an opportunity. They won’t look for you, and that gives me enough time to fix things. Come home.”

Virgil laughed, once, harsh like broken glass. “No.”

Deceit held up a hand, sweeping it downwards and shifting himself into Fake-Anxiety again. It was like looking in a mirror, but the reflection was… different, this time. It wasn’t the one that had sat on the stairs before.

“Look at yourself, Virgil. Look at what you’ve been doing to yourself.”

The bags under his eyes were dark and sallow. He was shaking and sweating, his breath coming in stuttering gasps. His body looked like it’d been having consecutive panic attacks for days on end, and there were plenty more coming.

“You don’t have to do this anymore. We both know that you’d have an easier time if Thomas wasn’t always fighting against you.”

He tore his eyes away from the reflection. If he thought about it for too long, he’d spiral, and then all of it-- every comment, every look, everything he’d been tucking away for the past weeks-- would come rushing up to meet him. Like hitting water from a hundred feet up and finding it felt like concrete. Like drowning.

“Virgil?”

He was tired of this. “Get out.”

Deceit said something else, but it was his room, and it followed his will. The other Side was evicted, shoved out, gone. He took a breath, but it felt too shallow and caught in his lungs.

He wasn’t going to get anything done in this form. He wasn’t of any damn use in this form. Nobody wanted him like this. Why not ease his grip, let go?

He wouldn’t have to be Anxiety and everything that came with it. It would be selfish, but-- but Puff was better for everyone, not just him. It made sense.

He sighed in relief as the transformation washed away the vice grip around his lungs and the dizzying pounding of his head. The feelings were muffled, as though he’d put on thick, good quality headphones. It was nice.

It was also harder to focus in this form, unfortunately, but the idea-- the solution remained helpfully stuck in his head. He easily found his way into Roman’s room to collect what he needed, but Roman himself was absent.

He padded down to the commons, and found all three of them were there. Their discussion came to a halt as he carefully jumped up on the couch, dropping his prize into Roman’s lap.

“Oh, Puff…” Roman seemed sad, so he kneaded the creative Side’s leg with the dull edge of his claws.

“What is that?” Patton asked curiously.

Roman shifted, as though anticipating a scolding. “It’s a charmed bracelet. I designed it to keep Anxiety away from Puff. And you know what? I was right to make it! You saw how he acted today!”

Patton bit his lip but remained quiet. Something about the silence hurt, but that was okay. It wouldn’t hurt for long. He nudged the bracelet slightly, impatient.

“Why hasn’t he been wearing it, then?” Logan asked, a curious bend to his eyebrows.

“He… Well, he didn’t want it at first. Put it on yours truly instead,” Roman replied, carefully brushing a hand over Virgil’s head. “I suppose he changed his mind.”

“Did Anxiety really scare him that badly?” Patton asked, voice heartbroken.

Roman frowned determinedly and finally started undoing the clasp. “Whatever that scoundrel did, he won’t be able to bother Puff anymore. This will make sure of it.”

He carefully wound the bracelet around Virgil’s neck, gently adjusted it until it fit right, and reconnected the ends. The last thing Virgil saw before the world went hazy was the three of them, the best parts of Thomas, looking back at him without any fear or hatred.

Then, there was only Puff.

#sanders sides #tiny dragon virgil #g/t #ts virgil #ts logan #ts roman #ts patton #ts thomas #ts janus #writing #my writing #tsits #the shapes in the silence #mind the warnings #again for clarity this is Absolutely not the last chapter #or even close to it #ask to tag #lets hope the next chapter is a quicker process hm? *ominous evil wink*

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puppywritings · 4 years ago

Text

you make it feel like christmas - kim doyoung x gender-neutral reader

⇢ synopsis: when you entered your job a few years ago, you found your best friend, doyoung. the two of you were partners-in-crime, platonic soulmates. however, during a drunken phone call with doyoung’s mother, she catches the wrong idea and invites you to spend christmas with their family… as doyoung’s partner. ever the mama’s boy, doyoung doesn’t want to disappoint her. and you? you’re counting down the days until you can stop this lovers pretence and slap your best friend upside the head.

⇢ word count: 5.6k ⇢ trigger warnings: alcohol use resulting in minor memory loss, swearing, slight suggestive references. this piece is suitable for all audiences!

⇢ a/n: this is my piece for @pastelsicheng and @dearyongs‘ a taste of winter collab. quick disclaimer that doyoung’s family in this fic may not represent his real life family situation, however this is a work of fiction and isn’t meant to mirror real life. i don’t know doyoung, nor do i know his mother, and the characters represented in this writing are fictitious versions of them. furthermore, the christmas traditions depicted in this story are mainly based on my own experiences celebrating the holidays in england.

⇢ taglist: @hunjins @ahgase55g7 @mmoondance @notnctu @orange-nimon-cross @yeoshwa @infnteen @neonun-au @luvlala @neo-shitty @yutacrush @ethaeriyeol @fairyinaflowercrown @in-my-neofeelings @dreamieofu

"All I want for Christmas is youuu, baby!"

Doyoung's voice was almost deafening in your ear, which would've been a problem if you were sober. Your voice, too, merrily drunk and far too loud, belted out the holiday tunes. Your best friend's arm was slung around your shoulder, and yours was around his waist. It was like the blind leading the blind, however; neither of you were keeping your balance very well. The two of you staggered together, navigating the city's streets back to his apartment.

The Christmas party that your office held would have been okay without your favourite coworker - you would've had a good time and enjoyed yourself, sure. But with Doyoung's presence, paired with the copious amounts of alcohol, it had been a riot. Even if you had peaked too early and had to depart by 11pm.

Doyoung was, undoubtedly, the best part about your job. The workload wasn't overwhelming, nor was it tedious, and the salary was nothing to sneeze at. But, without a shadow of a doubt, the best thing your job had ever provided you with was the opportunity to meet your best friend. Doyoung was your platonic soulmate, and your favourite person.

"Hey," Doyoung slurred, calling out to you suddenly. "Is that your ringtone?"

Squinting, you listened closely. "No, Doie," you hiccupped. "I think that's your ringtone."

"Oh, shit,'' Doyoung mumbled, diving into his coat pocket to retrieve his ringing phone. "My mom! She's facetiming."

Your vision was blurred, but you very vaguely saw Doyoung answer the call, bringing up his mother's image on his phone screen. Though you’d been best friends with Doyoung for a few years, you’d never met her. Doyoung lived and worked alongside you in the city, but his mother lived a while away in the countryside, and so your paths had never crossed.

"Hi Mom," Doyoung waved at her.

"Doyoung? Where are you?"

"I'm walking home, Mom," he responded, beaming at her through his phone.

"You sent me a strange text message," she told him, her voice raised a little more than necessary - Doyoung had mentioned that she was somewhat inept when it came to technology.

"Huh?" Doyoung looked confused.

"Something about lunch the day after tomorrow," she elaborated. "Doyoung, you aren't coming home for the holidays until next week, right?"

"Ah," Doyoung said, understanding. "That was meant for somebody else, sorry Mom."

"My boy," you heard her tut, and you laughed. "Is someone there with you, Doyoung?"

"Yeah," Doyoung nodded, "Y/N is here."

"Hi, Mrs Kim," you waved, as Doyoung turned the screen towards you. If you weren't so drunk, you would've been nervous about meeting your best friend's mother for the first time. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it) your bloodstream was mainly rum at that point, so you had absolutely no worries nor qualms.

“Kim Doyoung! Why didn’t you tell me you had a partner?” his mother blurted out.

“Huh?” exclaimed Doyoung, utterly confused.

“Oh Doyoung, you must bring Y/N home for the holidays! I can’t wait to meet them,” she cooed.

“Mom, wait-”

“See you two next week!” she cheerily said her goodbyes before hanging up, disappearing from the screen and leaving the two of you in silence.

Doyoung looked at you. You looked back at him.

“Did she…” you began, not quite wanting to end your sentence.

Doyoung nodded gravely. “She thinks we’re dating.”

The look on Doyoung’s face - eyes wide, lips in a straight, serious line - it was too much for you. You snorted, gripping his arm as you buckled in laughter. He wasn’t far behind you, bursting into a fit of giggles too. You and Doyoung loved each other, that was indisputable. But it was completely and entirely platonic. The two of you laughed together the rest of the way home.

As you were coming to your senses the next morning, you groaned. Why the hell did you feel so lousy? you wondered, full to the brim with self-pity. Your head pounded, a throbbing ache so strong you were certain somebody was banging pots and pans in your brain. Your throat was so, so dry, and you felt as though you could drink a whole gallon of water and still be thirsty afterwards. And then the memories of the previous night came flooding in.

Ah, you thought, Now it all makes sense.

You sorted through the events of last night, mentally flicking through the filing cabinet of your memories. A filing cabinet that was sorely empty when it came to the night prior. You remembered arriving at the party with Doyoung; you remembered the first few drinks, but following that your memories began to fade. You remembered Doyoung pressing a sloppy kiss to your boss’ cheek - a rather stoic middle-aged man - and you had no doubt that Doyoung would be apologising profusely on Monday morning. You had absolutely no recollection of the walk home, but since you had awoken in Doyoung’s spare bedroom, you supposed the night could have gone worse. At least you made it home safe.

Begrudgingly, you threw back the blankets and lifted yourself out of bed. Doyoung - bless his heart - had left you some painkillers and a glass of water on the bedside table. You consumed both of them gratefully and emerged from the spare room, wincing at the sunlight that met you. As you made your way down the hallway, whistling met your ears. How Doyoung could be so lively after a night of heavy drinking, you had no idea.

“Why the hell do you never get hungover?” you grumbled at him as you entered the kitchen, finding him at the stove.

“Good morning to you, too, sleeping beauty,” he greeted you with a smile.

“Seriously,” you continued as you took a seat at the kitchen island, “I swear I get hungover enough for the both of us.”

“Thank you for taking on that burden,” Doyoung replied sweetly, which you responded to with a spiteful glower. It doesn’t last long, however; Doyoung finishes cooking breakfast, and dishes you up a serving. Sausages, bacon, scrambled eggs, baked beans, hash browns, and toast. As much as you playfully bickered with Doyoung, he was an absolute treasure.

“Doie, you’re a gift from the heavens,” you praise him, the sight of the warm, greasy food reviving your soul almost immediately.

Doyoung took a seat next to you, placing down a plate of his own breakfast. “So,” he began, “How much of last night do you remember?”

“Huh?” you asked, suddenly wondering if you’d forgotten something drastic. “Did we…”

“Oh my god, no,” Doyoung denied quickly.

“Thank fuck,” you sigh in relief. Your best friend was attractive, definitely. But you saw him as more of a sibling than a lover.

Doyoung waited a moment before explaining, and with each second that passed, your suspicions rose. “My mom… She’s invited you to spend the holidays with us.”

“Oh!” you exclaim. That confession was a lot tamer than what you’d expected. “Sure, that sounds great. I was spending the holidays alone this year anyways.”

“There’s a catch.”

You dropped your knife and fork onto your plate. “Doyoung,” you groan, “Why is there always a catch?”

“My mom thinks we’re dating.” Doyoung pointedly avoided your eye contact while he spoke.

“And you corrected her, right?” you asked, fearing the worst. Doyoung’s silence only confirmed your fears. “Right?”

“She was so happy when she thought I was dating someone! And she’s been on my back about settling down forever,” Doyoung rambled, trying to save himself from your wrath - to no avail.

“Doyoung!”

“Please, Y/N. It’ll only be for a few days,” he pleaded, clasping his hands together and giving you his very best puppy-dog eyes. And you had to admit, they were some top-notch puppy-dog eyes.

You gave a resigned sigh, and Doyoung cheered. “Fine. But only because I really want to try your mom’s cookies.”

“You’re the best friend in the world,” Doyoung complimented you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. You whined at him, fighting the urge to bat away his affections; in your hungover state, you were not at all ready for hugs.

“Then make me some more hash browns,” you grumbled. If Doyoung was prepared to put you in this situation, he’d better also be prepared to pay you for it.

“You got it, best friend,” Doyoung beamed at you, getting up to obey your command. “You should pack those Christmas pyjamas you’re wearing, by the way. My mom would love them.” You scowled at him. He immediately backed down, waving away his previous statement. “We can figure out the logistics later.”

“You better make this worth my while, Kim Doyoung.” When he served you your hash browns, you were still scowling.

