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here4theheartbreak · 3 years ago

Text

Afternoon Naps (myg + pjm)

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: Jimin x Yoongi Genre: smut Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~5.5k

Tags: Smut, Consensual Somnophilia, Vampires, Dirty Talk, Multiple Orgasms, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, Vampire Sex, Vampire Biting/Blood Drinking, Sleeping Medication, Consensual Necrophilia (Technically), Temporary Character Death, Vampire Min Yoongi, Human Park Jimin, Bottom Park Jimin

Summary: Jimin finds out his boyfriend's biggest secret, and reveals his own biggest kink. They realize that this can benefit both of them.

A/N: Fifth Kinktober fic, day 7: somnophlia; this fic is also filling a request from ages ago. @sujigguk requested a fic with “you’re not human”

A/N 2: The fic contains technically necrophilia -- vampire lore in this fic has the vampire "dying" (i.e. heart/breathing stops, body goes cold, rigor mortis sets in) while resting in their coffins. All sexual acts are discussed and consented to by both parties prior to this.

“Jimin!” Yoongi’s voice was sharp… And not all that happy when he opened the door of his apartment. Jimin smiled sheepishly.

“Surprise?” He said softly.

“What are you doing here?”

Yoongi looked tense as he stood in the doorway. From what Jimin could see over his shoulder, his blinds were drawn, and his apartment was still mostly dark. Strange, given it was nearly ten in the morning.

“Did I wake you?”

Yoongi hesitated. “No.”

Jimin’s smile faded a little. “I wanted to come by… It’s been a week.”

“We’ve been texting.”

Jimin’s smile disappeared completely. “I disturbed you. I’m sorry.” He backed up, ready to head down the hall.

“Wait, no, Jimin. Don’t go. You just surprised me, I’m not used to visitors coming by unexpectedly.”

Jimin looked at him, trying to gauge if he was being sincere. Jimin and Yoongi had been dating for nearly six months. It was great. Yoongi was always there for him, their dates were fun, and they never ran out of things to talk about. The sex was mind blowing. Sure, they fought a little, but never a big thing. The one oddity in all their time together… Was that Jimin was never invited to sleep over at Yoongi’s. Yoongi had stayed at Jimin’s a few times, and Jimin had come over once or twice, but never for more than a few minutes.

The last time they were together in person, Jimin had hinted at wanting to stay over at Yoongi’s one night. Yoongi had seemed okay with the idea, but also a bit stiff about it.

“I should have texted,” Jimin finally said.

“Yes,” Yoongi agreed. “But… You’re here, I can spare a few minutes.” He sighed heavily and stepped aside, letting Jimin in.

“Dark,” Jimin commented as he entered. “Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.” He reached out for Yoongi’s head, only to have Yoongi jerk away.

“I’m fine.”

Jimin scowled then, crossing his arms. “What’s wrong with you?”

Yoongi blinked at him.

“You’re acting weird. I’ve been with you half a year, I know when you’re not yourself. What’s wrong?”

“It…” Yoongi’s shoulders sagged. “It’s very hard to explain.”

“Well try. I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark. Literally or figuratively.” Jimin went to flip on a light.

Yoongi grabbed his wrist. His hand was frigid, and his grip was tight. Jimin gasped.

“Don’t.” Yoongi’s voice was sharp.

“Wh… What’s going on? You’re kinda starting to scare me.”

“I don’t mean to.” Yoongi let go of Jimin’s wrist.

“Why are you so cold?” Jimin went forward. Yoongi backed away but Jimin ignored him, grabbing his face. “Jesus, you’re freezing. Are you sick?”

“Not exactly,” Yoongi mumbled.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

“Jimin, please…” Yoongi leaned into his touch, his eyes screwed shut. “Please just go home… I promise, I’ll explain everything tonight.”

“No. You can explain right now, Min Yoongi.” Jimin crossed his arms and stood in front of the door, facing Yoongi.

“It’s not easy,” Yoongi muttered. Jimin remained silent. He sighed. “Fine. I… I really wanted us to last.”

Jimin narrowed his eyes, not liking how this was sounding. Yoongi stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“I’m a monster.”

“What makes you a monster?” Jimin pressed.

“Fangs? Death? Drinking blood?” Yoongi shrugged. “Any number of things. I mean a literal monster.”

Jimin laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, come on, don’t be silly. Yoongi, what is it really?” He asked. He flicked on the light. Yoongi winced visibly, raising his hand to shield from the indoor light.

Jimin’s entire body went cold. Yoongi was standing in front of him. His Yoongi – lean muscle and a sweet, round face, gentle eyes and guitar callused fingers… But not his Yoongi at the same time. The person in front of him was paler than Yoongi – his face almost grey it was so pale. His eyes were dark. Not just dark, but the pupils seemed to have expanded, filling the whites of his eyes and giving him a demonic gaze.

Yoongi let his hand fall, his expression timid despite the horror his features implied.

“You’re not human,” Jimin whispered.

“I’m a monster,” Yoongi agreed. “A vampire… Specifically.” He looked down. “Are you going to run away screaming now?”

“Make me, you troll,” Jimin grumbled. He let his arms fall and took a cautious step forward.

“I’m a vampire, not a troll.”

Jimin grinned at that, seeing the curve of a smile on Yoongi’s lips. “I’ll get it right eventually… Am I in danger? Standing here like this?”

“No. I have excellent control over my feeding… Why aren’t you scared?” Yoongi looked up, meeting Jimin’s gaze.

“I am.”

“You aren’t showing it… Aside from a fast heartbeat… I can’t see any fear on your pretty face. And your heart beats fast around me all the time.”

Jimin smiled. “Flirting isn’t gonna get you out of the doghouse… Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“You’re right.” Yoongi snapped his fingers. “I always forget. When is the right date to tell your new boyfriend you died and came back as a bloodsucking creature of the night? That once a week you have to spend a day in a coffin literally dead or you get wildly sick? Isn’t it the third? Or no, the seventh?”

Jimin slapped Yoongi’s shoulder with some force, smirking when he cried out, rubbing it. “Weak for a vampire.”

“I’m immortal, not immune to my boyfriend’s abuse,” Yoongi grumbled.

“Do you drink blood?”

“Of course I do.”

“Human?”

“When I can.”

“From live people?”

“Is that jealousy I hear in your tone, Mr. Park?”

Jimin glared. “You lied to me for six months, I’m allowed to interrogate you.”

Yoongi smiled softly. “I’m frankly just… In amazement that you’re still standing here. And no… Not live humans, not for a very long time. You may proceed with the interrogation – but I insist on us moving out of my hallway and to an actual sitting location.” He pointed to the couch.

“Do you have anything to drink? If I open your fridge… Will I find bags of blood?”

Yoongi made a noise of offense and crossed his arms. “Of course not, I’m not some barbarian. You’ll find a recyclable bottle of that’s filled with blood. But my sodas are in the door.”

Jimin went over to the fridge and opened it. Sure enough, there were three large water bottles filled with a very suspicious reddish liquid. He grabbed a soda from the door and went over to the couch, sitting next to Yoongi.

“How old are you? I’m guessing that twenty-seven was a lie.”

“I was twenty-seven when I died. Thirty-one years ago.”

“Oooh, I bagged myself a silver fox, huh?”

Yoongi huffed once more. “I died at twenty-seven.”

“Mhm… And now you’re fifty-eight.”

“Jimin, I’m gonna…”

Jimin giggled. “I guess I shouldn’t tease you… You might bite me… Would you?”

“Bite you? Not unless you asked.”

“Would it turn me into a vampire?”

“No. There’s a very specific ritual for that.”

Jimin nodded. “Cool. So, what does a vampire do? Aside from drinking blood… What’s special about you? I’ve seen you in the day. You complain a whole lot, but you don’t sparkle or ignite like a firework. We’ve taken plenty of pictures together… And you eat way too much garlic. You also sleep at night, and probably too long… And you aren’t any stronger than I am.”

“You’re making me feel real great here, Jimin,” Yoongi joked, smiling as he spoke.

Jimin laughed. “Sorry—I just mean… You seem human. I’ve never… Really assumed anything was off about you.”

“The great thing about humans, is that you all really like to assume everyone is like you. You avoid the things that support the opposite. Inhuman behavior, to some degree, so long as it’s not shocking or jarring, you can brush off as an odd quirk, a funny trait. I’m close to human, yes, but I am not human. I complain in the sun because my skin is sensitive. Bursting into flames is a myth, but I do burn far easier than most humans. My skin’s melanin has decayed over the years without cellular growth.”

“Which is why you’re so pale too.”

Yoongi grunted an affirmative. “Garlic is a myth, as is the no reflection thing. I’m sure hundreds of years ago, maybe? There might have been some truth to it, but modern technology and modern mirrors work different, so I can see myself the same as you. I am stronger than you, but I do well at hiding it most of the time. Any displays of it, you either don’t see, or brush aside. I do also sleep at night, yes – because I’ve put myself on a human schedule. I do this so I can live among you all without problems. Once a week though, I must sleep during the day. Sleeping at night is akin to a human living on a series of short naps at mid-afternoon. It’s not fully restful and it’s dangerous to do long term. I compensate by sleeping through the day one day per week, in the appropriate resting place.”

“R… Resting place?”

“My coffin.”

Jimin’s eyes bulged. “Coffin?”

“Yes, I am dead. I have a coffin.”

“That you sleep in?”

“Once a week. Otherwise, I sleep in the bed.”

Jimin nodded, his brows furrowed.

“Gonna run yet?” Yoongi asked.

“No… Is there anything else different?”

“Well… We’re excellent in bed,” Yoongi joked. Jimin glanced up. “I mean it. We have a… Special thing about us. You’ve had sex with other men before me, right?”

“Yeah, a few.”

“Haven’t you ever noticed that when we have sex… I’m much—”

“Harder.”

Yoongi nodded.

Jimin pouted. “I assumed it was because I just really turned you on. It’s because you’re a vampire?”

“Well, no, you really do turn me on... A lot. But a few days after I do my daytime sleep, I get naturally more rigid. I’m not sure why – I think it has something do with… Ah, well it’s gross. But it just happens.”

Jimin sat back, sighing softly. “You’re immortal.”

“Yes.”

“Honestly… I think that’s the thing that bothers me most about this. Not that you’re undead or drink blood or… But that you’re gonna never grow old. And I’m…”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispered.

“If we work out…” Jimin began. “And stay together… You’ll turn me, right? You’d have to – for us to… Be together.”

“Not necessarily. While I wouldn’t hate the idea of someone’s company in my life… I know that a limited existence is so valued and important. It’s something that I would be willing to discuss… If we work out, and when you are older.”

Jimin nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Yoongi pressed. “That’s it?”

Jimin shrugged. “We all have secrets, Yoongi.”

“I doubt you have a secret as big as this, Jimin.”

“No… But I have one that… People have left for.”

Yoongi seemed to perk up a little at that, his brows furrowed. Despite the difference in his eyes, the sleek black, Jimin found his expression endearing and sweet.

“I like your eyes like this… Can you change them at will?” He asked.

“No. They’re like this because I’ve not fed for a while. I have to keep myself fed and rested or they shift; they’ll be back to normal after I wake up and drink… What secret could you have that’s so big, Jimin?”

“Well… I…” Jimin winced. “God, it’s weird as hell, I’m so sorry.”

“I won’t run,” Yoongi promised. “You’re sitting here next to me after finding out I’m a living dead monster. The least I can do is listen to your secret and try to understand.”

Jimin smiled softly at that. He nodded. “I like… Sleep sex.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I like the idea of… Having sex with someone while they sleep or are unconscious. With their consent! I mean… I’d never… Do something nonconsensual.”

Yoongi remained silent a moment, thinking. “Do you want someone to have sex with you while you sleep? Or do you want to have sex with someone while they sleep?”

“Both, I guess. I like the idea of both. I’ve never done it. Most people stop talking to me after I tell them.”

“Why would they?” Yoongi pressed. “We all have kinks and fantasies.”

“Yeah, but a lot of them see it as a form of rape. And I get it, it’s a super grey area. You can’t change your mind while you’re asleep, so like… If you say it’s okay, and then as you drift off to sleep decide you don’t want it… Then it becomes nonconsent.”

Yoongi nodded in understanding. “Well I think that can be resolved just by open communication,” he said, touching his hand to his chin in thought. “If you trust your partner and they trust you, you two should be able to communicate what is and isn’t okay. I don’t think a kink like this is unsafe or unhealthy, as long as – like you said – it’s done with full consent.”

Jimin smiled cautiously, his heart skipping a beat. “You mean… You don’t find it gross?”

“Not at all.” Yoongi smiled. “I’m glad you shared it with me. I still don’t think it’s worse than me being a blood sucking monster… But I know it’s a secret you hold close, so I appreciate your trust. But… Would you want to try this with me someday?”

“Would I ever?” Jimin asked. He chuckled a little. “I fantasize about it a lot.”

Yoongi smirked. He moved little closer, pulling Jimin to him. “Would you want to try it today?” He asked softly.

Jimin’s eyes widened. Yoongi continued. “Look… When I sleep… In my coffin. I’ll be honest with you. I don’t breathe. I don’t move. I am… For all intents and purposes… Dead. I don’t decay, obviously. But my body goes very cold, my lungs and heart go still… And my body stiffens, as a corpse would. That includes… My dick.”

Jimin remained quiet, processing what Yoongi was suggesting. Yoongi slid his hands over Jimin’s shoulders slowly as he spoke. “So, if someone… Say my very curious, very human boyfriend… Happened to get horny while I was sleeping in my coffin… He could climb in and use my body… Ride me… And I’d remain fully unconscious no matter what.”

“Because you’re dead…” Jimin clarified.

Yoongi nodded. “Temporarily. I wouldn’t wake for anything, unless you shined sunlight on my body. So… If you want to do this…”

“Would you fuck me when you wake?” Jimin said quickly. “If I was sleeping, would you… Return the favor?”

“I wake in the late afternoon usually. You’d likely still be up.”

“Not if I took a sleeping pill,” Jimin suggested. “I have some, I used to get nightmares and they help. I don’t use them often, but I bring them just in case. I could take one after… And you could… Help get rid of your afternoon wood with my body.”

Yoongi shifted visibly on the couch. His tongue darted out, swiping over his lips. Jimin smirked. He leaned forward, sliding his hands up Yoongi’s thighs. “Does that idea sound good? You like it.”

Yoongi nodded. “I do,” he breathed.

“We can do it today?”

“Yes but… Jimin… You understand what I mean. When I lay in my coffin… You will be looking at the equivalent of a corpse.”

“I understand. But you’re still you. You say you’ll only be still and cold… You won’t be decaying or rotting or anything you associate with a dead body. And you’ll be waking up and… We’ll be together.”

“Of course.”

“Would it turn you on? Knowing I used you while you… Rested?”

Yoongi smiled softly, lowering his gaze. “Frankly? That’s… An incredibly sexy thought. The thought of you climbing into my coffin with me alone is enough to… Well… I’ve thought of it more than once. I never even imagined you’d be willing to… Let alone wanting to… Do more.”

“Should I stay in the coffin with you? After I finish?”

“I’m afraid not.” Yoongi shook his head. “Waking from my rest is a very jarring thing. I fear I might accidentally hurt you. I have a bed in my room next to the coffin, you can sleep there.”

Jimin nodded. “I do want this as long as you do. And I do want you to… Do the same.”

Yoongi leaned forward, kissing Jimin gently.

“Hey… You’re a vampire… Don’t you have fangs?”

“They retract. When I’m resting they will come out, so don’t kiss me – you could get poked. But when I’m awake I can pull them in and out as needed.”

“Can I see them?” Jimin whispered.

Yoongi seemed to be thinking about it. He grinned then. His wide, gummy grin suddenly became something much more frightening… And sexier, when Jimin realized his canines had lengthened and transformed into sharp, deadly points. Jimin’s breath left in a rush.

“Oh wow…”

Yoongi’s smile dropped again to a relaxed expression. “Satisfied?” He asked, his tone slightly breathier with the fangs in the way.

Jimin nodded. “I think you need to go to bed soon,” he murmured.

Yoongi smirked, one fang peeking out of his lip. “Horny bastard.”

“Not my fault.” Jimin squeezed Yoongi’s thighs. “Should I wait out here?”

“Please. Though it’s not disturbing I do like going to sleep alone. You’re free to come in in about fifteen minutes… I’ll be resting by then. The lube is in the top drawer of the dresser in the bedroom.

“See you in the evening,” Jimin said. Yoongi rose and leaned forward, pecking Jimin’s mouth gently.

Fifteen minutes had never been so damn slow. Jimin finished his drink and paced around the apartment, trying to distract from the ticking clock. He took the time to explore Yoongi’s place; he’d never had a chance to before. He had quite a number of interesting trinkets that Jimin wanted to ask about when he woke up. He pulled off his coat and tugged on one of Yoongi’s hoodies, hugging himself in it as Yoongi’s scent drifted into his nostrils from the warm fabric.

Finally. Fifteen minutes had passed. Jimin entered the bedroom carefully, letting his eyes adjust to the room, even darker than the living room. He found a lamp near a comfy looking bed and flicked it on, looking around. The light was soft, diffused by the heavy shade. In the center of the room was a large, dark coffin. Jimin approached it carefully, his heart in his throat. Inside was Yoongi, looking much paler than usual. He was entirely still, arms resting across his bare belly. He was in his boxers, his cock comically rigid, tenting the front up obscenely. He was stunning.

Jimin hurried over to the dresser and opened the drawer, finding the lube easily. He shucked his jeans and boxers, crawling onto the bed. He set his sleeping medication on the bedside stand and relaxed into the pillow. It smelled richly of Yoongi’s scent, his cock thickening against his thigh. He moaned softly, stroking himself. He looked over at the coffin, his stomach clenching. This was really happening. He poured some of the lube on his fingers and spread it over his hole, sighing contentedly as he pushed a finger in to prep himself.

When he was ready, Jimin rose, sliding the lube and his phone into his pocket. He went over to the coffin, taking a moment to gaze down at his beautiful lover. A vampire… He knew he’d likely have a moment of realization down the line – the understanding that this simple confession had flipped his life upside down. But he’d never been one to shy away from the macabre or bizarre, and he always wondered if supernatural creatures existed. Yoongi’s confirmation of that was… Unexpected, but not unwanted.

Jimin carefully straddled Yoongi’s lap. He knew he couldn’t wake him, but the fear was half the fun. Yoongi was still hard, his position entirely unchanged from the first moment Jimin saw him. Jimin pulled his boxers down just under his balls, smirking when he saw the tip was a deep purple red. He wrapped his hand around it and stroked gently, surprised to find it cool to the touch. Yoongi really was a living dead person.

A surprising twinge of arousal spiked through Jimin, making him shudder. He wondered if Yoongi could still come in this state. Only one way to find out.

He shifted over, taking the lube from his hoodie with shaking hands and adding some to Yoongi’s cock, and more to his own stretched hole. He moved over and began to settle into Yoongi’s cock, muffling his quiet gasps in his other hand. Yoongi’s cock was so hard it was almost painful. There was none of the give he was used to, forcing his ass open wide to take the tip, and sliding deep into him. He whimpered, shuddering hard when he took his entire length.

“Yoongi,” he whined softly. Curious, he reached out, touching Yoongi’s pale, cool face. He held his hand by his nose for a moment. Nothing. No movement of air, no shift, nothing. He moaned again, reality slowly sinking in. There was nothing normal or right about this. But God, it felt good. He dropped his hand down, pulling Yoongi’s top lip back. As promised, there they were, sharp fangs, glinting dangerously. Jimin touched one, ever so tempted to prick his finger on it, let Yoongi taste him… But no. Jimin pulled his hand back. That could be discussed at a later time. He settled back on Yoongi’s stiff cock and whimpered. There was no give. He was gonna lose it fast at this rate.

Jimin began to ride him, moaning openly as Yoongi’s cock slid over his prostate. He reached into his hoodie and removed his phone, holding it up. He found his camera app and angled it to show his face first, his cheeks mottled red with arousal. He moaned openly as he pressed record, not bothering to shy away from looking and sounding obscene.

“Your cock is so hard, Yoongi. You’re gonna break my ass in half, oh!” He shuddered, biting his lip and twisting his hips down. “Fuck, I’ve never had something this hard up my asshole, Yoongi… I’m gonna gape for hours after I’m done with you.”

He whined, his throat clicking as he struggled to swallow. He turned the camera, filming Yoongi’s body before turning it and balancing it behind him, so he could film himself riding Yoongi. He glanced back, smirking when he realized the camera was catching each long stroke, Yoongi’s cock sinking back into his ass. He spread himself and leaned forward, giving more light for the camera. He fucked himself hard and fast onto Yoongi’s cock, moaning and begging for more, not hiding the pleasure he was getting. He reached back and grabbed the phone, holding it up again.

“I’m gonna come, Yoongi,” he whined. “I’m gonna come from using your thick, hard cock, right here in your coffin. Wanna see?”

He turned the camera and lifted the front of the hoodie. His cock was bouncing with each thrust of his body, slapping gently off Yoongi’s still stomach.

“I’m so glad you slept shirtless,” Jimin panted. “Make me come, Yoongi… Oh God, please… Fuck my ass harder…” He moved faster, whining high in his throat. It shifted to a shout when his cock began to spurt, shooting ropes of come over Yoongi’s hands and belly. He stroked himself, still riding Yoongi’s cock as he milked the last come from himself. He shuddered and giggled, moving the camera behind him as he pulled off Yoongi. He held his ass open, feeling the cool air tickle him far more intimately than it should.

“Look at that gape,” he mumbled. “Too bad it’s not dripping with your come.” He pulled the camera back as he crawled out of the coffin.

“I think I’m gonna leave you like this… Covered in my come, boxers down… Just so you wake up and know what I did to you.”

He walked back over to the bed in the corner. “Now, Yoongi… I’m gonna leave the lube right there.” He angled the camera to show himself setting it on the nightstand and picking up the sleeping pill. “And I’m gonna take my sleeping medicine.” He angled the camera back to his face to show him swallowing it.

“Now I’m going to sleep just like this… No shorts… And I would love it, if you want to… To repay the favor and use my ass while I sleep.” He smirked. “I wonder… Is your come as cold your body was when you first come back? You should let me know… I wonder how that feels inside me…” He shook his head. “Sleep well… See you soon.” He ended the video and sent it to Yoongi, forcing himself to stay awake long enough to hear the buzz of Yoongi’s phone in his coffin. He let himself drift off to sleep, dreams full of sexy, arousing thoughts.

Jimin’s ass was on fire. He moaned softly, opening his eyes blearily. The first thing he saw was the coffin. He turned his head, spotting the clock… Nearly seven hours since he’d gone to sleep.

“Morning Sunshine,” Yoongi murmured. Jimin turned, spotting him at his desk. A cup of deep red liquid sat next to him as he worked on something. “How’s your ass?”

“Sore,” Jimin mumbled, reaching back. He was met with a gush of body temperature fluids, pouring from his gaped hole. He whined. “Fuck…” His cock throbbed against the mattress. “What did you do?”

“Me? I simply did as you asked in your video… Very sexy, by the way. Would you like to watch?”

Jimin rolled over, groaning weakly. His cock was hard despite the pain in his ass. It was perfect. “Show me,” he whispered.

Yoongi rose and grabbed his phone. He went over to the bed and sat on it with Jimin, passing him the device.

Yoongi did far less teasing and talking in his video. He set up the phone at an angle on the nightstand, allowing it to capture most of Jimin’s sleeping body. Yoongi slicked his cock, looking into the camera as he sank into Jimin with a moan. He began to thrust into him quickly, holding Jimin’s ass open as he did. He maintained looking at the camera most of the time, his eyes the same black they were when he went to sleep.

As Jimin watched himself get used on the phone, Yoongi pulled him onto his lap. He’d withdrawn his cock, Jimin could feel. He hissed and whined softly when Yoongi dragged him over and slid back into his come lubed hole.

“It’s sore,” he whined.

“You can get off then, I don’t mind,” Yoongi said, letting his hips go. Jimin smirked. He shifted to get a better angle to watch the video and began to bounce lazily on Yoongi’s cock.

On the video, Yoongi had picked up speed, grunting as he fucked Jimin’s sleeping body. He tossed his head back, shouting and baring his teeth.

Jimin moaned, catching sight of Yoongi’s fangs. He touched his own neck, a little disappointed at the lack of bite marks. Yoongi on video shuddered, his hips going still. He leaned forward, kissing Jimin’s shoulder.

“There’s my first load, Jimin. It was as cold as ice… I’ve never felt your hole squeeze me so tight. Next time I’ll do it when you’re awake… I bet you’ll squeal so pretty when it fills you…”

Jimin moaned, leaning back against Yoongi. “I wanna feel,” he confessed.

“I’ll make sure you’re awake next time,” Yoongi promised. “Wanna see the rest?”

Jimin nodded, riding Yoongi a little faster.

On video, Yoongi picked up the pace, fucking Jimin’s ass harder than before. He used him for nearly forty minutes, filling his hole three times. Finally, he sagged his shoulders, kissing over Jimin’s back.

“You’re so fucking sloppy, baby,” he grumbled. He grabbed the phone and angled it down. Jimin’s ass was red, his hole swollen around Yoongi’s cock. He pulled out slowly and come bubbled out, obscene sounds filling the air. Yoongi chuckled. “I’ll leave you like this. When you wake up I’ll give you one more, if you want it.”

The video went black. Jimin leaned forward, his ass aching at the new angle. “I want it,” he whispered.

Yoongi shifted, pulling out only long enough to get onto his knees. He sank back into Jimin’s already filled ass, and they both moaned at the sloppy noises. Jimin leaned up, wrapping his arms back around Yoongi.

“Bite me when you come,” he whispered.

“You sure?” Yoongi was fucking him hard, his cock twitching.

“Yes,” Jimin promised. He reached down, stroking his cock in time with Yoongi’s thrusts.

Yoongi was huffing erratically, holding tight to his middle. His fangs grazed Jimin’s shoulder.

“Are you mine?” Yoongi panted in his ear.

“Yes—“

“Give yourself to me.” Yoongi grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand off his cock. “All the way. Are you mine, Jimin?”

“Yes, yes!” Jimin moaned.

“I’m yours as well, Park Jimin,” Yoongi whispered. He slammed his cock deep. It began to throb, spilling inside Jimin. At the same time, Jimin felt a sharp pain and then a pressure on his shoulder. Pure pleasure washed over him. His cock began to spurt ropes of come, jerking hard enough to make them land on the floor in front of him. He shouted Yoongi’s name, reaching back and holding his neck as Yoongi drank from him.

The two collapsed on the bed as their orgasms faded. Yoongi kissed and licked at the wound on Jimin’s shoulder until the blood clotted, sliding his softening cock carefully from Jimin’s aching ass.

“You okay?” Yoongi asked, nudging Jimin’s shoulder with his nose as they cuddled back to chest on the bed.

“I’m great,” Jimin whispered.

“No regrets? Still okay with it?”

“Fully… You?”

“It was so exciting,” Yoongi admitted. “When I woke and felt your come on me… And then saw you sleeping… And that video was stunning. You were so beautiful.”

Jimin smiled shyly. “We’ll have to go easy the next few nights… I’m really sore.”

