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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

Text

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 5.2 k Summary: Yup it’s König with a Virgin!Nun!Reader folks. This is all @wordstome 's and @melancholic-thing 's and their König & religion post's fault! :( Tags/warnings: PINING. Eventual smut, eventual blood & minor injuries. A cute, sweet, silly story with undertones of religious despair. Watch out for possible mistakes concerning Catholicism, I was more interested in the forbidden love trope.

Part 1

You don’t know how it even happened, but you became friends with a foreign man visiting your city.

You bumped into him one day. Literally bumped into him, or then he bumped into you; you’re not entirely sure who’s to blame here, but you would’ve fallen to the ground had he not grabbed you by the arm and hauled you back up and against him.

It was just to prevent you from hurting yourself, but your mind short circuits for a moment when you’re pressed against the broadest chest you’ve ever seen. The man is tall, so tall you have to crane your neck to see who has such lightning-fast reflexes.

Worried eyes look down at you from above, but the man’s expression softens when he sees how frightened you look.

“I’m so sorry. Are you ok?”

“Yes… Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

He starts to fuss about being in such a hurry without any particular reason and asks if he can make this up for you somehow.

Could he offer you a lunch or something? No, how about a drink? He’s truly so sorry.

His accent is charming, and the genuine regret and worry make you quickly judge him as a safe enough person to grab a coffee with. Accidents happen, and it’s not illegal to sit down with a man you just met, right?

You tell him you don’t drink drinks, but a coffee would be nice. The man raises an eyebrow when you reveal to him that you’re not only a teetotaler, you’re also a nun.

��Ah… So you prefer a simple life?”

He takes you to a dark, cosy cafe around the corner. His inquiry leads to a conversation on the joys of silence and simplicity, then on philosophy, faith, and the cons of modern life. By the time he grabs you a table for two, you’re already discussing how people are always on their smartphones nowadays, looking for instant gratification and pleasures and how it wrecks their brains. You both gush about how nice it is to steer away from all that.

You find yourself talking to him with ease about your life choices. How the anxiety reached a point where you wanted to get away from all the fuss, and how much peace this solution has brought you. How you have meaning and purpose these days, and how you doubt you’d be able to adjust into a modern society anymore. He gets what you mean immediately, saying he only feels at home when he’s alone in the mountains. How he’s been alone his whole life, really, and that it doesn’t scare him anymore, on the contrary.

You feel warm and safe with him, lost inside a soft bubble you quickly create in the corner table of a cellar cafe. Perhaps it’s the dimly lit environment or perhaps it’s just him, but you have one of the deepest conversations ever with this mysterious man.

He’s attentive and curious without being your usual pervert on the sly. You’ve had enough of men looking at you like you’re the forbidden fruit after hearing about your life choices.

This man doesn’t try to seduce his way into your pants; he listens to your insights and agrees with you on how silence does you good, especially in times like this. You wonder what he does for work and why he’s here because clearly, he’s not local. You never get to ask him because the conversation ends far too quickly.

He receives a message on his phone, cruelly reminding you that the magical bubble has burst and you’re back in the modern world. He looks crabby about the interruption too, especially when he says he has to go.

You both agree that you had a nice talk and should continue it sometime – why not tomorrow? Same time, same place.

So you meet him again.

And again… And again.

You find out he’s in town for at least two weeks, but when he finally reveals what he does for work, your stomach sinks. He tells you he’s working for some private military contractor and can’t really share any details about his work. When you ask him does this mean that he kills people for money, he falls silent.

“I guess you could put it like that.”

He’s looking at his shoes when he says it, somewhat embarrassed or sad. His feet barely fit under the table, so he has them stretched out, leading to a waitress almost tripping on them one day. Your heart is squeezing inside your chest when he rises immediately and apologises like the perfect gentleman, helps the lady up and never gets insulted by the murderous glares the woman shoots at him.

He gives you his codename, König, and that he comes from Austria, but then refuses to share any other personal details. You don’t even get to know his first name. You do talk about your childhood, you talk about your schools and what you were supposed to become when you grew up. He tells you about his love for hiking, and you tell him about your dance hobby.

The usual “Oh? Nuns are allowed to dance?” comment has you laughing.

“Well… I don’t do twerking, but yes, nuns are allowed to dance.”

“What’s ‘twerking’?”

It’s so funny how you seem to know about modern trends more than him. You know about Tinder and TikTok through your friends; it’s just that these things are really not for you. Still, this König knows even less about dating apps and internet challenges than you.

It makes you intrigued: he could have dozens of women right now if he wanted to. And not only because he’s attentive and kind: he’s so big and tall that most women would beg him to whisk them away. All he needed to do was go to a hookup site and deal out some likes.

Most of his muscles are packed in the shoulders and chest area, making it challenging for him to fit through a door. You can see he hasn’t skipped a leg day either, and immediately chastise yourself for checking out his butt in the coffee queue. You ignore your filthy thoughts of wanting to get pressed against those pecs again, you pay no attention to the fleeting musings on how good that short stubble would feel against your neck if he ever chose to kiss you there.

A soldier and a nun make an odd pair, but you find yourself enjoying his company more than anyone elses. He seems to wait for your meetings with eager but polite enthusiasm, too. You know it’s an attempt to make you forgive his choice of career when he reveals to you that his best mission was when he saved thirty women from sex trafficking. And it does make your heart crack open a little. Killing is a sin, but he has tried to protect life in his own crude way.

You start to include him in your prayers. First, you ask for the Lord to guide this man away from the path of killing. Then, slowly, you ask him to be protected from harm, you only pray for him to be safe.

And you say nothing of this new acquaintance to the others. You ought to, but your lips remain sealed.

You’re allowed to have friends and visit them, and it doesn’t matter if the friend is of the opposite sex as long as the meetings are purely platonic. Which they are. This man could be your brother, you tell yourself. He could be a long-distance cousin. There’s nothing fishy going on around here, and he’s just visiting, so why would you bother to tell anyone? It would only lead to troubled sighs and concerned questions, and you really don’t feel like answering them right now.