As the taxi pulled up at Doyoung’s childhood home, you couldn’t help but marvel at it. You raised a hand to the cab’s window, looking out at the idyllic cottage, rooftop covered in snow, decked out in twinkling Christmas lights. The environment had grown increasingly more peaceful as you had travelled out of Seoul and deeper into the countryside, picturesque hills and winding valleys rolling past the train windows. This place felt worlds away from the hustle and bustle of the city, and it was difficult to feel even slightly stressed. Even if the situation your best friend had put you in was less than ideal, this was an absolutely beautiful place to spend the holidays - it looked like it had jumped straight out of a Christmas card.

Despite the beautiful winter wonderland before you, you still weren’t prepared for the cold that hit you when you stepped out of the cab. You busied yourself getting the luggage from the trunk while Doyoung paid the driver.

“Are you ready?” Doyoung asked you, looking into your eyes sincerely.

You sighed. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” You gave him a smile, reassuring him. The truth was, you were truly excited to spend the holidays with Doyoung and his mother; you were excited to meet her, to eat her home cooking, to hear stories about Doyoung in his youth. You just had some qualms about the whole fake relationship pretense, and you really didn’t want to let your best friend down.

“Y/N?” Doyoung spoke, taking bags out of your hands.

“Yeah?” you asked, watching wistfully as the taxi drove away.

Doyoung smirked at you. “Just try your best not to fall in love with me for real, okay?”

You rolled your eyes so hard they practically fell out of your head. “You wish.” Just as the cottage door swung open, you reached for Doyoung’s hand, holding it tightly. So began the relationship charade.

“Doyoung, my boy,” his mother beamed, coming out to greet her son. It was hard not to smile upon seeing her - she was clearly over the moon to see you and Doyoung, and her joy was infectious. She was a small woman, but you had gathered from Doyoung’s description that she certainly had a big character. She welcomed her son into an embrace, kissing his cheek. “You don’t visit home enough, Doyoung,” she chided lovingly.

“And you must be Y/N,” she spoke, moving her gaze onto you. She looked at you fondly, and you beamed back at her. “You’re so beautiful,” she praised you.

Your cheeks, already red from the cold, blazed a little brighter. “Thank you, Mrs Kim.”

She wagged a finger at you. “Mrs Kim, you make me sound so aged. Please, call me Mom.” She turned around, welcoming the two of you inside, and you shared a smile with Doyoung.

The interior of the cottage was every bit as charming as the exterior. Family photos decorated the walls, and warm rugs hugged the floors. You supposed the home would have a cozy feeling all year round, but now, in the festive season, the place was dressed up to the nines. Lavish paper chains were strung up, along with twinkling lights and boughs of holly. Not to mention the Christmas tree; though not huge it was still sizeable, likely the biggest Mrs Kim could fit through the cottage door. It was embellished with golden tinsel and crimson baubles.

“Your home is so beautiful,” you commended. “Did you decorate yourself?”

“All by myself,” Doyoung’s mother confirmed proudly.

“This must’ve been a beautiful place to grow up,” you marvelled, your comment pointed towards Doyoung, who smiled back at you appreciatively.

“Oh, the stories I have about Doyoung growing up,” Mrs Kim said, and you detected a mischievous tone.

“I can’t wait to hear them,” you grinned.

“And see them!” she added. “I have so many photo albums.”

Doyoung groaned, while you and Mrs Kim laughed in the presence of his misery. Yes, you decided. You were going to enjoy this visit very much.

When you settled into bed that night, you were beyond exhausted. Doyoung’s mother had kindly set you up in the spare room, which was delightfully warm and snug. Doyoung’s childhood bedroom contained only a single bed, whereas the spare room had a double bed to accommodate you - the ‘couple.’ Though it had only been a few hours since you’d arrived that afternoon, the gravity of your situation had well and truly sunk in. The performative affection you and Doyoung had been carrying out was alien, equal parts strange and comical.

“I can’t believe the amount of times you called me Honey today,” Doyoung scoffed amusedly, dressed in his blue flannel pyjamas with his dark hair laying flat and fluffy on his forehead. He turned off the big light to leave the room illuminated by the warm glow of the table lamps, before climbing into bed beside you.

“Mock me all you want, Doyoung, but I think I put on a pretty convincing performance,” you return smugly.

“Well, I can’t imagine it’s hard. I’m very easy to love. You on the other hand?” Doyoung faked a weary sigh. “I have my work cut out for me.” You flicked Doyoung on the forehead, snickering when he yelped.

You yawned, depositing your phone on the bedside table and snuggling down into the blankets. Though you were exhausted, and the cottage was immensely cozy, it always felt a little strange to fall asleep in a new place. You were thankful for the company of your best friend, who always put you at ease.

“I hate sharing a bed with you,” you grumbled your complaint. Despite the comfort he brought you, he wasn’t the easiest person to sleep with. “You starfish. I always wake up with, like, one centimetre of bed space.”

Doyoung dropped his phone, letting it fall onto the blankets. He looked at you, eyebrows raised. “One centimetre?”

“Yeah, one centimetre!” you insisted.

“Well, I always wake up with your cold feet on my legs,” he rebutted.

“Yeah, well-” you sputtered. “It’s not my fault you’re a living hot water bottle!”

“And it’s not my fault you’re always cold. Yet I’m always punished with your horrible cold feet.” You laughed back at him; the normality of your bickering helped to put you at ease.

“Let’s get some rest,” you suggested, yawning again. “I don’t wanna miss your mom’s cookies tomorrow morning - I wanna try them while they’re warm.”

“Mmm, good idea,” Doyoung agreed, eyes wide with the thought of his mother’s cookies.

“Goodnight, butthead,” you teased your friend, turning off the lamp beside you.

“Sleep well, idiot,” he replied fondly.

Thoughts of warm chocolate-chip cookies were the last things on your mind before you fell asleep, and you were lucky enough to have them drift through your dreams that night.

As you slowly woke up, gradually returning to the land of the conscious, you first became aware of how delightfully warm you were. A light winter sun was shining through the gaps in the curtains, bathing the room in a soft white light. You sighed, hugging your pillow closer to you, but furrowing your eyebrows in confusion when you found it to be much firmer and less pliant than a pillow.

“Nice to see you’ve finally awakened. You drooled on my pyjamas.” Doyoung’s voice was gentle, and lacked any real annoyance.

“What time is it?” you asked, rolling off the boy.

“Half nine,” he told you, looking at his phone screen. You digested the information as Doyoung got out of bed, stretching his muscles which had stiffened from sleep.

“Now that I’m finally free,” he stared at you pointedly, “I’m gonna take a shower. There’s another bathroom down the hall if you want to wash up.” You nodded, accomplishing your own satisfying stretch in bed.

A while later, fresh and ready for the day, adorned in your favourite comfy sweater, you made your way downstairs, trying to dampen down your high, high hopes for cookies.

“Good morning, Mrs Kim,” you greeted the woman with a smile. A smile that increased tenfold when you saw she was, in fact, in the middle of preparing cookies.

“I already told you to call me Mom, darling,” she chastised gently. “Did you sleep well?”

You gave her a nod, silently thinking about the several times you woke up to Doyoung kicking you through the night.

“Lovely,” she commented. “I’m making cookies, would you like to help?”

“I’d love to,” you answered honestly. “Your cookies are kind of famous back in Seoul. Doyoung never stops talking about them.”

“That boy and his cookies,” she remarked with affection.

Doyoung’s mother set you off to work making another batch of mixture, as she began her duties with the rolling pin. The two of you worked in a comfortable silence, and you marvelled at how much she put you at ease. She was a warm lady, the kind of mother figure a person is lucky to have.

“Y/N, I want you to tell me everything,” she spoke after a while. “How did you and Doyoung meet?”

“Ah,” you mumbled, gearing yourself up to talk about your fake-boyfriend. “Well, we work together. I joined the company about two years ago, and Doyoung was the one to show me the ropes.”

“Was it love at first sight?” Mrs Kim asked you sweetly.

You turned away from the cookie dough, choking a little at the mention of romance with Doyoung, as you remembered the first time you met the man.

You were almost trembling as your new boss showed you around the office; this was your first “grown-up” job and you were the very definition of nervous. You were thankful for your brand-new black blazer which covered the sweat stains that you knew were building.

“And this,” your boss introduced you, “Is Kim Doyoung. He’ll help you settle in.”

“Hi. Y/N Y/L/N,” you offered Doyoung your hand to shake, which he accepted.

Doyoung waited for your boss to leave before speaking. “So,” he began with a smirk, “How hard did he try to be ‘relatable’ and ‘down with the kids?’”

You hid your laugh behind a cough. “He’s a little out of touch, huh?”

“A little?” Doyoung raised an eyebrow, laughing alongside you.

“Is it okay to talk about the boss like this? We’re supposed to respect him, right?” you asked your new coworker, a little uncertainly.

“Ah, Y/N, of course we respect him,” Doyoung tutted at you, before adding, “To his face.”

Doyoung had you in stitches your entire first day. Though he tried not to show it, you hadn’t seen anybody try so hard to help you become comfortable and calm. He had been easing your nerves since day one.

“Yeah,” you confirmed as you recovered. “I think it was.” Maybe it wasn’t love at first sight in a romantic sense, but the two of you definitely connected on a personal level right away.

“So romantic,” Doyoung’s mother cooed as she rolled out the dough. “What do you love most about him?”

“Hm.” You paused, taking a moment to think. It was true that you loved a lot of Doyoung’s qualities - he was your best friend after all. He was always supportive, an ever-present shoulder to cry on. He was funny, and kind, and pleasant to be around. You always had fun together. “I love a lot of things about him,” you answered truthfully.

“He’s wonderful, isn’t he?” she agreed with you jovially, to which you smiled and nodded. “Now, I don’t want to rush you,” she continued, “But will you and Doyoung be giving me grandchildren any time soon?”

You choked on your spit, just as Doyoung entered the kitchen, coming to your rescue.

“Speak of the devil,” his mom noted affectionately, as she loaded the full trays into the oven.

“Cookies?” Doyoung’s eyes glinted hopefully. His hair was still damp from the shower, dripping and leaving wet droplets on his plain white t-shirt.

“Yes, in about fifteen minutes,” she confirmed. “You can wait that long, right?”

“Oh,” Doyoung moaned, “I don’t know. I can feel my life escaping from me as we speak.” He collapsed at the kitchen table behind you, falling onto the chair as he pretended to faint. You chuckled at his antics, reaching over to ruffle his still-wet hair adoringly. You caught his mother looking over at the two of you fondly, and you smiled, a little self-conscious.

It felt more natural than you’d imagined, being cute and cozy with Doyoung in this false relationship. You supposed your friendship was a little more affectionate than you realised. Now that you thought about it, there was a certain tenderness that was common between the two of you - aside from the constant snipping and bickering, that was.

You’d never considered that you could be suited to a life outside the city, but the longer you spent in the charming countryside, the more ideal it felt. On your second morning of your winter break, you and Doyoung had donned your warmest winter gear (hats, scarves, and gloves included) and set out on a walk down the rustic lanes that your best friend had once called home. Though there were no eyes on you, and logically you didn’t have to keep up your fake-dating pretence in these hidden moments, shared only by you and Doyoung, the two of you held hands as you ambled down the snow-covered roads. It was an unspoken act, and one that felt strangely comfortable and oddly natural. You didn’t accredit too much thought to it; best friends could hold hands, if they wished to.

“We’re almost there,” Doyoung told you, after a short time of walking.

You tilted your head in confusion. “Where?” You hadn’t thought you were walking with any specific location in mind - you’d assumed the pair of you were meandering through the countryside with no direction.

“You’ll see,” was all he said, leaving you wondering.

Not long later, Doyoung directed you towards an opening in the shrubbery at the side of the lane, maneuvering himself over a stile before helping you over. The field you found yourself in was empty, the normally green meadow blanketed in completely untouched white. The only thing standing in the field, other than you and Doyoung was an old, rather dilapidated-looking barn. You imagined it once blazed a beautiful scarlet, although the years and the weather had chipped and faded its coat, leaving it a patchy maroon.

“Who does this belong to?” you asked, reclaiming Doyoung’s hand as you approached the barn together.

“I don’t know,” Doyoung countered. “Nobody, I think. It’s been abandoned as long as I can remember.”

“It’s a little creepy,” you commented apprehensively.

“Don’t worry, there aren’t any ghosts,” Doyoung mocked you, although it was devoid of any cruelty.