“Of course. I’ll be gentle for a while, let you heal up.” Yoongi kissed over his shoulder. “Did the bite hurt?”

“No. It felt good… How often can you drink from me?”

“I’d prefer not to often. Living human blood, not bagged, it’s… Very rich and sweet, almost like candy. It can become addictive. I’m honored you let me, but I’ll save it as a treat for myself, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course.” Jimin turned as well as he could. His gaze searched Yoongi’s face, finally dropping down to his mouth, lips pink and cheeks mottled. “It was so interesting. Seeing you in your coffin.”

“I know it can be frightening.”

“No…” Jimin shook his head. “I think it sank in… That I was looking at someone who wasn’t alive. But knowing you’d be awake soon after, it was… This bizarre sort of… Taboo but sexy thing? I’m a freak, aren’t I?” Jimin’s shoulders sagged.

“No more than I.” Yoongi nudged him again. “We can be freaks together.”

Jimin grinned. “Yoongi?” He said softly.

“Hm?”

“I feel gross.”

“Because of what we did?”

“No, silly.” Jimin laughed. “Because your come is gluing my ass and legs together. I need a shower.”

Yoongi laughed brightly, nodding. “Agreed. Let’s get one... It’s almost dinner, you’re probably starved.”

“You aren’t,” Jimin teased, rising slowly. “No, but I could eat. I’ll take you out after the shower.”

They walked together to the bathroom. “How does eating human food work with being a vampire?”

“Same as it works being alive,” Yoongi said, turning on the water. “It’s just empty calories for me – Which is why I never eat much.”

“There’s so much I feel like I have to learn about what you are… How life is for you.” Jimin crossed his arms as he waited for the water to warm. Yoongi straightened up and wrapped his arms around him. Now that Jimin was aware, he could feel that Yoongi was a few degrees cooler, his skin just a bit paler than human.

“You can ask anything you need. We have time, and I’ll tell you all you want to know.”

“Yoongi…” Jimin leaned against him, hugging him tightly. He could hear Yoongi’s heart, glugging along at a lethargic pace. He smiled softly. “Can I confess something to you?”

“Hm?” Yoongi asked, resting his chin on Jimin’s shoulder. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you,” Jimin whispered.

Yoongi went still, his heart skipping a little faster. “Jimin… Say that again,” he said.

“I… I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Jimin could feel Yoongi’s lips curve up into a smile against his shoulder. “In nearly sixty years of existence… I have never heard more beautiful words,” Yoongi admitted. “I love you too, Jimin… I feel like I’ll love you forever.”

Jimin pulled back, meeting Yoongi’s gaze. His eyes were back to their normal soft brown. He smiled. “Coming from someone who is immortal… That’s the most beautiful thing I could hear.”

Yoongi leaned forward, kissing Jimin deeply. He pulled him close, and Jimin melted into the touch. Yoongi may have cold skin, may drink blood and die once a week – but Jimin had never felt safer or warmer than he did at that very moment in Yoongi’s arms.

#thebtswritersclub #yoonmin #jimin x yoongi #yoongi x jimin #jimin smut #yoongi smut #jimin #yoongi #mywriting

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giggles-and-freckles · 4 years ago

Note

bed bargain for satine and obi-wan maybe?? 😍

bed bargain: [Obi-Wan] won’t stay in bed. [Satine] convinces them. (from these prompts)

Obi-Wan groans from his desk as knuckles rap against the other side of the door. It’s Anakin, no doubt, come to question him on the events of the day. There’s no confusion on exactly what Anakin will be wanting to know.

Girlfriend. A ridiculous accusation and just something to get under Obi-Wan’s skin. The trouble is Anakin’s always been far too good at that and Obi-Wan let it get to him today.

He’s in severe need of a break. But Death Watch seems to be a larger issue than the Council had thought and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it.

The knocking continues.

He sighs deeply and pushes away from the desk. As he stands, there’s a rush of hot fuzziness that fills the space behind his eyes. But he blinks and it’s gone. Yet another side effect of the long day, apparently. To accompany the dizziness that has developed in the past hour.

The knocking is louder. More hurried.

Definitely Anakin.

“I’m coming!” he yells, making his way to the door. “Honestly, all these years and you have learned nothing of patience—“

He stops as the door slides open.

“You would be amazed at the patience I have developed, actually.”

“Duchess,” he says stiffly.

Her lips twitch into a frown, but flatten back out into a thin line. “Hello.”

“It’s late.”

“Yet you are still awake.”

He casts a quick glance behind him, but the movement is too quick. The room spins and his hand reaches out, blindly. He finds the edge of the door and grips it.

“I’ve been busy,” he says, turning back around to find that her eyes are fixed on his hand, clinging to the door.

She looks back up. “I assumed as much. Before tomorrow, when the Republic will undoubtedly take your words and twist them until I am the villain they are apparently so desperate for,” – she ignores his scoff – “I wanted us to try and get on the same page.”

“We have never quite managed to achieve that, my dear,” he says.

Her frown deepens as she studies him. “Not for lack of trying.”

He clears his throat. “Is this something we could discuss in the morning? I still have–”

“No,” she says, and pushes past him into the room. “Now is good.”

“For you,” he grumbles, but allows the door to slide closed. He turns and follows her in the room. She sits on the sofa easily, as if this is the most normal thing. “I didn’t have the opportunity to thank you for the luxurious accommodations. Anakin hasn’t stopped talking about–”

“He’s not what I expected.”

Obi-Wan blinks. He wants to sit, but can’t bring himself to join her on the couch. So he hovers. “Pardon?”

“Your student. He idolises you, clearly. When you used to call and tell me of him–”

“That was a very long time ago,” he says quickly.

“Yes,” she agrees quietly. Her eyes move to the floor between them. “It was.”

His visions swims and he can’t determine whether it’s exhaustion or a response to the lowness of her tone. The unopened nook of hurt and betrayal that she clearly feels, though he can’t understand why.

But then–that’s not true either. It’s just what he’s told himself for the past ten years, to avoid the habitual pain he was putting himself through for so long. Constantly comming her–and thinking about her in the meantime. Something had to give if he was to honour his commitment to the Jedi and his commitment to Anakin.

He drops to the couch next to her. “I was lost.”

“I know,” she says softly. “But you also didn’t want to be found.”

“I needed to…” he frowns, looking for the words. It’s painful revisiting this part of his life, immediately after Qui-Gon’s death, when everything was overwhelming and nothing felt right. “Needed to figure it out.”

“No,” she says, but there’s no chastisement in her voice. “Not by yourself.”

“Yes,” he insists. “I–”

“My dear Obi-Wan,” she says. Fixes him with those eyes that have seen too much of the galaxy and too much of him. There’s too much compassion that he doesn’t feel particularly deserving of. “Accepting help is not a crime.”

He shuts his eyes, but it does nothing to stop the pounding in his head or the pain in his chest.

“Obi-Wan?” she says, her tone sharper than it was before. Then– “Obi-Wan!”

“I’m all right,” he manages, opening his eyes as the wave of nausea passes. He pulls a weak smile. “Sorry. I just–”

She fixes him with a hard stare. “You’re ill.”

“I’m not ill,” he scoffs.

She lifts her hand and rests it on his forehead. Doesn’t let him pull away. “Stubborn as always.”

Since she’s not letting him move away, he figures there’s no real harm in leaning into her a bit. “You have no experience with that.”

Satine laughs loudly and lets her hand fall to his cheek. They watch each other for a moment and Obi-Wan wonders if she sees the wayward young padawan the way he sees the headstrong young duchess. So much has changed, in the galaxy and between them, but beyond the light wrinkles (which he’d never point out, obviously) and thinner face, it’s the same eyes blinking back at him. He’s thankful for something consistent.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “for not holding it against me.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” she hums. Her hand falls to the place on the couch between them. She moves it so that it rests over his.

He rolls his eyes at her snark, but turns his hand over under hers. Links their fingers together. “When Qui-Gon died. You were so…” A deep sigh. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“I didn’t do anything, my dear. You–”

“Exactly. You just listened. Let me talk, grieve, process,” he says. “I needed that. Even though I left...you never…”

She squeezes his hand. “There was never a question of you leaving. I knew it was coming–and I wasn’t angry. You had to return to the Jedi. I...I had a system to lead.”

“But even so. When I sought your help–”

“I’ll always be there for you, my dear.”

His gut twists over. “I don’t deserve that.”

“You’re right,” she says, nodding. Then, lifts their interlinked hands up and drops the lightest of kisses on the back of his palm. “You deserve so much more. More than this harsh galaxy will ever be able to repay you, I fear.”

“With Anakin. And...everything. I was overwhelmed. I was...I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m sorry. I...I didn’t mean to lose you, too.”

She smiles at him. “You didn’t.” Kisses his hand again. “And you never will.” She stands from the couch, then, pulling him up along with her. The motion jars him, and he has to grip her shoulder to stay upright. She looks him up and down with a frown. “I believe it’s time for bed for you, darling.”

He pulls away as well as he can. Grounds his feet and takes a breath. “No. I have to finish–”

“Obi-Wan,” she says firmly. “Bed.”

“I have work to do. Death Watch. They...I need to keep you safe. Need to–”

“As the ruler of this world, I order you to go to bed.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth opens, then closes. “You can’t,” – he frowns at the floor for a moment, then smiles victoriously – “I have diplomatic immunity!”

“This isn’t the Republic,” she reminds him. “And if you remember–I’m particularly stubborn.” She begins to guide him toward the bed, even as he struggles against her. “Oh, honestly, Obi-Wan. Stop being such a child.”

“Stop treating me like one!” he cries, then stops walking abruptly as the room begins to spin again. He presses the palms of his hands into his eyes and takes a shuddery breath. This bout of dizziness lasts longer than the ones before and it takes him an extra moment to gather himself.

A light hand is at his back immediately, rubbing small circles. For some reason, the motion cracks his resolve.

“I can’t sleep,” he says, scared of how broken he sounds. “When I do...it’s just nightmares. Images, memories–”

“I’ll stay,” she says, and wraps an arm around his waist.

“That’s highly inappropriate,” he says immediately in response because it’s what he’s supposed to say. And Obi-Wan Kenobi has grown very good at saying what he’s supposed to say. If the Council were to catch wind of this. A Jedi Master sharing a bed with a Duchess–

She lifts an eyebrow and his face reddens. Because he knows she’s remembering what he’s remembering. How unconcerned he was with what was appropriate once upon a time. He’s lost the padawan braid since then, though, and she’s gained a system of planets. It’s not the same.

“I’ll only stay until you fall asleep,” she says, saving him from further embarrassment.

Obi-Wan can’t bring himself to admit his disappointment, so he just nods, and sheds his outer robe. She watches as he kicks off his boots and sets them in the corner of the room. Watches as he unties his belt and drapes it over a chair. When he finally makes his way toward the bed, she is waiting for him, standing with her arms crossed and a patient expression.

“Are you quite done?” she says, and her lips quirk up at the corners.

He doesn’t respond. Only rolls his eyes and slides beneath the sheets. She pulls back the other side in a much more graceful manner, making sure her long dress doesn’t get wrapped around her. She’s always had such a talent for making the mundane look like a dance. He tries not to stare; it’s hard.

There is at least a foot of space between them in the bed and neither makes a move to close it.

“You didn’t use to sleep with so many clothes on,” she says after a moment of silence.

“Neither did you.”

She makes a sound of indignation, then sighs. “Touché.”

He chuckles and reaches for her hand, under the sheets. She flinches when he first grabs it and he wonders if this is too much. Physical contact within the confines of a bed. He moves to pull back, but her grip is vice-like. She doesn’t turn her head to look at him, but he’s glad. He’s still having a hard time not staring.

“Thank you,” he says finally.

…

When the sunlight filters through the curtains he never drew closed and wakes him up the next morning, she’s still there.

#my fic #obitine #and just like that...it becomes 2k words HAHA OOPS #throwing this in the q because i'm gonna be out of commission for a few days so who knows when this will pop up on my feed #writing prompts #prompts now closed btw!#q

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hopelesshawks · 3 years ago

Text

Ash and Dust Part 7- Opportunities

18+ Dabi x fem!reader

Summary: You first meet Dabi on the worst night of your life after unwittingly walking into the very bar the League of Villains made infamous. That should probably be the end of the story. You stumble on the remnants of one of the most infamous terrorist groups in the history of Japan, get viciously murdered or call the cops and get them arrested, the end. Except that’s not the end of the story. It’s only the beginning.

Masterlist Help Lulu (Kofi)

Waking up the morning after reclaiming your bedroom (at least in part) is jarring for two reasons.

The first is that you’re waking up next to Dabi.

For some reason you thought he might wake up before you, even though he’s pretty routinely demonstrated that he’s not an early riser. Perhaps you expected the knowledge that he was sleeping in the same bed as you to perturb him enough to get him up early. Instead your eyelashes had fluttered open to find him still deeply asleep with his face only a few inches from yours.

You fully intended on simply rolling over to either fall back asleep or get on with your day but you’d found yourself enthralled with his sleeping face instead. You know Dabi’s smirks, sneers, and scowls like the back of your hand after a little over a month of living with him. His resting face, however, is entirely foreign to you. You’ve never had a moment alone with him where he wasn’t antagonizing you and it’s odd to see him so peaceful. Your eyes trace over his face, taking in the extent of the scarring on his jaw and beneath his eyes, but also appreciating the unmarred expanses of skin as well. It strikes you that Dabi is pretty. It shouldn’t be surprising considering what you’ve seen of the youngest Todoroki in the press but even still. In another world where he’d never become the wanted criminal he is today, you wonder if he’d be a heartbreaker or a sweet, gentle type. Would he be as quiet and polite as his brother seems to be or would he still get a thrill from bantering with someone who isn’t afraid to banter right back? Would he be in the tabloids with a different girl every week or settle down early with his high school sweetheart? You’re fascinated by the idea of what the scarred man before you would be without the tragedy and the trauma. You might’ve sat there just taking him in until he woke up if not for the second reason waking up that morning was so jarring.

Your phone has been pinging literally non-stop.

You’ve never resented your notification sound more as its shrill tone continues to echo in your room, putting the fragile peace at risk. Even before you found yourself as alone as you are now your phone was never this busy. As much as you try to ignore it and wait for the tidal wave of what you assume are spam notifications to end, the sound finally drives you to turn over and grab it. Your eyes widen as you take in the sheer amount of Twitter notifications you have. As you unlock your phone and navigate over to the app your mentions are literally flooded with Deku fans screaming about your talent and how lucky you are. It’s a confusing litany of fangirling that you try to weed through until you get to one mention in particular that makes your breath catch in your throat.

You got a mention from the rising hero himself.

Holy shit.

You’ve never clicked a tweet so quickly in your entire life. Not only are you stunned to find he’s seen and loved your work but he also mentions wanting to talk if you’re interested. Sure enough, when you navigate over to the messages section of the app, a feature you’ve never bothered to use, you notice a message request from Midoriya ‘Deku’ Izuku waiting for you. It takes everything in you not to scream as you read the message there over and over before finally hopping out of bed and moving to the kitchen to call the number he’d left you. It’s a little endearing that he’d been so quick to hand out his number to a complete stranger on the internet but you also can’t help but wonder how someone so naive could be the same man drawing headlines over his heroics and combat skill. You’re not exactly a Deku fangirl but it’s still wild to be dialing a celebrity’s number as you punch in the numbers and then wait for it to ring.

On literally the second ring the phone is answered. “Pro Hero Deku at your service! Who’s calling?” the young man answers chirpily. “Uhh, this is (y/l/n)? You messaged me on twitter?” “Oh! Right! Yes! Hello! One second!”

You can hear Deku excusing himself from whatever room he’s in, a disgruntled voice mumbling something you can’t hear, causing Deku to reply with a hushed “Sorry Kacchan! I’ll be right back!” before there’s more shuffling and finally the sound of a heavy door closing.

“Ok I’m back! Thanks for reaching out to me so quickly!” he finally says now that he’s, apparently, in a better place to talk.

“Yea, of course I guess I’m just shocked you liked my art so much and really appreciate you drawing so much attention to it,” you explain, feeling short of breath at how surreal the situation is.

“Of course! You’re really talented! Your work deserves to get attention!”

“Thank you but, uh, why exactly did you want me to call you?”

“Right! It’s about your artwork.”

“Ok?”

“I want to sell it!”

“What?”

“Wait well no not sell it. Or not sell that particular piece although it is a nice piece and if you wanted to theoretically you could probably sell it although I guess it’s available for free online already so maybe people wouldn’t want to pay for it. Although it’s a painting right? And people buy or pay to go see paintings you can see online all the time so maybe it wouldn’t be too bad but if it’s for your own enjoyment you may not want to give it up which would be totally understandable and also how would that work logistically? If the painting is rather large it may be unwieldy to try and ship it to whoever purchases it, in which case would you have to meet up to try and give it to them by hand? But then that necessitates meeting up with a complete stranger on the internet and what if the person who buys it doesn’t live near you or, since it is the internet, doesn’t even live in Japan? Then you have to contend with international shipping and-”

“Uhh, Deku?” you ask cautiously, barely able to process the mumbling of the young man on the phone.

“Ah! Sorry! I can kinda end up on tangents sometimes... What I mean to say is that I’m not trying to sell the painting you posted or anything but I think you’re really talented as an artist and one of my friends is looking for someone to design a new merch collection.”

One of his friends? Your mind instantly starts running through his impressive list of ex classmates. Your first thought is Dynamight and immediately you shudder at the idea. He may be years younger than you but the aggressive pro hero still scares the shit out of you. Uravity could be an interesting hero to work with although you’re not quite sure you vibe with her aesthetic. Or maybe he’s talking about the new Ingenium?

“You’re real fucking loud in the mornings, you know that Doll?” Dabi asks with a groan as he comes walking into the room with a stretch.

You hurry to shush him, not wanting to lose the opportunity being presented to you, which earns you a curious look. Before you can react Dabi is snatching your phone out of your hand and putting it on speaker. You don’t dare protest verbally and risk alerting Deku of the situation so you have to settle for glaring at Dabi as he smirks at you.

“Yea so, anyway, Shouto really needs new merch but wanted something a little more sophisticated on the designs and I feel like you’d be perfect for that you know? Making all his stuff mini works of art. So what do you say?” Deku asks, his voice still brimming with that same enthusiasm while your blood runs cold. You’re genuinely scared to look up at Dabi’s face to see what he thinks about the idea of you working with his little brother. You hold your breath, Deku’s chipper voice going nervous as he asks “Hello? You still there?”

To your immense surprise, when you finally have the courage to bring your eyes up to meet Dabi’s, he’s got an almost feral grin. “You better take the fucking job,” he hisses delightedly, sending a chill down your spine as you stutter out a response to Deku, your eyes never leaving Dabi’s.

“Yea, sorry just processing. I’d, uh, I’d be happy to help out.”

“Great! I’ll pass your number on to Shouto and you two can meet up and figure out details!”

“Ok.”

“Cool, thanks (y/l/n)! Hopefully I’ll see you around!”

You hum noncommittally before hanging up the phone, still waiting for the other shoe to drop as you practically watch the gears turning in Dabi’s head.

“You’re…. Not mad I’m going to be working with your brother?” you ask cautiously.

“Oh no, I’m fucking delighted Doll. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re gonna help me have a little fun.”

A/N: We are finally starting to get to the meat of the story omg. I’m sorry this fic has been so slow going, especially compared to my others, but if you stick with I’m pretty sure it’ll be worth it. I appreciate each and every one of y’all that’s been reading this fic because main motivation to write it has been hard

Taglist: @thechroniclesofawriter @simpsfortodoroki @ahtsuwu @oliviasslut @larkspyrr @oikawaandkuroostan @tina-98 @vibesdontlie @clubfairy

#hopelessad #dabi #dabi x y/n #dabi x fem!reader #touya todoroki #touya x y/n #touya x fem!reader

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ncssian · 4 years ago

Text

A Favor: Part Six

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: nsfw sort of?? barely

***

Cassian is going to kill Nesta.

He’s never met a woman so stubborn that she would rather throw herself under a bus than accept help from others.

“What happened to your rants about universal healthcare and redistributing wealth?” He gestures furiously between the two of them while keeping one hand on the steering wheel. “I’m trying to redistribute the wealth!”

She scoffs from the passenger seat. “Nice try, comrade. I’m not letting you dangle your wallet over me while I live with you for free. It’s disgusting and manipulative.”

Cassian wants to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “Why do you automatically assume I’m trying to manipulate you?” he says incredulously.

“You don’t get to pay for my things,” she snaps. “They’re mine.”

“I know you’re already broke from that MRI—”

“That’s none of your business.”

They pull up to one of the university buildings. “Oh, great argument.” Cassian brings the truck to a stop. “Are you gonna use that one in court?”

Nesta buttons her blue blazer and furiously grabs her things, not saying a word.

“What are you thinking now?” Cassian pokes, the hardness dissolved from his voice a little.

She shoves the passenger door open. “How much longer it’s going to take to get my car fucking fixed,” she bites, hopping out of the truck and slamming the door shut on Cassian’s face.

Clenching his jaw, he watches her walk sharply for the building, tension ratcheting her figure. Impossible woman.

She does look damn good in a pantsuit, though.

***

Nesta has to take deep breaths before she enters the mock courtroom, refusing to let Cassian get to her head right now.

It's not his offering to pay for her endometriosis treatment that pisses her off, but it's that he won't take no for an answer. She wishes he could just let her dig herself into a hole of debt and despair like millions of Americans already do every day. She wishes he wouldn't demand an explanation from her every time she screams and cries about getting her way.

Later. Her mind clears through an imaginary filter. You’ll deal with him later.

Now, she has a case to win.

Nesta strides into the courtroom with her file of documents and takes the speaker’s bench, her opponent already seated on the other side of the aisle. Emerie Nikolis is five feet nine inches of Mediterranean goddess, and the only student at Prythian Law who’s been able to challenge Nesta for her spot at the top of the class. Not that she’s succeeded.

Nesta’s never been up against another woman for a moot court, though, and it adds a buzz to her nerves. Men always come into the courtroom with too much confidence and not enough research, and from there Nesta can steadily dismantle their arguments until they’re left spluttering. From Emerie’s cutting hawk eyes, Nesta knows she doesn’t function like that.

As student judges file in and head for their seats, Nesta leans over and mutters to Emerie, “Good luck defending the side that represents everything morally corrupt with this country.”

Emerie brushes back her ponytail and smiles mockingly at Nesta. “You mean the side that powerful white men have chosen since the beginning of time? I won’t need luck.”

Nesta scowls at the panel of student judges. They are all white men.

“You’re lucky I enjoy a challenge,” she hisses, and sits back in her seat as they start calling oyez.

***

Cassian doesn’t mean to fall asleep.

He’s cleaning up around the house while Nesta is gone, and ends up finding a worn paperback trapped between the leather cushions of the couch. Pulling it out, he takes one look at the cover and nearly chokes. A half-undressed man graces the cover in regency-era clothes, his flowy shirt unbuttoned to reveal toned abs. A woman with golden curls clutches onto him passionately, only dressed in a corset and underskirt.

A slow smirk spreads over his face and he snickers. He didn't know people read these anymore. A glance at the back of the book proves his point: published in 1999, a true vintage piece.

Plopping onto the couch and laying back, he opens the paperback. If Nesta doesn't want him reading her books, she shouldn't leave them lying around the place.

Flipping to a random page, he frowns when it isn't a smut scene. Boring. He keeps flipping until he finds one, and props his feet onto the armrest to get comfortable. Now what exactly does Nesta Archeron get off to?

Over an hour and a hundred pages of surprisingly tender romance later, his aching eyes finally slip closed. The open book falls onto his face, and the scent of faded ink follows him into sleep.

Cassian is in a dim candle-lit room. Foiled wallpaper and overstuffed furniture decorates the space, and there, by the small window, she waits.

She turns her head to speak over her shoulder, “You came.”

“I did.” The line comes to him naturally.

Without turning around, her hands reach up for her hair. She starts removing pins from her updo, golden curls falling apart one by one. Once the last pin drops, she finally turns around.

Gleaming locks now frame her soft face and shoulders; her pale breasts rise and fall above the low curve of her thin nightgown. Under the candlelight, she looks freshly forged and porcelain-like at the same time.

“Could you help me?” Nesta says.

Cassian is stuck in his spot, unable to move. He's never seen Nesta like this: so heavenly, but so different.

“Cassian?” she asks again.

“Oh,” he stutters, “um— what do you need?”

She steps closer. “You.” His breathing stops. Nesta slips her slender hands up his arms, to his shoulders. She's holding him close. “I need you to tell me something.”

“Anything.”

Her breath fans over his face. “Do you want me?”

Cassian is very still.

“Do you want me like I want you, Cassian?” she repeats, pressing closer to him. He can feel her nipples through the wispy fabric of her gown.

“Yes,” he breathes shakily. He doesn't know which hurts more: wanting Nesta or being wanted by her.

“Have you been very lonely, Cassian?” She drags her hands back down his arms, finding his hands and placing them on her shoulders. “Is that why you like having me around so much, because you’ve been lonely?”

This Nesta knows him… a little too well. His breath hitches as his hands, directed by Nesta’s hands, slowly pushes down the sleeves of her nightgown. In a flash, the fabric has dropped to her waist, baring her unblemished chest and stomach. Before Cassian can even absorb what's happening, her arms are winding around his neck again, and now she's pressing entreating kisses into the crook of his neck.

“Tell me,” she mutters onto his skin. “Do I make you feel heard, or am I just a pretty face to you?”

“Nes—Nesta.” Cassian tries to swallow air.

She smells so good. She feels so good, and she's not even doing anything to him, just holding him.

“Heard,” he gasps when she goes for the buttons of his shirt, her mouth finding his chest. “You make me feel heard. I like it when we talk and you listen to me. Nobody listens to me.”

She pulls away from him, mouth shining. He just now realizes how jarring the gilded ringlets of her hair are.

“That’s so good,” Nesta purrs, reaching up to clasp his face. Her hands feel thin and rough, like paper. “You’re so good.” She reaches in, her lips chasing his, and—

Awareness seeps into the corners of Cassian’s reality, and his eyes peel open. He blinks between two different worlds until he finally realizes— it was a dream.

Of course it was a dream. Nesta doesn't have blonde hair or curls. And her skin isn't porcelain smooth, but dotted with freckles and moles. And yet, the arousal stirred in him is very much real, evident by the ache in his dick. Fuck.

A throat clears softly and Cassian jumps. The romance book is still on his face, he notices, and his world is darkened by the rough pages. Batting it away, confused, he fully awakens when he sees who’s in front of him.

She’s still in her pantsuit from this morning, but her hair is undone and her cheeks carry a rare flush. Her clothes are rumpled.

“Nesta.” He scrambles upright, painfully aware that he was just dreaming about her half-naked. He carefully arranges his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs. “You’re back,” he says casually. Taking notice of the blackness outside the windows, he becomes concerned. “You’ve been out this whole time? Oh God, I was supposed to pick you up—”

“No, no,” she says quickly. “Didn’t you see my texts? I went out with some people from moot court.”

Cassian widens his eyes. He’s never heard her mention any friends from school, much less leave the cabin to hang out with other people.

“I totally kicked this girl’s ass in the Title IX case I was telling you about,” Nesta goes on, “and she wanted to take me out for afternoon drinks, and some other guys ended up tagging along too…” She twists a piece of hair around her finger, the experience sounding as brand new to her as Cassian suspects it is. “And yeah, then she got me a cab.”