You miss a few midday prayers, and once, your chores. The relationship turns out to be far from platonic.

König can’t even keep his eyes in check.

They travel down your neck and land on the smallest amount of cleavage, barely visible in the loose, dull shirts you wear. They slip further down and stop to admire your breasts next, then quickly rise back to your collarbones as if this was just a mistake, just an absent, wandering gaze. You know you’re wearing a semi-helpless stare by the time he meets your eyes. The blue steel in his is completely swallowed by hunger.

You want to believe it was only a momentary lapse, but then he does it again. Actually, you catch him looking at your breasts, scanning your body and cherishing the tender spot between your collarbones more times than you can count. They’re quick, stolen moments, so harmless that you choose to stay quiet. He usually starts to talk about something trivial right after, or asks you a quick question as if nothing ever happened.

Those stolen glimpses stay with you for the rest of the day though. They give you intrusive thoughts during morning prayers and evening silence. You’ve never felt this… adored.

He has a quiet, commanding presence, and you feel like a mouse under his gaze, a mouse who’s always thoroughly examined. At the same time, he’s so polite and so charming that you can’t think ill of him. He always takes your coat and brings you coffee, always asks how your day or week has been, and actually listens to you speak. He listens to your every word with a softening glow in his eyes, a shimmer that spreads across the table and makes you feel warm all over.

König always softens in your presence... You always tense up in his.

Your face is flushed, and you blame it on the overcrowded cafe. You feel both safe and in danger with him, and it must be the virgin inside you talking. But you sense there’s something more at play here. He’s simply not like other men.

You fear he’s seen hell; in fact, he must walk there every day. From what he tells you, you understand that he has suffered a lot and could use your prayers. But it’s also quite clear that he’s not a victim anymore.

It’s difficult to see this utterly charming teddy bear in front of you, enjoying his large cup of coffee and giving you the occasional husky laugh, then imagine the same man bursting through a door and starting a massacre. Marching in some dark, dirty recess with a rifle or a shotgun in his hands, hunting down screaming people and putting down his already bleeding enemies.

Because that’s what you imagine in your mind when he tells you he’s sometimes used as an insertion specialist; a human battering ram in short.

You look at his hands around the mug, long fingers curled in search of warmth. He has short, trimmed nails and no sign of blood under them… But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

…

"Oh honey. Soldiers are the worst," your friend sighs when you meet her at another cafe, different from where you meet your killing machine. It’s bubbly and lively and colourful, just like your friend; it’s the opposite of König, the special operations soldier who’s dark, intriguing, and intimate, just like the dimly lit cellar cafe you meet him in secret.

"He probably owns a Fleshlight," she mumbles with her mouth full of croissant.

"A… A what?"

She starts to cough at your innocent inquiry, and you know you didn’t hear ‘flashlight’ in the first place, it’s just that you’re not sure if you want to know what on earth she’s talking about now.

When she finally survives the munch she almost choked on, she politely tells you what a fleshlight is, and you find yourself not rolling your eyes, but actually thinking about König using one with need.

Christ have mercy…

"Soldiers are crazy. I once dated this peacekeeper,” your friend continues in her usual chirpy way. “Couldn't hold a conversation for his life. Unless it was about guns... And when I went over to his place, the walls were covered with pictures of naked women. It was so pathetic I had to keep myself from laughing. And oh god, now I remember! He offered me microwaved mac and cheese for dinner…"

You sip your coffee and listen politely to your friend ramble about some guy she used to date. She has a lot of these stories, and all of them are worth hearing. Sometimes you think if you’re living your unlived sex life through your friend, the way you’re so curious about hearing all the different descriptions of male genitalia and the crazy, funny, downright unbelievable scenarios that have happened to her.

Some of the tales are so gross you’re quite happy you haven’t indulged yourself in casual sex. And at times, hearing about all the things your friend has gone through, being an onlooker to all that heartbreak and pining and loss, has managed to strengthe your resolve.

Being a nun isn’t so bad... At least you haven’t wasted your time on shallow men.

"He put so much chili in that shit that my makeup started to run," she continues her story about the poor excuse for a dinner and a date. Usually, the food leads to sex in these tales, and you’re a hypocrite for wanting to hear more.

"Did you sleep with him…?"

"After that? No thanks," she looks at you and raises an eyebrow. "I pretty much fled the building."

Even the most sad, pathetic, crappy tales make you both laugh, especially if enough time has passed. You laugh now, too, both at your friend falling for a man simply because he was a hot soldier and at the poor man who was in obvious need of an interior designer and a cook. Or a girlfriend… Or a mom.

"Look. I'm saying this because you're my friend." She says after wiping a few tears from her eyes, "And because you’re a virgin and a goddamn nun. Like come on, how many years have you been locked up in that dreadful monastery?"

"Convent," you correct.

"Whatever. I'm telling you this man is just looking for some easy pussy while he's deployed."

“I wouldn't call a nun an easy…ugh, you know.”

“Perhaps he likes a challenge then, “ she shrugs. “Men like to hunt.”

"It’s not like that,” you quarrel, trying to ignore the way her lips purse with amusement. “He's been very nice to me and… we have these great conversations. We talk about really deep stuff, you know? He explained the difference between Schopenhauer and Kierkegaard to me last time we met–"

"Ok, that's even worse. That's a red flag."

You look down at your beverage, sullen and beaten. She’s the first person you’ve told about meeting a man over a coffee, and you’re already doing it wrong.

"Does he ever look at your tits?" She asks all of a sudden.

"What?"

Your friend crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head, looking like an overly self-satisfied detective.

"Do you ever catch him staring at your breasts," she rephrases the question as if she’s talking to a lame person.

"Well… Uh. Yes, sometimes–"

"Well there you have it. Man's just bored with his fleshlight."

"Shh! Keep it down, would you…? Good God..."