The door creaked as Doyoung pushed it open, and you didn’t entirely trust it not to fall completely off its hinges. The interior of the barn was a dark contrast to the stark white of the winter wonderland outside, although some sunlight filtered through the gaps in the wooden structure.

“Welcome to my secret clubhouse,” Doyoung introduced you. Your hands fell apart, as Doyoung left your side to venture to the back of the dwelling, finding a rickety swing that hung from the rafters, constructed of two pieces of rope and a plank of wood. He sat on it, swinging lightly and you were surprised to find that it managed to support his weight.

“How many of your romantic conquests have you brought here before me?” you teased, examining his hangout.

“You’re the first.”

The barn wasn’t particularly exciting, but there was a certain buzz to be derived from gaining a little bit of insight to Doyoung’s past. The floors of the building were no longer lined with hay, but dirt and dust, featuring intermittent weeds and plants. A tree had reached its spindly branches inside the structure, intertwining itself with the beams and pillars. You perched yourself atop an old stool that was sitting amid the weeds and rubble.

“Did you put that swing up yourself?” you asked, eyeing its stability.

“Yep,” Doyoung confirmed. “All by myself. I climbed right up into the rafters to fasten it.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t hurt yourself,” you remarked. The barn was a rather significant height, and it can’t have been safe for a young boy to scale the wooden bones of the building, likely aided by the serpentine branches of the oak tree.

“When I was a kid I thought I was superman,” Doyoung said, and you could see him reminiscing internally. You watched, captivated, as he looked around the tattered old barn which was clearly a sentimental place for him. He was beautiful, your best friend. Eyes that shined, dark as the night; a nose that sloped almost perfectly; pink lips that looked best when smiling. Though the winter was a cold one, your heart was warmed by your love for Doyoung. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, simply existing together without any demand or pressure to make unnecessary conversation.

“We should get back home,” Doyoung spoke after a while, standing and stretching. “My mom is making hotpot for lunch.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” you said with enthusiasm. Spending time with your best friend, taking walks through the beautiful countryside, and being fed homemade dishes for every meal. This Christmas holiday may just be the best thing to ever happen to you.

Christmas morning came much more swiftly than you expected. The homely atmosphere of the cottage, the domestic haven where Doyoung spent his youth, felt like a sweet sanctuary that existed outside of the linear flow of time. Early morning walks down dew-covered lanes gave way to plentiful lunches that you savoured, which morphed into homely afternoons that eased into sleepy evenings around the fireplace. It was the sweet retreat you hadn’t realised you’d needed, and you were remarkably upset that you had to return to the city the following day.

“I know it’s not much, but I hope you’ll put this to good use,” you grinned at Mrs Kim as you handed over the Christmas present you’d brought her. She unwrapped the parcel, although the shape didn’t quite leave room for a discreet gift, to reveal a bottle of red wine.

“I’m sure I’ll find some way to use this,” she responded, a teasing twinkle in her eye as you shared a laugh together.

“Y/N,” Doyoung spoke, handing you a small box wrapped in festive paper. “Here.” He was already wearing the watch you had gifted him with. You peeled back the wrapping, opening the box to find a delicate silver necklace, hanging from it a shining silver jewel. It looked expensive; you wouldn’t be surprised if it was a real diamond.

“Wow,” you gasped, at a complete loss for words.

“Let me put it on you,” Doyoung offered, and you let him.

“It’s beautiful,” you smiled at him. “Thank you.” He smiled back sincerely.

Doyoung’s mother reached under the Christmas tree, bringing out two identically wrapped packages, square-shaped and squishy. “You kids open your presents together; I made them matching for you.”

You tore into the paper, opening the bundle to reveal a mass of knitted wool, soft and burgundy. You lifted it up to reveal a beautiful, intricate Christmas sweater - and noticed that Doyoung was holding an identical one.

“They’re so beautiful, Mrs Kim,” you complimented her, a little starstruck; though you knew Mrs Kim had handcrafted them, they looked like they were bought from a shop. They were of the most perfect quality, and looked splendidly snug and cozy.

“Yeah, thanks Mom,” Doyoung added, admiring the material. He waited until she looked away, taking a sip of her hot cocoa, before turning to you and muttering “Matching Christmas sweaters?” accompanied by a fake gag. You looked away, finding it almost impossible to stifle the giggle that bubbled up within you. They were beautiful, and you were endlessly grateful for the homemade gift, but Doyoung’s comment had amused you.

Mrs Kim looked at you with a knowing expression, and you couldn’t help but wonder if she’d noticed the exchange.

“Now you know I wasn’t kidding about my mom’s homemade cooking,” Doyoung said as he worked on the mountain of dishes in the sink.

“You really weren’t,” you agreed, stood next to him with a towel to dry the porcelain. You typically weren’t such a big fan of turkey, but something about the way Mrs Kim cooked it meant that it was surprisingly delicious. You had gone back for several helpings of the meal, encouraged by Doyoung’s mother, who seemed to derive pleasure from keeping people well-fed.

“I need a nap,” Doyoung declared, and you shared his experience of full-stomach sleepiness.

The pair of you finished up in the kitchen, and moved to the living room where Doyoung’s mother had relocated.

“Ah!” she stopped you in the doorway, before you could enter. “Look.”

You followed her pointed finger, to the green sprigs hanging in the archway. Mistletoe. Doyoung gave an awkward chuckle.

“Mistletoe for the lovers,” his mother chortled gleefully.

Doyoung captured you in his embrace, and your heart began to beat a little faster - was he really going to kiss you? You closed your eyes as he moved into you, and felt his lips peck your forehead. You smiled, before pulling him in for a kiss on the lips. In the spirit of Christmas. Doyoung’s eyes widened, and you laughed as his mother cheered. You followed her into the living room, making yourself comfortable on the couch that had no right being as cozy as it was. Doyoung’s cheeks were still red when he joined you, taking a seat on the couch alongside you.

The television was on, playing some old Christmas movie you vaguely recognised but had never seen. You brought your legs up onto the couch, snuggling into Doyoung’s side and nestling in further when he wrapped his arm around you. The film was already halfway through, and you were too sleepy to pay attention. It wasn’t long before you began nodding off to sleep, and you knew Doyoung was doing the same. Comfortable and relaxed, you let it happen, easing into a well-deserved nap with your best friend. Just as you fell into the unconscious, you sensed Doyoung’s mother draping a blanket over you both, and you smiled gratefully before letting yourself go.

“Taxi’s here!” Doyoung announced from his point of watch at the front door.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving already,” Doyoung’s mother pouted.

You agreed with a sad smile. “It was wonderful to meet you, Mrs Kim,” you bid her goodbye as Doyoung took your luggage out to the car.

“Beautiful Y/N,” she smiled back at you, taking your hands in her own. “Tell me the truth here.”

You blinked, surprised at her direct request. “Of course.”

“You and Doyoung aren’t really dating, are you?”

“I-”

“It’s okay, my love,” she reassured you. “Don’t worry about it. That Doyoung, he’ll do anything if he thinks it’ll please me.”

“He’s a good boy,” you commented, to which Mrs Kim nodded in agreement. “But how did you know?” You’d thought you’d given a pretty convincing show.

“Nothing gets past me,” she responded, her eyes glinting. “Listen. Doyoung’s partner or not, I can tell that you’re important to him. And for that, you’ll always be a member of this family. You’re always welcome in this home, Y/N.”

You swallowed back tears, touched by her warm words, and by how genuine they were. “Thank you, Mom.”

The older lady pulled you in for a hug, just as Doyoung called out to you, “Y/N, we gotta go.”

“You have my number, right?” Mrs Kim checked, and you nodded. “And keep that cookie recipe safe - three generations old, that is!”

“Of course,” you assured her, retreating to the taxi as Doyoung said his goodbyes to her.

“Come back soon, you two!”

“We will,” you and Doyoung promised her in unison.

Settled in the back of the taxi, you heaved a sigh. It had been a beautiful holiday period, but part of you was happy to be returning to the security of your own home. And an even bigger part of you was relieved to drop the act of being Doyoung’s partner.

Doyoung looked at you, a tired look in his eyes. “Y/N, I love you so much-”

“But we could never date,” you completed his statement, sensing its direction.

“Never,” agreed Doyoung with a laugh.

The two of you were much better off as friends. It would be a lie to say you’d never wondered what it would be like if your relationship ever happened to cross that boundary, but you were sated by the lesson you’d learned over the last week. Your relationship was platonic, and was destined to remain that way. That didn’t mean your relationship was any less significant than that of a romantic couple, though. Doyoung was your family. And you were beyond lucky to have found him.

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crazyfreckledginger · 4 years ago

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Ikemen Vampire x Reader - “Residents In Modern Times”

Requested by anon: “Hello glorious author-chan! I have a request for you. I have a fun little imagine for you. Can you make an Ikemen Vampire imagine of what their reactions would be like in modern times?”

A/N: I honestly don’t know what this is, like it ended up as the child of a drabble and a headcanon.

Warning: implied smut and nudity (come on Arthur is here)

Napoleon Bonaparte:

He’d be shocked and in awe at the same time.

Wanting to know EVERYTHING about how people live in the 21st century.

Is it a better, easier life? Is everyone treated equally and safe?

He’s astonished by the night lights as well, so bright and beautiful.

It’s absolutely unforgettable and he stays up at night a little longer to watch the busy city below, drinking the beautiful view until he falls asleep.

Also more content with the clothing fashion.

Yes it’s very unusual to him since he’s not used to it but clothes used to be so uncomfortable, especially for women.

Though he really didn’t feel comfortable with such revealing clothes.

He’s very cute about it around you though, hiding in your neck with flushed, embarrassed cheeks.

Leonardo Da Vinci:

Doesn’t show his amazement as much except through his tone of voice.

Wants to know how a phone works.

Surprisingly -- or unsurprisingly -- not having to explain it regularly, he picks up on it very quickly.

He’s very impressed.

Your days were divided into visiting shops, showing him technologies, public transport, probably every single thing about the city and cuddling in bed and showing him how the TV works because “the mattress is so comfortable”.

Even though you know how comfortable a surface is, never stopped him from falling asleep.

He really likes it in the modern day.

I think he would be one of the residents that would fit in rather quickly and easily.

Comte De Saint Germain:

It’s not that much of a shocker for him for obvious reasons but because you’d spent your life in modern day, he got to see your view and had a much positive outlook on it.

Not that it was negative to begin with, he just didn’t pay as much attention to it before and now that he has, it’s eye opening, in a way.

He loved the sparkle in your eyes as you rejoiced in the things you used to know before you travelled back in time.

It was a sight for sore eyes.

He enjoyed visiting with you, even though he spent more time seeing the twinkle in your eyes than being happy over the smaller things.

Comte is much more open about PDA for obvious reasons and he feels the modern day is something the both of you share as a precious memory now.

Arthur Conan Doyle:

His demeanour is one of someone who’s seen everything already but the huge smile and eyes just showed that he was a little boy excited about discovering everything.

Arthur dragged you around to tell him how things work if he couldn’t pick up on by himself.

You went to a mall and Victoria’s Secret caught his eye so fast it was S C A R Y.

“Try this sweetheart, and this and this-”

Yes, despite all your protests, you spent the whole day in the store trying on clothes for him.

He enjoyed it very much.

Arthur promised he would discover something new with you that didn’t involved being naked.

How nice of him *chokes*

It was a tiring day for you since you did all the standing, changing and displaying for him.

But the night provided to be very rewarding hehe

If you know what I mean

;)

You know what I mean, why am I saying this.

Theodorus Van Gogh:

He has a similar behaviour to Arthur at first, indifferent behaviour but very curious eyes.

You can tell he doesn’t want to ask questions but wants the answers.

So you just start talking and explaining things.

He’s a little flushed because he would have told you to stop talking by now but he doesn’t since you’re informing him on everything.

Theo would keep visiting until you got tired and wouldn't hesitate to carry you back to your place and cuddle up on the couch.

Showing him how the TV works but he prefers sleeping in your bed because it’s so comfy and he can hug you.

Vincent Van Gogh:

“WOW!” *sparkly eyes*

Asks you about EVERYTHING

Holds your hand the whole time.

Also he apologises for always inquiring about everything.

Reassuring him that it’s alright.

Proceeds to go back to questioning everything.

Politely asks if you guys can go to an exhibition the next day to see paintings and saying yes.

Very gladly cuddling in your neck and saying how amazing everything is.

He’s too cute T-T

Vincent was smiling in his sleep because he got to discover so many new things with you and he couldn’t express how content he was.

Your heart is constantly melting as he acts like an overjoyed puppy.