He raises a brow and leans back. “You willingly let someone else pay for you? Wow, you really are drunk.”

The smile blossoming on her mouth drops and the cold veneer returns. “So you go through my stuff while I’m gone?” she scolds. “How many times are we going to have the boundaries conversation?”

Cassian picks up the paperback still on the couch. “Oh, this? This was just a little light reading. You know, since I share my Netflix and Prime with you, I figured you could share your period-piece smut with me.” He fans through the pages, trying to find the spot he left off on. “I didn’t even know people read physical romance books anymore. That’s like me keeping VHS tapes of porn instead of using my phone.”

Nesta stomps over and snatches the book out of his hands. “It’s not like I enjoy owning books with ugly covers,” she hisses. “I get headaches reading e-books. And this is a classic.” She carefully wipes at the cover as if Cassian got dirt all over it.

Cassian tries to snatch it back. “I wasn’t done with it,” he grits. “Nesta, give it back.”

“I’m glad we brought up boundaries,” she says instead. “Because we need to talk about this morning.” Shoving the book into her pants waistband, she peels off her blazer and takes a seat on the coffee table in front of Cassian.

Cassian blinks, gripped by the authority in her movements. Nesta pokes a finger at his chest. “What you said bothered me all day. Nearly ruined my night. So I’m telling you now, I’m not taking your money for anything, ever. And if you bring up the topic again, I’m moving out.” She sounds dead serious.

He’s not afraid of her. “I’m bringing up the topic now,” he pushes back, his tone hard. “As someone who considers you a friend, I don’t like to see my friends struggling.”

Nesta blinks, and maybe finally accepts that she can’t fight her way out of this, because she drops her finger. “I can’t be financially dependent on a man, Cassian,” she admits, refusing to look away from him. “I’ve done it before, and it’s no way to live life. I don’t care how nice you are; I’m not taking your money. And you can’t make me.” She doesn’t shout or hiss that last part. It’s said with a quiet strength, and it makes Cassian want to concede everything. If this is about her ex-boyfriend, then he doesn’t want to be anything like him.

But it doesn’t change the fact that her health is still on the line. “What if you don’t take my money?” he says quickly. “What if I make you work for it?”

Law school doesn’t allow for part-time jobs on the side, and Nesta’s been scraping by with scholarships and leftover money from her father’s will. The suffering is worth it now, she told Cassian once, if she’s at a law firm the year after next with a starting salary of 100K.

Nesta purses her lips, skeptical. “What kind of work?”

“You can be a legal consultant for Night Court.”

“Do I look qualified to be a legal consultant?” She’s glaring now.

“Well, it’s either that or you get to be my personal assistant.” Nesta looks even more outraged at that, and Cassian holds up his hands. “I respect your need to stay independent,” he says, “but you can’t convince me that a handout or two is worse than going broke.” Cassian himself would be dead right now without all the handouts he got over the course of his life. “Please, Nesta,” he says quietly. “Think about it for me. And if you still hate it, I’ll never bother you about it again.” Even though it would kill him.

Nesta stares at him, the gears in her brain visibly turning. Finally— “Rhysand’s company does run on handouts anyway,” she mutters, glancing away. “What’s one more?”

Before Cassian can drop to his knees and thank her, she whips her head back to him. “But I want to do real work, Cassian. Not the pretense of work while I get a fat paycheck.”

He bursts into a grin and grabs her arms. “I’m gonna work you so hard.” He kisses her hard on the cheek.

Nesta makes a choking noise and starts coughing, and Cassian realizes how that sounded. “Did I say something wrong?” he plays innocent.

Nesta’s face is red for reasons other than alcohol now, but she covers it up by shoving Cassian hard enough to send him into the couch cushions. “Asshole.” She pulls her book out of her waistband and throws it at Cassian’s chest. “Have your romance back, I’m going to bed.”

“Hey— wait, it's six p.m. What about the puzzle?” he calls after her. She ignores him and keeps walking.

“Fine,” he says to her back, “but don't go to sleep with your contacts in again; you're gonna hurt yourself.”

As she reaches the stairs, he adds, “I’m proud of you for the moot court, by the way. I’m telling everybody you're the smartest person I know.”

Nesta pauses briefly at that, before saying, “Goodnight, Cassian,” and continuing up to her room.

Later that night, Cassian does want to tell everybody that Nesta is the smartest person he knows. She's the smartest, coolest, and wittiest person he knows, full stop, with killer looks and a criminally underrated personality. But something is holding him back from sharing his feelings with the rest of the world.

It's the same feeling that's had him avoiding Feyre these last few weeks. The unspoken knowledge that not everybody sees Nesta the way Cassian does, paired with the fierce desire to protect her from any sort of criticism.

He doesn't have any definitive proof to justify his feelings, but he knows he can't stop thinking about Nesta. He knows his friends will take notice of the change in his behavior eventually, so in a fit of restlessness, he reaches for his phone to test a theory.

Scrolling through his contacts, Cassian eventually settles on Mor. She's close to Feyre and Cassian both, has an inclination to gossip, and she’s never interacted with Nesta. Perfect.

Cassian: what do you think of Nesta?

He's straightforward with her the way he always is, the way she always is with him.

Mor answers quickly without question: didn’t she let feyre work her ass off at age 14 while she sat around and did nothing?

Mor: she sounds like a bitch and i have yet to see anything to the contrary.

Mor: she has very nice eyes though

Mor: if u know what i mean ( . )( . )

Cassian wishes he hadn’t even asked. He doesn’t even know how to reply to that, so he’s about to turn his phone off when another message from Mor comes in.

Mor: why do you ask? how are things going with you two?

Cassian sighs deeply, not in the mood to start a fight with one of his best friends. He never told Feyre about taking Nesta to the doctor, or the following MRI and diagnosis. The last time he had a real conversation with Feyre was the first night of Nesta’s period, when he was worried sick over how to take care of her.

“What should I do, Feyre? She's crying herself sick upstairs and all I have is this stupid hot towel.”

“You don't have to do that,” she sighed tiredly over the phone. “Nesta goes through this every month. She’ll survive. Don’t get yourself worked up over nothing.”

That was when he decided he was calling a doctor no matter what.

And now… He’s confused and upset and he doesn't know why. Instead of arguing with Mor, he texts back, it’s nothing. A second later, he adds, but she's not a bitch.

He wants to say more, but texting Mor an essay on why she’s wrong for judging Nesta without knowing her would make him look crazy, among other things. He doesn’t know why he has to clarify that Nesta isn’t a bitch in the first place.

Either way, Cassian’s theory was proven correct.

He decides not to mention Nesta to his friends anymore.

***

Nesta lays in bed, thinking about the absolute day she’s had.

If getting drunk with Emerie Nikolis and Eris Vanserra at two in the afternoon wasn’t enough, stumbling back home to find Cassian like that finished her off for good. Her cheek has been tingling for hours.

She remembers how this housing agreement between them first started: I need you to know you can enforce whatever rules and boundaries you want while you’re here.

Nesta huffs a laugh. Boundaries are for strangers. Cassian seems content to poke and tug at Nesta’s boundaries whenever he wants, and Nesta… is okay with this. A mere month ago, this would have been her worst nightmare— living with a man who pushes her on every decision, who never does what she wants but somehow always knows what she needs.

But now they're friends, and Nesta is slowly learning that the rules are different with friends. Not everything has to be spelled out, because Cassian will understand what she's trying to say anyway. Not everything that is unknown has to be scary, because Cassian is never scary.

He’s allowed to read her books because he won’t make fun of them. He's allowed to know about her personal health matters because he won’t tell anybody else. And apparently, he’s allowed to give her a job so she doesn’t go broke trying to afford endo treatment.

These are the new rules.

She’s ridiculously glad that she told Lorene she won’t be coming back to the apartment for a few weeks. She doesn't know what she'll do after then, but for now she is okay.

***

a/n: hello i love writing cassian pov and learning more about him so much :) also thinking about having cassian call nesta 'baby' when they get together more often than 'sweetheart' just bc i think it would be a good look on him. pls share ur opinion.

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies

#a favor #ncssianwrites #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fic #nessian au

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visionsofus · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! I hope I’m not bothering you but I was wondering if you’ve written Wanda’s first reaction to Vision’s human shimmer before?

hi! you'd never be bothering me! sorry this took a bit for me to get around to - my response ended up being a lot more long winded than I meant! thank you for reaching out with this, at the time I hadn't written anything like that but now I have ~ hope you enjoy 🥰

my inbox is open for anything and everything scarletvision

I just see you

synopsis: Vision hasn't seen Wanda in nearly a year, not since they both decided the danger was too great and they needed to go their separate ways. But he's still her emergency contact, so when Wanda ends up in hospital, Vision is the first to hear. Frantic, he travels to France, desperate to see her safe and harbouring hope that they might yet reconcile.

words: 4,140

read on AO3 here

There was a ringing coming from Vision’s bedroom.

It took a few shrill rings for him to realise that the noise wasn’t coming from inside his own head. Vision had been so wrapped up in his research that he hadn’t resurfaced for hours. It was a jarring thing to do all at once, to leave the carefully regulated interior of his mind and appear back in the physical world once more.

The ringing continued and Vision glanced around, his eyes adjusting quickly. Morning had quickly turned to evening and the pale walls of his room were lit up amber by the sunset.

The source of the sound was quickly discovered in the depths of his wardrobe, hidden within a pocket of a jacket he rarely wore. Vision fished the small flip phone out, anxiously. It had been a gift and the only person who knew its number hadn’t spoken to him in months.

Recalling that telephones only rang for a set time Vision hurriedly answered, lest it run through to the voicemail he’d never had cause to set up.

“Hello?” He said hesitantly, straining his ears to hear the person on the other line. The environment behind sounded busy, he could hear many voices piling on top of one another in chorus.

“Monsieur Maximoff?” The voice on the other side of the phone sounded stern, but unfamiliar. She was also speaking French. Vision did not know anyone who spoke French.

“I’m sorry, who am I speaking to?” Vision asked, fumbling for what to say and desperately grasping at the internet for a French translator. Mr Maximoff? He thought, who on earth was he talking to and how had they come across his number.

“Ah, Anglais.” The voice sounded more distant, as though she were talking to someone else. She returned, this time speaking in English with a heavy French accent. “Am I speaking to Mr Maximoff?”

Vision wasn’t sure what else he could say. “Yes, yes, you are. I’m so sorry, who is this?”

He was just about to trace the caller’s IMEI but the woman at the other end provided him with all the information he needed.

“Bonjour, Mr Maximoff. I am calling from the Toulouse University Hospital,” she said.

“Toulouse,” Vision repeated in astonishment. “Toulouse, France?”

“Yes, Monsieur,” she replied, sounding slightly vexed. “We had a patient brought in earlier tonight and you were listed as her emergency contact. Her condition is stable, but she had a hit to the head. We’ve observed her for a few hours, and she seems fine, but we wanted to advise you of the incident so you might pick her up.”

Vision breath caught in his throat as fear gripped his heart.

“To clarify,” Vision said shakily, “you are speaking of Wanda.”

“Yes.”

“Is she okay?”

He must have sounded rather strangled in his panic for when the woman spoke again her words were measuredly more soothing. “She is perfectly fine, Mr Maximoff. Just a bit shaken up with some light bruising and an abrasion on her forehead. We would like to monitor her overnight and if everything is okay, we can discharge her in the morning. Can you come to the hospital for then?”

“Of course!” Vision said frantically. “I can be there soon.”

She ended the call with a pleasantry in French that he didn’t recognise, but he was already on the move. He thought about leaving the phone behind, but decided it was better to have it near him in case the hospital called again.

Vision’s form blurred as he darted about the room grabbing at bits and pieces, he thought he might need. He wanted to travel light but also didn’t want to be caught unawares. He withdrew the travel bag he kept in his nightstand which contained any identification he needed to appear human. Vision had gotten his driver’s license once he had started making more solo trops and Tony had thought it useful. Vision obviously hadn’t taken the test itself; he was a better driver than any human and a test wasn’t needed to prove that.

He also retrieved his passport and the credit card he seldom needed to use. None of these listed his real identity, mind you. Instead, they displayed his human glamour with his pale skin and a head of sandy blond hair.

There was no way he could travel under his true identity without being clocked by the authorities as operating without the Accords’ instruction. Vision doubted that visiting your ex in hospital counted as noble activities that the United Nations would look favourably upon in the event he was caught. Especially when that ex happened to be an international fugitive.

With his ID secured and slipped safely into the pocket of his jacket, Vision made for the door. He was out of the compound before the building’s AI had the chance to trigger the system and notify Tony that someone had crossed the property line.

Vision had never had cause to test his super speed over such extensive distances. There had always been easier alternatives for travel.

Thankfully, progress went fast. Though it was frustrating having to stop at ever major border or airspace to disappear offline so he couldn’t be identified as a hostile flying object. When he did have secure connection, Vision kept an eye on the news in Toulouse, terrified that Wanda might be discovered. So far, the feed was quiet, and Vision had to rest on the assurance that the woman he had spoken with on the phone had said nothing to indicate she was suspicious of Wanda.

In the end, Vision managed to make it to France in just over two hours, having had to detour over the North Atlantic to avoid some nasty weather. Staying low to the ground and mostly hidden under the cover of night, he risked getting within two miles of the hospital before returning to the ground.

Vision ducked down an alley and took a moment to hide in the shadows. Taking a deep breath, he focused his energy on putting on the shimmer that made him appear human. It slipped into place easily. Straightening his jacket and running a hand through his hair, Vision ensured he looked relatively presentable before heading back out onto the streets of Toulouse.

It was an excruciatingly slow walk, but Vision knew he couldn’t risk drawing attention by walking any quicker than a human. Even in the early hours of the morning, Toulouse still had life to it. There were a few too many watchful eyes than he could be comfortable with. Even knowing that no one on this side of the world had seen his human form, it was still difficult to put the fear to rest.

Vision quickened his pace marginally as he reached the hospital’s entrance, figuring it might seem normal enough to hurry given where he was. In his head he reminded himself over and over that this was normal. He was here because he had received a call about his ‘partner’ who had been hospitalised. Vision felt sick even as he thought it.

Inside the brightly lit ground floor was a round desk with bright green letters hanging above that said la réception.Sitting behind the desk were three nurses. Vision caught the attention of the nearest and smiled politely.

“Bonjour,” Vision said, the language sounding strange in his mouth, “je suis ici pour Ms Maximoff.”

The nurse leant forward to catch Vision’s quiet tone. He was hesitant about using the last name ‘Maximoff’ and wondered why on earth Wanda hadn’t given them a false name.

“Ah,” the nurse’s eyes lit up in recognition and she turned to call over her shoulder, “Louise?”

Another nurse came around to the reception and as she rattled off something in French Vision recognised her as the stern woman who had spoken with him on the phone.

“Mr Maximoff?” She said with a welcoming smile.

“Yes,” Vision said hesitantly, “oui.”

“I though you would come by in the morning—”

Vision opened his mouth to provide reasoning for coming so quickly. He had forgotten how difficult it was, having to lie all the time when he was with Wanda.

“—but I understand you must have been very worried. If you would please follow me.”

Vision shut his mouth tightly, perhaps it was better to say less and let them assume more. The nurse turned away and walked down a long corridor to a set of lifts. She called one down and the doors opened with a chime, before gesturing for Vision to get in. As he stepped in, Vision let his hands brush against the control panel and shuddered slightly as he was absorbed into the hospital’s security system. It felt wrong, but it was better than risking someone having recognised Wanda already. Vision scrubbed through the security, uploaded a match of Wanda’s face and proceeded to edit all visual of her from the camera’s history. The system was too limited to even realise what was happening, let alone retaliate.

“Could you please explain what happened?” Vision asked politely as they reached the fourth floor and the elevator doors opened once more.

“I’m afraid I do not know much more than what I told you over the phone,” Louise said. “She was brought in about seven hours ago with a few other patients from a car accident. A vehicle lost control on the motorway and took out several other cars with it. A bit of a mess I am afraid.”

Lousie caught sight of Vision’s horrified face. “Not that Ms Maximoff was badly hurt,” she said hurriedly, “she is perfectly fine, and we will be able to let her out in the morning.”

Vision breathed out shakily as he was led down a brightly lit corridor. “Thank you.”

“Do not worry,” Louise gave Vision a comforting smile and stopped in front of a nondescript door. “You’re welcome to stay until morning though don’t tell anyone that I let you in out of visitor hours. There is a canteen on the ground floor, but it does not open until 7 I am afraid.”

“That’s alright, it won’t be a problem,” Vision said with a smile, eager to get inside the room and out of view of prying eyes. “Thank you for all your help.”

“D’accord,” Louise said her eyes crinkling in another smile and waving her hand, dismissing his thanks genially.

Vision managed to wait until she had retreated down the corridor before steeling himself and letting his human glamour fall. He did not want to see Wanda as anyone but himself.

As Vision erased himself from the corridor, he took the first step into Wanda’s cramped hospital room. The space smelt sterile, even to him and it was so wholly unwelcoming that Vision’s heart seized at the idea of Wanda spending hours here alone.

It seemed she wasn’t as troubled, instead lying sound asleep in the hospital bed. With the bed propped as it was, Wanda’s face was bathed in the light peeking through the blinds as car headlights flew past. Vision peered at her face intently, surveying the damage.

There was a graze across her forehead and a couple of stitches in her chin, but otherwise no other outwards injuries. There was a clipboard attached to the end of the hospital bed and Vision picked it up quietly to assess the doctor’s notes. It was in French, and shorthand at that, but he managed to decipher the words with the aid of his translator. MTBI. A mild traumatic brain injury, Vision thought. He knew it sounded much worse than it was and was comforted by the doctor’s following notes: no further cognitive symptoms, keep overnight, review in morning before discharge.

So there really was nothing else wrong. It was reassuring and he felt much better now that he was standing before Wanda’s sleeping form, her chest rising and falling steadily.

It was only then that Vision realised precisely how long it had been since he had last seen her. 8 months. Three seasons had passed since she had pushed him out of her life for good and he had let her. Wanda had sworn she didn’t want to see him again, and Vision had let it happen. He’d regretted the argument ever since it had happened

Now here he was, her unassuming emergency contact after a car accident. What if it had been something more final, what if that call had been made to deliver more devastating news, what would he have done?

Vision didn’t waste time pursuing such guilty thoughts further, instead going to Wanda’s side and sitting in the chair beside the bed. As he reached out for her hand, laying still atop the scratchy hospital blanket, he knew it was where he was supposed to be. As he took her hand her fingers twitched, registering the contact.

When Vision looked up, Wanda’s eyes were open, if slightly bleary. She blinked slowly in the darkness.

“Vis?” She whispered, her voice thick with sleep and exhaustion.

“Yes,” Vision replied, desperately wishing he could reach out and take her into his arms but knowing it was not his place to do so. Not unless she invited him to.

“It feels like you,” Wanda smiled and closed her eyes again, squeezing his hand. “I wish you were here.”

Vision frowned and wrapped both hands around hers. “I am here.”

Wanda stilled and Vision felt his hands grow warm and the familiar feeling of Wanda’s power. Perhaps just confirming it was him, or maybe it was a more involuntary reaction.

She sat up abruptly. “You shouldn’t be here!” The movement had apparently been too quick for her as Wanda winced and raised a hand to her forehead in pain. Vision jumped to his feet once more and helped her lie back down on her pillows.

“How did you get here?” Wanda asked, now wide awake and staring up at him.

“They called me,” Vision said slowly, trying his best not to distress her further. He thought about moving away from the bed to give her space, but she had grabbed a hold of his wrist and didn’t seem keen on releasing it. After so long without hearing her voice, Vision was content to stay as close as she would allow.

“The accident, was it bad?” He asked.

“Honestly,” Wanda said slowly, “I don’t really remember. It happened so quickly, nothing like a real fight. Just a flash of metal and I was lying on the curb. It barely touched me, but the paramedics insisted I come to the hospital.”

“As they should,” Vision said, unable to keep the distress from his voice. “What if something worse had happened? You really never know with head injuries…”

“Well, I feel fine now,” Wanda said relaxing somewhat amongst the cushions. “Did they tell you when I can leave?”

“In the morning,” Vision replied, “as long as the doctor checks you one last time before you leave.”

Wanda didn’t seem happy at the prospect of having to stay any longer than necessary but at least she didn’t push him to break her out of the hospital.

“I didn’t realise I was still your emergency contact,” Vision said quietly, looking intently at the mattress.

Wanda sighed quietly. “If you’re asking if there’s anyone else, there’s not.”

Vision stiffened. “I wasn’t prying.”

A few moments of silence passed by. “That doesn’t explain why I was listed as Vision Maximoff in your contacts.”

Wanda groaned and finally released his wrist, using her hand to instead cover her face in embarrassment. She sighed heavily and looked at the ceiling. “Let’s just say I was young, hopeful and in love.”

“That wasn’t that long ago,” Vision smiled, half-heartedly trying to joke past the growing discomfort in his chest. He hated that she used the past tense when talking about them.

“Yeah,” Wanda shrugged, “well a lot has changed. Being a fugitive changes things.”

Vision nodded, though he knew he’d never really understand what the last year had been for Wanda. “I hope it does not change everything.” He spoke slowly, afraid of saying something that might make her ask him to leave. “My feelings have not changed.”

Wanda bit her lip but seemed to be fighting off something like a smile. “Mine haven’t either.”

Hearing this made Vision breathe easily for what felt like the first time in months. Despite the circumstances, he was here beside her. Wanda was safe, light bruising aside, and through it all she somehow still loved him.

“I know things will always be complicated, but I hope you’ll think about letting me back into your life again,” Vision said softly, taking Wanda’s hand in his again. “It does not matter in what way or form, as long as I can be near you.”

“I’d like that,” Wanda said, her words barely above a whisper. Her chest shuddered as she yawned, wincing again as she shifted her head.

“You should rest. We can talk in the morning.”

Wanda nodded and let her eyes flutter close.

Vision stayed up for the last few hours of the night, a loyal shadow at Wanda’s side. All the while he counted down the minutes until they could leave and he could see Wanda safely to her house, wherever it was she was staying in Toulouse. It concerned him that Steve and the others probably hadn’t heard about Wanda’s accident, and he hoped they weren’t losing their minds with worry. There was another part of him that thought Wanda might be alone in France, she had always preferred staying in Europe when her small band of fugitives went their separate ways. But maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.

It was foolish for Vision to hope, but he was starting to think the best way for this day to end was with him in Wanda’s bed. Of course, logically he knew they weren’t there yet. Even Wanda’s admission the night before to allow him back in her life felt like enough. But it was difficult to curb 8 months of longing.

As the clock ticked past 6am and the sky began to lighten behind the blinds Vision waited patiently, not wanting to disturb the rest Wanda so clearly needed. She had never been a quiet sleeper, always tossing and turning and mumbling in dreams. Vision was well accustomed with her habits, so it was unnerving to observe her stillness. But her breathing remained steady through until dawn. The only time Wanda had shifted was to roll onto her side, pulling their hands, which had found each other in the night, closer towards her.

Wanda finally woke around 7 and Vision busied himself by pretending to peer out the blinds and observe the street below.

“How are you feeling?” He asked over his shoulder, hearing the sheets rustle as Wanda sat up.

“Better now,” she mumbled. “But ready to get out of this place, I’d rather not risk it with the authorities in France again.”

Vision hated the way that Wanda said again. What had really happened in the months he hadn’t heard from her?

“No need to worry, I’ve removed you from security camera footage and before we leave, I’ll scrub us from the system again.”

Wanda rubbed at her eyes as she slipped out of the hospital bed. “Give me a chance to splash my face and change and we can get going.”

“No rush,” Vision murmured but it felt untrue. There was a rush. Even if he did remove them from the records there was no saying that a member of staff wouldn’t eventually recognise the name Maximoff and tell the authorities. Yes, the sooner they were out of the hospital, the better.

While Wanda was freshening up, Vision gathered her meagre belongings. Her necklaces, rings and phone had been left in a plastic tray on the bedside table. With everything safely in his pockets Vision slipped back into the hospital’s security system. From what he could tell, no alerts had been tripped but then again he didn’t know if the hospital had a specific code for ‘there’s an international fugitive on premises call the police’. Vision knew the hospital was nearly at capacity based on the records he had looked at, so the chances that their faces would stick out of everyone felt unlikely.

Nevertheless, it was better safe than sorry and there was no way they wouldn’t draw attention with him looking as he was. Once again, Vision closed his eyes and visualised his human shimmer, shivering as it fell into place. His skin tickled as his hair fell onto his forehead and Vision reached up to run a hand through it, a mannerism he had never had reason to practice but had seen others perform.

The bathroom door creaked as Wanda closed it behind her. It was a relief to see her out of the hospital gown and in something more Wanda.

“Vis how are you going to—” As she turned and caught sight of him, Wanda’s voice caught in her throat. She brought both hands to her mouth in astonishment.

Vision suddenly grew shy. Of course, Wanda had never seen him like this, of course it would be a shock. Did she even recognise him?

“It’s still me,” Vision said hurriedly, whether for her sake or his he couldn’t be sure. He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck as Wanda’s eyes continued to search his face in disbelief.

“I know,” she finally said, approaching him slowly. “I can tell it’s you.”

Just as she reached him the door to the hospital room slid open and a young woman entered.

“Bonjour,” Vision said hurriedly, taking a few steps back from Wanda and turning his attention to the doctor. Wanda’s eyes remained on Vision right up until the doctor approached her and asked her to do a few simply exercises. When she was sure that motor function was normal, they were told they were free to leave and to go down to the reception to begin the process of checking out. The doctor made Wanda promise to return to the hospital if she began experiencing anything like memory loss or migraines.

With the doctor gone once more, Wanda spun on Vision, getting far closer to him than she had yet. She reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, frowning.

“This is new.”

Vision nodded against her hand, relishing this one touch that he had spent months dreaming about. “I started working on this as soon as I left…”

He didn’t need to explain more and saw Wanda’s gaze grow shadowed as she presumably recalled their fight. It had been about their safety around each other, it always was. Wanda had been angry about Vision being put at risk around her, and he had been annoyed about the same thing for her. It had been so difficult to hide and meet up every few weeks back then, especially when Vision was so recognisable, and Wanda was being broadcasted around the globe. When Wanda had finally insisted on breaking things off, Vision had agreed. He’d returned to the compound and spent a week perfecting his new human mirage. It was all in the hopes that when she next called him things would be easier. But she hadn’t called.

“Do you have a—” Vision swallowed nervously, “—a preference?”

Wanda tilted her head curiously, “I don’t mind this new glamour, either way it’s you. But I prefer the you you.”

Vision tried to hide his relief as he raised his hand to Wanda’s which was still pressed to his cheek. Her thumb was running curiously circles over his skin. Carefully, cautiously, he took her hand and pressed his mouth to the back of her knuckles. The gesture’s effect was immediate, and Wanda closed her eyes.

“I miss being close to you,” she whispered, as they gravitated closer together. “I could imagine you; I could see you were safe on the news but nothings the same as having you here under my hands.”

Well, she’d had one more assurance than him at least.