"Don't take the name of the lord your god in vain," she chimes. “But seriously, it’s no wonder. If only we could get you out of that convent, there would be a line of men at your door.”

“Oh for God’s sake…”

“No, seriously. We’re talking about fistfights and broken bones. Dating apps would explode. People would get killed.”

You roll your eyes - your friend always loves to exaggerate things. If anything, you’re scared of men, and you loathe the dating world. You’re put off by shallow commitments and one-night stands and getting ghosted and God knows what else. That’s why you became a nun: to find something stable in your life. You always told your friend that Jesus Christ is the most stable man you’ve ever met, and you will stick with him. As always, your friend was not on the same page with you.

“Stable? Excuse me, but didn’t he start a riot or something at the temple? Are we talking about the same dude who lead an uprising against the Romans? Hung out with whores, raised corpses from the dead, fucked around and found out until someone nailed him at the cross? Stable my ass!”

“Look, even if he wants something more, I’m not up for it,” you try to convince - both yourself and your friend.

“Mm. What a shame,” she smirks. “Is he handsome?”

“Yes, but–”

“Mmh. Deep voice?”

“Umm… It’s memorable?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “Okay fine, it’s nice and deep and I like it. And I love his laugh,” you confess, and your friend does a silent little ‘yay’ and ‘I knew it’ cheer. You know it would be a field day for her if you finally got laid. As cliche as it sounds, you’ve always treated your friend as some sort of devil’s advocate.

You allow yourself to gush a minute, maybe two, about his muscles to your beloved devil. You tell your friend about his broad back, how wide his shoulders are, you tell her about the easy smiles he always sports with you. You describe the tactical pants and the snug black t-shirts he wears in detail, you confess he has a nice butt and that he’s so big he can't even fit the table.

You tell her how König starts to talk with his hands if he gets excited and how you have to fear he’s going to knock something over and make a mess. You tell about his blue eyes and the way they always soften when he looks at you, and looks at you often. All the time, really. He doesn’t even see other women, uh, you mean, other people in the cafe. He’s polite to the waitresses but never fully acknowledges anyone else but you.

Your friend's enthusiastic grin turns into an uneasy, pitying smile when she realises how deep into this man you actually are.

"I'm sorry babe… Someone has to give you the tough love," she reaches for your hand across the table. "Do you understand that if this guy is not working for the regular military, he's probably doing some war crime type of shit?"

The way you rush to defend your steadfast soldier who probably has his hands covered in blood, would make your abbess sigh.

"No, no, actually, he's working against these human trafficking cells–"

"Ok, he shoots human traffickers too, that's great. Good for him. You're still about to step into a pile of traumatised, immature, emotionally unavailable soldier shit. Trust me."

"Just because your soldier was like that doesn't mean mine has to be," you blurt.

Gosh - that was a good old Freudian slip...

"Yours now, is he?"

"No, that was… It just slipped."

"So you've actually thought about banging this guy?"

"What?! No."

"You have," she insists with a widening smile.

"No. No, I–"

"Oh my god. You're about to forsake your vows," she brings her hands together in excitement. "Oh my god, oh my god. This is amazing!"

You feel your lips snap into a thin line.

Just whose side is this woman on? Does she want to protect you from heartbreak or push you into some man's lap just for shits and giggles?

If you're chosen by God, your friend is chosen by the Devil, that's for sure. Nothing exciting ever happens behind the walls of your 'monastery', nothing but endless prayers and boring lectures and monotonous chores. Of course she thinks it's about time you got a round of good dick. She just wants to hear a filthy story when you return from your secret little fling, a fling that could get you kicked out of the convent for good.

"How tall is he exactly...? Does he have big hands?"

Your friend's eyes are shining with excitement - apparently the possible war crimes and atrocities König has committed are forgiven and forgotten.

"What does that have to do with anything…?"

"I can tell you what to expect in the dick department," she smiles with an impish grin.

You eventually leave the cafe with a dirty soul and a skittish heart.

The way your friend described your new acquaintance's probable blessings in the "dick department" left little to the imagination, and now you're actually scared.

This man has been so polite towards you, so kind to you. He's offered you coffee and pastries and cake along with an intellectual challenge, but now it's all ruined because all you can think about is what's inside his pants. How big his hands are, and how they correlate with what's downstairs. How nice it would feel to lay under him, with his chest pressed against yours, how divine it would be to get pinned down by him. How those strong, narrow hips would fit between your legs, broad shoulders eclipsing the view above as he slowly crawls on top of you. How he'd kiss your neck, your collarbones, your mouth, with such hunger that your legs eventually give in and spread wide open.

You return to the convent with a heavy heart and distressed thoughts, but find some solace in your evening prayers.

Nothing has happened, you remind yourself; these are only thoughts. You have seen a man who's interested in you for half a dozen times. You took part in a shallow, mundane, earthly conversation today with your friend, but nothing carnal or wrong has happened. Everything is the way it has always been.

You’re safe now, completely safe here. There’s no chaos and no guns and no tall men with big dicks, no Austrian war criminals trying to seduce you and then discard you after their deployment ends.

There’s only a man with a kind smile, warm eyes, and a nice, husky laugh. Some good coffee with distant notes of chocolate and perfectly civil conversations about European philosophers and the crisis of modern thought.

Sturdy walls support you; they have held you for centuries, and the crucifix above you has given hope to so many people before you. The ever-safe embrace of your faith envelops you, and you can always trust that you are loved, even when you’re flawed and incomplete.

Even with indecent thoughts, you can pray for mercy and ask for forgiveness. Even if you have impure urges towards your Austrian mercenary, you can still pray for him... It’s the least you can do to repay the kindness he has given you.

But the heaviness follows you to your room; it makes your chest feel dark and thick. You don’t say your last prayer before bed. You don’t want His eyes upon you tonight.

You don’t want to draw the Lord’s attention to you while your hand travels down beneath the sheets, your thoughts wandering to a certain god-like soldier with eyes like burning ice.