He’s forever thankful to you and this will always be engraved in his memory.

Amadeus Mozart:

The pianist can’t physically hide his amazement.

“Can we go to an instrument store?”

Holds your hand tightly and keeps you close like he’s protecting you.

When in fact it should be the other way around given that you have lived your entire life in the modern day.

But you already knew that 🤦‍♀️

His eyes light up more than they already did when you enter an empty store and there are three or four pianos.

Mozart let his fingers caress the smooth surface, taking in all the details of the instruments.

He’s relieved that they didn’t change as significantly as everything else in the world.

Lowkey wants to buy all the pianos because he wants to try them.

A very confused boy at attire.

And blushing at how more ‘revealing’ they are.

He could get used to this.

Jean D’Arc:

He would be in silent shock, staying close to you and looking around in amazement.

Jean would be pretty shy about asking too many questions, not wanting to bother you.

Reassuring him that it was fine, similar to Vincent.

Jean was somehow more considerate about it, not wanting to bother you with his inquiries.

Whispering questions and trying so hard to try and make sense of things himself, sometimes it works, kind of!!

Like Napoleon, he’s relieved the world is happier and fairer.

It was a huge shock for him at first, everything was different, but he was fortunate enough to be with you.

Now he reminisces of the experience as a magical moment that will forever be engraved in his memory.

Isaac Newton:

Absolutely astonished.

He has so many questions but he didn’t know where to start.

Similar to Jean, he was a little shy about asking questions and trying to solve things on his own.

Being surprised at how complex things turn out to be.

Isaac has mixed emotions about knowing that the foundation of physics are his three famous laws.

Because the world seemed overwhelmingly unknown and huge, he nearly clung onto you.

You locked your arm with his, seeing his unease but also not wanting to trouble you.

He felt better instantly and silently thanked you, blushing in embarrassment.

The first thing you taught him was what a phone was and about the kindergarden/school system.

You reminisce about how he went along into town with Napoleon to attempt to teach children.

It wasn’t a particular detail he would have inquired about but he feels strangely relieved about it.

He was touched by the small details you remember about him and he keeps it in mind.

It was an unforgettable experience for him to have with you.

But something he does not want to let go is the bed, it’s shockingly comfortable for him.

Osamu Dazai:

“Wow, are you seeing this (Not Y/N)-chan?”

“That’s not my name-”

“What is this?”

No shame about asking whatsoever.

“Miraculous!”

A lot of him grinning and praising everything and anything, including you.

“You’re delightful (Y/N)-chan, such an interesting answer!”

“D-did you just call me by my nam-”

“Are you coming (Not Y/N)-chan?”

“Nevermind,” you grumble, pouting as you follow behind him.

He chuckled, finding you so cute before cupping your cheeks and openly kissing you in public.

Dazai finds even more amusement with how flushed you are for a while as you clung onto his arm, answering questions with a breathy tone.

Despite his second degree humour throughout everything, he’s actually thoroughly enjoyed spending time doing this with you and becoming a treasured memory.

William Shakespeare:

He was actually rendered speechless for a long while.

Which was unusual for him obviously.

But it was a little disconcerting for him since he always had something to say.

You couldn’t help but eye him admiring everything.

Despite his unnerving silence, the way his eyes lit up was something that you didn’t know you needed to witness.

It looked like he found something to look forward to in life. (can’t relate lol)

That thought alone made you hopeful and sad at the same time.

He was always very polite and considerate about inquiring about things.

As in, he always read the ‘room’ before asking, wanting to stay in your good graces, even though he is already in them.

Finding the bed in your place being painfully heaven-like.

If he wasn’t as invested in learning about the modern world, he would totally examine and savour the beauty that is a bed.

Without you knowing, however, he would spend a lot of time studying you as well.

It was fascinating to him, seeing you enjoying yourself in your natural habitat.

Sebastian:

I mean he lived there before so there isn’t much to say.

He does reminisce a lot though, all previous memories rushing back.

Just as if the residents were a long dream.

One thing that surprised him a little was that he enjoyed spending time with you in the modern day so much that it’s in a smal, different compartment in his brain altogether.

Basically nostalgia but also happy new memories.

Comments, votes and feedback improve motivation, writing and publishing, so it is in your best interest to leave some! :)

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chaseatinydream · 4 years ago

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pirate king (19) || atz

You watch from the mast as Nassau comes into sight.

The past few days have been spent gearing up for the plan. To disguise the ship, you and the crew have all slaved away on your journey to Seonghwa’s hometown, taking down the distinct blue square sails of the ship and rigging the masts with patchy, torn sails grey from age.

Over the last few days, you and Wooyoung have gotten much closer from working together in the sails all the time. The head gunner had taken one look at your face after your incident with Yeosang and offered to sit with you in the crow’s nest until you felt better. Although you had been boiling over with fury, ready to push him away, he simply told you that he wouldn’t ask any questions.

He wasn’t smiling when he said that, so you agreed.

Yeosang never came to apologize, the coward.

The two of you had merely sat quietly in the crow’s nest, watching the sun set and the stars come out at night. Half the time you had expected Wooyoung’s mouth to open his mouth with some dumb question, but he had just remained silent the entire time, not even looking at you in the least. The two of you simply watched sky and sea become one, both melding into a single canvas of inky black, the stars both above and reflected beneath you. And you had thought long and hard about what you’d said to Yeosang.

I hate you.

You’d used the worst word you could have possibly have. You weren’t just angry with him. You didn’t just immensely dislike him. You had completely lost your damn mind.

Yeosang, one of the quietest and purest people to ever walk the earth and sail the sea. The silent, kind and all knowing navigator who you spotted talking to the birds in the harbor of Tortuga because he was so fascinated by them. The man who’d only ever shown you kindness and given you comfort. The one who never hesitated to help you no matter what your requests were and answered your questions about anything and everything. You’d told him that you hated him.

“I think I screwed something up.” You’d told Wooyoung, head resting against his shoulder. One thing you’d learned about Wooyoung was that he loved physical contact, craved it even, as long as you didn’t surprise him with it. His arm came around your shoulders, pulling you close to stay warm in the crisp night air.

“You just noticed?” The tone of his comment was anything but snark, and he didn’t say a word more. You’d fallen asleep against his shoulder, as if hoping his warmth could fend off the guilt and frozen anger in you.

The next morning when you had woken up, he was still there in the same position, one arm around you, watching the sunrise.

For the duration of the trip to Nassau, you hadn’t spoken to Yeosang once. Even though the two of you had bumped into each other rather frequently, Yeosang had just lowered his head and brushed past you like you weren’t there, and you had done the same.

You were still too angry to talk rationally to him.

I hate you.

You were still too confused to ask him why he would do this to you.

I hate you.

You were still too ashamed to face him for what you had said.

In an attempt to escape him, you’d simply juggled between staying in the rigging or cooking in the kitchens. San had asked you repeatedly about why your face had been so down during your lessons together, but you honestly didn’t know how to answer him.

So you simply hadn’t.

“Chin Hae?”

You turn absentmindedly on the yardarm to face Wooyoung as he makes his way to you, swinging between ropes as he settles next to your side. The two of you have finished your task in taking down the orange and black ATEEZ flag and carefully ripping holes in the sails, so you have nothing to do for now.

“Will everything really be okay?” You ask him quietly. You don’t like where this plan is going at all.

Wooyoung merely shrugs with a matter-of-fact smile as he glances at the dark shape that is Nassau begins to grow in size. “I trust captain. And even if it doesn’t turn out okay, I stick with the crew. They’ll never abandon us.”

You nod. Even if you’re not really very positive about where this plan is going, you’ll stay with the ship and its crew.

The plan, in fact, is to infiltrate Nassau as a merchant ship running from pirates. The cannons have been stowed in a special hidden space right beneath the main deck, and the weapons kept away in a compartment in the main hold.

But there’s a sinking feeling in your chest.

“Chin Hae! Wooyoung-ah!” Mingi calls from the main deck and you look down to see the quartermaster standing there. He looks equally as tense as you are, mouth pressed into a line. “Captain wants to see you to go over the plan one last time.”

You nod. Both you and Wooyoung leap from the rigging, sliding down easily with leather gloves on your hands and landing as lightly as a cat. If Yunho had the opportunity to see you instead of practicing his role in the plan, he’d definitely be proud of you.

The two of you move to the cabin, silently trailing the quartermaster quietly. There’s a tense silence over the deck as the crew merely watch the town of Nassau come closer and closer in sight. Everybody knows what the consequences are if the authorities see through your ploy.

The Treasure will be burnt to ashes.

The crew will be hung.

And yet none of them are backing down.

Your footsteps barely make sound on the wooden floorboards as you step into the captain’s cabin after Wooyoung. The door swings shut behind you and the two of you greet Yunho quietly, who’s seated on the bed silently rehearsing his lines.

Hongjoong turns from coaching Yunho and turns to the two of you. The first thing you notice is the dark circles beneath your captain’s eyes, as if he hasn’t slept in days, which is probably true. He’s carrying all your lives on his shoulders with this plan, and should it go wrong every single one of you will be strung up like dried fish in the marketplace.

You swallow uncomfortably at the thought and stand a little straighter in front of the captain’s desk.

The plan is scribbled down everywhere, on sheets of paper littered around the desk. Some you recognise as your captain’s calligraphy, some as Mingi’s scribbles, and the rest as Yeosang’s neat notes.

You force your eyes away from them.

“When we get to Nassau, it’ll be around evening.” Hongjoong jerks a thumb at Yunho, who’s rereading his script with the most haunted, terrified look you’ve seen. It’d make you worry, but you’ve already seen the careful construction that goes on behind this facade and know it’s nothing more than an act. “There’ll be an official coming to check the ship, so don’t be shocked when it happens.”

As Hongjoong and Mingi have discussed, the only literate people on this ship are Hongjoong, Mingi, Seonghwa, San, Yunho, Yeosang and you. Hongjoong is much too striking with his eye patch, so he can’t be the one the ship presents as captain when the ship enters the port of Nassau. Mingi’s out because of his deep blue hair.

San is needed on board as a healer, Seonghwa’s face is probably still on an arrest warrant in Nassau, and Yeosang simply doesn’t have a presence commanding enough to be a captain. You, too, have no idea how port authorities work, so the only one left to the role is Yunho.

It is strange to see your captain not in his usual red jacket, his signature look has been swapped out for a more unassuming white shirt and trousers. But no matter what he dresses in, he still exudes authority with every action and you hang on to every word he says.

“Yeosang and Seonghwa have done a map of where the official lives. It’s a small estate surrounded by a few houses in which the townspeople live. Do you remember his name?”

“Lucio Bartholomew.” Wooyoung echoes from memory. Hongjoong nods confirmation.

“You’ll need to infiltrate the estate from the back wall under the cover of night. Find out how many guards there are, where his office is and come right back.”

The head gunner inclines his head in understanding.

Then the captain turns to you, his eyes softening.

“Are you prepared?”

You nod. There’s a fear pulling at you from the inside, and you’re terrified as well.

Because you’re going on this mission too.

That’s why you’ve been spending so much time on the masts and rigging, learning how to move along ropes, to scale them as quickly and silently as possible. As the only other literate person on board who doesn’t have any outstanding physical traits for the town watch to recognize you by, your role in this mission is to read the plaques and clues around you to find Lucio Bartholomew’s room.

You’re also the only one light enough for Wooyoung to work with when using the grappling hook, thus you have been selected by the captain for this infiltration mission.

These five whole days in the rigging, you’ve memorized Wooyoung’s odd little cues and mannerisms, learning how to communicate with him silently without sound, familiarizing yourself with the way he moves. The two of you will need to move in absolute tandem, be of the same mind, before you can succeed on this mission.

The pressure is immense.

“This reminds me of those ninja I heard about before from Japan.” Wooyoung tries to smile, but it comes out more forced than reassuring. Hongjoong stands and inclines his head to the two of you.

“Thank you for doing this, Wooyoung, Chin Hae.” He says so seriously that you feel a lump growing in your throat. Everyone knows how risky this mission is, how dire the consequences will be if you fail. You won’t only be captured, but also jeopardize Seonghwa’s chances of ever getting to confront the official who’d killed his family.

“We’ll be fine.” You manage to lie through your teeth, trying to sound a lot more confident than you feel. Hongjoong’s eye shifts over to the head gunner next to you.

“Take care of Chin Hae, Wooyoung.”

Your captain’s care warms you for a short moment despite your mounting terror at what may be your a terrible fate. Wooyoung meets his captain’s gaze evenly.