It didn’t take much for Vision to pull her closer, hooking an arm around her waist and letting his human glamour fall. She sunk into his embrace, as he had imagined her doing for months and Vision wrapped his arms securely around her.

“Please don’t ask me to leave,” he said, strained.

“Alright,” Wanda said, her voice muffled as she pressed her head into the crook of his neck.

She drew back and took his face in her hands and kissed him. Vision’s legs nearly gave out from underneath him as her mouth moved softly against his own, something he hadn’t let himself dream of doing ever again.

Wanda smiled against his mouth. “We’re sticking together from now on.”

#scarletvision #wandavision #wanda x vision #wanda maximoff #the vision #wandavision fanfic #scarletvision fanfiction #asks #visionsofusfics

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seagreen-meets-grey · 4 years ago

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When Lightning Strikes Ch. 18

When your life is nothing but a cloudless sky, lightning can come and strike you so unexpectedly, you won’t even know what hit you.

Or: When Hiccup and Astrid meet, it is as if lightning strikes.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 19] [Chapter 20]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

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- Part 3 -

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Hiccup was roused from his sleep by something warm and wet darting over his face. It tickled and he felt a sneeze rising from the depths of his skull. With his eyes still closed, he scratched his nose, hand colliding with something thick – with very bad breath.

Grumbling, he buried his face into his pillow when that warm and wet sensation dragged all over his cheek again, a strangely familiar smell reaching his nose. Bewildered, he blinked one eye open, coming face to face with a panting dog. It was so close, he went cross-eyed when he properly looked at it, taking in the long tongue lolling out of its snout and reaching out to greet him again.

“Ew!” From one second to the other, he was wide awake, lifting his hands to shield his face from any incoming dog slobber. He was vaguely aware of the body stirring behind him, not yet awakened by the worst alarm clock in the world.

“Hookfang! Come over here, now!”

Hiccup propped himself up on one elbow, the cool air of his bedroom caressing his skin as the blanket exposed his torso. Snotlout was standing in the door to his bedroom, stomping his foot on the ground and yelling for his dog. For once, the canine listened to him, trotting back to its owner with a wagging tail.

“What in the name of hell are you doing here?!” Hiccup whisper-shouted, mindful of the still sleeping person in the room, but it was already too late. The leg slung over his moved first, then an arm appeared from under the covers, a hand pushing hair out of a sleepy face. She blinked and lifted her head, half-opened eyes following the noise to its source.

“What the–” Fully awake now as well, she pressed the blanket to her chest, lifting it so it covered as much of her body as possible.

A giant smirk broke out over Snotlout’s face as he leaned against the doorframe and cat-called. “Well, good morning, there. I assumed that was yours.” He pointed at a piece of underwear lying to his feet. Hookfang took that as an invitation to sniff at it. “Hiccup, my man, I had no idea you had it in you!”

Usually, Hiccup tolerated his friend’s antics, but right now, he was seriously annoyed. “Beat it, Snotlout!”

Snotlout winced, not used to that tone from him. “Jeez, okay. I just need my jacket.”

“Bathroom, on the drying rack.” Snotlout left to retrieve it. “How did you even get in here?” Hiccup shouted after him.

“I still got your spare keys,” it came from the other room.

“Well, leave them here!” With a sigh, he flopped back down on the pillow and didn’t bother to look up when Snotlout stuck his head in the room again.

“Got it. I told you I need my jacket today.”

“Whatever, man. I forgot. Now please leave.”

Snotlout showed no intention to do that. “So, I figure Astrid found you, huh?” He snickered. “She came for you?”

Hiccup was just about to grab a book from his nightstand to throw at him, but Astrid was faster. Her pillow flew through the room with deadly accuracy and Hookfang let out a playful bark when it hit his owner with a loud thud.

“Get the fuck out before I come over there, rip your balls off and shove them up your ass!”

With a visible gulp, Snotlout half-heartedly tossed the pillow in the direction of the bed. His mouth opened and closed a couple times, but no retort came out. Finally, he turned around, whistling for his dog. “Hookfang, heel! Hookfang!” The dog followed him, tail wagging. “See ya!”

Astrid growled loudly enough for him to hear it. They heard the sound of keys landing on a table, followed by a closing door. Then it was quiet.

Hiccup exhaled and looked over at Astrid, breaking out into a grin the moment their eyes locked. “Have I mentioned that I love you? Because I love you.”

She pretended to think about it. “Hmm, I think you did. But just to be safe, say it again.”

“Well then, I love you.” He shifted his position so he lay facing her. She copied him and shuffled closer until they were almost nose to nose, his arm curling around her waist under the covers. His skin prickled where it met hers, a sensation so invigorating, he forgot all about their unwanted guest just now.

“Say that again, I think I didn’t hear you.”

“Oh, I see. You want me to shout it?”

She smirked. “Only if you do it from the rooftops.”

“Gladly.” And he wasn’t even joking. All he had to do first was put on some clothes, at least underwear and a shirt. He made attempts to get up, but she slung an arm around him, pulling him closer.

“No, you stay.” Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned in and he enjoyed the magical moment of anticipation right before their lips touched. He was alive and his heart was burning like a wildfire. She hummed into the kiss and her hand found his under the blankets, squeezing it as if to remind him, remind herself that this was real.

He released a happy sigh after she’d pulled back just enough to look at him. A small weight landed on the blanket at their feet, jumping on and balancing up their legs. Toothless unceremoniously sat down between their chest, nudging himself into the tight space and inevitably forcing the two humans apart if they didn’t want to inhale cat fur.

“Thanks, bud,” Hiccup complained with a roll of his eyes. “Where have you been hiding when your best friend Hookfang was here?”

Astrid shook her head good-naturedly. “You’re an adorable little mood kill, Toothless. Are you craving attention?” She began to scratch his cat under the chin, evoking a contented purr.

“I suddenly feel sidelined.”

She gazed at him through her eyelashes and winked lightly. “Have I not given you enough attention last night?”

Despite his efforts to appear sulky, he blushed. “I for my part quite like it when you give me attention.”

With a grin, she reached out with her other hand and scratched him behind the ear. “There.”

“Ha ha,” he laughed dryly, but leaned into her touch, nonetheless. “But I’m not going to purr. That’s where I draw the line.”

“That’s okay, babe.”

He wanted to cheer. Astrid Hofferson had just called him babe. He was allowed to call her babe now, too. She was his girlfriend. The cry of joy was dying to leave his lungs, but he contained himself. Not because he wanted to be considerate of Astrid or the cat – she looked about as happy as he felt and Toothless had just unceremoniously wedged himself between them, he would deserve to be startled by a loud shout – but because he wasn’t very keen on dealing with his neighbor. Mr. Mildowicz liked it quiet and had been hammering against the wall last night, some time near the end of round two, and yelled threats to call the police. He was a very jolly fellow. Hiccup and his friends had dubbed him Mildew, after his absolutely pleasant personality and general hairstyle.

Turning his cry of joy into a smile so wide it hurt his cheeks, he watched his girlfriend play with his cat. He never wanted to leave this bed. Besides, four hours of sleep wasn’t enough for a Monday. With a wide yawn, he reached over and lazily stroked Toothless’ fur.

“I have to go to work.” A glance at his clock told him he had about five more minutes before his alarm.

Astrid grumbled, not just because the cat had abandoned her, climbing on top of the dresser, cleaning its fur. “Can’t you just call in sick?” She shuffled closer, laying a hand on his chest and her head on his shoulder. A bit of hair fell into her face and he tenderly wiped her bangs out of her eyes.

“Think of it this way. If I go to work, I will earn money, which I will use to buy you nice food.”

“I could just buy my own food,” she countered.

“True. But I want to buy you nice food.”

“Just steal it, then.” Her voice was only a mumble.

“Okay, overruled. I don’t have any more solid arguments.”

For a while, he listened to her soft breathing, treasuring the sight of her dozing on his chest. Her hair smelled of roses, with a note of vanilla. But when the jarring sound of his alarm clock tore through the moment, it was hard to ignore the incessant beeping for longer than five seconds.

He stretched his arm over his hand to reach the clock and turn off the alarm, his movement forcing Astrid to readjust her position, her head rolling off of him. Immediately, he missed the warm weight on his chest.

“I really need to go,” he said apologetically. She made a sound that sounded like a poor, whimpering dog in the form of a beautiful human girl, tugging at his heartstrings. But he had to stay strong. For… for what, exactly? He momentarily lost all sense of rationality when he looked into her big blue eyes, conveying the regret he was feeling. “Okay, you convinced me. I’ll quit my job.”

He was just about to make himself comfortable under the covers again when she grabbed his blanket and flung it off the bed, exposing him to the crisp air of the room. He made a noise of complaint, but she started shoving at him, trying to roll him towards the edge of his mattress.

“Nu-uh, you’re not quitting your job just to loaf around all day. Up with you!”

It was when she started tickling him that he gave in, jumping away from her evil fingers to sit on the edge of the bed. With a groan, he stretched his arms and upper body before getting to his feet and picking out clothes from his wardrobe. After a minute of silence, he glanced back to find Astrid watching his bare backside with an approving gleam in her eyes. It made him blush.

“Enjoying the view, bed loaf?”

She gave a long affirmative hum. Phantom sensations from the previous night ghosted over and under his skin like a low-voltage electric current. It really was too bad that he had to go to work.

“You can stay as long as you want, by the way,” he offered, voice muffled from the t-shirt he was pulling over his head. “Make yourself at home, take a shower if you like, use whatever products I have, loot my kitchen, for all I care.” He almost stumbled while slipping into his jeans. “I just got my second set of keys back, take them if you want to get fresh bread rolls or, err…” He rubbed his neck, glancing to the side. “You don’t have to. If you want to go home, you can just leave, of course…”

“Thanks,” she said, saving him from an oncoming ramble. “I think I’ll sleep another round.” She wrapped herself in the blankets like a burrito, burying her face in the cushions with one arm under the pillow. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to crawl back into bed to cuddle that adorable burrito. And maybe he’d nibble at some of it… “Hiccup, stop staring. Go earn yourself that money so you can buy me nice food.”

He shook himself out of his daydream, leaving to the bathroom to wash his face and comb the bed out of his bed hair. Pushing the drying rack out of the way, he stood in front of the mirror above the basin, meeting a face happier than it had been in a very long time. Brushing his teeth, he recalled the moment when he’d heard his name over the sound of the pouring rain, when a flustered and determined Astrid had shaken his world into place.

Cold and drenched, they had arrived at his place, and while he’d gone to get dry clothes for the both of them, she’d made a pot of nice, hot cocoa. They had sat on his couch to talk about everything, about them, about their relationship, about Astrid and Eret. The image of her cozy amidst his couch pillows, mug of cocoa between cold hands, wet hair tousled over his t-shirt, a pair of his sweatpants rolled up over her ankles because it was too long for her legs, eyes shining in the light of his living room lamp – it was forever engraved in his memories. Just like the moment she had blushed and confessed all the fantasies she’d had about the two of them, and exhaustion had become a foreign concept.

Now, facing a full new workday, he had to pay the price for not going to bed for actual sleep sooner. But it was a price he was more than willing to pay.

When he returned from the bathroom and stuck his head into the bedroom, if only to catch a glimpse of the love of his life lounging in his bed as if it were her own, she blew him an air-kiss. Grinning, he pretended to catch it at the last second before it flew away, and took it with him into the kitchen where he ate some cereal and prepared himself a coffee to go, whistling a carefree tune. He recognized it as one of the songs they had danced to the day before.

Rain was splattering against the windows once again. It seemed like the unusually hot days of May were over. In a way, the cooler air and cloudier sky felt like a relief after the early summer temperatures of the past weeks. Or maybe Hiccup was just in too good a mood to care.

His umbrella had dried overnight in a corner by the door. He collected his things, grabbed the umbrella, and threw on the jacket he should have taken with him the day before, then he hurried back to Astrid for a goodbye kiss. Getting lost in the taste of her lips and the warm fluttering in his stomach, he had to force himself to step away and leave the apartment. As soon as the door closed behind him, he already missed her terribly. He felt like a teenager in love for the first time, impatiently awaiting the end of school so he could go see her again.

Today, no traffic jam could put a damper on his mood, no slow-driving grandpa in front of him, not even the broken elevator in the office building. With a spring in his step and an energy level way too high for a Monday morning (and after climbing several stories of stairs, winded, with labored breathing), he arrived in his shared office.

Fishlegs was already sitting in front of his computer, head resting on his hand, wearily scrolling through emails. He perked up, though, when Hiccup entered, a curious gleam in his eyes.

“Good morning! Snotlout just texted. I’m supposed to ask you if you… uh, if you used protection? I don’t know if he was talking about what I think he was talking about.”

Hiccup threw his jacket onto a desk in the corner and left his umbrella to dry in the other, resisting the urge to facepalm. “One day, I am going to punch him. Hard. I’ll knock out at least two more teeth.” He sat in his chair and began to try and sort through the chaos he’d left on his desk before the weekend.

“I think you’d do a lot of people a favor if you did that,” Fishlegs commented with a chuckle. “Myself included. Now, what kind of protection was he talking about?”

A small, cheery smirk replaced the exasperated frown on Hiccup’s face. “Remember when you thought this whole Astrid thing was going to blow up in my face?”

“…Yes?”

“Well, guess who was with me last night.”

Fishlegs’ eyes widened. “So he did mean that kind of protection? But… She’s married!”

“Not for long, don’t worry!” He rolled his eyes. “Jeez, give us some credit here.”

“Sorry. I know you’d never… But you were so involved in the whole mess, I was worried for a moment.”

“Well, there is nothing to worry about. Her husband knows. They talked about it. Before she came looking for me.” When his friend visibly relaxed, Hiccup made himself comfortable at his desk, sipping at the rest of his now cold coffee. “You want to know everything, don’t you? I can practically see the question marks and exclamation points floating in your space.”

Fishlegs rolled his chair sideways so there was no computer standing between them anymore. He leaned forward and placed his arms on the desk, eagerly waiting for Hiccup to speak. “Yes. Tell me everything!”

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Astrid blinked her eyes open, the haze of slumber clouding her orientation for a moment. She was sprawled all over the bed, her bare legs tangled in the sheets. Burying her nose in the pillow, she closed her eyes against the daylight until she was fully awake. This second round of sleep had done wonders.

For a while, she enjoyed the feeling of soft linen on her skin, reminding her of the events of last night. In reality, they had put all her previous fantasies to shame. Her nerves still felt raw from the amount of electricity that had used her entire body as an electric lead at every skin-on-skin sensation.

Stretching profusely, she crawled out of bed, shuffling through the apartment, collecting random pieces of clothing from the ground. Her jeans, shirt and jacket were hanging from the drying rack, the jeans still damp. She maneuvered the rack into the hallway and stepped into the shower. There was an almost empty bottle of shampoo and two different shower gels. She picked the one she hadn’t seen her husb– her ex use before.

Once she had towel-dried herself, she slipped back into Hiccup’s sweatpants and t-shirt. Then she took her time making coffee and rifling through his CD collection, spotting several of her own favorite records on the shelf. She found carrots and kohlrabi in his fridge and, humming and dancing to the music on the spot, cut the vegetables into sticks and dipped them in the rest of his cream cheese.

Snacks and coffee on the couch table, she spent an hour scratching Toothless and simply lazing about. Mouth full of carrot, she answered Eret’s curious texts about the success of her mission and talked him through his nerves about his own date that night. It felt so good, so natural, lounging in her boyfriend’s clothes on his couch, texting her best friend about boys.

She didn’t know how to stop smiling. It was only the beginning of the honeymoon phase of a new relationship, she knew that, but at the same time, she felt like it had always been this way. She felt at home.

Since she was already in this fantastic mood, she recorded a long voice message about the whole story to Ruffnut, expecting a lengthy, very detail-oriented talk as soon as her friend got back to her. Said details being mostly sex-related. Maybe she should fix her up with Snotlout some time. She texted Hiccup about it, receiving an affirming answer almost immediately, followed by the pro tip that he and her better not be in the same room as them when they met.

Briefly considering showing up at his workplace during his lunch break, she instead decided to tackle one other thing off her list first. After cleaning the little mess she’d made in the kitchen, she grabbed her remaining clothes and hesitated at the door. He’d offered her the extra set of keys. Would it be weird if she already had access to his place after only one night of dating? On paper, it might seem so, but her gut said otherwise. So she took the keys and left the apartment.

On a whim, she turned back, quickly scribbling a note on a piece of paper that she planted on the small kitchen table, and added a little kiss face. She could have just texted him that she would see him later, but who didn’t like to come home to a hand-written note from a loved one?

Once in her car, she turned up the music and sang along to every upbeat song she could find in her playlist. Only when she parked in front of her parents’ house did she lower the volume, tapping her steering wheel to the beat while she waited for the current shower to pass. When it slowed to a trickle, she collected her damp clothes from the passenger seat and got out of the car.

A little nervous, she entered the house and immediately disappeared to the laundry room where she put her dirty clothes in the machine and her damp shoes underneath the radiator. She was still wearing Hiccup’s clothes, but she didn’t want to change into any of hers. Not yet. They smelled of him.

As she left the room, she met her father in the hallway. He raised his eyebrows at the bunched-up pants and the large shirt. “Hello. You look like you just fell out of bed.”

“I’ve been up at least two hours, dad. And these aren’t mine.” She pointed at the clothes, awaiting her dad’s reaction. He wrinkled his forehead and inspected her closer. Now he realized that Eret’s clothes were bigger and Ruffnut wasn’t even in the country at the moment. And when his brows slowly knit together, he probably remembered her mother mentioning a boyfriend last night. And then…

“Where exactly have you been last night?”

“With my boyfriend.” She stood tall, meeting her dad’s eyes with confidence. She would not convey any notion of guilt or secrecy, because there was no reason to, finally, not anymore.

The surprise and bewilderment on his face was almost comical. “Your what now?”

“My boyfriend. As of last night. The one I’ve been looking for when I came by.”

“You mean when you made me spill my wine on the good, new carpet?”

A sheepish expression scurried over her face. “Sorry.”

“Anyway…” He scratched his beard. “Do I need to lie the next time I see Eret?”

She frowned. “I’m not having an affair, dad! And even if I did, I wouldn’t just tell you like this. I’d swear you to secrecy and threaten you with an axe or a sword or a machine gun, if you will, before I gave you any details.”

He snorted. “Spoken like a true Hofferson.”

“I am one, after all.”

Her dad nodded proudly, then raised his hands. “Before I reach any more false conclusions, let’s say we sit down tonight and you tell me what’s going on, alright? Just one thing really quick before I go back to work – do I need to be angry at Eret?” His expression changed to that of a father ready to drop everything and go punish the guy who had made his daughter miserable. And in that true Hofferson fashion, it made her want to protect Eret from certain death.

“No, no, no, there’s no need to beat anyone up here. Nobody did anything wrong.”

“Alright… Would have been a shame, anyway. He’s a valuable member of our family, after all.”

Astrid realized it would probably need a lot of convincing for her father to actually get used to the changes that would come their way. But she knew he would never try to object to her life decisions.

“Don’t worry, dad, your monthly night of beer and card games is not in jeopardy. I’ll explain everything later. Now, where is mom? Is she home yet for lunch?”

She followed him to the front door where he picked up his bag and keys, preparing to leave for work again. “She should be back any minute.” He gave her a parting nod. “We’ll talk later. I’ll be home at six.”

“Okay.” She was already looking forward to the end of their conversation that night so she could drive back to Hiccup’s place. “Bye, dad.”

Not five minutes after he’d left, her mother’s car pulled into the driveway. Astrid leaned against the kitchen counter and fiddled with a pencil while she waited for her to come in.

“Ah, Astrid, perfect,” her mom said when she walked past the kitchen and spotted her daughter. “Help me with lunch, will you. Then there’s more time to eat.”

“And talk,” Astrid mumbled while she pushed herself away from the counter and took the bag of groceries Wilma handed her.

“What’s that?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Lunch first, Astrid. The line at the store was extra long today and there was this idiot customer at work…”

While her mom ranted about her day, Astrid followed the instructions she gave her in-between complaints about people she had to deal with at work. Half an hour later, they sat at the table, loading spaghetti and freshly made Bolognese sauce onto their plates, with a salad on the side.

“Now what was it you wanted to talk about?” Wilma took a bite of lettuce. “I suppose you’re not going to tell me what was going on yesterday?”

“Actually, I am.” Astrid toyed with the long end of a noodle hanging from her fork.

“You are.”

“Yes.” She laid down her fork and met her mother’s eyes. “You were… You were right. There’s been a lot going on and… I didn’t want to talk about it; I hadn’t even allowed myself to acknowledge most of the issues I’ve been dealing with. And, well…” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Wilma gestured at Astrid’s plate. “Please eat it before it goes cold.” When Astrid picked up her fork again, she continued, “I’m not mad, dear. I just hate to see you struggle when I can’t do anything to make it better. I’m your mother, I’ll always worry.” She huffed a laugh. “I just told my grownup daughter to eat her food.”

“I know, mom. But I’m ready to talk now.”

“Well, it’s about time. Is everything alright with you and Eret?”

A weak smile played on Astrid’s lips as she chewed on a piece of meatball. “It wasn’t, but now it is. It’s a long story and I will tell you everything tonight when dad’s home. Just know that he and I…” She trailed of, staring at her half-eaten food. This was the hardest part. She was still not quite over her fear of failure, especially in front of her mother.

But there was no need to be afraid, she told herself firmly. If she had learned anything, it was that the world wasn’t split in two factions, black and white, winning and failing. Her marriage hadn’t worked out, but she had gained a friend back and collected experience, and she was in a new relationship, one that made her happier after one day than she’d ever been in said marriage. Plus, her mother had just made a point that she was on Astrid’s side. She looked back up. “We’re getting divorced.”

To her surprise, Wilma reached out and laid her hand over Astrid’s, the skin around her eyes crinkling. “I’m so proud of you.”

“What? For getting a divorce?”

“For doing what’s good for yourself.”

“Oh… Thanks, mom.” She’d anticipated a completely different reaction and had to wrap her head around this positive response.

“So what’s with you and Hiccup?” Her mom didn’t hesitate to get right to the next point, not missing out on anything.

Astrid’s smile widened despite herself, and under her mother’s sincerely curious gaze, she gave up on restricting it. She promptly received a knowing look which she ignored, concentrating on the rest of her spaghetti. “I know, I know. You told me and I wouldn’t listen.”

When she didn’t continue, her mother sighed. “Do I have to worm every word out of you?”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Yes, fine, we’re dating now. I liked him the whole time, surprise!” Wilma scraped the last pieces of carrot from her salad plate and shot her a disapproving glance, but before she could open her mouth, Astrid cut her to the chase, forgoing the sarcasm this time. “I like him a lot.” After a short pause of consideration, she added, “A very big lot. As in… As in, I love him. And he feels the same.”

Her mother hummed. “I could tell. If anything, the baking powder was a dead giveaway.”

Astrid pushed her hair out of her face, a light blush dusting her cheeks, like a teenager talking about her first crush. She didn’t say it out loud, but she would eat all the raw baking powder in the world for him. And her and Hiccup knowing about each other’s favorite colors right off the bat had been just as much of a sign, probably – if one believed in signs, that was.

“I’m happy for you, dear. And if you could clean the table, that would be great. I have to got back to work.” She got up and paused, looking her daughter in the eyes. “I am happy. Because you are. Everything else you will figure out. And if you need any help, even if just a few comforting words, please talk to me this time.”

“I will.” Mother and daughter shared a look that communicated more than words ever could. Then Wilma collected her things and was out the door while Astrid loaded the dishwasher. Her belly was full, her heart was swollen and any weight atop her shoulders had dissipated into nothing in the past twenty-four hours.

She couldn’t wait to go back.

#httyd #hiccstrid #fanfiction #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #snotlout jorgenson #fishlegs ingerman #when lightning strikes #modern au #a bit of angst with a dash of drama #or the other way around #maja writes #ff #fanfic #how to train your dragon

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normal-person-wannabe · 4 years ago

Text

Talk less, smile more (LMM/Reader)

Chapter 2

Notes:

Hey friends, i finally found the time to write this second chapter. Hope you like it. Oh, and if you want to be added in the taglist for the following chapter you only have to ask. See you soon. Stay safe. Word count: 1093 tw: swearing, mentions of sex

Your apartment's door slammed shut and you flew down the stairs like you were being chased by that one old uncle -who's not your real uncle- that every Christmas asks you if you're still single and makes unpleasant remarks about how if he were younger he'd "show you" how beautiful you are.

But risking a couple of broken bones was worth it: you did not want to be slapped by your sister, although you must admit, she knows how to make you fall into line and save yourself -and others- from your horrible time management skills. Sometimes she can scare the crap out of you, even though you know she does it for your own good.

You walk through your building gate at 6:55, thank goodness. No sign of that yellow tuna can of hers that somehow manages to resemble a vehicle. You start playing the game that you always play when you are waiting for someone: "guess the story of this bystander's life".

Like, look at that guy over there. He has a briefcase in his left hand and his phone in the right. He's walking slowly, his head lowered as if he was eaten up by guilt or shame.

Oh, he must've fucked up real hard. It could be a work thing.

Or -wait- maybe it's something more interesting, like he lost a lot of money at a casino in Vegas, perhaps even cheated on his wife with the dealer, or-

Stop, just stop. Your brain is going too fast. You're not a 3-year-old on Adderall, you're an adult, responsible, and -Oh my God!!

What if he has murdered someone and now he's regretting it!

Nope, not ok y/n, not okay. You'll behave yourself, because you're not nervous, you're not afraid that this "thing" you have with him will go south just before it really has started and you will end up hurt and shattered into tiny little pieces because you believed in it, and you poured your soul into it only to be disappointed by the harsh reality: you are not worthy of love. You're chaos. You have no chill whatsoever. For you, it's all or nothing, and-

6.58. That's weird, she's not at least three minutes early. You were starting to worry when there it was, her yellow little tuna can.

«What the hell...» you muttered, causing a puff of condensed air to pirouette out of your mouth. Three pairs of hands waved frantically at you from within the vehicle.

«Oh no, the whole gang is here...»

«Change of plans» Your sister screamed as she got out of the car «Come in for a hug, sweetheart, I missed you!»

«I missed you too,» you replied in a whisper, almost choked by the tightness of her embrace.

«Hop in, hun,» She said «we -and by we I mean me, you, Kate, and Liz- have plenty to talk about»

«We sure do» you sighed. The prospect of three women interrogating you like they were the freaking FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit was not a good one. You'd rather spend a peaceful evening alone with your sister and a plate of linguine allo scoglio but there's no going back now.

«Are you ready to order, mie care signore?» the waiter asked, with a big smile and a slight wink.

«Yes, we are,» your sister answered in a cheerful tone «And how are your wife and baby, Andrea? I hear he's got his mother’s beautiful green eyes.»

«Oh, he's a very well-behaved baby, if you don't take into account the part in which he doesn't let me and my wife sleep more than an hour a night. But anyway, what can I get started for you lot this evening?»

«For me a pizza caprise?» Liz replied hastily. Liz had to be always the first one to do anything, which is why she had "mommy issues" and written all over her face.

«Capreese? Sorry, I’ve not yet figured out how to pronounce it»

«It's actually Caprese, which means from Capri, ma’am. That’s also where my mother was born.» he said, with a glimpse of pride in his eyes.