…

The next time you two meet, he crosses a clear boundary.

König has started to take you for walks, sometimes suggesting you two could visit a museum, clearly wishing you’d show him around the city. In truth, he’s the one parading you around like you’re his cute little lady. He pays for your museum tickets and brings you ice cream while you sit on a bench at a park, grabs your arm to draw your attention to a few swans swimming in a pond. And that’s ok - physical touch like that is ok. Holding hands is not.

Because…

One time, when you’re walking down a hill path, admiring the sunset, a big, warm hand wraps itself around yours.

It finds you in silence, envelops your tiny palm completely, squeezes you softly and emanates so much heat that a cord of fire shoots across your arm and straight into your heart.

You allow yourself to bask in the warmth of the huge, calloused palm for a few more seconds before ripping your hand away. You take a few hurried steps and turn, noticing he has stopped to look at you with guarded hesitation.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise even if König is the one who went off limits, “but this is not appropriate.”

“Entschuldigung… I know. That was out of bounds,” he raises a hand over his heart and bows his head a little, watching you from under his brows. You could keel over from how the gesture reminds you of Arthurian romances, of knights who place their hand on their heart to swear they’ll never disgrace a lady again.

Instead, you nod, your soul saved but your heart sinking like an anvil dropped in the sea. You’d want nothing more than for him to do it again, to grab your hand in his and never let go.

The rest of the walk happens in awkward silence, and you thought he would keep his distance - Christ, you thought you would keep your distance - but he insists on walking near to you, and so you continue down the path with your fingers still touching each other every now and then. You don't even try to move your hand away.

I’m going to die, you scream internally while looking at the bleeding sunset in the distance. You can’t look at him; you can’t even talk to him. It’s like your body is pumped full of some drug these days.

Falling for someone so hard is making you feel faint; your insides are churning and turning and your brain is a mess. Your heart is racing so fast that you’re afraid you’ll end up having a heart attack one of these days.

He’s probably used to this: the thrill and the adrenaline, a world laced with rush and extremes, indulging in things such as guns and explosions and blood and women and darkness.

You only have your safe routines, your sisters, a few friends you meet over coffee, a family you visit thrice a year. You’re not used to being bombarded with hormones and raw emotion like this. You have never, ever lusted after a man like this. The only thing you ever craved for was another slice of cake.

“Do you still want to see me?” He asks apologetically when you approach the convent which has now started to resemble a frigid, uneventful prison.

“Of course,” you hurry to say. “Just… No more holding hands. Ok?”

“Ok,” he chuckles softly, and you stop and turn.

He’s never been this near to where you live, and you’re afraid someone will see you if he escorts you to the door. You can’t be seen with a man in your current state, that would be a catastrophe. Anyone in the building could tell that this friendship is far from platonic.

“I’m sure you’ll find some other girl to… hold hands with,” you say, hating how bitter and self-pitying you sound. You even swallow when you look up into his eyes. They’re so soft now that the ice has almost disappeared, devoured by longing, a thick and sinful darkness.

“What if I don’t want some other girl?”

His voice is so wickedly gentle too.

You can see he’s fighting an inner battle to not touch you again; he’s standing toe to toe with you, towering above you, with his shoulders slightly hunched. If someone walked behind him, they wouldn’t even see you’re there because of how close you two are standing to each other. You can’t back away from him because you’d bump into a tall iron gate - in fact, you’re half-pressed against it now.

“I’ve enjoyed our conversations,” he continues with a throaty voice. God, how you would melt if he used that voice in bed…

“So have I,” your voice comes out as a wavy whisper. “But there can’t be anything more than that... I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” he laments, but the corner of his mouth curves slightly up. “So sorry you wouldn’t even believe…”

It’s mischief and seduction, darkness and deception, and your insides squeeze into a tight little knot.

“Please… Let’s just keep it the way it was,” you plead with eyes that beg the complete opposite.

“Sure... I will try my best, Kätzchen. Is this your convent…?”

You wonder if he’d pay you a visit if you told him where you sleep. You wonder if your single bed would creak if he tried to make love to you on it... You wonder if you could muffle your cries when you clenched with him inside you. If he’d groan too loudly when he reached his peak…

“It’s just around that corner,” you explain with a frail voice, hating how it betrays every single thing that crosses your mind.

“Good to know,” he replies, with no shakiness to his voice at all. He seems to enjoy making you so flustered; he seems to draw strength from people weaker than him. Which is probably 99 % of the population…

“How so,” you peep, already praying that he wouldn’t come to try his luck with the poorly locked windows. The back door is always open too because some of the nuns are smokers. König wouldn’t even need to use his insertion skills to get in.

“Now I know where to find you if I come to work here again,” he shrugs as if innocent. As if his eyes didn’t betray a few filthy thoughts too.

“Are you… Are you leaving then?”

“Soon.”

Your heart is about to break after two weeks of knowing some random guy, and you feel like the silliest woman in the world.

You try to remind yourself of what your friend said: this man just wants some easy pussy. He’s just bored with his fleshlight. Men like challenges, they like to hunt. You think about Lucky Luke and all the other cowboys who came and went as they pleased, breaking hearts and then riding into the sunset.

This cowboy only got to hold your hand though... And he’s saying he doesn’t want “some other girl”. Of course there’s a chance that he simply visits a brothel after discussing philosophy with you, or goes to a club or whatever, but you don’t want to entertain such horrible thoughts.

“I’ll miss you, then,” you try to sound neutral while he’s looking down at you like you’re his first love.

“Ganz sicher, I will miss you too. Perhaps I’ll visit you, work trip or not?”

“That would be nice.”

“It might take a while. But you won’t forget me, ja?”

“Of course not. I will pray for you every day,” you smile with a good amount of affection. It has the same effect as saying something like “I want to blow you right here on this street” because your Austrian giant gets visibly excited. His breath quickens, and his eyes start to wander again.

“...Are you sure I can’t hold your hand?”