“I will, Hongjoong-hyung.” No syllable is empty or void of intent. His words are a promise, a vow and an oath. “I’ll make sure he comes back alive.”

The captain holds the two of you by the shoulders, seemingly overwhelmed with emotion for a moment. “I wish you all the luck the world can offer. If my blessing could be of any use, I hope it will be on the two of you as well.”

The three of you fall silent for a moment, suddenly too aware of the fact that this may be the last time are seeing each other. Then Wooyoung looks up, sniffing the air once. You know what that means.

You’ve reached port.

Not a second later, the bell of the ship rings. You hear Mingi’s voice from the main deck, and Yunho stiffens uncomfortably, looking like a lamb that has just been sent to the slaughterhouse.

“We’ve arrived at Nassau!”

“Good luck, Yunho-hyung.” You say as brightly as you can, which isn’t much. Yunho smiles nervously, throwing the script into a drawer built into the captain’s desk as he fidgets uncomfortably, adjusting the collar of his silk shirt befitting the captain of a merchant ship.

“I’ll try my best.” With that, the four of you step out onto the main deck.

Wooyoung’s hand slips into yours as the two of you make your way to the bow. “Are you nervous?” He whispers out of the side of his mouth. You feel the cold sweat of his palm, the way his fingers seem to be locked in place, and you know that he is anything but calm on the inside. You decide to be honest.

“So much I want to dive straight into the sea and swim back to Tortuga.” You murmur back. Now that is no lie.

The Treasure has begun to enter the port, pulling up against a dock. Men working at the harbor catch the mooring lines your crew tosses over the side, pulling you against the wharf. Mingi gives the order for the anchor to be dropped.

The gangplank is lowered and the harbor official steps aboard, followed by a squadron of twenty soldiers, all armed with bayonets and flintlock rifles. His skin is pale, almost white as porcelain, and his hair is a shade of striking platinum blonde, his uniform neat and tidy. The way his fingers dance on the hilt of his cutlass tells you he’s a man who’s seen many a battle, and that the gold patches at his shoulders are not merely for decoration. A bead of cold sweat trickles down your temple as you take your place between Jongho and Wooyoung.

Jongho gives you a reassuring smile, but you can see that his eyes are dark with anxiety.

“Who’s the captain of this ship?” The official demands coolly, eyes scanning the number of seamen before him. Yunho steps forward, Mingi and Yeosang flanking him.

“I am. My name is Donghae.” He bows to the official, one hand over his heart in a sign of respect and honour. “I’m the captain of the Heron, this is my quartermaster Jiho and my bosun Sungjin.”

“I didn’t ask for their names. My name is Yoongi, head of port inspection and lieutenant of the Royal Navy.” The official replies curtly. His eyes remind you of a hawk’s, scanning the deck for anything out of place like a bird of prey. This man will be a difficult one to fool. “What is your business at Port Nassau?”

“My crew and I were threatened by pirates.” Yunho answers, inclining his head as if ashamed. “I could only let them take what cargo I had on board.”

The official raises a sharp, well defined eyebrow as he takes in the sight of the crew. “A rather merciful pirate ship if it let you go unscathed.”

“We did not put up any fight, good sir.” Yunho explains, sounding tired and defeated, as if he’s really spent the day before surrendering to a pirate ship. “They threatened us with cannonfire, but we hoisted the white flag before they could fire on us.”

“Is that so?” The lieutenant’s eyes rake every one of the crew. When his ice cold eyes meet yours, you feel a shiver travelling down your spine. “They didn’t fire on you?”

“No, sir.” Yunho confirms, nodding his head. The official’s eyes darken minutely.

“Then what is your purpose here?”

“To restock on provisions and freshwater, as well as mend the sails on board the ship.” Yunho says as honestly as he can. It’s technically not a lie, but it’s definitely not the whole truth either.

The lieutenant’s face remains unreadable as he turns away to face his men.

“Jungkook!” A young officer salutes and moves over to his lieutenant.

“Sir?”

“Register the Heron in dock seven. The rest of you, move back to your stations.”

You very nearly sag in relief, but you manage to keep yourself upright from sheer will alone.

“Yes sir!” The soldiers chorus, turning back and marching down the gangplank, boots thundering on the gangplank.

Yoongi gives Yunho a piercing stare. “Move your ship to dock seven. There is to be no one leaving the ship from between the evening bell and the morning bell for the safety of this town and its citizens. I hope you have a pleasant stay.”

He turns to leave, then pauses.

You see the lieutenant glance back at you for a moment, raising his nose to sniff the air. Then he whirls around and leaves.

Once the deck clears of the officials, you slump against Jongho, who pats you on the back comfortingly. You hadn’t even realised how terrified you had been until the ordeal was over, leaving you feeling boneless and weak.

The entire crew breathes a sigh of relief.

Yunho manages to shoot his captain a feeble grin, but he looks like he’s just been run over by a horse and then the cart the horse was drawing. “Phase one down.”

That night, you’re changing into a dark attire in your room with San’s eyes respectfully averted. You’re numb, what you’re about to do doesn’t feel quite real to you except for the terror slowly creeping up your legs. You fasten the clasp at the neck, before throwing a motley brown cloak around you to hide the bulge of the grappling rope tied at your waist.

“I’m done.” You breathe to San, and your master turns to you, passing you the silver hairpin in his hand. You tuck it in your belt, before looking at the healer. His face is completely unreadable, and for once, you find it difficult to interpret the look in his eyes.

Remember to smile.

You try to pull your lips upwards, desperate to ease the worry from his shoulders. “How do I look, master?”

Suddenly, San lunges forward, throwing his arms around you in a massive, rib crushing hug that seems impossible for a man so lithe. You can’t see his face because it’s buried in your shoulder, but you can feel the way his arms are trembling even as he tries to steady himself.

“Promise me you’ll come back to me safe and in one piece, alright?” His voice is just a little hoarse, cracking from raw emotion and vulnerability. You’ve never taken the time to fully appreciate how close you’ve gotten to San, what the green haired healer means to you. Your benefactor, your partner in crime, your master, your family. He is almost like flesh and blood to you at this point, your relationship as a master and apprentice nearly unbreakable.

But you don’t have the time to tell him what he has come to mean to you, so instead you return the hug as tightly as possible.

“I can’t promise that.” You’ve never lied to your master before, and you don’t intend to start making it a habit now. “But I will do my best to come back to you alive.”

The two of you stay like that for a moment, before someone knocks on the door gently. “Hey.” Jongho’s head peeks in through the doorway and the two of you slowly untangle from the hug. “It’s time to go.”

You give him the best smile you can muster and move over to the maknae, whose head is downcast. But something seems to weighing heavily on his shoulders, and you frown.

“What is it, Jongho-hyung?”

“If only-” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, trying again. “If only I could read… I could have gone in your place. I don’t… I don’t want you to be in danger.”

You feel a gentle warmth stirring in you in spite of your fear.

“Thank you, Jongho-hyung.” You press him into a quick hug. The young battlemaster stiffens slightly upon the contact, but then squeezes you back tightly before releasing you. “But I’ll be fine.”

He clearly doesn’t believe you, but nods anyway. “Stay safe.”

It’s with their well wishes that you make your way up the main deck.

Wooyoung’s waiting for you at the stern of the ship with the Captain, Mingi and Yeosang. He’s dressed similarly to you, all in black with a brown cloak thrown over his shoulders. Mingi gives you a black scarf to tie around your neck.

“Don’t get recognized.” He warns you, but you see the concern etched in his face. You take the strip of black cloth gratefully. Then you see Yeosang at the side, looking a little hesitant, still afraid to speak to you. Your heart squeezes painfully with anguish.

“Chin Hae-” He begins to say, but you turn to Wooyoung before he can finish his sentence. The navigator falls silent behind you.

You force yourself to concentrate at the task at hand. Wooyoung’s already thrown a rope over the starboard, the side of the ship facing away from the port and the prying eyes of the watch. You sling your leg over the side and look down into the inky dark sea, and for some reason, you don’t feel scared anymore.

This is just like the rigging lines. Just like you’re on the main mast again, playing around with Wooyoung and Yunho.

Maybe the adrenaline is finally kicking in. Or you’re just too scared to feel it anymore.

“We’ll be going now.” You tell them seriously. Hongjoong’s eye fixes on yours.

“All the best, the two of you.” Then he exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “Come back to me alive. That’s an order.”

A small, fond smile twitches on your lips and the two of you echo together. “Yes, captain.”

Then the two of you slide down the rope into the sea, disappearing into the darkness of the night.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #jongho #wooyoung #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; fanfiction #w; pirate king

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kaitoujokerscans · 3 years ago

Text

The Night the Silver Cape is Set Ablaze CH8

<8> Battle Between Rivals

"Hmm, I don't get it..." In the Riviera HQ corridor, Joker tilted his head.

"Same here. Should we do a magic square or rock-paper-scissors like we did before?" Beside him, Hachi tossed out a random guess.

"The magic square and rock-paper-scissors... Ohh! I know!" Joker suddenly exclaimed.

"Joker-san, did you figure it out?"

"Yep, thanks to your hint. You have to combine the magic square and rock-paper-scissors for this puzzle. We just have to work out which one wins every time when going horizontally, vertically, and diagonally!"

"Really?" Hachi examined the numbers.

Joker took out a notepad from his pocket and copied down the 16 numbers. "First, going vertical. The leftmost column is {5, 0, 0, 0}, which works out to paper, rock, rock, rock. Paper wins. That means all the 0s lose," Joker said and crossed out the three 0s.

"Next is the second column. This is {2, 5, 2, 5}, making it scissors, paper, scissors, paper. Scissors wins here, so the 5s lose," said Joker, crossing out the two 5s. "Do the same for the third and fourth columns and X out the rest like this, see?" Joker crossed out the 2s in the third column and the 5s in the fourth column.

"I get it. So any of the numbers that lose here aren't the one we're looking for, right?"

"Yeah. Now go horizontally. Do the same rock-paper-scissors conversions we did with the columns, and..." He went across the rows crossing out one number after another, and in no time, there were only two numbers left out of the sixteen. The other fourteen were all crossed out. The remaining numbers were the 2 in the top row, rightmost column, and the 2 in the second column.

"Which of these two is stronger?" asked Hachi.

Joker puffed up as he answered. "There's still the diagonals, right? The line going from the top-right to the bottom-left is {2, 0, 2, 0}, rocks and scissors, so the scissors lose!" Joker crossed out the top-right 2 last of all.

"Which means..."

"Right. The 2 in the top row, second from the left, is the 'number that doesn't lose'!"

"I see now. That was incredible, Joker-san!"

"I got it because of your hint, you know. All right, time to push the button!"

"Okay! Right on!" Hachi jumped up and pushed the "2" button. There was a low beep, and then the clang of something unlocking. The door slowly opened, revealing the door of the safe holding the Riviera recipe behind it. It certainly looked like a sturdy door.

"Let's get to opening this thing up!" Joker pulled a giant electric saw out of hammerspace.

"Joker-san, what's that...?"

"Hm? This baby can crack open any door or safe. It's my custom Joker electric saw!"

"Then couldn't you just have used that from the start!?"

"Ha ha, now that wouldn't be any fun. A phantom thief uses his brain wherever possible when breaking in." Joker smiled from ear to ear, just before hitting the electric saw's power switch. After a LOT of noise and rattling, the safe was quite literally busted open.

Joker fished the recipe page out of the safe where it had been kept. But he didn't exactly look pleased. "Sheesh, what a letdown. And here I thought I'd finally get back at him for what happened with the Crimson Crystal."

What he said confused Hachi. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"This is where Noir works."

"Whaaat!? Really!?"

Joker picked up an empty popcorn bag off the ground and started to explain. "Yeah. After Noir quit being a spy, he ended up in charge of security at Riviera HQ. If you wanna protect an international secret, get yourself an international spy."

"That makes sense. So he got a job where he could put his spy skills to use... But then why is Noir not around? It's unsettling how there's nothing here."

"You've got that right. I thought sure he'd have a trap set..."

They looked around at the safe room again. It was stark empty, not even a desk or table in sight. Save for a small security camera in one corner, there didn't seem to be much of a security system at all.

"Well, whatever. Let's blow this joint."

Joker and Hachi were just about to leave, when...

The door that they had just come in through budged.

"It's gotta be Noir...!" Joker reflexively pulled out his cards. But the one who came in wasn't the person he had expected.