«Oh, that makes sense. So a pizza Caprese and a medium brown ale.» said Liz

«A pizza Caprese and a medium brown ale for the lady» he repeated while scribbling on his notepad.

«I'll take the seafood linguine and a white wine of your choice. I trust your judgment» intervened Kate in an almost less than a whisper. She's the cutie and the shy one of the group. And the one men usually prefer since she has the face and the voice of a Cherub come straight from heaven.

«I’ll take the ravioli burro e salvia. And can we have a jug of water so we can share it?» my sister added. «Oh and bring also a hot hot tea, 'cause she has to spill some!»

It was a "wink wink nudge nudge" situation. You felt their eyes on you and their laughter, but your mind was oh-so elsewhere.

«And for you, Antonio's favorite, who’s always daydreaming and never pays attention to me? The usual?»

Kate gave you a first nudge in between your ribs, but you were far, far away, back to when your heart was beating so fast you thought it might just give up, and his cock was filling you up so completely you forgot that a world existed outside of the heaving mess you were. You'll never forget those moments of beatitude, nor the raspy groans and luscious whispers that into your ears and onto your skin felt like velvet and honey. Kate gave you another nudge, this time so hard your head bolted upwards. You looked like you were caught with your hands in a cookie jar. Your cheeks were a bright red. And you were insanely hot. And a tad bit wet.

«Hey, yes, sorry, I was... yes I’ll take the pizza fantasia, so Antonio can surprise me.»

You always ordered that, and Antonio even said to you that you’re his inspiration for new pizza flavors. He also bought a little notebook with your name on it, in which to keep track of all the pizzas he made, so as not to make you the same pizza twice. He’s been so kind to you you couldn't not invite him to your graduation. He looked even more proud of you than your actual parents were that day. You loved the man.

«Sure, he'll be pleased you came back, he was starting to worry you would go to that new place across the street»

«Oh, I could never. He's like family to me. To us. You all are.»

«Thanks, ma'am, I'll be back in a sec with your complimentary antipasti della casa, and your drinks.» You thanked him and smiled sheepishly. You knew what was coming next and you braced yourself for the pack of wolves in front of you that now has shifted its focus from the waiter to you, ready to jump right at you and bite your ass.

«So» They all exclaimed almost in unison.

«So» You replied, biting your bottom lip.

#lin manuel miranda #lintrash #linsin #lin manuel miranda x reader #lin miranda #lin #miranda #hamilton x reader #hamilton fic #lin manuel miranda/reader #lin manuel miranda fanfic #lin/reader #lin manuel x reader #lin x reader

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unluckyopossum · 4 years ago

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I Need A Place I Can Rest- CH 2

Viktor Vector x Fem!V

Vik wants to fix things for V more than anything. V just needs somewhere to feel safe.

This chapter romance is acquired by the two idiots who struggle to appropriately discuss feelings.

Read on AO3

A jarring electronic ding broke the silence in the cramped elevator lobby. Vik had been waiting, shuffling back and forth anxiously, for what felt like an eternity. Desperately hoping he was being led to V and not a pointless chase by his guide. His only company was the small hairless cat sitting patiently by his feet, occasionally looking up at him in a way that made Vik feel the cat knew more about his situation than even he did.

The lift doors finally creaked open and the ripper darted inside slamming the roof button as soon as it lit up, the doors closing slowly again behind him. As the elevator began it's achingly slow ascent he glanced down, surprised to see the cat again. He hadn't even noticed it come in, or move at all for that matter. Maybe the little guy was just as worried about V as he was, V always being one to give the alley cat a scratch and a snack. As he bent down to give his little helper a scratch on the head, he realized he hadn't even taken off his exo-glove in his rush. Taking a moment to finally pay attention to what he was wearing he felt he looked a little disheveled. Exo glove on, shirt loose from where v had grabbed it, sunglasses on in the dark; But V had seen him like that plenty of times, and there was no time to feel self conscious now. No time to worry about how V would feel about an old man confessing to her. An old washed up legend no one even remembered. The cat mowed again sounding almost stern. “Right, now or never, nothing to lose” he said aloud, clearly only for him .

Another ding sounded and the elevator groaned to a halt, shuddering slightly. The tightness in his chest and urgency with which he scaled the last flight of stairs to the open rooftop felt like his old boxing days. Entering the ring for a fight he wasn't prepared to win, but he hadn't backed down from any of those fights either. V was higher stakes than any of those matches had ever been, more important to him than his pride, that was for sure. Rounding the corner to Misty's special retreat he heard a familiar voice, but an unfamiliar sound coming from it.

A soft whimpering fluttered through the air, barely audible over the street noise below the building. Vik was halted in his tracks by the scene in front of him as he started to exit the stairwell. V sat in one of the red plastic porch chairs Misty had set up, staring at the roof edge in front of her, lips moving and occasionally gesturing to empty air. Red neon reflected off the tracks of moisture in lines down her cheeks. She hung her head, back hunching and shaking as the sounds of a few sobs escaping her lips. Before Vik was able to move forward her head lifted back up out of her hands and she looked back at the empty space at the edge of the railing.

" God I'm so fucking stupid Johnny, what if he hates me now, or thinks I'm dumb, and a waste of his time. Just some stupid gonk brained kid." her voice was shaky in a way he had never heard before. Even with all the injuries and pain she had shown up in at his clinic, her voice had always stayed steady. Even after the news of the relic… losing Jackie... he hadn't ever seen the merc cry.

" I know, I know, 'just grow a pair V, if not now when.'" she says in a deeper almost mocking tone.

" Well there's no way he is interested in me Johnny, that's why" an exasperated sigh escaped her, a frequent occurrence in her conversations with Silverhand.

" Well I at least wanted to be his friend for the little time I have left you ass, and I blew that too" between each sentence a pause hung that Vik could only assume was Silverhand’s response. Her voice seemed to be rising slowly as the conversation moved forward and the ripper didn't know if it was his place to interrupt them.

" Not everyone thinks like you Johnny, that only works in BDs and I highly doubt Vik would be into something like that"

Like what? … whatever the rocker was telling her he wasn't sure he wanted to know, but couldn't help but be curious.

" Look Johnny, you can tell me not to care what he thinks as much as you want but I can't help it, you know as well as I do how I feel about him and... fuck I just don't want him being disappointed in me "

Finally seeing a place to step in Vik stepped out from the stairwell overhang walking towards V, trying to convey confidence with his gait.

"Could never be disappointed in you sweetheart" he passed by the empty chair next to V, instead kneeling in front of the merc. Obscuring her view of Johnny if he had judged his location right, hoping to have her focus solely on himself. She sat lips just slightly parted, eyes wide in surprise ,and a startled sputter all she managed to respond with. Vik pushed his shades up on his head, wanting to see her without anything getting in the way.

" V your the strongest woman I have ever known, how do you think I could be disappointed in you" he smiled up at her, green eyes shining so bright she could almost see her reflection in them. His gloved hand came up to her knee giving her a gentle squeeze, one that could normally be taken as supportive or just for comfort if he had moved his hand after. But he didn't, he left it firmly in place, the skin under it felt surprisingly warm for the cool night city evening.

“Scared? now that I could be… not that it’s easy for me to say sweetheart. I don’t want to lose you V, and I didn’t want to put more weight on your shoulders by making you worry about my feelings.” his bare hand reached up to wipe the streaks of tears off her cheeks. It was hard to tell with only neon illuminating her but he thought they were a bit more flushed than they had been.

“Look V you clearly know I’m no good at this, and I’m real sorry about that. I’m going to do my best though and try not to fuck this up.

“ Vik what are you” She stuttered out trying to wrap her head around everything that was happening. Still stunned that the ripper had come after her at all after she had thrown what she considered to be a childish tantrum in the clinic.

“ First I need to apologize V. I know I was mad about Silverhand, maybe even jealous, but I didn’t need to take that out on you.”

Jealous… she caught onto that word, latched on even. She couldn’t quite grasp what Vik could possibly be jealous of Johnny for, the gonk was dead and stuck inside her head with a terrible personality. She didn’t even consider that it could be all the time Johnny got to spend with her, the quiet moments at night, even waking up and feeding the cat together.

“Not being able to fix this, well it kills me V. I just want to protect you, keep you safe and not being able to do that is harder than I ever could have thought. I thought not saying anything would be part of protecting you, making your life a little more simple when things were goin crazy. Looks like I was wrong though and I should have told you how I feel a while ago.”

A pained expression came over her face as it crumpled up with a loud sniffle from her. “Vik… I have wanted to say something for so long, but you shouldn’t… you should want to be with me.”

“V why, I know it’s not my strong suit but I want to listen. I know the two of us have had a hard time speakin about these things but now sure seems like the time” He had given her knee another squeeze and placed his free hand on her forearm resting in her lap. Partially because he just wanted to touch her, but also due to the look of cornered prey she had as the concept of having to share her feelings and be vulnerable for once. He hoped the touch would be some comfort and connect them in a way. That squeeze seemed to be the only thing needed to break down the floodgates as tears began to slowly run down her cheeks again as words started to tumble out of her mouth with barely a breath in between.

“ Vik we both know I’m basically living on borrowed time with my own body as a death bed, stuck in my own head as I lose myself, even though Johnny wants out. He’s the only one I can even talk to about all this because when I have tried to bring it up I can't make myself speak. I’m so scared of pushing you away Vik, so scared of telling you too much and you deciding you can’t be around me. Because who would want to be with someone who might be Johnny Silverhand at any moment. I’m so scared to love you Vik but it’s way too late for that, I want you so much, and it makes my heart hurt constantly because I try to keep away from you, which you know doesn’t last any time at all. Even in the worst times I have when all I can see is my own doom, I'm thinking about you Viktor Vector, and it's just not fair of me to put this on you. It’s fucked but I just want to spend the little time I have with you” She finished with another loud sniffle having to take time to catch her breath.

Vik took the pause as the perfect opportunity to stand and lean down to wrap his arms around the smaller woman. His impressive size may not have been as useful for his ripper work as it was for boxing, but her frame being completely enveloped in his arms made her immediately lose some of the tension she had in her. That he thought was more important than anything else.

“V you aren’t putting anything on me I don’t want, wish I had realized we felt the same way ages ago. I think I’m old enough to decide if it’s worth it to be together too, and for me it is V. It’s going to take way more than the relic to keep me from being into you V, but I’ve known that for a long time.”

He stepped back giving her a little space as he rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed to admit how long he had wanted her and not said a word.

“ We’re going to figure this out V so you better count on that ‘little time you have left’ being a lot longer than you think.” A familiar smirk spread on his lips “ but if you’ll have this old man I’d spend every second with you that I can”

That finally got a smile to lift her wet cheeks as she stood to meet him, throwing her arms over his shoulders and around his neck. He head buried in his chest momentarily before looking up into his eyes, caught by them again, a frequent occurrence for her.

“ Vik you do know you aren’t even that old right? I mean just look at Johnny and Rouge, you don’t even want to know what Johnny tried to get up to with her… oh that was supposed to be private apparently.” Vik let out a deep chuckle, his hands moving into place on her hips, fingertips idly playing with the edge of her pants.

“ So Vik, even if I’m right and I don’t have much time left… would you spend it with me?”

“You don't even have to ask sweetheart, you know I will, and I’ll be here to listen even on the worst days”

“ you do know Johnny is gonna be with us every step of the way until we get this sorted right? Well of course you know.... But is that okay?”

“ Well maybe he could give us a bit of private time” He said with another smirk as she blushed furiously” V, dealing with Silverhand is a very small price to pay for being with you”

“ He said it should be an added bonus.” she giggled and smiled at him, the blush still lingering on her cheeks '' Johnny promised he would figure out a way to fix me so you can keep patching my dumbass up forever” the widest smile graced his face since he had found her, the idea of dealing with V forever was much more appealing than she could know.

” Fine, I'm holding you both to that sweetheart. Though as your ripper i could recommend being a bit more careful in your next fight.” The deep rumble of his laugh shook through his chest with her head still resting gently on it.

A tug at the back of Vik’s neck pulled his head down slightly as V stretched up to reach him. Her lips brushed his so lightly it took him a moment to register the kiss. Once it fully clicked a soft groan escaped his lips and his fingers tightened holding her waist firm and he met her lips once more. This time he met her lips passionately, firmly pressing their lips together and pulling her hips towards him so their bodies were flush against each other.

A meow at their feet broke them apart to look, both panting and flushed. The cat looked impatiently up at V clearly wanting something from her, as she shuffled her feet feeling suddenly rather embarrassed for initiating the kiss as reciprocated as it was.

“ Shit Vik, I gotta feed Nibbles, and I’m still covered in blood. I should probably head home for the night… feed this one on the way out.”

She stepped back, having to look away from him now or she didn’t think she would be getting off that roof tonight. She was clearly about to make a move to leave when Vik caught her wrist.

“ dinner tomorrow” he said, still sounding almost out of breath.

“What?”

“Let me make you dinner tomorrow, like you know… an actual date”

A grin popped onto V’s face immediately, never thinking those were words she would get to hear the Viktor Vector say to her. Words she had wanted to hear so badly.

“Deal, my place after you close up” She leaned up once more giving him another quick kiss before practically skipping to the elevator, cat on her heels. She was practically unrecognizable as the woman he had watched sobbing not much earlier, her mood clearly turned completely around.

Vik sunk down into the plastic chair letting out an exhausted sigh, still stunned at everything that had just happened. He tried to wrap his head around V actually being into him and trying to calm down from how flustered V had made him with their kiss, glad she hadn’t seemed to pick up on it.

The fingers of both hands rubbing his, he had suggested making dinner for V but definitely had blurted it out before really coming up with a plan. Figuring out what to make was his first order of business as he got up to head home and begin his recipe research. Next would be what to wear, and that would require a consultation from Misty. He had almost forgotten about her, she would be overjoyed after pushing him to say something to V for months, probably even more so when he told her the rooftop retreat had been the spot where the tell finally happened. The elevator dinged to let him know it was time to head back down to the streets and he stepped in, happy to be going home for the first time in a long while. In fact, he realized he hadn’t been this happy in longer than he could remember, finally feeling optimistic about what was to come because him and V would be facing it together.

#Oh shit I finished another chapter #I'm still not sure this is any good #and I spent waaaayyy less time editing #oh well fuck it #cyberpunk 2077 #fem!v #female v #viktor vector #viktor vector x v

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aliwritesfic · 3 years ago

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The Shop of Misordinary (Frankie Morales Drabble)

AN: I wrote this at 1AM entirely on my phone because my laptop is broken, so no word count sorry 😢 I take no responsibility for spelling, grammatical, or formatting errors. It’s also winter and it’s freezing so I stopped writing when my fingers started hurting.

Frankie knew the moment he stepped inside the tiny shop that something wasn’t right. Not in a way that made his skin crawl, that set off alarm bells in his head. It wasn’t right in a way that made him feel like he had stepped off the rain slicked city street and into a completely different place. A small bell tinkled his arrival, but there didn’t seem to be anyone about. His heavy work boots creaked loudly on the hardwood floor.

Shelves were crammed with an assortment of items; ordinary enough looking items, yet nothing that correlated. Jars of what Frankie assumed was tea with labels like Bravery and Persistence carefully placed on them. Ancient looking leather bound tones with no names on the spine, that seemed to hum the closer he got. Small, faceless idols in gold, silver, bronze. Nothing had a price tag.

“Anything catch your eye?” A light, airy voice startled him out of his browsing. He turned to face a woman with wild hair, who held an air of agelessness about her. Frankie cleared his throat.

“Everything?” He tried, which was the truth. He’d never been in a shop like this before. He wondered if it was one of those new age places that Santi’s sister was into. The woman chuckled lightly and rested an elbow against the glass countertop.

“Allow me to rephrase, is anything calling out to you? Are you feeling drawn to anything?” She said. Frankie shook his head. She frowned slightly, the space between her brows furrowing.

“It’s all very interesting, but no. Sorry.” He wasn’t sure why he apologised. It wasn’t like it was his fault that he just wasn’t interested in this new age hippy shit.

“That’s . . .” the woman thought for a moment, “that’s strange.”

Now it was Frankies turn to frown. “Not really, I’m just not interested.” The woman shook her head.

“No, it’s strange. Very strange, actually.” She stood and made her way to his side of the counter. She stood a head shorter than him, and Frankie noticed that she had tattoos snaking up her arms; flowers and vines and insects and birds, an entire forest on her skin.

Frankie bit back a sigh. “Why’s it strange? Are people just so enchanted with your shop that they can’t help but spend all their money? Well sorry but I’ve got no use for anything in here, and I’m running late. I don’t even know why I came in here in the first place.”

He turned to leave, thinking of the beer waiting for him at home.

“Wait!” She caught his arm, her grip surprisingly firm for someone who almost didn’t seem real. “You wouldn’t be here unless you needed something in here.”

Frankie rolled his eyes, completely over whatever this was. His voice took on a mocking, almost cruel tone. “Whatever this sales tactic is-”

“It’s not a tactic!” The woman let go of his arm and held it rigidly at her side. “If you’ll give me a moment to explain. Please.”

It was the please that did it.

She seemed to understand this, pulling a chair out of seemingly thin air and gestured for him to sit. He did, crossing his arms in front of his chest. She hoisted herself onto the counter and crossed her ankles.

“Fransisco, this isn’t an ordinary shop, although I’m sure you have ascertained that.”

Frankie rubbed his nose, confusion growing by the second. “I never told you my name.” Was all he could say.

“Quite right,” she agreed, “as I was saying, this isn’t an ordinary shop. It’s misordinary.”

“That’s not a word.”

“Yes, it is. It’s misordinary in every sense of the word. See, the shop is only available to those who need it. Who need something from it, they’re calling out to it, even if they don’t realise. You were calling out to it, Fransisco, but it seems neither of us know what for.”

Frankie wanted to tell her that what she was saying sounded like something from a kids book, but something in his gut told him to keep his mouth shut.

“Have you been having any trouble with certain emotions? No? Need the favour of a god? No again? Want to erase someone from your memory? No no no.” She sighed tapped her chin with a long finger. She jumped down from the counter, gestured for him to remain seated, and disappeared through a door that Frankie was sure hadn’t been there a minute ago.

He could’ve left. This was the perfect time to leave. Something though, something he couldn’t describe, kept him rooted to the spot. The woman emerged a few minutes later, holding two steaming teacups of silver liquid. Frankie eyed it warily.

“What is this,” he said, sniffing. Lavender, salt of the ocean, rain, all seemed to fill his nose at once.

“It’s to help us both figure out why you’re here,” she said, taking a delicate sip from her own cup. Frankie followed suit, surprised at the pleasant taste that burst over his tongue. Mint mostly, with a faint hint of honey.

“Now we wait.” The woman set her now empty teacup down and held her hand out for Frankies.

“How long for?” He asked. Delicious warmth was spreading through his chest, pooling in his stomach.

“However long it should take.” She said with a shrug. She also seemed to anticipate his next words. “Don’t worry. You won’t be late for your beer and basketball. Time doesn’t move in here, not a second has truly passed since you stepped foot through that threshold.”

Disbelieving, Frankie looked down at his watch. It was stuck on five-fifteen, the face still glowing but the seconds unmoving.

So in the end, he didn’t know how long they sat there in silence, waiting. Frankie let his mind wander, occasionally glancing down at his watch to make sure it was still stuck.

“Oh my,” the woman’s whisper made his head jerk up. He raised a brow at her, waiting for her to say more.

“Do you see it?” She asked softly.

“See what?”

“Watch my pointer finger. Don’t blink, if you can help it.”

Frankie did as she requested, his eyes burning and watering with the effort. But then he saw. A thin red string seemed to tie itself around her finger. He followed it, right to his own.

“I see why you’re here now,” she said. Her eyes searched his face, confusion written plainly on her expression.

“What does it mean?” Frankie asked. She shrugged helplessly.

“There’s old folklore, myths . . .” She bit her lip. “Fransisco, have you ever heard of the invisible string?” Frankie shook his head. “Stay a while? And I’ll explain it? We might be able to figure out why we’re connected.”

“I don’t even know your name,” Frankie said, thinking this whole thing was a bit ridiculous.

“I haven’t uttered my own name in centuries,” she said more to herself than him. “Haven’t been asked in centuries.”

Frankie pulled a face. Well and truly insane, he thought. But then her eyes met his, and he thought maybe she wasn’t so insane.

“My name is Rhiannon. Please, stay and allow me to explain everything to you.”

So he stayed.

#frankie morales #fransisco catfish morales #triple frontier #frankie morales fanfiction

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komahinasecretexchange · 4 years ago

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Title: Feelings To Write About

Author: @magioftheseas

For: @spaghetti4u

Pairings/Characters: KomaHina + mentioned KamuKoma

Rating/Warnings: G

Prompt: “Hinata or someone else trying to encourage Komaeda into doing something funny to spend the time (going to the beach, playing some game or anything really!)” + “Sharing a bed”

Author’s notes: It’s a pretty lowkey fic, and I ended up having them talk about the WoH because I have fluffy feelings when it comes to them. Cakeland is obviously based off Candyland which I have a lot of nostalgia for. I hope it’s cutesy enough for you!

The weather on Jabberwock wasn’t the perfect, eternal sunshine it had been in the simulation. There were storms and quite harsh ones at that. Hence why when him and Komaeda got caught up in one, he brought Komaeda with him to the hotel for studier shelter rather than just relying on one of their cottages. It was one of those weeks where the others were out trying to fix other parts of the world or meeting with the other sections of the Future Foundation, so the hotel was as vast as it was vacant. Hinata doesn’t try to think about how this scenario is like a million haunted movies and games—he especially doesn’t want to think about games—and instead, he focuses on drying Komaeda’s hair off with several towels.

Komaeda is docile when being fussed over, but he’s still shaking like a leaf. Hinata wraps him in some blankets for good measure, trying to keep a straight face when Komaeda sneezes.

“If we get enough blankets and pillows, this won’t be too bad a place to sleep for the night,” he says, tearing open a tissue packet pulled from Komaeda’s pocket for the other to blow his nose on. Hinata does flash him a smile, playing idly with the wet but still springy curls on his boyfriend’s head. “Do you need anything else to make yourself comfortable?”

“Mm.” A noncommittal hum and a meek shrug. Komaeda’s been in a low mood all day and the storm hadn’t seemed to help measures. Hinata tries to retain a reassuring smile as he tucks silvery strands behind the other’s ear. “It doesn’t really matter.”

I wouldn’t ask if that were true. Hinata bites his tongue. You know I would’ve just decided what to do without you. You probably wouldn’t even care in this state.

“There might be board games,” he found himself saying. “How about we play something to pass the time? You like Go, right?”

Komaeda shrugs again, as if he didn’t carry around go jars all throughout high school and even had them stored in his cottage at that exact moment. Hinata can only sigh and go along with Komaeda’s unstated hesitance.

“Maybe something new,” he said as we went to the closet where the board games were stored. “Variety is the spice of life.”

Komaeda sneezes behind him and makes no further comments. Fine. That’s fine. Hinata should just focus on deciding—or just grab the first thing that catches his eye and settle with that. Which is what he does. Either the dormant Kamukura Izuru’s kicking him in the mental balls right now or Komaeda’s momentary apathy is contagious.

He could figure out which if he thought about it. He elects not to think as to conserve energy. This is how he lives his life now.

Although the board game he grabbed is—not really to his or to Komaeda’s tastes. He still commits and takes it with him before setting it in front of Komaeda. Komaeda does look at the cover, his mouth twitching.

“Cakeland,” Hinata read aloud. “For ages 4 and up. If I didn’t know any better I’d say this is Usami’s doing.”

“Oh, I’ve seen it before,” Komaeda said, soft and low. “Utsugi-san was fond of it. She always forced me to be Donatsuo. She hated that character most.”

Even without a genius brain, Hinata can tell who that is. The donuts-themed boy with short choppy hair and absurdly large, caramel-colored eyes.

“This was Utsugi-san’s character of choice,” Komaeda recalled, tapping his finger against a happy girl in pink. “Ichigo-hime.”

“So,” Hinata said, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Was this game any good?”

“It’s not very complicated because it’s for kids, ages four and up,” was Komaeda’s dull response.

“We’re not kids but we’re older than four, so we should be fine.”

With all that said, it looked like they were playing Cakeland. Hinata sets up the board—which is even kitschier in design than the box and he picks the character that looked the most normal-ish save for a strange hairstyle—identified by Komaeda as the Baron Maron. Komaeda does look between them and muffle a small snort, and Hinata doesn’t care to ask.

Komaeda picks Donatsuo, although he very lovingly places other pieces aside. Ichigo-hime and a few others who mysteriously had similar color schemes to those troubled kids he babysat all that time ago. As Servant. In Towa. After Enoshima Junko died but they were still all in despair.

That he can even have fond memories at all—

Hinata feels his throat burn with questions, but swallows back and just rolls the dice.

“We’re just both going to get six,” Komaeda said. “What to do?”

Hinata doesn’t say that he could probably get any roll he so wanted, so he just grumbles.

“I’ll go first because it’s in my name. Sound enough logic?”

Komaeda giggled warmly. It strikes a soft chord within him, and his heart may or may not do a flip in appreciation of such a sound.

“Whatever,” Hinata says, drawing a card. “What’s important are these, anyway. Wow, I drew you.” He does flash the card, showcasing Donatsuo with a dorky grin and dual peace signs. “Guess that means I go to your character space. It’s the first one on the map though so it’s not that far ahead.”

“It’s good luck to get that at the beginning of the game but bad luck to get that at the end,” Komaeda said, drawing his own card. He just gets a plain color so he only moves ahead four spaces. “Since your luck is better than mine, I wonder if this is even a fair game…”

“Your luck is still formidable,” Hinata pointed out as he drew. It was green. That was five spaces. “I’d say it breaks to about even.”

“Oh, no,” Komaeda breathed, shaking his head. “No, that’s wrong. Comparing my luck to yours is like comparing a gnat to a swan because both can fly.”

“It’s not…” Hinata sputtered a bit, unsure of what the hell to make of that. “What does that even mean? Komaeda, your—your luck’s on a whole other level. You should know that more than anyone.”

Komaeda just draws. He still hasn’t selected a special card. Hinata ends up drawing the next one, a strange angelic figure named Enjunji, who he just didn’t get good vibes from.

“Kemuri-kun’s favorite,” Komaeda said quietly and Hinata moved further ahead. It was the closest character space in reality, so it still wasn’t impressive.

I have a feeling I know how this is gonna go.

Still, they kept playing.

“You’re still like that, huh,” Hinata mused quietly. “You’re still—really harsh on yourself. That hasn’t changed, but I suppose other things have.”

“Other things?” Komaeda echoed before laughing. “Like what, per say?”

“You’re not as reckless as you used to be,” was the immediate answer. Another draw. Another several steps ahead. Komaeda’s piece was struggling to keep up. “You’re much calmer. You don’t talk about hope and talent all the time.”

“Because,” Komaeda said. “Hope’s Peak—the encapsulation of all of that—was in reality a breeding ground for despair. It was poisoned to the core and I was just too blind to notice.”

We all were, myself especially, Hinata thought, reaching up to touch his temple. He knew Komaeda noticed, but his eyes screwed shut so that he wouldn’t have to see whatever warp Komaeda’s face. I wasn’t just blind, I was so, so fucking stupid.