You give him a shy smile, then quickly guide your eyes to the pavement. This König is definitely taking it as some love confession when a girl says she will pray for him. Your insides turn to jello when you see his hand close into a loose fist, then open with a spasmlike stretch. He wants to touch you so badly that he has to physically fight against it.

“No…?” He inquires high above you, so desperate that you’re quite sure he’s not frequenting any brothels in the area. He might stroke his cock to the thoughts of you, though…

You shake your head softly, then raise your eyes back to his. What a silly, silly man. If only you weren’t a nun, you’d let him do whatever he wants with you. Even abandon you after using you in every which way, because to be under that adoring gaze is worth a thousand heartbreaks.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

There’s more desperate hope in that question, and you wonder if tomorrow is the last time you’ll see each other. Soon could mean anything, but you can’t bear to hear the exact time and date when he leaves. Not tonight.

“Yes. Same time, same place,” you agree, then flee from under the dark, adoring stare to the safety of your cloister.

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig x nun!reader #forbidden love #könig fanfiction #konig x reader #konig x you

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arc-misadventures · 6 months ago

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The Sorcerer’s Dark Magic

Bruised, battered, and bloody.

This was the sorry state of, Cinder Fall.

A member of, Salem’s inner circle had been identified whilst she was in, Vale. Beacon sent several of its highly trained, Hunter’s, and Atlas had also sent in members of its elite team of, Specialists to bring her in.

They had found her, and her cronies in the midst of a pack of, White Fang members lead by the murderous zealot, Adam Taurus.

The fight had been long, and bloody, costing the lives of several Hunters, Specialist, and many members of, Cinder’s entourage, along with scores of members of the, White Fang. Even the murderous zealot, Adam Taurus’s life was taken in the fight.

But, they won, and they had taken, Cinder Fall in alive. And, now it was time for her interrogation to begin.

An event that would scar many who whiteness the horrors about to be unleashed.

~~~

The door opened to reveal a trio standing before a one way mirror, they all turned, and nodded their greetings at the duo as they entered the room. Within the room there was the headmaster of, Beacon Academy, Ozpin. The deputy headmistress, Glynda Goodwitch. And, lastly there was a seasoned huntsman, and a drunkard named, Qrow Branwen.

Entering the room was, Headmaster of Atlas Academy, and General of the Atlas Military, James Ironwood, followed closely by his aide, Specialist, Winter Schnee. They joined the trio at the mirror to stare at the bloody, and bruised body of, Cinder Fall.

Ironwood: So, what’s the plan?

Ozpin; Hello to you too, James. Right now the plan is to wait.

Ironwood: Wait, wait for what?

Qrow: The Sorcerer is finishing up his treatment of the wounded.

Ironwood: The Sorcerer? You have a magic user; why didn’t you notify me that you found a maiden?

Ozpin shook his head as he watched, Cinder pull at her aura suppressing restrains that binded her hands in a vain attempt to escape.

Ozpin: I would have if we did, but no. The Sorcerer is just a nickname he picked up.

Ironwood: He? So it’s a male. Hmmm… Who is this, Sorcerer you’re talking about?

Glynda: His name is, Jaune Arc; He is an experienced, Hunter who is a teacher here at, Beacon Academy, and he doubles as an assistant school nurse when the need arises.

Glynda’s brief rundown gave, Ironwood a simple understanding of who he was, and considering how normal he sounded, he understood why, Ozpin never brought him up before. But, why would he need someone so plain to interrogate her?

Winter: Arc…? Does he have blond hair, and blue eyes?

Glynda: Yes.

Winter: I believe I met him. He seems like a kind, and caring individual who cares deeply for the wellbeing of his students. Why are you having him interrogate the prisoner?

Ozpin: We need her to talk; We need to know what, Salem’s plans are, and who is working with her. If we try doing so ourselves we will get nowhere. But, if we let, Mr. Arc do it himself, we will get all the answers, and more that we are looking for.

Ironwood: Are you sure about this, Ozpin?

Ozpin: Honestly, James if I was being ‘interrogated’ by, Mr. Arc. I’m not sure what secrets I wouldn’t spill to get him to stop.

Ozpin shuddered as he remember the last time he sat on, Jaune interrogating someone. It was effective, but disturbing.

Qrow: Wait, you made that sound like he wasn’t going to talk with her, but more like he’s going to ‘talk’ with her.

Ozpin: …

Ozpin: It must be done…

Qrow: Seriously?! You’re gonna make, Tai 2.0 go in there, and torture her?

Ironwood: What?!

James looked to, Ozpin as he held his head in defeat. He had no other options left. And, considering what, Cinder, and her associates were planning, and how they barely caught it, and just managed to stop it. They needed her to talk to prevent anything else from coming.

Ironwood: You can’t possibly have forced him to do this?!

Glynda: Jaune agreed to do it! He lost several of his friends in the raid to get her, this is his own way of avenging them. And, you know how effect his methods are, we both have seen what he can, and will do to someone.

Qrow looked away before taking another drink from his flask. He knew what, Jaune could do, he knew exactly what he could do. That didn’t mean he liked what he saw.

Qrow: Fuck…

Qrow took a swig from his flask as he turned back to look at the girl in cuffs. Ironwood gave the drunk one fleeting glance before turning to face his friend.

Ironwood: How will this, Arc fellow make her talk?

Ozpin: He will no doubt try, and talk to her at first. But, when that inevitably fails, he will use his semblance instead.

Ironwood: And, what is his semblance?

Ozpin: It’s… Oh, he’s here.

~~~

The door opened, and closed with a heavy click of steel. A blond haired man entered the room. Cinder eyes him warningly as he walked over to the table, and took the seat across from her. He put down a notebook, and a pen, before brushing some unseen dust from the desk before he turned to face her.

: Hello, Ms. Cinder Fall. My name is, Jaune Arc. May I call you, Cinder?

Cinder said nothing, and just stared him down. They stared each other down for a while before, Jaune shrugged his shoulders, and opened his notebook to start taking notes.