"Spade!"

"Spade-san!"

Right in front of their eyes were Spade and Dark Eye, who had opened the last door and entered the safe room. They looked surprised to see Joker and Hachi as well.

"Joker!?"

"Kyo kyo kyo!"

"Spade, what are you here for?""

"I could ask you the same thing? Wait, what about Noir...?" Spade asked, darting his eyes around. Apparently Spade had also learned about Noir's link to this place and had come to steal the treasure.

"He's not here. You were a step too late, besides. The 'Riviera Recipe' is mine!" Joker dangled the recipe page and waved it about.

"...Oh, so that's what you were after. Where's Noir? There's something I have to return to him," Spade said, taking an object out of his pocket.

When he saw what it was, Joker was shocked. "That's my Crimson Crystal!"

Spade held up the bright red gemstone and turned up the corners of his lips. "That's right. Noir left it with me because he wanted me to return it to you. But my pride won't let me do that."

"Pride? What exactly did Noir tell you?"

"Well..." Spade clammed up. Noir had said something that injured his pride, no doubt about it. Joker had some idea of what it was. Noir had stolen his treasure.

Then, realizing something, Spade inhaled sharply. "Now I get it. This is Noir's strategy."

"Strategy?"

"He damaged our psyche and provoked our anger, all so that we would come across each other like this."

"You mean he knew that we'd come here?"

"Yes, exactly. And we each have the treasure that the other wants..." Spade's gaze focused on the recipe in Joker's hand. He probably also wanted the recipe so he could put Noir to shame. And in Spade's hand was the Crimson Crystal which Joker had stolen from Kaneari. The two of them stared each other down.

"Joker, this is a great opportunity. How about whoever wins gets the other's treasure?" Spade shot an incendiary look at Joker. He recalled what Noir had said: "Go ahead and chase behind Joker forever..." I'll prove him wrong...!

Joker whipped out his cards and readied himself as well. "Fine by me. Let's do this, Spade!"

"Here I come, Joker!" Spade swiftly unholstered his Ice Shot and aimed it.

A low bellow droned through the dark sky. An enormous ship floated upon the endless night ocean. It was one of the world's most luxurious passenger crafts, Urban of the Sea. The ship, which was 3000 meters long, housed over 1000 guest rooms as well as all kinds of recreational facilities. With its own pool, restaurant, theater, multiple liquor lounges, an ice-skating rink, and even a rock-climbing wall, it was like an entire city stuffed onto a boat. It hosted over 3000 passengers per voyage and visited tourist destinations all over the world.

Tonight, this enormous ship was filled with silence.

The ship had been rented out to VIPs from the Kingdom of Lachla. These VIPs were staying in the best guest room there was, and it was in this room that the Lachla Crown was being kept under heavy security.

This guest room was near the fore of the ship. Spaced away from it, at the aft of the ship, was a huge structure. Though "huge" is an understatement — it was as tall as a five-story building. This cabin, with its obtuse angles, curved up to a circular floor at the top. It was meant as an observatory deck where one could survey the outside scenery. A man stood atop the observatory deck, his black cape fluttering. It was Noir. He was quietly awaiting Silver Heart. Soon, I can have my long-awaited revenge...

"So you're here..." murmured Noir, sensing a presence. A man had come up behind him. His white double-breasted suit was smartly buttoned, and his silver cape fluttered. His straight, upright bearing hardly suggested his age. This was the legendary phantom thief, Silver Heart!

"It's been a long time, Noir."

"Yes. I wanted to see you, Silver... or rather, you're Silver Heart now, aren't you?"

Strangely enough, Silver Heart didn't feel at all wistful as he observed Noir. He had certainly aged, but Noir's face hadn't lost the keenness from when he had known him as a spy. Silver Heart glared at Noir. "I heard, Noir. So you've become a phantom thief."

"Yes, I retired from being a spy. Because of you. Now I'm the head of security for a beverage manufacturer."

"Because of me?"

"You heard me. You ran away from me and kept being a thorn in my side..."

"You're right. I was probably running away from you... from my responsibilities as a spy. I couldn't put up with the ruthlessness of it anymore. I couldn't become as cold-blooded as you..."

"Heh heh heh, are you so sure that's the case?"

"What...?" Silver Heart continued to stare down Noir.

"We'll fight once more, with you as cold-blooded as you once were. Whoever wins the match can take the Lachla Crown," said Noir. He pulled the cloth off a table set up on the deck. Lying upon it was a crown studded with brilliant jewels. Noir had already stolen the Lachla Crown!

"I've already put the Lachlans to sleep. If you want this, you have to steal it from me."

"So that's what you're after..."

"This brings me back... you and I once infiltrated Lachla in order to destroy this. But it was your fault that the plan went awry. Now that I think about it, we've been at odds ever since..." Noir mused, his eyes focused on the crown.

But Silver Heart lowered his voice and spoke. "I will never again be like I was. There's not an ounce of spy left in me."

"Heh heh heh, humans don't ever really change. You're a cold-blooded spy. And if you aren't, you'll never be able to win against me..."

"That's not true. I'm going to fight against you as a phantom thief." Silver faced back to Noir and strengthened his grip on his rod. "Noir, our long-overdue reunion wasn't so emotional after all..."

"I expected as much. Here I come, Silver!" Not even a moment later, Noir kicked off the ground and lunged at Silver Heart.

The floor split open with a bang, and Joker and Spade plummeted down towards the floor below.

"Joker-san!"

"Kyo kyo, Spade-sama!"

Hachi and Dark Eye peeked down over the edge to see them lying on the ground, still squabbling with each other. The lower floor was a recreational sports center with a pool, exercise machines, a running track, and more. They let each other go, took their distance, and stood off against each other.

"Been a while since I fought you like this, Spade."

"Yes, but that's because you never take me seriously."

"Not true!" Joker took an advance notice card out of his pocket and quickly scribbled something on it. "Spade, I'm gonna take the treasure from you, no two ways about it!"

"Heh heh heh, now that's more like it. Then we'll face off in a minute-long match, like the one you lost to Noir in."

"Ghh..." Joker bit his lip bitterly. So Spade had known about Joker and Noir's match after all. "All right. I'll steal the treasure from you in one minute, no more than that!"

"And if you can't?"

"I can!" Joker pulled cards out of his breast pocket and threw them at Spade. "Emblem Fire!" The cards caught fire one by one and flew straight towards Spade.

"Ice Shot!" Spade used his Ice Shot to closely target and freeze the cards.

"Not bad! Emblem Fire!" Joker tossed more cards out. A flurry of cards scattered to every corner of the room, sticking into the walls and sinking into the pool. While Spade was shooting down the cards that were coming his way, Joker jumped to the side. He flipped around and leapt toward Spade. Once he was in front of him, he fanned out his cards. "Straight Flash!"

"Not good enough! Ice Shot Mirror!" Spade spun his Ice Shot around and made a small mirror of ice in midair. It reflected the light from the Straight Flash, blinding Joker.

"Gwah!"

"Ha ha ha! Your attacks are so repetitive!" Spade froze the pool with his Ice Shot, slid the blades out of his shoes, and skated onto the makeshift rink. "Catch me if you can!"

"Gah! Says the guy who only ever uses Ice Shot!"

Going after Spade, Joker stepped onto the makeshift rink. But he slipped and fell right onto his back with a magnificent thud. "Owwwww...."

"It's been almost a minute. There's no way I'm going to lose to you...!" Spade spun about on the ice and faced back to him. He was saying this not just about Joker, but about Noir as well.

"Say that again...?" Joker glared hard at Spade.

Spade was looking down at Joker with cold eyes. "Now that I'm standing before you like this, I feel a bit of pity. For myself. I hate how bothered I am by your existence."

"..." Joker listened quietly.

"Well, it's just about time. Fifteen seconds left... if you admit your loss here and now, I'll at least acknowledge you have the skills to be my rival." Spade silently pointed his Ice Shot.

But Joker shook his head with a derisive laugh. "No thanks. I'll decide my rivals on my own. And Spade, you're my rival in every respect."

"I'm what...?"

Just then, the ice under Spade's feet cracked loudly. "What!?" Spade involuntarily lost his balance. Joker immediately ran up to him and swiped the Crimson Crystal out of Spade's hand. At the same time, he pushed against the ice and jumped over to the poolside.

"Waaaugh!" The ice surrounding him split, and Spade splashed into the pool. Thoroughly soaked, Spade poked his head out of the water with a gasp and scowled at Joker. "W-What... did you do!?"

"It's simple. I set up my Emblem Fire inside the pool."

"You what...!?" Sure enough, when he looked at the ice, there were ashes from the burned cards. "...But the fire should have gone out when it was underwater!"

"Didn't you know? Gunpowder doesn't need external oxygen to burn, so it can stay aflame even underwater. There's a substance in fireworks that lets them keep burning even when they're immersed."

"You're kidding..."

"As soon as I saw the pool, I knew you'd freeze it over. That's why I shot Emblem Fire into it in advance. Then I just had to wait for the spot you were on to melt."

"You... predicted my attack..."

"Heh heh, you're pretty repetitive too," said Joker, spitting Spade's words right back at him. "Just as warned, I've stolen the Crimson Crystal in under a minute!"

"Ghh...!" Spade bit his lip and balled up his fists.

"Spade, you can challenge me any time," grinned Joker.

Just then, they heard a scream from outside the window. "KYAAAAAAAA!"

Looking out, they saw a blob of pink in the night sky approaching them at high speed. It was Queen, holding onto Balloon Gum.

"Queen!?"

Carried by powerful gusts of wind, Queen was hurtling their way.

She's going to crash into the window glass...! Joker used his Emblem Fire and Spade used his Ice Shot to break the glass, and Queen was forcefully swept into the building.

"T-Thanks."

"Queen, what's up?"

"Trouble. Noir sent out an advance notice. He's going to steal the treasure that Grandpa is after!"

"He's what!?" Joker and Spade exclaimed in unison.

Then there was a series of loud rumbles as reinforced shutters rolled over each wall and the ceiling.

"Oh shoot...!"

The three of them were trapped on this floor.

#kaitou joker #light novel

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thetravelerwrites · 4 years ago

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DuMont (Part 3) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Elf Ranger/Male Tiefling Barbarian Additional Tags: Exophilia, Tiefling, Elf, Kobold, Half Elf, Human, Rogue, Bard, Barbarian, Ranger, Mage, Wizard, D&D, Dungeons & Dragons, Sex, Third Person Perspective Words: 3839

Kharis seems dissatisfied with DuMont's... performance, so DuMont intends to ask for advice from Rupert. Things don’t go as planned. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

“Why do you do that?” Kharis asked as she and DuMont lay in their bed of straw and furs together.

They were sheltering in a run down barn on the outskirts of the nearest town. Rupert, Sanoh, and Norman were at an inn, but DuMont was too large to fit through most doors. Kharis decided to stay with DuMont instead of enjoying the comforts of the inn, which usually meant she was feeling frisky.

“Do what?” DuMont asked, looking over at her in confusion.

She sighed. “Ask me if I’m okay every time I make a noise when we have sex? And you’re always so gentle, like I’m made of glass and you’re scared you’re going to hurt me.”

“I am scared of that,” He replied, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at her. “I could injure you very easily if I’m not careful. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Kharis sighed discontentedly and reached up to scratch his chest absentmindedly. “It’s not that I don’t like the gentleness. It’s sweet. But I wish you would lose control sometimes, take charge, be spontaneous. Just grab me and fuck me senseless without even saying anything. I’m always the one who tells you what to do, and trust me I love giving orders, but I’d love it if you told me to just shut up and suck your dick once in a while.”

DuMont grimaced. “I don’t think I’d feel right, saying something like that.”

“That’s kind of my point, darling,” She said, sitting up with a slight chuckle. “You’re too pure for your own good sometimes. It’s growing up in that church that did it, it must be. What did that caretaker of yours tell you about sex?”

“That it was mostly a trap set by women to steal a man’s money. He was rather bitter about some woman in his past, I think, though he never talked about it.”

Kharis snorted. “That tracks. Look, it’s not like I want you to treat me badly or be cruel to me. It’s not about being gross or vulgar or wanting to hurt me, it’s about being aggressive, feral, demanding. Using my body to get what you want. When that’s done the right way, it’s so sexy. And I’m giving you consent to do it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“But I don’t know how to do that without hurting you,” He said, mildly frustrated.