“You agreed to be with me,” he forced out so that he wouldn’t have to keep thinking about his own failures. “Your old self never would’ve let yourself have any real sense of happiness. At least not something you’d have to maintain, like a relationship.”

Komaeda chuckled. “You mean you would’ve let me reject you?”

“You did reject me,” Hinata reminded him dryly. “Several times. And then you demanded Tsumiki make sure I didn’t have brain damage.”

“Oh, did I?” Komaeda tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I still find your attachment to me nonsensical, especially when I more or less stated I wanted nothing to do with you in the past. But—I suppose you knew that was a lie, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, you’re a liar.” Hinata cracked a smile. “At least when it comes to your feelings. You’re sincere most of the time.”

“The proper word is stupid,” Komaeda said, moving his piece a single space with a nudge from a metallic finger. “I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. Don’t say that. You shouldn’t even think it.”

Hinata’s tone was as serious as it was grim. Komaeda’s self-effacing expression twitched, but he simply ducked his head reservedly.

“It’s in moments like this where you most resemble Kamukura-kun,” he murmured, fringe falling before his eyes and obscuring his gaze. “He’d speak up like this in the past despite being so quiet most of the time.”

Hinata felt a stirring in the back of his head. He held his breath until it went away and all that was left was the pounding in his ears. Even with that, he still knew.

“He cared about you.”

Kamukura doesn’t let him see into those memories often, although he still sometimes imagined it—maybe even dreamed it. Komaeda Nagito, eyes murky with despair and shoulders trembling under the weight of it, smiling up at him.

“He didn’t think to acknowledge it, much less accept it,” he went on, rubbing his digits into his scalp and catching skin flakes and rain droplets under his nails. “I was the same way in the simulation.”

“You both had strong reasoning to be that way, my inherent worthlessness none withstanding.” Komaeda laughed. “I wasn’t exactly in my best frame of mind at either time, although that’s not saying much.”

“Nor was I,” Hinata retorted. “I even denied part of my identity. I was—pathetic. You were right about that.”

Komaeda is quiet, lips twisting. His shoulders shake briefly under a certain kind of weight. Hinata draws his next card, and it’s another character, a studious blue one named Chouchoux.

“You were an ass about it,” he said. “Like, an absolute ass. But, hey, definitely not the worst thing about you at the time. By the way, this one was used for Shingetsu Nagisa, wasn’t it?”

Komaeda nodded, fiddling with his mechanical hand and making a loud series of whirly noises. He drew his card as well. Another plain one, with his piece moving only two spaces ahead.

Hinata draws and it’s a card of a boy in stripes and red, looking fierce and fiery. Torayaki—obviously the favored character of one Daimon Masaru.

“Do you miss them?” he found himself asking. “If so, we can contact Towa City and ask Naegi’s sister how they’re doing. They might even be curious about you.”

“I doubt it,” Komaeda laughed mirthlessly. “And it’s fine. As long as they’re doing well.”

“I don’t think they hated you,” Hinata said. “You took care of them after all.”

“I was a wretched despair.” Komaeda shook his head. “And they were perfectly self-sufficient. I doubt they even think of me anymore—and rightfully so. I only approached them in the first place out of curiosity, not because I saw children who needed protection and guidance.”

“They would’ve killed you if you had,” Hinata can’t help but remind him. “Probably would’ve found that sentiment insulting with all that they’ve been through. They were children and angry ones at that. I don’t blame them, of course…” He trails off. “I don’t think it’d be bad to send a letter now that things have calmed down a little.”

Not to mention—you lit up when talking about them. You’ve been listless lately, and I know. I get it. There’s no particular reason for it, that’s just how depression works sometimes. I still missed your smile, Nagito.

“Just a letter shouldn’t be too bad,” he insisted. “You’ve been practicing your calligraphy with that hand after all.”

The hand in question flexes. No joints pop, it’s just more whirls. Komaeda does smile, but it’s one that is curled up on his face, like a body trying to keep itself warm in the cold.

Hinata draws Ichigo-hime next. At this rate, Komaeda has no chance of winning. But the funny thing about a game like this was that luck of the draw could flip things so easily. There was one last character space, furthest ahead and closest to the end.

“Maybe,” Komaeda says and—as expected, he draws the card.

It’s a young woman dressed in green named Monaka-jou-sama.

Komaeda wins the games just a few turns later.

Outside, it was still storming.

“It’s pretty late, so let’s get ready for bed, Nagito.”

“Okay.”

Hinata goes to find futons while Komaeda puts away the board game. Hinata sets up a couple of makeshift beds and he presses them together. He does pause afterward, wondering if this was right. He heard Komaeda shuffling about, the whirling of his arm, and then, he felt Komaeda sliding the board game back onto the shelf. Thunder rumbles, the trees are being rustled by the wind, and Komaeda lets out a soft whew.

Hinata is still up until the moment he hears the padding of Komaeda’s soft footsteps, and he only truly relaxes when Komaeda’s slim arms encircle his waist, with Komaeda pressing his face into Hinata’s back. He pets Komaeda’s hair with a lop-sided smile, and Komaeda’s cheeks puff.

“You don’t just remember the simulation, right,” he murmured. “You have Kamukura-kun’s memories, too.”

“Technically,” Hinata replied. “Kamukura Izuru has to share them with me first. Sometimes he does. Sometimes he doesn’t.”

Komaeda huffed.

“It’s so complicated, keeping you two separate yet also together. Sometimes I wonder who I’m with.”

I wonder that, too. But what matters is…

“Regardless of who I am, I still love you.” He pats Komaeda’s head. “That much is and always will be clear.”

“Regardless of who you are, I love you, too,” is mumbled into his back.

It’s so soft a sound that Hinata wouldn’t have even heard him if not for the vibrations, but that’s fine. It’s not like he’s ignorant to Komaeda’s feelings. Not anymore.

He ushers Komaeda under the blankets, Komaeda still clinging to his wrist all the while. Chuckling softly, Hinata slips in after him and squeezes Komaeda’s hand. He rubs his thumb against the other’s pulse, only pausing because Komaeda grips him with the mechanical hand. His grip only tightens when Hinata kisses his forehead and then down his face.

“When the storm passes,” Hinata says, nuzzling along Komaeda’s jawline and pressing another kiss to his cheek where ensuing the blush tinted it pink. “We should send out letters.”

Komaeda ducks his head, but he still accepts the affection that he’s showered with.

“We should also walk along the beach, maybe,” Hinata teases. “See what gets washed up. It might be treasure.”

“You’re a treasure,” Komaeda retorted, flustered. Shoving Hinata’s hands off and his face away, he buried his face into Hinata’s chest, hiding it from further embarrassment. “You’re the worst thing to have ever washed up on that beach.”

Hinata hummed, stroking his hair.

I didn’t technically wash up, but…

“And yet you stayed behind for me.” Hinata hides his smile in those wild white curls. “You’re still here right now.”

Komaeda grumbled but gave no further response. That was fine. Perfectly fine.

Stay with me, alright? Please keep staying with me. He decided against asking that for now for now. Opting instead for, “Sweet dreams, Nagito. I love you.”

#komahina #kamukoma #fanfiction #komahina secret exchange

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therewrites · 4 years ago

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We Are Who We Are Overall Thoughts *spoilers*

This review will be discussing briefly some of the episodes so far, so SPOILERS

So I started watching the HBO original series, We Are Who We Are, and I am conflicted. When I initially watched it, the dialogue made it hard for me to enjoy it so I stopped. Then after a couple of weeks after its airing, I thought, what the hell? And this time, I was pleasantly surprised. I always maintain the belief that pilot episodes are either boring, messy, or just bad so I try to push past it in order to get to the good shit. The pilot for We Are Who We Are was...I’m not sure how to explain...different? It certainly wasn’t bad and it made an impression on me, but this show as a whole is hard to limit by just a few words. It’s really something that you should watch and experience yourself.

It was only after the first 3 episodes that I began to understand the tone and mood that Luca Guadagnino was trying to convey. A lot of the time, the dialogue is abrupt and choppy and can make no sense. It can be frustrating, especially when you have two characters that aren’t communicating effectively. But I think that was the point. Guadagnino is a very realistic director, he captures the most realistic elements in a film. A lot of the conversations between characters is meant to emulate real life. Like, what the hell do you say when a conversation becomes awkward? Well, nothing sometimes.

While Guadagnino’s typical cinematography may suggest whimsy, in WAWWA’s case the small structured and synthetic model of the military base is juxtaposed to the very concrete characters. When I started to view the show less as simply a televised airing of fictional characters and problems, and instead looked at them as people, I began to really enjoy it.

Take the main character of Fraser, played by Jack Dylan Grazer. Fraser is meant to be seen as an extremely complex and troubled kid, but the difference between him and every other teen in a coming-of-age drama is that he isn’t polished. His drinking and drug habit isn’t framed as romantic or beautiful, in fact most of the time it’s portrayed as his weakness of sorts. In the first episode, Fraser has one of his mothers drive him home after getting pretty wasted and Luca graces us with a direct shot of him throwing up. And before that, Fraser is stumbling on a bridge when he drunkenly falls and cuts his face. Everything the character does is messy, uncoordinated, yet extremely real and relatable. Hell, in one shot you can clearly see him do a Naruto run!

Caitlin/Harper is a character that I enjoyed watching, as well. Jordan Seamon did a fantastic job and I really connected with their character. Initially we see Caitlin as this mysterious girl, and in the pilot we are meant to assume that their relationship with Fraser is supposed to develop into a romantic one. This is not the case as it seems that Caitlin is trying to come to terms with who they are. The biggest shift in Caitlin’s character isn’t their friendship with Fraser but probably when they get their period.

This was a moment that even I related to, even though I am cis when I first got my period I didn’t tell my mom until the day after. The possible confusion and shift in their reality that Caitlin felt was only heightened with the conflict of their boyfriend wanting to be more physically intimate, and Fraser’s eventual discover of Harper. I would have like to see exactly why Fraser seemed drawn to Caitlin. I’m assuming viewers were supposed to think that Fraser is attracted to her, or something. But both Caitlin/Harper and Fraser are queer coded and their respective sexualities are alluded to not being straight. It would’ve made their standing as platonic friends more clear if this had been established stronger.

I definitely think the writer could have devoted more time to giving certain characters proper conversations. It would’ve given more development to certain characters and better context for things. However even without that, there is a lot that the audience is showed that can’t be told through dialogue. The power struggle between Sarah and Richard being one. So far, there hasn’t been any explanation as to why they have a such a volatile relationship other than Richard being a homophobe.

Through deeper inspection, I was able to interpret it as: Richard may heavily resent the fact the Sarah was promoted to Colonel and not him. It is never made clear who has the better credentials, Sarah or Richard, but assuming that she was the one promoted it is a safe guess. This may be highlighted by the fact that Sarah is a women, and also gay. Even before episode 7, it was clear that Richard did not respect her authority. I also interpreted it as Richard being upset that and openly gay women was promoted instead of him, a black man.

Of course this is just based on my own personal knowledge of how the U.S. military can be towards people of color and LGBTQ+. Regardless, the competitive tension between two parents is palpable without needing dialogue to explain.

When conflict happens, I can kind of figure out which characters are going to react and which one’s will stay silent. I think the show is trying to accomplish a drastically realistic and raw series. It took me while to adjust to it, but by maybe the 2nd or 3rd episode, it starts to grow on you. Despite not liking a good majority of the characters, I was very surprised by how invested I was in them.

Like, Danny is my least favorite character because he displays very abusive and explosive tendencies, and doesn’t seem to care about the world around him. However, getting glimpses into his character and seeing how Richard ignores him for Caitlin/Harper, his suicidal thoughts, and how he is trying to reclaim his cultural and religious background makes me empathize with him.

Even though I hate his character, I can see that he is struggling. I appreciate the way that this show freely shows dark skinned black boys dealing with mental health issues, and personal development. Rarely are issues like suicide talked about in the black community, so seeing Danny talk about it and Craig offering(admittedly poor)comfort was touching. This is a general vibe that I get from nearly all the characters on WAWWA. I also appreciated the how Danny is actively trying to convert to Islam. In shows, rarely is Islam ever portrayed in a positive manner. Especially when female characters are shown to be struggling with their religion, Islam is shown as this barrier that prevents them from living life. Hopefully it goes without saying that the “taking off the hijab” as a way to show that a female character is “liberated” is overplayed and does not offer any respect to the countless Muslim women who choose to wear hijabs.

Now I think the pacing of some of the storylines could have been handled a bit more gracefully. Like how we jump from Fraser and Harper being kind of enemies(not really but you know what I mean), to just them hanging out in Richard’s boat was jarring. I would have at least liked to see the scene of them talking on the rocks at the beach. It would’ve given more insight on Caitlin/Harper’s character and also on Fraser too. Also how quickly Maggie and Lu(Jennifer but I love the name Lubaba, it’s my aunt’s name)jump into a physical affair. I just would have liked to see a build up of tension between all these characters but I don’t think this entirely ruins the plot.

I was very iffy when I learned that the show would be focusing on trans identity and gender and sexuality, but not actually hire a trans male actor. I was afraid that the show would completely botch the experiences of being transgender, and honestly I don’t have the authority to speak on whether or not this affects the quality of the show. I am cisgender, and only can empathize with this particular situation as much as I can. But I would like to hear to the opinion of someone who is trans and elaborate on the ways that they did/didn’t like Jordan Kristine Seamón’s portrayal.

Now at the time I’m writing this, the season finale has yet to come out. But I’d also like to briefly discuss the most recent episode and how it developed Jonathan and Fraser’s relationship. I was VERY worried that Guadagnino was going to take their relationship in the direction of inappropriate. While nearly all the depictions of Jonathan and his actions have been trough Fraser’s pov, it didn’t stop me from side-eyeing some of the interactions they shared. Of course after it was mentioned that Jonathan was supposed to be in his late 20s, nearing 30 I was immediately uncomfortable with the very flirty behavior he exhibited.

So when the scene of Fraser going up to his apartment after Craig’s death, I was very on edge. If Guadagnino had gone the extra mile to show an even larger age gap then I would’ve been pissed. While I enjoyed Call Me By Your Name, the implication that sexual relationships between barely legal teenagers and adults well into their 20s was sensual is something that I see as very weird now that I’m older. So seeing Jonathan as the object of Fraser’s affections made me extremely warry.

And honestly, I’m still surprised that the scene even happened in its entirety. I’m sure that Jack was not in any danger of being exploited but there were definitely points while watching I thought, what the fuck is going on? I was very worried that it would escalate, but I was happy to see that Fraser was the one who stopped it from going further. It made sense to me that this scene took so many liberties to be as graphic as possible without being too graphic, in order to show why a situation like that would be scary and confusing for Fraser. It wasn’t lost to me that Marta and Jonathan were the one’s initiating all the sexual advances. They held all the power in that scenario, even more so because Fraser is younger and has the tendencies to not make the best decisions. Though it seemed that Fraser was trying, he knew that the situation was fucked up.

I’d like to hear what JDG felt and thought doing this scene. What was his character’s thought process?

I’ve seen a lot of people compare the show heavily to CMBYN, which is fine. Besides certain cinematic parallels that people pointed out, I don’t see the clear comparison. CMBYN is more of a love story and it’s more polished than WAWWA. Now when I say tat, I don’t mean it as a negative. Rather, We Are Who We is obviously more devoted to realism and its characters. I appreciate the inclusion of more LGBTQ+ people and black main characters with development, something that CMBYN lacked. And for some people who didn’t like the show based solely on the fact that it wasn’t a CMBYN tv show, I suggest just going into it with no expectations and enjoy the mess.

And I’d also like to take a moment to commend Jack Dylan Grazer for his job in We Are Who We Are. All of the main cast are amazing actors and actresses and did a really good job bringing their characters to life. Though, I had always associated JDG with supporting roles that, while highlighted his acting talent, only put him in a one-dimensional light. As good as It 2017 was, JDG’s role of Eddie is only meant to be seen as a comic relief. In WAWWA, I was able to forget that he was teen actor, Jack Dylan Grazer, and really see him as Fraser. It’s worth mentioning that in a GQ interview, Grazer also mentioned how this role made him reevaluate is approach to acting.

And after reading an interview he did with a Interview Germany, with him saying he spent months in Italy reading the script and trying to perfectly craft this character, I was immensely impressed. I hope that he knows that all his hard work payed off and made a really dynamic and interesting character. I really hope that in the future JDG continues with more mature or multi-dimensional roles because he displayed that he has the talent to do so. Him being so young makes me optimistic in knowing that he is definitely going places in his career. I also hope that there will be a season 2 of WAWWA because despite having hour long episodes, the show still felt way too short. There is a lot about Fraser’s character, and all the others’ characters, that I want more information and analysis on.

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bobohoney · 5 years ago

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tempation (M)

Synopsis: Baekhyun is a new turn vampire and you are an empress, you are going to be his mentor. Teaching him how to control himself.

A/N: This is by far my favorite concept i have ever written!! hope you enjoy and feedback is always welcomed.

Taglist: @bbyunz - @undertheseapri

Warning this contains mature content.

Pairing: neophyte vampire! Baekhyun x empress vampire! oc

...

Pulse dead, eyes closed and hair sticking to his forehead. His pale skin contrasted with the red stains on his lips. You touched the fresh stains, it was blood. Could he possibly be one of yours? It had been a long time since you saw another neophyte or even a high rank vampire like yourself. This boy seemed to be a recent turned vampire, it was common that after the first taste of blood the person will go in a shock and pass out.

He suddenly opened his red eyes staring deeply at you, it only lasted a second because he flinched away from your touch. He looked like a scared puppy, watching you with his big red eyes.

“I´m not going to hurt you…I know what you are.” You said trying to bring calm into his scared state.

“Y-you know?” The boy asked, throat sore. His thirstiness suddenly coming back, making his insides churn at the absence of blood. He analyzed you, noticing how he didn’t hear your heartbeat. So… you weren’t human either. “You are like me.”

You nodded, finding yourself smiling strangely at his cute head tilt. He had so many questions as why he was inside your house and what was your name…You had questions, as well.

He looked around, you had a beautiful big house but it didn’t feel like a home. Vaguely, he remembered how the sun felt on his skin and the kiss of beloved one. Baekhyun felt strange like he didn’t know those concepts anymore. He was dead. Even after death he felt curious, guess some things stick with you until you are not part of this world anymore.

“What´s your name, darling?” Taking him off his mind you asked. He would have blushed if he was alive by the way you were looking, attentively, at him. You were drop dead gorgeous.

“Baekhyun, that’s all i remember anyways…” He answered feeling a little bit sad. It surprised him how his emotions were so intense in a couple of seconds. Did it use to be like that when he was human?

You giggled, remembering how awful was to be a new turned vampire. His red eyes light up when he heard your laugh, Baekhyun felt attracted.

“Are you hungry, Baekhyun?” Your tone was seductive as if you were casting a spell on him.

The boy nodded, looking at you with all his attention. You moved your black satin gown showing him a little jar of blood, as you took it into your hands Baekhyun couldn’t even think straight. All his internal voice and desire ordered was for him to drink blood. You put a tiny drop on your finger from the little jar and Baekhyun attached his lips to your index finger. He sucked and sucked like a baby in need, his fangs caressing the skin of it.

“Slow down.” You ordered and like a good boy he followed, how could you stop him with only your voice? “I’m an empress, baby; i can read your thoughts so don’t go too wild.”

“You will have learn to control yourself, honey... You can´t just go wild because a tiny drop of blood okay?” You explained to Baekhyun as your hand rested on his shoulder.

Baekhyun nodded understanding you were going to be like his mentor.

• • •

Baekhyun felt lonely as the weeks went by, he didn’t often see you only for the time you two went hunting which was late at night. The hunting consisted in killing wild animals for living but the taste of humans wasn’t the same as the animals. You taught him not to kill humans. Somehow Baekhyun noticed humans were precious to you, he couldn’t decipher as to why…

“Can´t sleep, Baekhyunee?” You joked entering with an antique hand lamp, you were wearing a large black nightgown and your pale skin shone with the lightning that came through the window where Baekhyun was sitting.

You were truly breathtaking.

“Maybe it´s one of those nights where i feel nostalgic, empress, that’s all.” He explained looking away from you.

He couldn’t grasp as why he felt nostalgic, it was also out of his reach the memories that came to him in the form of déjà vu´s…It made Baekhyun sad that he couldn’t really remember. What he did felt was as if he knew you from before or perhaps you reminded him of someone from his past.

“Don’t dig into the past, Baekhyun. It will only cause pain.” You said looking sentimental as well.

Only if you could decipher what Baekhyun had in mind.

• • •

He wasn’t supposed to do this, he was remembering bits and bits of his past life…You said it wasn’t correct but he couldn’t help it, he was curious. So he found himself outside of what used to be his home…Baekhyun saw a woman alone cooking through the window, he adjusted his black sunglasses to see better. The woman didn’t have more than 30 years? That’s what it seemed…He smelled the fragrance of the food she was cooking and it brought Baekhyun a memory. A real one.

Big brown eyes staring with love at Baekhyun, the smell of pie? Yes, lemon pie! She had a beautiful yellow dress that made his eyes blind. Her hair was the color of black tourmaline and cheeks rosy as she laughed at one of Baekhyun´s jokes. Her giggle made Baekhyun smile as he felt home.

As soon as the memory came it went, making Baekhyun feel numb again. He shouldn´t but he wanted to get close to the girl…His girl.

When Baekhyun was approaching the door to knock he felt a cold hand grabbing him by the shoulder and slamming him against the brick wall. His crimson eyes went big as you covered his mouth with your pale hand.

“Am I not enough for you?”

The question wasn’t what he was expecting to come out of your mouth. He bit his lip, have you possibly caught feelings for him? Could it be?

“Empress I…”

Baekhyun really looked like a scared puppy, in the weeks that you had been together you grew attached to him and when you followed him to the house you two were now it broke your heart. You didn’t want to feel the way that you did for Baek but it he made you feel something, he sparked things inside your chest. Maybe you were getting too old for this.

You felt a sting on your chest, something that you had never felt before, it was an excruciating pain inside your non beating heart. As if your heart wanted to beat again, for Baekhyun.

Baekhyun noticed your pained face and before you fell he caught you between his arms, taking you home.

Back inside the mansion, the night was dying down giving birth to the dawn. Baekhyun was sitting at the edge of the bed watching you recuperate yourself. For the first time you looked peaceful. He caressed the side of your face, running his hand over your pale skin. He didn’t mean to hurt you, he was just curious about his past life and to be honest you understood but it hurt nonetheless.

Baekhyun spooned your body from behind, nuzzling your neck with his nose. You pretended to be sleep not giving him attention but you couldn’t ignore the feeling of humanity he brought to your undead life.

• • •

Baekhyun found himself hungry at 4am and it didn’t help you two were sleeping on the same bed. He felt tempted to steal the elixir you wore as a necklace because it had human blood. Mouth watering at the thought of tasting it. He was so close yet so far…only if he could reach your necklace he will have his wish fulfilled. With inhuman speed he yanked the necklace breaking it with his hands- your eyes opened staring at Baekhyun´s bloody hand.-

“I-i´m sorry, empress I didn’t….”

You grabbed his hand stained in the blood of the elixir and sucked on his fingers making Baekhyun moan at the sensual sight. Breaking his entrance-like-state you straddled his hips, pinning his arms above his head.

“You poor needy thing, why did you do that? Aren´t animals enough for you? Nothing is enough for you, honey” You whispered in his ear digging your hips into his.

With one swift movement you ripped his white dress shirt apart, you roared at the sight of his toned figure. Releasing his hands of your grip Baekhyun turned both of you around, hitting your back against the mattress. His lips kissed yours not as sweet and innocent as he was his kiss felt as if he was making love to your mouth, sucking on your tongue like a starved man. You unclasped your bra while he slid his jeans and underwear down his legs before he removed slowly and with a teasing smile your panties.

You both took seconds devouring one another; Baekhyun´s eyes were big and red almost as if the color of lust had filled his iris. With the speed of the vampire he inclined his body towards yours again, hovering over your breasts his rosy lips captured your nipple sucking and biting like a baby in need while his fingers played with the other nipple. He looked at you with lust and love filled eyes breaking the sexual tension you had. A whimper came out of your mouth when Baekhyun grazed it with his sensitive fangs. You grabbed his hair separating him from your boob and brought him close to your lips kissing him again. This time the kiss was slow and sensual as you both slowed down.

Taking him by surprise you turned the both of you over, adjusting your positions so that you were on top again. Your fingers reached to grab his hard manhood making him moan as he watched you rubbed his tip against your folds.

“Fuck yourself on my cock, empress. Please.”

How could you deny him? You pushed his length into you, causing both of you to whimper. You both meet up half thrust as he thrust into you from beneath but you let him fuck you, sounds of skin slapping skin resonated throughout the room as he picked his pace going deeper inside you.

“Yes baby, you fuck me so well…Keep going.”

As if you casted a spell on him he continued to fuck you making you see heaven, he grabbed your waist bringing yourself close to his chest and he swore he could hear your dead heart beating for him. Again and again. Baekhyun slowed down his movements because he wanted the moment to endure; he wanted to make his empress happy. Your clit was touching his pelvic bone so the stimulation you were receiving was as intense and deep as his hard but slow thrusts. You two were making love now. One more thrust and both of you were coming together as you two shared a languid kiss.

“I love you.” You said in unison as the moment of fervor lasted and the sun shone through the curtain.

“I´m never going to leave you, empress.” Baekhyun promised.

178 notes · View notes

thenightgazer · 4 years ago

Text

Spark of Stardust

Chapter 2 : Under The Fair Moonlight After months of friendship, tonight is the first time for Vergil to visit Lyra's house for a tea... and some unexpected confessions.