Jaune: Not much of a talker, eh? No matter, we’ll get you talking soon enough.

Jaune: Now then, Ms. Fall, let’s summarize the past days events: A team of, Beacon students stumbled upon your little operation going on in, Mount Glenn. A team of veteran, Hunters from, Vale, as well as a team of, Atlasian Specialists came in to prevent you from colliding a train into the old train house in downtown, Vale thus releasing a horde of, Grimm into the city. Did I make a mistake in any of that, Ms. Fall?

Cinder: …

Jaune: Still not talking, eh? No matter, I’ll get you talking sooner, or later. So, pray tell what were you planning to do?

Cinder glared daggers at the man who radiated golden retriever energy, but said nothing.

Jaune: Twas a rhetorical question, since you won’t answer me after all. So, let us speculate then shall we?

Jaune: Hmm… you wanted to launch a horde of, Grimm into the city… but, why?

Jaune: Since the White Fang were involved was it to act as a protest against the mistreatment of faunas?

Cinder: …

Jaune: I expect that was the, White Fang’s plan, at least what they thought the plan was. So logically they would do this to kill people, both human, and faunas as a means of retribution for past, and future wrongs.

Cinder continued to glare at him, but within those burning eyes, Jaune could see her asking him a simple question.

Jaune: What the hell am I talking about? That’s what you’re thinking, I can see it in your eyes. But, well, extremists all ways take the simplest things, that often have the simplest solutions to the extreme. Hence the name: extremists. But, what’s your angle in all of this?

Jaune leaned closer, and stared, Cinder down. Their eyes locked on one another in a staring contest that made, Cinder’s blood burn. And, yet this feeling in her blood wasn’t from rage.

Jaune: We asked your associates what you game in all of this was… And, what were their names again…?

Jaune flipped through his notebook, before pulling out two photos, attached to slips of paper.

Jaune: Ahh yes… Mercury Black, and… Emerald Sustrai, that’s their names. The didn’t snitch on you, they never would. But, as they say… ‘Dead man tells no tale~!’

Jaune could see her eyes flash wider for the briefest of moments. She seemed to not care about her associates, at least, she seemingly didn’t care that much.

Jaune: But, your pal, Roman Torchwik. He sung like a song bird, and told me all of your dastardly deeds, after receiving some proper… motivation~!

~~~

Ironwood watched carefully as he listened to, Mr. Arc as he interrogate the prisoner.

Ironwood: Did you also ‘interrogate’ this, Torchwik fellow?

Ozpin: There was no need to, we offered him a plea deal for all the information he had on her, and he was rather forthcoming coming. Although his information as to what, Ms. Fall’s plans are, were rather limited.

Ironwood: I see, hopefully this, Arc fellow can make use of it. Now, I don’t mean to sound… disturbed. But, when is this supposed… ‘interrogation’ meant to begin.

Glynda: It already begun. As soon as, Jaune entered the room the ‘interrogation’ started.

Winter: How can you be sure of that? All they’ve done is talk, nothing that hints towards torture has started.

Glynda: She’s sweating…

Everyone looked over to see a bead if sweat drip down, Cinder’s forehead as cold air escaped her lips.

Ironwood: What? That rooms kept cold to stop her from using her fire semblance, why is she sweating?

Ozpin: Good question…

~~~

Jaune: Now… Roman told us all about your evil plans. Well… that of which he was privy to that is…

Jaune put on a show, Cinder could tell he was trying to put her off guard, and it wasn’t working. The sweat falling down her head was getting on her nerves though, the room was freezing cold, and yet she was sweating. She could help, but wonder why.

Jaune: You hired him to steal large quantities of, Dust. Though he says you threatened him. Now, I am curious as to why you needed that much, Dust? You weren’t selling it, and you did make several bombs on that train, but the quantity of, Dust that was used in those bombs is no where near the amount that was stolen. Are you trying to artificially inflate the price of, Dust?

Cinder glared daggers at the man, hoping to burn a hole through this golden retriever of a human being. But, still refused to answer.

Jaune: That would mean you’re working for, Jacques Schnee! I knew you were a heartless bitch, but I couldn’t believe you were that heartless to work with that Grimm spawn bastard son of a bitch!

Cinder: I don’t work for that, Dust whore… Ahh?!

Jaune relished the sound of her little outburst as a vicious grin crept from the corner of his mouth as he stared down the prisoner as she pulled back from him.

Jaune: You spoke~! Ah-hahahaaa~!

~~~

Winter: Calling my sperm donour a, ‘Dust whore;’ I best remember that.

Qrow: Oh, you’re not upset that people are making fun of daddy?

Winter: The majority of the people of, Atlas, and Mantle despise my father, I among the top three individuals that despise the man. I’ve been using photos of the mans face for target practice for the new recruits.

Ozpin: Really now? And, how is that going, Specialist Schnee?

Winter: Better than I expected; Atlas’s military personnel’s average accuracy when handling firearms has gone up by 27%, and is still climbing.

Ironwood: Oh really? I was wondering how that increased happened. Well done, Specialist Schnee. Start implementing that in, Atlas Academy, I’m curious to see how the students will improve if we implement such a… policy.

Winter: I will see it done, Sir.

Ozpin: Should we implement such a policy here as well, Glynda?

Glynda: We shall discuss that later, Ozpin. The Sorcerer is at work.

~~~

Jaune: So tell me… what was your plan…?

Jaune’s smile sent shivers down, Cinder’s; it was a calculated smile, its intent was to unnerve, and put one’s foe on the backfoot.

Cinder: …

Jaune: …

Cinder: …

Jaune: Hmm?

Jaune: Still no talky?

Cinder: …

Jaune: Okay then… So you don’t work for that dust whore. You obviously don’t work with the, White Fang, you’re obviously not a faunas. Unless…?

Jaune was giving her the once over, as if to find some hidden faunas trait that was hidden behind her clothes.

Cinder: I am not a faunas…

Jaune: No…?