Kharis sighed again. “I know, angel. It’s alright, don’t worry yourself too much over it. We’ll figure it out.” She rolled into him and snuggled against his body. “Get some sleep. We need to be up and moving before dawn. Love you.”

“Love you,” DuMont echoed, curling his body around hers and making sure she was as warm as he could make her.

Kharis fell asleep pretty quickly, but DuMont was unable to fall asleep for some time. He replayed the conversation with Kharis over and over in his mind, trying to parse what it was she wanted. Did she really want him to hurt her or be violent with her? That couldn’t be right. When he was violent, he killed people. He didn’t even mean to kill people sometimes, it just happened. He was still trying to gauge his strength and he often failed. How could he be forceful with her and not end up injuring her, or even killing her?

Maybe he could ask Rupert or Norman. Rupert and Sanoh were… very active… almost as active as he and Kharis were, but they both had more experience than he did. Norman was known to hire companions frequently, so he had different partners often. Norman and Rupert might be able to help.

The next day, the five of them came upon something that they hadn’t encountered in their travels: a proper bathhouse. It was lavish and resplendent and wildly out of place in this little town.

“Oh! Look!” Kharis said, pointing excitedly. “Look how big the doors are! DuMont, you’ll fit! We should splurge a little! We made a ton of gold from our last job and I haven’t had a bath that wasn’t in a cold pond in ages. Please, let’s go!”

“I’m totally down for this,” Sanoh said. “My scales have been so dry and itchy. I think I’m getting ready to molt.” She grimaced and scratched at her arm, which did look a bit flaky. “I hate molting. I’m out of commission for a solid week. It’s such an inconvenience.”

“How often do you molt?” Norman asked.

“Once a year. The good news is, once I’m done we can sell the skin for a good price. People grind it up and use it as a wound paste.”

“That’s actually fascinating,” Rupert said. “I wonder what magical properties your sheds might have.”

“Yeah, that’s great and totally not gross at all, are we doing this or what?” Kharis said impatiently.

“Sure, sure,” Norman said. “As long as we’re not spending all our money, it’s fine.”

The four of them started forward toward the building, but DuMont hesitated. Kharis doubled back.

“You okay, big guy?” She asked, patting his arm.

“Are you sure you want me to come in with you?” He asked apprehensively.

“Of course!” Kharis said. “Have you ever had a proper bath before?”

“I don’t think so,” He said.

“Then this could be an opportunity for you. Come get pampered with us. It’s fun.”

DuMont groused uncertainly, but he allowed Kharis to drag him into the bathhouse.

DuMont felt very out of place inside the pastel walls of the parlor, looking around at the delicate figurines and statues with discomfort and attempting to make himself smaller. The hostess, an elven woman, looked at him warily but greeted them all brightly.

“Welcome to the Rushing Waters Baths. Will you be needing separate rooms or a communal room this evening? The separate rooms are more private, but also more expensive.”

“One for the boys and one for the girls?” Rupert asked.

“Sounds good to me,” Kharis said. “Do you have one big enough for my sweetheart here?” She patted DuMont’s arm.

The elven woman looked him up and down appraisingly. “Unfortunately, I think the only bath that will fit him is the public bath. However, we have no other customers at the moment, so he will have it to himself.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Kharis said. “You’ll get to stretch your legs and soak for a while.”

DuMont grunted. “Thank you,” He said, addressing the hostess. His deep, low voice rattled the shelves slightly.

“We also offer laundering services,” The hostess said. “Simply leave your clothing on the shelves at the exterior of the bathing rooms and a silver for the service.”

DuMont looked down at himself and the simple loincloth he wore for modesty’s sake. He also donned a simple coat that Kharis had fashioned for him out of some large drapes for when it started getting cold. She wasn’t a great seamstress and the coat was a little haphazard and slapdash, but DuMont had treasured the gift and rarely took it off.

He had money now for the first time in his life, but there wasn’t many places that made clothing in his size. He could commission something, he supposed, but considering how often he ended up covered with dirt and blood, there wasn’t much point.

“You will need to leave your… weapons,” She glanced at the massive church bell tied to a post that DuMont used as a bludgeon. “At the door, of course. They will also be cleaned.”

“This is a strange place to be in the middle of such a small town,” Norman said.

“We’re a resort town, actually,” The hostess replied in a chipper tone that made Kharis roll her eyes.

“A what?” DuMont asked.

“It’s a town rich people build so they can pretend to be simple country folk while looking down their noses at them at the same time,” Kharis said in an undertone. The hostess frowned at her.

“How much for two private rooms and the public bath?” Sanoh asked, redirecting the hostess’s attention.

“The public bath is only two copper, and another copper for soap,” The hostess replied, still eyed Kharis while disfavor. “For two private baths, it’s six silver. Soap and towels are provided.”

“Do you provide companionship?” Norman asked.

“Wait until we get to the inn, Norm!” Rupert said. “I don’t want to be in the room with you when you have your fun!”

“Prude,” Norman sniffed.

“We actually own the inn, as well,” The hostess said. “You can book your rooms and companionship here for later, if you’d like.”

“Good, let’s do that,” Norman said.

It took a few minutes for them to iron out all the details while DuMont stood in the back awkwardly. He then waited while his friends were led to their own bathing rooms.

Before he could be taken to the public bath, he asked the hostess, “Could I visit my friends’ room? I’d like to ask their advice privately.”

“Of course,” The hostess said. “Right this way.”

She led him to one of the rooms, in which there was a flowery perfume smell. Steam emanated from under the door.

“They are undressing in the side room,” The hostess said. “You are free to wait for them.”

“Thank you, miss,” He replied. She nodded and excused herself.

DuMont stepped in and lowered his massive body into a squat-sit position, waiting patiently. The door opened after a moment, and to his dismay, a very naked Sanoh walked through. DuMont slapped his hands over his eyes.

“I’m sorry!” He exclaimed. “The hostess must have brought me to the wrong room! I meant to go to the mens’ bath!”

Sanoh laughed. “It’s okay, big guy!” He heard the sound of her slipping into the water. “Feeling a bit lonely? Did you want to bath with the guys?”

“No,” He replied, still covering his eyes. “Well, yes, but no. I wanted to ask their advice about something.”

“Oh?” She said, her voice piqued with interest. “Maybe I can help. What’s the problem?”

“Oh…” DuMont hesitated. “Well… It’s private.”

“It’s about Kharis?” Sanoh hazarded.

“Yes,” He responded.

“Is it about sex?” Sanoh said shrewdly.

“Yes,” He said, almost dropping his hands in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Because Kharis and I talk, sweetie,” She replied. “Look, you can lower your hands. I’m not all that shy, honey; ask Rupert. Besides, if you want to know what a woman wants during sex, you shouldn’t ask a man. Why don’t you get in and sit with me and we can talk. Kharis is getting a drink, so she’ll be a few minutes.”

DuMont slowly lowered his hands and was relieved to see that Sanoh had sunk beneath the bath, which seemed to have a cloudy, pleasant smelling mixture in it that obscured most of her body. He carefully stood up and climbed into the bath, raising the level of the water by at least a foot. He took great care not to crowd her, looking much like an oversized dog crouching in a box too small for him.

“Alright, so what’s the issue?” She asked.

“Kharis wants me to be more aggressive,” DuMont said, hanging his head. “But I’m worried that I might hurt her.”

“I see,” Sanoh said, leaning forward a little. “I mean, I like a little bit of pain during sex, but I imagine it would be difficult for you, considering your size and strength.”

“That’s what worries me,” He replied anxiously.

“Well, there are plenty of ways of being assertive without hurting anyone,” Sanoh replied. “What about just ripping her clothes off the next time you feel frisky? Ooh, with your teeth! That would be hot.”

“But wouldn’t I make her mad if I ruin her clothes?” DuMont asked, cocking his head.

Sanoh shook her head. “Trust me, do it right, and she’ll be putty in your hands. Besides, we’re flush with cash right now. Kharis can buy new clothes. Kharis is also a little bit of an exhibitionist, so she’d probably like some public sex.”

DuMont balked at this idea. “That’s indecent! And also illegal, as far as I know!”

“I don’t mean do it out in the open! Although, knowing Kharis, she would probably love that,” Sanoh muttered thoughtfully. “No, no, somewhere public adjacent, like a rooftop or just beyond a tree line, somewhere you have the potential to be caught.”

DuMont frowned uncertainly. “Alright. What else could I do?”

“You could snarl at her when the two of you are getting in the mood. Some women really love that primal, feral energy. Love bites could be good, too. I do love it when Rupert puts his teeth to my scales.”

“But…” DuMont ran a finger over his exposed fangs. “I don’t know if I could do that. What if I actually bit her?”

“Drawing a little bit of blood might be alright, just don’t go very deep.”

DuMont grimaced uncertainly, but didn’t say anything.

“Honestly, honey, I think you’re really overthinking things. You’re just a big sweetie pie! I don’t think you could hurt Kharis, even if you tried to.”

“That’s patently incorrect,” DuMont protested.

“Just try it, big guy,” Sanoh insisted. “It’s called experimenting for a reason. If it doesn’t work out, then you don’t have to do it again.”

“I suppose,” DuMont replied slowly.

“Either way, Kharis should be here soon, and you should go take your bath. First rule of being a freelance mercenary: never let something you paid money for go to waste.”

With some difficulty, he climbed out of Sanoh’s bath and headed back for the public bath. It was fairly large; he was able to stretch out, still clothed, and soak his whole body with relative ease. He swam around the bath a little, using the soap Kharis had bought for him to wash his body and clothes.

In the warm water, he mulled over the suggestions Sanoh had given him. Feral, huh? Like… maybe hunting? The only time he really let loose is when he was hunting, though his intent was usually to kill. Perhaps he could modify it and turn it into a game? Would Kharis like that? He could try it.

After only ten minutes, he rinsed himself and got out of the bath, sloshing water all over the floor and walked dripping back out into the foyer, the hostess glaring at him as he exited the bathhouse. Should he try now? It certainly would be unexpected. He wanted to be more spontaneous, like Kharis suggested, and take her by surprise. She might like that.

Hide. He needed to hide. There was a grove of trees near the bathhouse, an orchard likely belonging to the inn. The trees weren’t especially dense, but the sun was setting and it would be easy enough to hide in the dark.

It was over an hour before Kharis came out of the bathhouse. She was alone, thankfully, and looking around with concern, likely for him. It was understandable; DuMont usually stuck close to Kharis in unfamiliar places.

“DuMont?” She called. “Where’d you go?”

DuMont purposefully snapped a twig, catching Kharis’s attention. She spun around and looked into the orchard, squinting, and moved away from the lantern light.

“Is that you?” She asked as she walked forward.

DuMont let a low, quiet, guttural snarl issue from his throat, shifting his weight carefully. Kharis’s brow furrowed and she laid a hand on the hilt of her short sword. DuMont moved forward slowly, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He had to admit, this was kind of fun.

“Show yourself!” She said. “I’m armed!”

DuMont snarled again, a little louder this time. Kharis started backing away, beginning to draw her weapon.

Now.

DuMont rushed out of the shadows of the orchard, snatching Kharis by the waist and throwing her over his shoulder, making her squeak in surprise, and began to scale the tall bathhouse building, digging his claws into the stone.

“DuMont!” She shrieked, smacking his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

DuMont didn’t answer, just continued to climb the wall up toward the roof. As he pulled himself up, he dropped her unceremoniously, pulling rope from his waist pack. Kharis watched in confusion as he tied her hands up, behind, and down to her legs.

“DuMont, what are you doing?” She asked, a slight smile on her face.

“Taking your advice,” He replied, a deep growl to his words.

Her eyebrows raised, intrigued. “Well, I’m glad, but how are you going to get my clothes off if I’m tied up like this?”

He took hold of her tunic with his hands and ripped it open down the front, exposing her breasts to the air. Her skin smelled of the rose and cardamom soap she had used.

“Oh,” Kharis said. “Well, then.”

He put her on the ground and sniffed down her body, growling low like an animal stalking prey. She bit her lip and squirmed a little. DuMont pressed his nose in between her legs and took a deep breath before taking the fabric in his teeth and ripping it, tearing a ragged hole

“Oh, fuck,” He rasped. “That’s so fucking hot.”

His tongue came out and licked a large swipe up and down, and she strained against the ropes, squealing. She was swollen and pulsing against his tongue, and he could tell she was enjoying herself.

With one hand, he picked her up and carried her to the ledge, where there was a large decorative gargoyle looking down over the courtyard. He placed her face down on top of it, so that she could see the courtyard. The way the light was directed by the lanterns, she could see down, but people couldn’t see her. Probably.