Warning : parental abuse, drug abuse, PTSD, psychological/emotional abuse, munchausen syndrome by proxy

Part 6 of Tales of Apotelesma

You can also read this fic on AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

~~~

He doesn’t remember how he ended up lying on the ground.

He stares at the sky, only to find the full moon staring back at him.

Where am I?

What am I doing here?

An agonizing wail distracts him from his own thoughts. If only he could move his body, it would be easier to find out what’s going on here. He starts to lose his sight as he feels something come out from his head, dripping to his ear, then to his back. He tries to glance at his surroundings in vain and realizes that his eyes are going to betray him again.

Then he feels it— pain.

A tremendous pain all over his body.

The woman is screaming again. This time it is louder and sounds a lot more terrifying.

As he struggles to move his body, with desperation creeping in his spine, he finally sees a glimpse of the woman’s figure. Standing on the rooftop of the house, she is trembling and sobbing. He can’t hear what she’s murmuring, yet something forces him to keep his eyes on her. It’s against his will, and he can’t do anything against it.

To be fair, everything doesn’t make any sense to him since the beginning. He just wants to end this absurd dream.

But now he’s sure of something; that he recognizes her face. He can see it clearly now. It all makes sense why she looks familiar since the first time he had this dream. The same cold, void eyes...

… that belong to the late Asteria Crescent.

---

The first thing that Vergil feels before he opens his eyes is someone else’s hand over his face. He stares blankly at the dark, which he soon recognizes as Dante’s hand blurring his vision.

He pushes Dante’s hand slowly without waking him up, recalling the memory before the twins ended up passed out on the Devil May Cry entrance floor.

The party went smoothly. Kyrie loved the music box that Vergil gave her and wore the bracelet after he told her its function. The meal was delicious. The kids were well-behaved—more than usual—they even went to bed early with Kyrie. After that, they played poker and Dante suggested having a drinking game. Vergil was never a heavy drinker, but of course he was forced to join the game. In the end, they drank too much and could barely remember who won the gamble.

Vergil doesn’t remember the details, but the last thing he knew was that the cards and the smell of alcohol were all over the place. The entire crew passed out. Succumbing to alcohol and an over-flowing fatherly instinct, Vergil moved Nero to the couch and put a pillow under the young devil hunter’s head. He said goodbye to Trish, who was half-asleep on the dining table. Then he dragged Dante with him, made a sloppy movement to create a portal to Devil May Cry before he eventually collapsed.

I shouldn’t have drunk that forsaken whiskey, Vergil curses himself.

The blue hybrid stretches his body and tries to get up feebly, kicking Dante’s waist. “Wake up, Dante. Don’t sleep on the floor.”

The younger twin replies with a soft snore.

Realizing that it’s going to be futile to wake Dante up, Vergil walks to the kitchen and grabs cold water from the refrigerator. His throat is dry and sore after swallowing too much whiskey. He empties half of the bottle while thinking about his weird dream again.

“... Huston...” Dante murmurs in his sleep.

Vergil furrows his brow. “Who?”

“Play me... Elena Huston...”

Vergil puts the bottle on the table and back to Dante, grabbing his little brother’s ankle and drags him to Dante’s room clumsily. The alcohol still exists in his blood, making him slightly difficult to coordinate his movement. After struggling a little while to put the red devil on the bed and taking off his shoes, Vergil covers Dante’s body with a blanket. Foolish, meddlesome, slovenly little brother, Vergil grumbles, unaware of his opposite brotherly act of love he has done to Dante.

“Hey Verge...” Dante mumbles.

“What?”

“Thanks... you ... sleep... too...”

“Shut up, Dante. Just sleep.”

Vergil chuckles silently after watching Dante go back to unconsciousness. He laments the time gap between them. He didn’t have a chance to grow up together with his brother, but although he was indifferent to humanity, he secretly hoped that Dante was safe, wherever his brother would be. Even when he had defeated Dante for numerous times, he had never meant to kill him even for once.

Vergil cares for his brother more than he would ever admit.

He heads out from the room and takes a seat on the couch. When he’s about to take off his coat, he feels his phone is vibrating. He takes the phone to decline the call and shut the phone down, but Lyra’s name pops on the screen.

Coincidence?

He picks the call.

“Vergil?”

“...”

“Vergil? Are you there?”

“I’m fine,” he replies, almost like a whisper. “Just a little... tipsy.”

Vergil hears her snorting. “I thought you hated alcohol? You said it makes you lose your control or whatsoever.”

“Let’s just say the crews made me do it.”

“Even Vergil Sparda couldn’t escape peer pressure, aye?”

A subtle smile appears on Vergil’s mouth. “This is midnight, Stardust. You should’ve slept.”

“I did. Then I woke up and couldn't sleep again. I remember you said cambions don’t need to sleep, so I reckon you are still awake. How was the party?”

“What can I say?” Vergil massages his brow, relieving the pain on it. “Kyrie loved my present. Nero was more talkative to me than usual. Dante was less annoying. For the first time since I came back from Underworld, Mary didn’t glare at me like she wanted to kill me. Trish was civil. Nicoletta still wants to touch Yamato. Morrison still insists to give me his cigarette. The three little rascals asked me to read them Animal Farm and they left early for bed.”

A mocking snort comes out from the librarian. “Normally you would say ‘ It’s fine’ or something like that, but now you bother to describe the entire events to me—not that I complained though—it just convinces me that Vergil Sparda is sloshed for real.”

“... I’m just... happy, I guess. That everything went well.”

“Glad to know it,” there’s a short pause before she continues to speak. “Hey... do you know that there's this flower called butterfly pea?”

“Consider this is the first time I heard that.”

“It’s originally from southeast Asia. It has a pretty blue colour and if we brew it, we can have a blue tea. Bought a jar of it from Chinatown. In fact, I’m thinking of brewing it now, and... I think it would be great if I drink it with a friend,” Lyra chuckles nervously. “Would you mind coming for a cuppa? I know it’s midnight and you’re inebriated right now but—”

“I accept the invitation.”

There’s a gasp. “Seriously?”

“Yes. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I thought you would decline it, but never mind! See you very soon!”

Vergil looks at the phone screen blankly after Lyra hangs up the call. Sounds odd. This is the first time she invites me to her house. What if this invitation has something to do with my dream?

He remembers Lyra’s statement that she doesn’t believe in coincidence. It’s all but synchronicity, she had said.

Coincidence or not, he decides to leave anyway.

---

Lyra’s neighborhood is always quiet. Surrounded by meadows and woods, her house is secluded and quite far from the central city. No one would have thought that there’s a small cottage here and someone lives there. Lyra had said to him once that she wants to live in solitude and avoid having some neighbors, or else she would go crazy by neighbors’ endless thoughts.

The door opens immediately after Vergil knocks. Lyra’s tender face shows up, smiling at his presence. She wears an oversized blue sweater and long pajama pants. But that’s not his main concern at the moment—it’s her stature. The moonlight helps Vergil to look at her scrupulously and realizes that he has never noticed how pale Lyra’s fair skin is, like she hasn’t seen the sun for a long time. Along with her dark eyes and shady smile, anyone could mistake her as a vampire.

“Welcome to my small and humble cottage,” the librarian chuckles after examining the devil hunter in front of her. “You look fine for a drunken man.”

Vergil shrugs. “Cut it out, will you?”

“Just messing with you. Climb aboard.”

As he follows behind her to enter the house, Vergil’s cautious eyes wander off to the house’ interior. The house is small with a cozy living room attached to the kitchen. The two doors beside the living room are assumed by Vergil to be a bedroom and a bathroom. He walks to the windows framed with burgundy drapes; the lace inner curtains remain drawn, allowing moonlight to enter the house. There he can see Lyra’s small garden, blooming delicately under the night sky.

“I always fancy stargazer lilies and munstead wood rose.” Lyra says from the kitchen.

“They look exquisite,” Vergil murmurs. “I can smell the fragrance even from here.”

Vergil still stands in his place, watching the midnight breeze swing the flowers. Some of its petals have fallen to the ground. The next thing he sees is the butterflies flying around munstead wood roses. It’s rare to find butterflies in this metropolis. Knowing that there’s still beauty worth living, Vergil is grateful that he isn’t dead yet. He spent most of his lifetime isolating himself from the world, loathing the beauty inside it because he thought it was worthless.

He glances to the kitchen where Lyra puts the kettle on the stove and takes a jar— he presumes that it’s dried butterfly pea— but seems like she’s having a tough time opening it. Trying his best to keep his dignity by not mocking her adorable struggle, he approaches her and takes the jar.

“The strange and powerful human being with the ability to move every object only with her mind, couldn’t even open a goddamn jar.” Vergil remarks in sardonic tone. “Is this what you call friendship? Acting as your jar opener and transportation device?”

Lyra taps her chin. “Tut-tut, Vergil Sparda. You forgot ‘personal bodyguard’ and ‘heat provider’.”

“I’ve never thought that you’re such an opportunistic capitalist who used your friend for your convenience.”

“Says a megalomaniac who raised a demon tree to fight his brother only to be kicked in the arse by his son.”

“... that's... it won’t happen again,” Vergil looks away as he gives her the jar. “Nero hasn’t succeeded in defeating me since I came back from the Underworld."

“Sure~ I believe you.” The teasing tone in Lyra’s word says otherwise, much to Vergil’s dismay. He decides to help her prepare the cups rather than to continue their banter as she puts the dried butterfly pea flower into the teapot. Lyra had told him to let her do all the work, but she finally gives up after Vergil glares at her while cleaning the cups with a napkin.

“You finally made your dream come true.” Vergil says, putting cups on the saucers.

“What dream?”

Vergil points at a 36-strings lever harp beside the table in front of the sofa.

“Oh!” Lyra exclaims, turning the stove off and brings the kettle on the countertop. “Couldn’t afford to buy pedal harp, so I’m quite satisfied to have this one. Sugar or lemon? Plain blue tea tastes super earthy, only if that’s your preference.”

“Just lemon. Thank you.”

“Okay. Have a seat on the sofa. I’ll bring the tea right there,” she says.

Vergil takes his time to observe the living room, which he finds odd since he entered this house. This house is too... plain. Except for the harp, a chess board, some Rubik cubes on the table and an old radio on the kitchen counter, there’s almost no personal touch in this house. No family pictures, trophies, or even a bookshelf.

Considering she’s a bookworm, that’s terribly odd. But as she said, this cottage is small. He tries to ignore his hunch and turns his focus to admire the lever harp, plucking the strings cautiously and listening to its mesmerizing sound.

“You like it?” Lyra asks while putting the tray on the table and pouring the tea to their cups.

“It's magnificent,” Vergil takes his seat. “Let’s see if you’re capable of playing this astonishing instrument.”

“Challenge accepted!” the librarian drags the harp to her side. “Happy or sad?”

The blue devil stays silent for a while, staring at the cold fireplace before he glances at the window, remembering the moment when Lyra greeted him under the fair moonlight, causing his old soul to demand something soothing and nostalgic. “Play me Clair de Lune.”

Lyra nods cheerfully. “Easy peasy.”

It’s such a picturesque scenery, to witness Lyra hold the harp like she was born to play it. It’s the same bewitching phenomenon as their little adventure a few days ago when they stargazed together to see the Lyrids. He’s bemused once he hears the strings from the lever harp plucked and formed a beautiful composition. The brighter and folksy sound from lever harp is different from the classic pedal harp, yet it doesn’t change the beauty and romantic tone from the song.

Vergil finds himself frozen under the spell— it’s not just the song, he muses. It’s her.

Your soul is a chosen landscape

Where charming masquerades and dancers are promenading

Playing the lute and dancing, and almost

Sad beneath their fantastic disguise s

While singing in a minor key

Of victorious love, and the pleasant life

They seem not to believe in their own happiness

And their song blends with the moonlight

With the sad and beautiful moonlight

Which sets the birds in the trees dreaming?

And makes the fountains sob with ecstasy

The slender water streams among the marble statues.

By the time when Lyra finally reaches the song’s outro, Vergil senses his body is less tense and his head gets back its clarity after succumbing to alcohol for hours. Her fingers are getting slower as she plucks the pin and a string for the last time, a satisfied smile appears on her face, “I like this song.”

“So do I.” Vergil agrees.

She giggles. “Next time, it’s your turn to play me a song. Dante told me that you’re a gifted violinist. He sent me a video of you playing Caprice 24 yesterday.”

Vergil covers his face with his palm. “Kindly remind me to kill him soon.”

“You play eloquently. You should be proud!” Lyra giggles and pours honey inside her cup.

“Silence,” Vergil put a slice of lemon on his tea, the tail of his eyes spy on Lyra. “Instead of flattering me, why don't we just straight to the business?”

“Sorry?”

“It’s obvious that you didn’t invite me just for a cup of tea and impromptu recital.”

The puzzled expression on Lyra’s face answers it all. She doesn’t say anything for a quiet long time, still stirring her tea as if she’s still preparing what to say to him. Vergil suspects she would avoid his question, but she just sighs and finally sips her own tea, “You’re right. But first, drink your tea.”

Her eyes fixate on his, as if she commands him to mimic her gesture. He has no choice but to obey, lifting his cup to his mouth and carefully taste the blue tea. He enjoys the mixture between the natural flavor from the tea and the acid from the lemon, slurping more of them to please his throat. He would enjoy the tea more if Lyra didn’t give him that hollow gaze, causing him to wonder if she put poison inside the tea and wait for him to collapse, but if there’s any poison inside the tea, he would find it out even before he drinks it.

“What do you think?” She blows the steam from the tea.

“It’s good. Not too bitter, nor too bland.”

“Drink a little more, then.”

Again, Vergil obeys her.

Lyra puts her cup on the table. “It’s easy, doesn’t it?”

“What is it?”

“When I told you to drink, it was easier for you to drink it.”

“I don’t see why it should be difficult to drink it. It tastes good and it’s an act of courtesy.”

“An act of courtesy,” she smiles bitterly. “Oh yeah, it was easier for me too.”

Vergil puts his cup on the table with the intention to end Lyra’s vague trickery. The words he says next are full of certainty. “You had a dream of me.”

Her eyes are widened, but she already expects him to spill the question. She nods, her fingers trail on a Rubik's cube. “Twice. Weird, huh?”

“What did you dream about?”

“Last night? I was you, grieven by the death of your father. You wandered to your mother’s room and cried together inside a drawer with Dante. An hour ago, I was you again, chained up and this titanic, god-like demon tortured you and called you ‘disgraceful offspring of the traitor Sparda’. I think it was Mundus.”

“That’s bizarre. I believe I haven’t told you about Dante and I inside the drawer. And that was what Mundus exactly told me when he tortured me in the Underworld.”

“What about you? Did you dream of me?”

“I did,” he admits. “I’m afraid I failed to understand the context, since you haven’t told me any single things about you.”

“Fair enough. In that case...” she holds her breath while solving the cube. “What did you see?”

“I believe I was on your point of view when the dream occurred. You were gravely ill and your mother tended you. I still can recall how bad your headache was from that dream. Then Asteria— your mother— read you The Hobbit . In that dream, I didn’t know who she was, until you mentioned her name this afternoon. I decided to not bring it up to you until I found out why I dream about something I’ve never experienced and why it was about you.”

“The dream, then,” she continues. “Have you seen another one after that?”

He shakes his head. “None whatsoever.”

“Really?”

Sorry, Lyra. “Yes. Why?”

“... nothing. A lot of weird things have happened since our accidental mind link. The dreams must be our memories. Let's say the dream was our brain projection of what we’ve told each other about our past, then how could we feel the pain we’ve never experienced before? How could I know the face of the demon I’ve never met before? I got a hypothesis that whenever I dream of you, you must’ve dreamt about me. But this time you didn’t dream of me while I dreamt of you. Seems like it doesn’t work like that...”

The sound of clicking cube stops at once, making Vergil wonder whether she stopped the cube because of his answer or she has solved the cube since all the layers are already in the right places.

“I was sickly back then. Could barely leave my bed,” Lyra says, showing him the cube. “And this was the only thing I could do, aside from reading.”

Vergil receives the cube. “I saw plenty of this thing in my dream.”

She rests her back on the head of the couch. “What do you think of my mother?”

“She seems caring and nurturing.”

“Do you love your mother?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course.”

“I’m glad that you do.”

“You don’t love your mother?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, her eyes are dreary. She lifts her feet on the couch and moves her body to face the devil. “I don’t want to lie to you, Vergil.”

“Then don’t. We promised to not lie to each other.”

She chuckles coldly. “Where should I begin... oh right, I told you I was sickly. Mum said I got this rare genetic disorder called severe combined immunodeficiency. SCID made me extremely vulnerable of diseases. Therefore, I should live in a sterile and isolated environment. I could barely leave my own house, couldn’t even open the window just to smell my garden. Didn’t get a chance to meet new people other than my mother, my nurse— I forgot her name, I never liked her anyway— and my governess, Norma.”

Lyra closes her eyes for a while before she continues. “She was a great scientist. She was the smartest person I’ve ever known. She was the one who made me in love with astronomy. I could only see her infamous work on telly and newspapers. Some days, there were people who came to visit us and talked to mum. They were forbidden to meet me because of my condition. Some of them left me notes and little presents, wishing me good health. They told my mum to have faith and carry on. And whenever my mum had to attend international conferences, she cried so much a day before her flight because she had to leave me, even though Norma was there with me.”

“What about your father?”

“Never knew him. Mum was never married. She always looked blue whenever I asked her about my father, so I stopped asking.”

Lyra clenches her hand before taking the Rubik cube from Vergil’s hand and begins to play it again. “We only had each other, that means we need to protect each other. I never questioned anything because she took care of me and devoted on me. If it wasn’t my mother, who else wanted to take care of me? I liked Norma, but she was paid for nursing me. She could leave anytime soon, but not my mum. She was the only family I had, and I loved her.”

Lyra gazes at Vergil, whose face is straight still without any meaningful reactions. “I ate and slept as ordered. Took my medicines. Never once went outside the house. I did exactly what my mum instructed. But one day I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt dizzy almost every day. I threw up a lot. Sometimes I couldn’t even move my own body. I didn’t feel any better, just getting worse day by day. I felt like I could die any time.”

She shuffles the cube again after solving it. “One day, I stopped taking all of it.”

“The medicines.” Vergil emphasizes, remembering the nasty smell of medicine in his dream.

Lyra nods. “No matter how persistent Mum’s and the nurse' persuasion, I didn’t take it. I just wanted it to be over. Then something unexpected happened,” she lets out a small grin. “I was getting better. Much better. I could walk without taking a deep breath anymore. I went to the garden without having a nosebleed. I didn’t throw up. My headache was gone. I felt like I was... reborn.”

Lyra takes another deep breath; her hands stop shuffling the cube. “I never said it out loud, but Mum was sick. Very sick,” she taps her head with her index finger. “Mentally.”

Vergil tilts his head. That’s unexpected. “What makes you think so?”

The librarian puts the cube on the table, leaving it unsolved. “Any time I refused to take medicine or disobeyed her, she distanced herself from me. She didn’t reciprocate everything I did. She was just going straight inside her room and locked the door. It was almost like she resented me— no, punishing me for disobeying her. She loved playing this guilt-trip game so much. It seems like she liked it whenever she succeeded to make me think that I was a worthless daughter.”

“I know there are parents who treat their children poorly and abusively,” Vergil contemplates. “But I’m afraid I still couldn’t comprehend why your mother did that to you. You were only a child. A terribly ill child. She should’ve been happy instead of punishing you for your better condition. I understand that we could never judge a book by its cover, but… in my dream, she seemed like... she loved you wholeheartedly. Why would she want to hurt her own daughter?"

Lyra hugs her knees. “When someone keeps putting a person in ugly circumstances, I can only think that it’s either out of hatred or love.”

“Why would you put the person you love in such circumstances?”

“Love can be... poisonous,” Lyra stares blankly at the ceiling. “It’s always easier to hurt someone you hate. It makes more sense. But if you love someone, you’d do anything for them, even if it’s beyond logic, consciously or not. You’d call it kindness and love, but it’s actually poison. You hurt your beloved ones and say that you do that because you love them. You keep them close to you, shower them your love until they’re blind by your love and never find the help they really need...”

Noticing her body begins to shiver, Vergil takes off his coat and wraps it around Lyra’s body to keep her comfortable. He couldn’t help but empathized with her. She’s as confused as he is about human emotions, which is surprising. She always looks so confident, like there’s no obstacle that could damage her. But now while she slowly reveals her past, she looks extremely vulnerable. It makes Vergil want to help her somehow, even just to calm her down.

“Here,” Vergil says, hesitantly offers his hand. “Just until you feel better.”

Lyra’s anxiety gradually calms down as their hands are attached. Vergil’s gloved palm is hard as steel—one squeeze can crush her bone, yet she can only feel the warmth between their entangled hands.

She lets out a sad smile. How long has it been since the last time someone holds my hand?

“Do you feel better now?” Vergil finally breaks the ice.

“A little,” Lyra agrees. “Although I must admit, this is awkward.”

Vergil closes his eyes and chuckles as he rests his body on the head of the sofa. “I don’t know what madness leads me to do this. Perhaps it’s because of you. You are a terrible influence for me.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to your best friend!”

“How unfortunate.”

With their hands still attached, Lyra lowers the coat from her head, revealing threads of her golden brunette hair, shifting her body to lean on the sofa. “Have you ever heard about Munchausen syndrome?”

“A mental disorder in which a person deliberately malingering?”

“Yup. And there is another one called Munchausen by proxy. Means the caregiver is the one who fakes the illness in a person under their care.”

“You mean...”

Lyra scoffs bitterly. “I know one should not self-diagnose without proper professional assessment. Mum was never clinically diagnosed, nor that people noticed her traits. They only knew her as a devoted mother and a great scientist. But I’m the one who lived under the same roof with her and I knew her better than anyone else. I could give you examples of how much my mother loved me”

“There was one time after my refusal to take my medicines, she humiliated me in front of her colleagues,” she continues with a calmer voice. “I was helping her to arrange a bouquet of roses to be placed at the living room. It was unusual that she allowed me to do the ‘hard work’. I did what she asked. I wanted to please her, just to see her smile again. I wanted her to look at me as her daughter, not a failure. I cut the roses diligently, and my fingers were bleeding because I was careless. I didn’t know that Mum brought her colleagues home, and they saw my bleeding fingers. She went nuts when she saw my fingers, scolded me for touching the roses. She said rubbish like, ‘I told you to not touch them!’ ‘Why are you so careless?’ ‘Oh, my poor, darling baby’ while her colleagues gave us the pity look as Mum brought me to my chamber, tended my wounds exaggeratedly, telling me that the pain will be gone soon and the wounds won’t leave any scratches. I was going to ask her why she lied to her colleagues but she kept shushing me like I’m a bloody idiot. I was confused, like, what did I do wrong?”

Lyra glances at Vergil, whose eyes are fixated to the fireplace in a silent rage. “You might’ve thought I was too naïve to indulge her unhealthy behaviour.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You were too weak and innocent to defend yourself,” the door to Vergil’s memory palace where his darkest memories are stored is widely opened. “It sounds like self-justification, but we were just children. We couldn’t have known the cause of what was happening back then. You didn’t deserve everything your mother did to you.”

The contemplative words from Vergil slightly lightens the weight on Lyra’s shoulders. Her solemn smile emphasizes her hidden sadness and weariness. “At those days, I thought she was just knackered, or in a bad mood. Maybe she really worried about me. Maybe I was too stubborn and that made her gutted, so I endured. I took those bloody medicines because it was easier for me. She was so happy and for a moment, I thought I was happy too. Took it longer for me to realize that I was frightened, but I had no options but obeyed her.”

Vergil remains silent whilst feeling Lyra’s thumb tapping on the back of his hand. He waits patiently for her to gather herself before she mumbles quietly. “I’ve been wondering too... why would anyone want to go back to the person who hurt them?”

“Violence often acts in a cycle,” Vergil squeezes her hand lightly as a reassurance. “Once the perpetrator realized their mistake, they would beg for forgiveness. Some people mean it, some people don’t,” he sighs deeply, carefully putting his words together. “You thought by forgiving your mother, she could change for the better. That forgiveness would improve your relationship with her. You came back to her, sacrificing your safety and well-being to seek her love and comfort. She planted the fear inside you. It was a wheel you couldn’t escape. But you were never a fool for coming back to her. You loved her and you were a child who had no one to have your back but your mother. Even when your expectation failed you, you could only rely on her. ”

“I tried to break the wheel,” Lyra pulls away their hands and cups her face, sliding it to her head like she had a headache. “There were countless times when I thought about running away. But it never happened. I couldn’t even survive five minutes outside. If I told anyone about my suspicion of Mum’s actions on me, they would never believe me and call me a spoiled child instead. Norma was the only person who believed me. She was trying to help me, like quietly flushing the medicines whenever I couldn’t take it anymore. Then she was fired shortly after she spoke to Mum about her nonsensical punishment to me.”

Lyra bites her lips. “It seemed like Mum tried to cut every string with Norma. I never heard about her anymore. Never found her phone number or address. There was a time when I missed her but I couldn’t contact her. She was the only person who believed me and my mother took her away from me because Norma defended me from Mum’s fucked up behaviour.”

A sting of familiar dread creeps inside Vergil’s bone, despite his awareness that it wasn’t his own fear but residues from his first dream about Lyra. He remembers his futile effort to move the body and the way Asteria’s calm yet terrifying gaze at him when she feeds him. The unpleasant sound from the friction between the spoon and the bowl... Asteria’s shady voice as she told him her worries...

“I told you I never knew exactly when I acquired my power, right? Because as long as I remember, I always had this power from the very beginning. I knew what pawn Norma would pick whenever we played chess. I knew the next word my mother was going to say. There were times I accidentally moved things even without touching them. I thought I was just imagining things,” Lyra fixes Vergil’s coat. “Therefore, when Mum scolded me again, I felt my wrath burning and something inside me burst out. I was shocked because suddenly almost anything inside my bedroom was dropped—the books, the toys, the lamps. Mum was pale and silent like a ghost while staring at the mess, until the nurse came. She glared at me like I was a freak and the last thing I remember was I woke up and was unable to move my body. I suspected Mum had me drugged again to prevent me causing havoc. She still had the audacity to act normal, even read me The Hobbit like yesterday was nothing.”

Vergil’s icy eyes get wider slightly. “The event in my dream...”

“Now you know,” Lyra giggles but her face stays impassive. “Then a month later, there came the moment when we both fell.”

Vergil straightens up his body. The picture of his second dream of her comes up in his mind. The same soulless eyes that he saw back then when there was a murder in the library a few months ago appear once more on Lyra. Somehow, Vergil knows where this conversation is heading and he knows he won’t like it. “What do you mean by 'we’ ?”

The pure honesty in Lyra’s eyes makes Vergil’s blood curdle. “I told you, didn’t I? I don’t want to lie to you.”

---

It was the end of the fall season when six-years old Lyra woke up from her slumber. She glanced at the clock on the wall, grinning unconsciously. They say 3 o’clock in the morning is devil’s hour. Unable to go back to sleep, she grabbed her mauve cardigan and decided to take a little detour to the balcony. I could find some autumn constellation, she thought with excitement. She remembered her mother hadn’t packed the cool and sophisticated telescope she had always admired since the very first time Asteria brought it home, and she left it on the balcony this afternoon.

Little Lyra succeeded sneaking out from her bedroom. The mouthful and annoying nurse was nowhere to be seen. She was sure that Asteria is already sleeping. Lately, Asteria didn’t show her ‘lunatic’ nature to Lyra, which Lyra was grateful for. So when she found Asteria on the balcony, Lyra’s excitement instantly turned into fear. Her mother stood with her hands on the balustrade. The telescope was still there, but it seems like Asteria hadn’t used it again since the afternoon. Thinking that her mother wouldn’t notice her presence, Lyra tip-toed to going back to her chamber, but Asteria saw her and startled. It was almost like Asteria scared of being caught on the balcony.

“Solstice?” Asteria gasped. “Why do you— oh, never mind. You must be here to stargaze, aren’t you? Come here, sweets.” A warm smile appeared on her face as she sat on the chair and fixed the telescope.

Lyra’s fight or flight instinct soared up. It was already horrible to think her mother would scold her for sneaking from her bed, but the sullen face of Asteria was unsettling. It looked like she was able to burst any time soon.

“Come on,” Asteria insisted. “Look, there is Andromeda!”

Without making any sound, Lyra climbed on her mother’s lap timidly. Asteria told her to peek into the eyepiece, which Lyra reluctantly did.

“What do you think?” asked Asteria.

“Beautiful,” Lyra said. “But I don’t understand.”

“About what?”

“The pattern. Andromeda doesn’t look like she was chained. More like she fell from the sky and died on the ground.”

Asteria chuckled. “As per usual, sweets. You have a vivid imagination.”

“I just don’t like that story. It was Andromeda’s parents’ fault, but she was the one who got sacrificed.”

“The gods punished her parents too.”

“Yet the gods placed them among the stars. It’s not fair.” Lyra murmured.

“Well, it’s mythology,” Asteria caressed Lyra’s hair. “On the other side, I think Cassiopeia loved her daughter. Too much that she got the audacity to boast about Andromeda’s beauty. If she were really that self-centred, she’d boasted her own beauty instead.”

Lyra’s small hands adjusted the focusing knob slowly. “If she really loved her, she would think for her daughter’s safety.”

It took Asteria a quite long time to respond. She hugged her little daughter from behind, resting her head on Lyra's crown and massaging Lyra’s shoulders. “Why don’t you go back to sleep? It’s cold here.”

Mummy sounds tired, Lyra noticed. Yet asking questions right now wouldn’t be the best choice. Asteria gave her a good night kiss lightly before letting Lyra off from her lap.

“You’re right. Cassiopeia’s pride put her daughter in danger,” Asteria said, cuddling her daughter tightly. “I love you, Solstice. I’m sorry for everything.”

What was that? Lyra felt an itchy ache somewhere in her heart by just listening to her apology, but Asteria just smiled as if she had never said anything. She waved at her, telling her wish for Lyra to have a sweet dream.

Lyra walked away from her mother with heavy steps, despite her wish to stay a little bit longer. Asteria seemed to be in a good mood this time, and that tender side of her melted Lyra’s heart. She’s her mother, after all. She couldn’t help but love her unconditionally. I hope I don’t agitate her, she hoped as she turned her direction to enter the balcony again, planning to beg to stay for a while.

But when she turned around, the horror already waited for her there.

Lyra was screaming like a wild animal as she ran and ran...

“MUMMY!!!!!”

… towards Asteria, who jumped from the balustrade.

Don’t leave me here! Lyra’s body felt like it was burning in blaze. She could feel an overwhelming power within her burst out. Please God, let me use that power again!

Her breath got heavier as she jumped from the guardrail and reached her hand to her mother with a hope to save her. It felt like eternity when she realized that her mother was floating on the air instead of falling. With an eerie face, Asteria screamed her daughter’s name while she was brought by an invisible force to the rooftop again.

I did it! Lyra thought cheerfully, but not for long because she quickly realized her mysterious power didn’t bring her to the balcony too. She tried to focus on herself, doing whatever she can to release her power again. She knew her power was still raw and immature. She had planned to practice secretly tomorrow, but she had no idea that things would go south like this. The first was always luck or coincidence, Norma had said to Lyra when she found out Lyra’s little secret. But there will be no more luck for the second time. There is no such thing as coincidence, but synchronicity...

While Lyra was still thinking about why her power didn’t work, her body crushed on the ground violently.

She was sure she heard the sound of her fractured bones.

She had never experienced that kind of pain before. All those side effects from her medicines was nothing compared to this one. The pain gradually ended as the numbness consumed her body. She looked at the sky, thinking how poetic her fall was under the fair moonlight with her motionless body. She was sure she saw Asteria on the balcony, shrieking and saying something she could not comprehend. Why did she jump? Was that because of me? Maybe because I made Mummy angry again... maybe afterlife seems better than living with me...

Lyra was willing to go. Afterall, she was sick of being isolated. Death seems promising. At least she would be free from medicine and endless hope for getting a healthy body. I look like Andromeda , she thought as she felt her eyes getting heavier. Like someone lying dead on the ground.

She knew it’s time to go when her eyelids could barely manage to stay open. She hoped Asteria would live a better world without her. If only she could laugh right now, she would do it for the last time, so she wouldn’t feel too bitter about death.

Mum—

Unfortunately, she never got a chance to think further. The only thing she saw before she lost her consciousness was her mother climbing up the balustrade again, this time to follow her daughter to death.

---

“Stardust?”

The gentle voice of Vergil startles Lyra back to reality. She doesn’t know how long the time has passed since she told him how her mother died. The long, buried weariness and sadness inside her consumes her like she has just released a huge burden from her body at once.

“Sorry, I was preoccupied with my own head.” Lyra scratches her right ankle, a habit she couldn’t let go since that tragic day. “You alright?”

“I was supposed to be the one who asked,” the blue devil says. “Are you sure you’re going to continue? We could discuss this later.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Just adjusting myself because I’ve never opened up to anyone else before,” Lyra continues, ignoring Vergil’s pity look. “Anyway, after that, I woke up in the local hospital. They said my nurse heard my mother’s scream and went to check. That was how she found us and called the ambulance. When we reached the hospital, they said they couldn’t save us. They went insane because suddenly my heart started beating again in an hour. They put me under intensive care for three months. I got severely broken bones and head trauma—I needed to do a couple more surgeries and physiotherapy. They said it was a miracle for me to survive and recover rapidly.”

“That must have something to do with your power.” Vergil adds.

“That’s very likely. I woke up hearing voices and seeing things I wasn’t supposed to be. I thought I was just dreaming, but day by day I spent my time hospitalized, I knew it was real. Those voices and images were people’s thoughts,” Lyra chuckles with irony on her lips. “It was already too much for me to read minds at once, and then I found out that my mother died. I saved her life just for giving her a chance to jump again.”

She sounds ireful rather than sad, Vergil suspects. He can’t deny his instinct to not let his attention to Lyra’s right ankle, which he stores his suspicion for a long time.

“One day, Mum’s lawyer came to visit me at the hospital. She said since I’m an orphan and have no relatives, she will act as my guardian and I’ll receive inheritance whenever I reach legal age. The whole ‘guardian’ part was just formality because she’ll send me to an orphanage once I get discharged from hospital. Even I knew what she had stored in mind before she started to speak. But that didn’t really concern me,” Lyra takes a deep breath and exhales. Her expression is slightly twisted as she telekinetically raises a Rubik's cube and tears every cube apart before she smashes them into flakes.

What in the seven hells— “Lyra?” Vergil calls her, but the word seems unreachable to her.

“I was going to forgive my mother because I wanted her to rest in peace, yet again she proved it to me that she was a fucking devil.”

Another cube is crushed, followed by a loud cracking sound from the teacup.

“The lawyer couldn’t bear to tell me this, but she found fake prescriptions of my daily medicines and a drawer full of placebo pills in my mother’s room. The doctors told her that they found traces of placebo pills and a very tiny dose of rat poison inside me. A. Fucking. Rat. Poison—”

The radio on the kitchen counter starts playing by itself, followed by a loud bang from Lyra’s front door.

“It was all placebo. There was never a fucking SCID nor fucking illness. I was perfectly fine from the start! The only reason why I always felt sick was because of that rat poison and abominable suggestions from that fucking b—”

Vergil grips her shoulder. “Lyra, you will destroy the entire house. Please stay calm.”

The view of her floating table pulls Lyra back to the earth. She startles at first, but it doesn’t last as she finally gathers herself and puts the table back to the ground. The bleak on her face remains while she tightens up Vergil’s coat. “Sorry.”

“I told you to stop earlier.”

“I can never be ready to tell you the truth unless I do it right now.”

“Fine, but if I notice even a small sign of you going berserk again, we have to stop this conversation.”

“Deal.”

“Good. Then, did the nurse have any knowledge about the poisoning?”

Lyra shakes her head in disappointment. “She claimed that Mum just gave her my medical certificate and records, which the lawyer found to be fake. Mum made up those records as if they were authorized by a credible health facility. She made up things and fucked up my life for Hell knows what she was up to. Then she just fucking died and leaving me alone without any explanation on everything.”

Vergil wipes his face in frustration, This is more messed up than I thought it would be.

Lyra lets out a rugged laugh. “You know what happened next. The media never told people how my mother died.”

“That’s what I always thought to be very suspicious. They can’t just spread false rumour. There’s evidence, witnesses and statements from the police and hospital.”

“All I could think was that Asteria Crescent was an infamous astrobiologist with great reputation. Imagine if the world knew this brilliant person was a mad woman who poisoned her own daughter. That would destroy the reputation of academical world. Her good legacy must be remembered.”

“... Was that really easy for humans to alter the truth?”

The librarian laughs bitterly. “They do it all the time, Vergil. It’s easier than you think it is. Money talks louder than words. They must’ve silenced Mum’s lawyer too since she said nothing about the truth to me. I tried to tell them that my mother was insane and that wasn’t how she died, but they thought I was the one who lost my mind. PTSD, head trauma, reconstructed memory, call it what you want. I don’t know who started it, why and how, but they closed the case.”

“But who were these people? Why did such a grandiose plan just to cover up a scientist’s death?”

“Who knows. There’s always someone behind the stage.”

“And they really sent you to an orphanage?”

“Yes, maybe to shut my mouth. Mum’s lawyer managed my financial support, but she never showed up at the orphanage.”

Lyra bites her lips, like she doesn’t know how to continue and stumbles over her own words. She scratches her right ankle again. “Kids in the orphanage used to tease me for limping whenever I walked. It’s odd for me, even until now. The doctor said I had fully recovered, just needed to adjust myself to the outside world since I stayed indoors for too long. But the sore thing in my ankle here never really disappears. I never found out why. All doctors I’ve consulted with said despite the fading scar on the skin, my ankle is perfectly fine and should’ve been functional. People couldn’t even see me limping, at least until a certain sulky devil spotted it.”

“I’m not sulky.”

“The more you deny it, the more it’s true.”

“Your logical fallacy amuses me.”

A relieved laugh comes out from Lyra. “You got me there.”

With the smile on her face blooming again, Vergil feels a towering wave of unpleasant ache filling his whole heart. Right now, he can grasp the reason why Lyra acts too secretive. He knows that burden very well; to be unable to trust anyone but themselves. Lyra has never received the real love from her mother, which was different from Vergil. Her childhood and self-esteem were stolen from her own kin. That is also the reason why Lyra can easily understand him, despite his despicable sins. Lyra has already had the power and was able to save her mother, yet in the end Asteria chose to kill herself. Contrary to Vergil, who even had demon power since birth, but he couldn’t save his mother from her doom. His love for his family was Vergil’s motivation to gain more power, which is a total opposite from Lyra who hates her mother and resents her power. They are two sides of the same coin.

“Terra to Vergil?” Lyra snaps her fingers in front of Vergil’s face.

“Pardon me,” Vergil says. “I was just contemplating.”

“About what?”

“About how humans can be so much worse than demons. No offense.”

“None had taken.”

The blue devil hesitates before he asks. “How... How did you cope from that?”

“Hmmm...” Lyra mumbles and sighs heavily. “It’s not easy. It still affects me in a way. I grew up thinking that people can’t be trusted. Telepathy made it worse. I hesitate to live, but I don’t want to die either. It’s difficult to form any connection, no matter how much effort I took to fit in. I’m not even sure myself whether this is the real me or I’m just a skilled imitator who fits people’s expectations.”

She smiles, this time the gloom on her lips is fading. “I met people who were sincerely decent and empathetic. But somehow, I just couldn’t bring myself to open up and let them enter my circle. I used to blame my mum for this trust issue, but lately I suspect it was on me.”

“You’re not the one to blame, Lyra.”

Lyra shakes her head. “I choose to leave them before they get too close to me.”

“Because you don’t want people to see your scar?”

“I thought the reason I’m pulling myself from society was because I’m afraid that I’d get hurt. Took me a long time to realize that I’m worried that I’d hurt people. That’s what you got when you have a telepath as your friend. You’d get caught in endless insecurity of having your minds in constant danger, while I really don’t want to read one. If only Sparda’s magic didn’t protect you and Dante, you’d leave me since day one.”

“I won’t.”

“Mundus screwed up your brain, Vergil. You have a thousand reasons for hating telepaths.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I saw your dreams. I know how much you want to kill those who fucks with you.”

“And I saw yours too, Lyra. I know how much you hate your mother, but deep down you still love her. Even since you saw her falling from the balcony.”

The realization hits her hard. “Wait— you knew this all along?!”

“Forgive me, but you won’t tell me the truth unless I told you a white lie. Your hypothesis is true; that our dreams occurred simultaneously.”

“You—” Lyra glares at Vergil like he has done treacherous betrayal, but she gathers herself up since she knows she was the one who lied to him first. She can’t deny that everything he said was true. It has been said that the dead won’t stay only if the living sets them free. For Lyra, it jabs her heart whenever she tries to brush that fact away. She knows that her hatred would rot her soul, yet it’s difficult to forgive her mother, who had tried to end her life multiple times.

“I envy you, Vergil,” Lyra confesses. “You were an arsehole evil lord back then, but you had a reasonable motive for fighting. You have a family. I got none. I don’t see the point of keep going on. Everyone wants me dead.”

“People are afraid of what they don’t understand,” Vergil states without any doubts in his voice. “It’s understandable since you’re undeniably enigmatic and can be threatening. But my fool brother of mine was right; strength is a choice. You choose to be strong to prevent more loss. You have every right to live, for death is the end. Make a full life while it lasts.”

“I wonder if I had such a reason to stay.”

Vergil straightens up his seat with a wary and cautious expression. “Sometimes… It doesn’t have to be something big. “

“Such as?”

“I don’t know…” he chuckles half-heartedly. “Don’t you have something to cherish for? Something that makes you willing to trade your life with?”

“Hmmm…. I love my job. I love books and the stars. But I don’t think I’d give up my life for that...” Lyra hums indifferently. “I think not. Nothing very important in particular.”

“There are things that could be important, but not everything important is worth cherishing.”

“What makes it different?”

“As time goes on, important things could become less important. The urgency wears off,” Vergil says quietly as he curves a faint smile, reminiscing his bonding time with Nero. “But something precious, something you hold dear most... you will suffer when they are taken from you.”

“Something precious, huh...?” Lyra’s eyes wander off, her voice is softer than a whisper. “Like... you...?”

Vergil almost gets choked by his own breath. “Beg your pardon?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing!”

“I’m certain that you said something.”

“If you’re so certain about that, why can’t you listen and repeat back what I said?”

“Because I couldn’t hear that properly!”

“Your loss.”

“You meddlesome creature.”

“You angry kitten.” Lyra holds her mouth to prevent her laughter from going too loud.

Vergil glares at her. “What did you just call me?!”

“Nothing~ I’m sleepy~” Lyra stretches her arms, the corner of her eyes flashes a mischief as she glances to the oblivious Vergil. “Those self-help books were right. It’s relieving to have the right person to share the burden with—”

“Don’t you dare try to change the topic. If you ever call me an angry kitten again—”

“We’re still talking about that? Bloody hell, Vergil, I’m just kidding!” Lyra holds his palms and takes off his gloves. “Come on, we need to rest. You might be sober now but even the strongest demon needs to sleep.”

A light crumple curves on Vergil’s forehead. “Why do you take my gloves off?”

“Do you have a habit to keep your gloves on while sleeping?”

“Hold on,” Vergil hesitates as he pulls his hand. “You want me to sleep here? In your house?”

“Yup.”

“You know that it’s not… very decent for an unmarried woman and a man to stay under the same roof.”

“Since when do you care about custom?”

“I’m not necessarily care about customs,” Vergil grunts. “It’s your convenience that I’m concerned about.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Lyra cleans up the table and waves her hand to send the tray to the dishwasher before making her way to the bedroom. “But my sofa is too small for you, and considering I have a quite spacious bed that fits two people, I don’t see any reasons why I would let my friend freeze on the sofa.”

Lyra opens the door, glancing at Vergil and tilts her head as a sign for him to follow her into the bedroom.