(Tap, tap, tap.)

Jaune: I would have guessed you were some sort of snake faunas; Hidden fangs in your mouth, elongated tongue those kind of things. Nothing?

Cinder: No…

Jaune: Well, then you’re obviously working for some sort of hidden secret organization that’s bent on the total, and complete destruction of the world!

Cinder: …

(Tap, tap, tap.)

Jaune: Hmm… you’re quite good at hiding your emotions, but your eyes keep giving things away.

Cinder’s eyes flashed for a moment before she looked away. She cursed herself for letting her emotions escape her harsh grasp. She had done plenty of research on the staff at, Beacon Academy, but, Jaune Arc was one she couldn’t find much information on. At most it was common knowledge that if you asked anyone anything about him they would tell you the same thing. Jaune tended to keep his personal life like that, personal. At most it was know that he was single, and the only son if his family.

Well, as secretive as he may be, it was no where near as…?!

Jaune: Why does the witch want to destroy the world?

~~~

Ironwood: Wait, what?! Ozpin, how does he know about, Salem?

Ozpin: One of, Mr. Arc’s greatest skills is his observational awareness. I thought I was being subtle with any information retaining to, Salem, but he picked up on my… unsaid words. And, forced me to talk…

Ironwood: Forced? Did he use his semblance on you?

Ozpin: Possibly…? I am not sure.

Ironwood: Can’t you tell when he’s using his semblance?

Glynda: It depends on how, Jaune’s using it. It can be very subtle, subtle enough that you don’t even realize he’s using it. Subtle enough that even he doesn’t realize he’s using it at times.

Ozpin: But, when it’s obvious he’s using his semblance you become painfully aware that he’s using it. To say it’s blood curdling in its usage is an understatement of the extreme of extremes.

Qrow: Ughh… I remember when I saw him use it to its fullest extent; Can’t say the guy didn’t have it coming, but throwing up my lunch wasn’t what I had in mind that day…

Ironwood: …?

Winter: What the hell is his semblance?

~~~

Cinder: What witch?

(Tap, tap, tap.)

Jaune: Oh come on now… I know all about, Salem, and Ozpin’s stupid little shadow war going on behind the scenes. So if you plan on playing dumb well…

(Tap, tap, tap)

Jaune: Let’s just say it won’t work well for you.

Cinder could feel sweat dripping down her head in a freezing cold room, his words caused dread to slowly build up in her heart.

Cinder knew that playing dumb wouldn’t work any longer. At best she could deflect, and feed him bread crumps to cause him to look away from her true objective.

Cinder: I was trying to… trying to cause a, Grimm stampede in the hopes of destroying, Vale.

Jaune: To what end?

Cinder: Spread the seeds of chaos, and show, Ozpin, and his allies that his precious little cities are not as safe as they think they are.

Jaune: To what end?

Cinder: I just told you; To destroy, Vale.

Jaune: Don’t play dumb with me my dear, I’m not an idiot like, Ozpin, or General Ironwood. They would take you words at face value, but I can tell you’re hiding something…

Cinder: What is there to hide; you already know everything I planned to do, you’re just trying to confirm what happened for you reports, aren’t you?

Jaune: Well…

(Tap, tap, tap.)

Jaune: You could say that… but, your goal wasn’t to destroy, Vale… No, no, no. Your goal may be quite well thought out, but you don’t care if, Vale fell. No, no, I recon your plan wasn’t to destroy, Vale… A definitive bonus if your plan succeed, but no. Your true goal was to distract, Ozpin… but, to distract him from what tis the question…

Cinder’s heart was beating erratically as this interrogation continued on. She had read, Mercury’s, and Emerald’s reports on the man; they read of a kind, and caring man who would lay his life down for his students without a moment’s hesitation. But, the man currently before her, was not that man.

He exuded an aura of cold, calculating indifference, and a predatory smile that sent shivers down her spine, the exact same smile he was giving her right now. There was a sparkle in his eyes as he came to a simple conclusion; the an answer to a riddle that answers everything he wanted to know, and more.

Jaune: You’re after the, Fall Maiden, aren’t you…?

~~~

Ozpin: The Fall Maiden…?

The answer to a question unasked escaped, Ozpin’s throat in a ragged whisper. It made sense, too much sense that this was, Cinder’s goal, she was after the, Maiden’s powers, and she was willing to destroy, Vale to get it.

Qrow: So it was her, and her cronies that attacked, Amber! Why didn’t I see that…?

Ironwood: She never did finish off, Amber because, Qrow came to the rescue, this is all an elaborate plot to get the, Fall Maiden’s power… I amazed that, Mr. Arc was able to come to such a conclusion.

Glynda: But, to go to such extents to acquire the, Fall Maidens powers seems a bit over the top.

Winter: Couldn’t she have just killed her when she first had the chance, and acquired her powers that way? Why did she plan to destroy, Vale in the process?

~~~

Jaune: Oh? Now isn’t that an interesting reaction!

An involuntary, sharp gasp escaped, Cinder’s lips as he effortlessly hit the nail on the head. Arc, knew about the, Maiden’s, in the case what else did he know! She looked away from him, daring to hope he would not find anymore clues in her broken mask.

Jaune: Excuse me, we’re talking; tis quite rude to look away from someone while we’re talking.

Cinder couldn’t look at this man, there was something off about him…

(Tap, tap, tap)

Jaune: Excuse me, don’t turn awaywe’re still talking here.

Something that could make the skin crawl…

Jaune: Oi, look at me.

Something that was deemed unnatural…

Jaune: We’re not done speaking, Cinder.

Something that was indescribable to the senses…

Jaune: Cinder… Look at me.

But, it was something completely explainable.

Jaune: Haaa…

Something so obvious, and simple, that it was often overlooked as an item of irrelevance.

Jaune: I said…

A semblance.

Jaune: Look at me.