Holding her down with his hand, he plunged his tongue inside her and contracted it over and over, in and out, up and down. She moaned loudly, and DuMont answered with a snarl. The entire lower half of her body was inside his jaws, and while he knew he wouldn’t hurt her, he had to admit that the hint of danger was thrilling.

Her hips moved in time with his strokes until she lay her face down against the stone and just whimpered in pleasure. Before she could recover, he withdrew his jaws and lined himself up with her entrance, thrusting in hard.

She howled, making as much noise as she could, reveling in the feeling of him inside of her and the idea of being overheard by anyone down below. She’d always loved the idea of being almost caught.

She began to quiet down to a faint whimpering, and the interior of her body flexed and contracted as she climaxed around his cock. He slowed to let her draw out the orgasm, and then sped up again, thrusting so hard that her body rocked to and fro on the back of the gargoyle. He pulled out, flipped her onto her back, and pulled her up against him, holding her in the air and pumping into her, moving her on him, using her body as she told him to. He granted her, it did feel amazing.

Her head was thrust back and she grunted with her teeth clenched, her eyes closed. Her face was flushed, a vein bulging in her neck, and she was sweating all down her body.

“Are you--” He began, but she opened her eyes and snarled, “Don’t you fucking dare ask if I’m okay,” and he shut his mouth.

He thrust and thrust vigorously, with more force than he normally used, until her body went completely stiff and she was gasping for air, then went limp in his arms. He slowed his movement to a crawl, giving her a moment to recover, before driving himself back in again, full-speed, not giving her a chance to regain speech. She strained against her restraints, not as though she wanted to be free of them, but in a manner that suggested she was trying to contract and stretch with pleasure, the muscles in her stomach and legs rigid and hard. Her face was red with exertion and sweat poured off her body.

“Cum,” She grunted at him. “Cum for me. Do it.”

He snapped his hips against hers faster still, the rise of ecstasy building in him quickly, and he roared as he released inside her. He had to be careful not to drop her as he felt himself pop finally, gushing and shooting into her. As such, he did manage to lay her down before collapsing. As exhausted as he was, he used his claws to snap the ropes free and let her body completely relax under him.

“Is that what you wanted?” He asked breathlessly.

“Shush,” She replied faintly. “Let me bask in the afterfuck.”

They lay there together on the cool bricks of the roof, the evening air blowing lazily over their flushed, overheated skin.

Eventually, Kharis pushed on DuMont’s shoulder and he rolled off and lay next to her. She sighed contentedly.

“Yes, to answer your question,” She said. “That was undoubtedly the best lay I have ever had in my life. I didn’t think you had that in you, but I’m pleasantly surprised.”

“I wasn’t too rough?” He asked.

“No, not at all,” She said. “It was perfect. Just what I needed.” She rolled on her side and looked up at him. “You weren’t uncomfortable with doing it, were you?”

“No,” He replied. “I was uncertain I was doing what you wanted and worried I was hurting you. Did I?”

She shook her head. “I think if you had gone any harder than you did, you might’ve, but it was great.”

“Good,” He said, satisfied. “The hunting and stalking part was really fun, I enjoyed that very much.”

She laughed. “You startled me, certainly, but it was fun. Next time we’re camping in the woods, we should have ourselves a nice game of hide and seek.”

“I would like that,” He said.

“Well,” She said, hopping to her feet. “I’m starting to get cold, and my clothes are…” She looked over at the shreds of her tunic and trousers. “Well, unwearable. Can you give me a lift down to the ground?”

“But you’re naked.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got spares in my bag downstairs.”

“But you’re naked.”

She snorted. “It’s not the first time I’ve walked nude through an inn before and it likely won’t be the last. Just get me down.”

He obliged, lifting her onto his back and scaling back down the wall. Kharis drew a lot of stares as she made her way through the common area of the inn. Like normal, DuMont was too large to get into the inn, but he watched Kharis from the door to make sure she didn’t run into trouble.

Norman, Sanoh, and Rupert were sitting and drinking, staring at Kharis as she strode through the room, though Sanoh caught sight of DuMont at the door and smirked, winking at him.

If he ever needed advice in the future, he definitely knew who to ask.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience!To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

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#Exophilia #Tiefling #Elf #Kobold #D&D #Dungeons and Dragons #D&D Fanfic

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7, pt 8, pt 9, pt 10, pt 11, pt 12, pt 13

- Chapter 14 -

“I would like your advice on something,” Meng Yao said to his mother.

Meng Shi was wearing silk again, rich colors that suited her – she had fully recovered from the serious illness she’d had a few years back, something for which he would be forever thankful to Qinghe’s doctors because he knew she wouldn’t have made it if they were on their own – and a fur-lined jacket that made her look especially comfortable. She finished pouring the tea and smiled at him.

“You do?” she teased. “Still, after all these years?”

“I’m never too old for your advice,” he said and kissed her on the cheek before sitting down.

The weiqi board in the corner was midway through a game, he noticed, and was glad: Sisi was terrible at weiqi, and the only other person who routinely played against Meng Shi was Nie Huaisang. Things between them had grown better as he’d grown older – he loved to paint, to play, to keep birds and raise flowers, and those were the things Meng Shi liked the most.

It was good to see them spending time together. Meng Yao hoped that Meng Shi could show Nie Huaisang how to forgive, and to remember how to be as carefree as he had once been.

After all, Nie Huaisang had taken up what had once been Meng Yao’s duties, during the war, all the intelligence work and strategy, the battlefield clean up and the politics, and it had left its marks. Indeed, if Meng Yao had been anyone other than Nie Huaisang’s dearly beloved brother, he would probably be the subject of a decade-long plan of utter obliteration right now, good motivations or not – in fact, he was pretty sure that Nie Huaisang had one already plotted out, and was still considering it an option if Meng Yao didn’t make regular deposits on the infinity of fans he apparently owed him.

(The brat wouldn’t take duplicates, either. Meng Yao had put in an order for someone to send him an entire ship’s worth from Dongying in the hopes that that would earn him a little credit. The relevant someone being Wei Wuxian, who was off exploring the world with Lan Wangji - possibly for no other reason than to get away from the rest of them all teasing them about the long and overly dramatic way in which they’d confessed their affections for each other.)

Still, Nie Huaisang had forgiven Meng Yao, even if he hadn’t forgotten, and they were most of the way back to being as they had been before – which admittedly was closer than he’d ever been with Meng Shi, who Nie Huaisang seemed to treat as a casual acquaintance instead of a mother. He treated her about the same as Sisi, actually, and usually acted as if he thought Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue were his birth parents instead of his brothers.

And possibly Lan Xichen as some sort of rich uncle he could (and routinely did) extort for gifts.

(He still called him ‘pretty gege’, though he’d recently started up several debates – mostly monologues – as to whether Lan Xichen ought to now be called ‘er-ge’ and Meng Yao ‘san-ge’ according to their ages, being that he was now part of the family, or if they should just all go ahead and get properly married already so that he could call him ‘sao-zi’ instead. They’d all collectively decided to ignore him.)

“Is it about those sworn brothers of yours?” she asked, lips curving up into a smile that was entirely unlike the practiced ones she had once used most of the time, a real one that was a little bit crooked, and that made it all the more beautiful in his eyes.

Meng Yao batted his eyelashes at her. “I will of course let myself be guided by Mother.”

She laughed. “I think it’s a good cover,” she said. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, now, and she didn’t try to hide it with make-up or anything else. Meng Yao treasured every blemish and imperfection. “You three can spend all your time in each other’s pockets, putting each other above everything else, and no one will question it – or, well, question it too much.”

“Let them talk,” Meng Yao said. There would never come a day when people didn’t whisper about him behind their sleeves, calling him the son of a whore, and nothing he could do, no matter how hard he tried, would stop it. He could only adjust his own thinking and ignore them, at peace in his heart with the knowledge that they were wrong about him. With the knowledge that he was better than they were or indeed would ever be.

Perhaps there was something to Lao Nie’s old exhortation after all.

“But do they have something to talk about?” his mother asked, arching her eyebrows at him. “You retire to the same room to sleep, but I’ve never seen any of you walking strangely the morning after – what are you waiting for? Actual marriage vows?”

“The sworn brother oath served that purpose,” Meng Yao said dismissively, just as he’d explained time and time again to Nie Huaisang. It was just as permanent, after all; they would be bound together in this life and the next, each name forever placed alongside the others in the annals of history. “And we’re just moving slowly.”

He’d explained, in the end, what Wen Ruohan had wanted, what Nie Mingjue was, what that meant; he didn’t want to keep it hidden and risk anyone later thinking that he was taking advantage.

He didn’t want to keep even one more secret from his lovers in this lifetime.

Nothing. Not even surprise parties.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t cared one bit about finding out that he was a furnace, because of course he didn’t; he was still an idiot after all these years. Lan Xichen, at least, had been rightfully alarmed – neither he nor Meng Yao wanted to risk harming Nie Mingjue by accident, no matter how much he argued that his cultivation was high enough that he wouldn’t even notice a setback, and anyway that he trusted them not to try to steal away from him.

Nie Mingjue had finally convinced them to try, the night after they’d taken the oath. Emotions had been running high, and they’d all fallen into bed together, their blood running hot.

It had been – an experience, to say the least.

Sex was pleasant, something Meng Yao knew intellectually from his days in the brothel and personally from the few experiences, male and female, he’d forced himself to have in order to ensure he didn’t have any demons in his heart on the subject. He’d been glad to confirm that although he liked it well enough, it wasn’t so good that he would become addicted to the feeling, descending into dissipation and cruelty the way his father had.

What they’d shared together on that night, however…that wasn’t just sex.

That was something he could become addicted to.

Meng Yao had insisted on a strict moratorium on any further activities until they could process what had just occurred, and it had been telling that neither Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen had argued.

It had been mindblowing, a combination of overwhelming physical pleasure and emotional satiation, and then there was the spiritual ecstasy of cultivation – Meng Yao’s own cultivation, never especially strong, increased at an almost frightening pace for the next week, and Lan Xichen had confirmed a similar effect had occurred for him. Nie Mingjue’s cultivation seemed just as high as ever, unharmed, but obviously they had to do more research before they did anything else lest they accidentally cause harm to him somehow.

That meant they were back down to the basics, limiting themselves to rubbing up against each other at night and offering each other helping hands, given that Meng Yao and Lan Xichen weren’t willing to do anything together if it meant excluding Nie Mingjue – though recently they’d figured out that Nie Mingjue could narrate pornography without batting an eyelash with that frankly magnificent voice of his, and also that he liked telling people what to do (they knew that already, but still)…

They were going slowly. That’s how Meng Yao thought of it, and it was fine – he had no doubt that they’d figure out how to move to the next step sooner or later.

Sooner rather than later, given how quickly Lan Xichen was pouring through their respective sect libraries; apparently sexual frustration was a very effective motivator for him.

“If you’re sure you’re happy,” his mother said, and he smiled. “You seem to be. I’m glad.”

He nodded.

“So if it’s not about that, what do you want advice on? You haven’t needed to consult me on political matters in years. A-Sang would be better at that.”

“It’s not entirely political,” Meng Yao said, “though it’s not entirely apolitical, either, and don’t worry, I’ll consult Huaisang as well. Nevertheless, I wanted your views on the subject. You see, a rather complicated situation has arisen…I’ve been made an unusual offer.”

“An offer? A-Yao…”

“I know, I know,” he said, smiling. “Be careful of offers from strange men, especially bad men, and this is exactly that. But I still thought it was something worth considering. After getting the benefit of your insight, of course.”

“Well, then,” she said. “Now I’m curious. What’s the offer?”

He gave her the letter that he had received and drank his tea while she read it, her eyes going wide and then even wider.

“So,” he said, when he judged that she was done. “What do you think? Do I look like a ‘Jin Guangyao’? Or should I tell my father to go commit anatomically improbable acts on himself?”

“A-Yao…”

“I’m serious,” Meng Yao insisted. “This was always your dream, well before it was mine: whatever you decide, I’ll do. If you’d like for me to claim what should have been mine from the start, I’ll do it, though obviously if he thinks a mere name is enough to convince me to leave Qinghe in favor of Lanling he’s got a nasty surprise coming his way. But if you want me to tell him to his face that I’d rather be your son than his, I’ll do that too.”

He leaned back in his chair, and smiled.

“After all, I already have everything I want.”

- END -

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #meng shi #my fic #my fics #three gates

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