~~~

A/N : the poem mentioned in this chapter is “Clair de Lune” by Paul Verlaine, which is the inspiration for Claude Debussy’s Clair de Lune

Tagging : @drusoona @harlot-of-oblivion @shiranyaaww @queenmuzz @rubixa-seraph @andieperrie18

If you love my works and want to support me, kindly donate me on my Ko-Fi! :3

Masterlist | AO3

#devil may cry #devil may cry fanfiction #vergil x oc #vergil #vergil x lyra #spark of stardust #tales of apotelesma #original character #oc #lyra #night writes

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caffeinetheory · 5 years ago

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So what if they had met at a gala Roy with Queen and Marinette with Jagged and like they each of this bad impression of each other such as "Oh, he's the spoiled rich kid"or that"she's a total diva who would do anything to do famous" or something like that. But then when both the to like ditch the party or go somewhere not as bad as the main room and end up meeting and talking and becoming friends and then later dating. Then Lila goes on and on that she's dating Roy but that fails as he shows up.

Okay so this is my first ask/prompt thing but I loved it and I hope it’s good

Thanks to the people in the group chat for the encouragement, I really appreciate it <3

Here goes nothing, hope you like what I ended up writting

(pacing maybe a little fast, oops)

///

She didn’t want to be here, Mari only came because she ran out of excuses to not go to a gala with Jagged. Don’t get her wrong, she loves her honorary uncle but being in the spotlight was not something Marinette enjoyed, Ladybug was more than enough for her thank you very much.

So here she was sipping champagne, which she shouldn’t be but that’s for another time, hugging the wall trying to not stand out with all of her will power. Despite her best efforts Jagged could be heard loudly boating about his favorite designer and talking about how she made his and Penny’s outfits as well as her own. Knowing he was about to drag people around to show her off she decided to bite the bullet and pushed herself off the wall and walked over to him and what looked like a rich blonde businessman and another person around her ae that clearly didn’t want to be here.

The floor length rose pink dress shined in the light as she made her way over to Jagged. The intricate flowers becoming seen as she moved, and her hair flowing behind her as she walked. She commanded the room with confidence as she walked, a perk of being Ladybug for so long, long gone was the overly shy pre-teen and now stood tall legal adult. The shear back of her dress exposed small scars from years of fighting but no one would notice as her over all beauty distracted from the clear battle scars dancing across her skin.

She came to a stop next to Jagged placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I know you want to tell everyone about me, but I could hear you from across the ballroom,” rubbing his neck in slight embarrassment Jagged shared a smile with her then to the gentleman he was talking with. “Mari, how nice of you to finally join us, I’ve been trying to get her to come to one of these for years, this is Oliver Queen and his ward Roy Harper,” anyone could tell how proud of the person she had become with his enthusiasm.

Shaking Oliver’s hand politely Mari turned to shake Roy’s only yo be met with a badly hidden scoff and rough handshake in return. ‘Spoiled rich kid with everything handed to him, lovely. Exactly why i tried to avoid these things’ was all that went through her head as she watched the red-head look anywhere but at her or the conversation he was begrudgingly in. ‘Great another person I’m going to have to pretend to tolerate because of the bs that is plesanties’

“So did you really make all three of your outfits?” Oliver was trying to make conversation, someone Roy’s age could possibly do him some good. Given that her deminr became less forced and Marinette seemed to light up the room even more he figures he picked the right thing to ask. “Yes! I’ve been designing for as long as I can remember. It is one of the few constants in my life, and Jagged here,” she gestures in his direction her enthusiasm clear to anyone, “Has insisted that I keep making him things. At first I thought he was just being nice but finding out he was the one that got Clara to look into my stuff is something I can't thank him enough for.”

“Anything for my rock and roll niece,” Jagged playfully ruffles her hair and she swats at his hands, this was a normal thing and Mari was clearly more at ease now that she was able to talk about her interests. She went on for a bit longer, Roy had left under the guise of getting something to drink and snuck off to one of the side rooms to get out of the stuff “party”. Mari left the pair of influential men saying she needed to get off her feet, they let her go and she ended up ducking into the very room that Roy was settled in.

Marinette’s huff of relief after closing the door and leaning against it made Roy snap his attention to the door. “I can’t wait for this to be over,” she looked at her phone to check the time, her heels already in her hand, “Still two more hours till I can ditch.” rolling her eyes, she looked up finally noticing the red-head and a startled sound involuntarily left her, ‘lovely rich boy is here’ she tuned to leave the room when his cough made her look in Roy’s direction. “You trying to escape too?” a sheepish smile played on his lips, his shaggy red hair hung loosely as he tilted his head toward her. Hesitantly she walked to the table across from the one he is sitting on to sit on herself.

“You could say that. Not really a fan of the spotlight,” she replies hesitantly, though his small laugh in return helps loosen her up. “That makes two of us, had to force me” his posture is loose, no longer as stiff. The two ended up spend the next few hours just ranting about how stuffy galas are and how they’d rather be anywhere else. They got to know each other so when both left the room with smiles and a small paper the guardians they came with, had knowing smiles, their plan had worked.

The rest of the month while Marinette was in Star City she was with Roy. Rumors of the two dating where everywhere by the end of the first week. Everywhere the two visited seemed to radiate happiness as the pair enjoyed the other’s company. No one had seen either so happy in a few years. Late night coffee ‘dates’ and soft laughter had become the norm so quickly that when Mari had to go back to Paris everything felt a little too quiet and dull.

‘I made it back, guess I got to accept the chaos again’

‘Miss me that much already ;)’

‘Oh shut it you dork’

Collapsing on her bed Mari’s smile since the gala still hadn’t falutlered. She still had two weeks before she had to go back to class but she didn’t want to think about that yet. Savor the moment of happiness she had while she could...that couldn’t last long could it? It never did, an Akuma alert went off and Ladybug was swiftly on the scene.

“I’m glad to see you’re back M’Lady”

“Good to see you too Kitty, but I just got back, any idea what’s going on”

“Seems like a tourist who missed their reservations”

“Ok sweet, this should be a piece of cake,” and it was they were done in less than 10 minutes. “Come on M’Lady we have a few more that need to be taken care of,” leading Ladybug the partners went to the Effilé Tower so she could purify the other Akumas that had happened while she was gone.

“Thank you Kitty, I appreciate the break.” There were maybe 20 glass jars and only 16 or so butterflies. They had made a system just in case Ladybug wasn’t in Paris and didn’t require to come back all the time. “It’s what a purr-ncess deserves isn’t it, everyone should get a break even you Mari.” “What better sibling could I ask for? Hang out tomorrow? It’s been awhile since I destroyed you in Mécha Strike.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

By the time Marinette woke up it was close to 11 and it was to light tapping on her trap door, what sounded like a ‘come in’ left her lips as she went around her room to look presentable. Adrian came into her room, some food on a plate and a Cheshire like smile, “Sooo, how was the states? Make any new ‘friends’ while there?” His testing tone made it clear she couldn’t get out of it.

The next two days were spent together catching up on what they had done and Adrian getting all the details about a certain red-head. “Ok so maybe I like him but we both know how bad my track record is?” Mari’s exasperation was clear, she had confessed to Adrian before they knew who was behind the mask and he came out as gay to her. She ended up being what got him and Luka together, then Kagami and Cholé, we don’t mention that confession. “I don’t know princess, you might actually have a chance,” he had a knowing smile, too knowing, something was up. Pushing away the thought, “You’re just a helpless romantic,” they playfully shoved each other as they were heading back to the bakery after a day just walking around.

Texting Roy and hanging out with her small team was all she had done when she had done when she got back so walking into the classroom to cold stares had thrown her for a moment. Her reality hit her like a ton of bricks but it didn’t hurt as much as it used to, she had people who cared about her and people she cared about. Marinette took her seat in the back of the class with Cholé and Adrian. The trio had been forced to the back but enjoyed the freedom it let them have.

The door slammed open and one Lila Rossi had walked in laughing loudly to Alya, no doubt talking about ‘what an amazing summer’ she had, the trio just rolled their eyes and went back to their phones.

“You texting him again, I swear you are always texting him,” Adrian joked seeing Mari ignore the world, the only thing she cared about being her screen.

“I mean you know me so well,” rolling her eyes at his antics, “what else am I supposed to do? Listen to ‘something that totally happened guys I don’t know why you don’t believe me’,” her sarcasm was palpable.

“I mean this time you might care, it’s about some boy toy, a Queen I think,” Cholé supplied to the conversation muffling a laugh as Mari immediately snapped her attention to the girl in the front of the class.

“You have got to be kidding me, she can’t be that dumb can she.”

“Oh you know she can and will be”

The rest of the week was spent with Lila telling the class about how amazing and put together Robert was, she couldn’t even get his name right!!! Mari was a little pissed but it wasn’t worth it, she knew the real Roy and he may be a disaster incarnée but he was hers. Did she really just think that? Damn Adrian was really rubbing off on her.

Two weeks later when Adrian told her to wear red and black, and to make sure her hair was in a ponytail, she chose not to question it. What ever crazy plan he had plan would probably be fine, they usually were. Texting Roy in the way to her class she almost missed the foot out to rip her, but being so focused she just sidestepped and jumped over the other 2 that were outstretched as she made her way to class. She wore a bright smile, Roy was talking about how pretty Paris was. ‘He must have seen the pictures I sent’.

Practically falling into her practical sibling’s lap she hummed a happy tune forgetting where she was. The red shirt she wore was one that she may have narrowed from Roy and it still smelled like him. The two blondes who sat with her started to tease and run their hands through her hair, happy to see their girl so happy again.

“So, Kitty, why was I to wear this today? What’s the occasion?”

“Oh you’ll see,” his knowing smile should have worried her but the text from Roy distracted her.

A picture of her parents' bakery and a text that said ‘this is your parents right?’ Lit up her screen.

‘Yeah why’

‘No reason, shouldn’t you be in class?’

‘Hasn’t stopped me before ;)’

Lila’s loud boasting about her ‘boyfriend’ Mr. Harper, at least she got the last name right, broke the bliss Mari had been feeling, though Adrian’s poorly concealed laugh did bring some of her smile back.

It was at lunch when Mari found out why Adrian was so giddy and why Roy was talking about the beauty of Paris. In the middle of another one of Lila’s stories about her ‘boyfriend’ a cough stopped her mid sentence, “Um actually, who are you? I’m pretty sure I’ve never met you before. I think I’d remember someone as loud as you.” There he stood at the bottom of the stairs, in all his glory, one Roy Harper.

“Adrian I love you but I’ll kill you later,” Mari whispered to him and then launched herself at red-head. “What are you doing here?” He caught her with ease spinning her slightly, “Happy to see you again Pixie,” their laughter could be heard throughout the school. “But Roy, seriously what are you doing here?”

Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “Adrian may or may not have gotten me here… and I wanted to see you again” Mari half hearted flared at the blonde who jut give her a grin. This was sister and Roy made her happy, so of course he was going to do what he could so she could be happy. “Told you it would work out,” Chloe’s retuned fistbup told him she was happy for their friend too. After all she had done for them it was only fair they helped her.

“I may have also wanted to ask you something,” Roy looked down at the shorter girl, “would you be down to be my girl…” he trailed off at the end but their was clear admiration in his eyes as he squeezed her hands.

“Of course you dork,” she gently pulled him down into a soft kiss.

They left the school after that, somehow the school already knew to excuse her for the est of the day. The pair had a lovely date ending up with them both falling asleep in the couch as a movie played.

The next day Mari didn’t come to class, neither did Adrian or Cholé, but there were cease and desist letters on both Alya’s and Lila’s desks and a firm warning from the Queen lawyers about falsely using their name.

Mari was happy and she really had to thank Jagged for finally convincing her to go the dumb gala, and maybe Adrian for getting them together.

They were an odd pair, the human disaster and the embodiment of an angel but they were happy and they fit, they wouldn’t change it for the world.

///

So that was that, hope it was good :>

#my writing #ladyarrow #roy/mari #maribat #prompt answer #i really loved this #hope it wasnt to fast paced #adrian and mari are basicly siblings #good chole

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