Cinder could feel her entire body being wrenched forward, her muscles screaming in pain as they were forced to move in what felt like an unnatural, but completely natural manner. Her body was set straight in her chair, her head forced to stare at, Jaune face, making her stare into those calm, uncaring cerulean eyes of his. She tried to turn her body, to squirm in defiance as he stared her down, but she could not move her body by a hairs breath.

Jaune: Now, shall we continue our discussion?

Cinder: A-A semblance…

Jaune: Hmm…?

Cinder: A semblance! Y-You’ve been using your semblance on me this whole time! From the moment you entered this room, you’ve been using a semblance on me to make me talk, haven’t you!

Jaune: CorrrrecT!

~~~

Ironwood: Ahh, telekinesis!

Winter: He’s a telepath? That would most certainly explain how he was able to get, Miss Fall to talk.

Qrow: Nope.

Ironwood: What?

Qrow: The kids not telepathic.

Ironwood: He isn’t?

Winter: But, the way he forced her body to move, that’s clearly a telekinesis based semblance.

Qrow: It may look that way, but his semblance is nothing like that. If it was, I would be better at holding my stomachs contents when he decides to… let loose.

Glynda: I’d doubt that.

Qrow: Well… it wouldn’t be as bad… hopefully?

Ironwood: Then what is it?

Ozpin: It would be best to let, Mr. Arc explain it…

~~~

Cinder: Y-You’ve been using your semblance to extract information from me! Haven’t you!

Jaune: Mmmm… In a manner of speaking… I’ve mostly been connecting dots, and what not from what clues you’ve given me. That, and reading your facial expressions, any little bodily ticks you are showing off. I’ve mostly been using my semblance to make you feel a sense of unease. It’s been quite effective if I do say so.

Cinder: What is it; Telekinesis?! Are you some sort of psychic?! What is your semblance?

Jaune: Oh, nothing so… civilized as those…

(Tap, tap, tap.)

Jaune: Nothing like that…

Cinder: That tapping! You’ve been doing that ever since you came here… why?!

Jaune: As I said, ‘To make you feel unease.’

(Tap, tap, tap.)

Jaune: I take it that it has been working.

Cinder: How does tapping your fingers make me feel unease?! Do you have some sort of telekinesis based semblance?! I demand to know!

Jaune: As I said: It may seem liked that, but no. I don’t have a physic, telekinesis, and sort of moving stuff with my mind based semblance.

Cinder: THEN WHAT THE HELL IS IT!!!

Jaune calmly stared at, Cinder as her rugged gasps of breath slowly tapered out. Before he calmly responded to her question.

Jaune: I’ll answer your question: How is that I am making you feel unease, why the tapping, how I forced your body to turn to face me. I’ll explain it all. But, in exchange you have to answer something for me.

Cinder: And, what is that?!

Jaune: What does, Salem want with the keys to the vault, and what does she intend to do with its contents when they are emptied?

Cinder: W-What…? H-How did you figure it out…?

Cinder’s rage, the blazing inferno that burned within her body was suddenly snuffed out as if it was a match struck in the midst of a typhoon. What was replaced was stunned fear. She hadn’t mentioned a single thing, no clues, no hints, but this freak had managed to put together every piece of her plan, and managed to figure out what her true goal really was!

And, all he did was calmly look at her with a cocky smirk forming from the bottom of his lip.

Jaune: Oh I just managed to connect the dots that others leave unseen. Four kingdoms. Four Academies. Four Maidens, and lastly, Four Relics. My educated guess tells me that one of the four relics is hidden in one of the four kingdoms academies. And, that they are kept behind in a secret, hidden vault that requires a key to unlock them. And, that key, is a maiden. Am, I wrong?

Cinder: …

Cinder: You’re correct…

Jaune: Am I know~?

~~~

The group all stood back as, Jaune turned to give them a dark smile as he managed to make, Cinder spill all her information on why she was going to attack, Beacon Academy.

And, it had only been ten minutes.

Glynda: Salem’s after the, Relics? I can only imagine the destruction she could wrought across, Remnant if she had even one of those…

Ironwood: We need to tighten security back in, Atlas. And, in all the other academies at that! In all the kingdoms! We cannot allow her to gain access to any, Relics!

Qrow: What is she even planning to do with those things? They aren’t all that dangerous no are they?

Ozpin: She not after any one, Relic for its individual capabilities… she wants all four of them.

Ironwood: What is the difference is she has one, Relic, or all of them? The destruction she could wreak across, Remnant could be unimaginable!

Ozpin: Not if those two came back…

Ironwood: What?

~~~

Jaune: Excellent! Now that we have all the speculation as to why you are doing this out of the way. Now I must ask who your other accomplices are, and what they are doing, and we can finish everything up once, and for all. Alright?

Cinder: No…

Jaune: No…?

Cinder: You said you would tell me what your semblance was… I answered your question… But, unless you tell me the truth… I won’t tell you anything! It doesn’t matter if you torture me… I will never talk!

Jaune: No, that’s fair… You answered my question, tis only fair that I answer yours in kind. Tell me… I assume you’ve done your research on all of the staff at, Beacon, myself included. So, I can assume you heard about my nickname?

Cinder: Yes… The staff here call you, ‘The Sorcerer.’ But, none of the students know why.

Jaune: That’s because, ‘The Sorcerer,’ isn’t really what my nickname is all about. And, I can assure you, a few students know what the story behind my nickname is, and my semblance is as a result of that. And, the reason why no one knows that start is simply because they just don’t like talking about it.

Jaune: You see… I can use magic…

Cinder: Impossible… Only five people in the world can use magic, and they all happen to be female… which you clearly are not.

Jaune: True… I just like to referring my semblance as magic, helps others… comprehend my semblance, and its abilities.

Cinder: Then what is your semblance…?

Cinder leaned in and scowled at, Jaune as he returned her scowl with a devious and, all knowing smirk as he softly replied.

Jaune: Blood Magic~!

Cinder: What…?

Jaune: Blood Magic! That’s what my semblance is! I can freely manipulate the blood of any living being! Making them my puppet…

Cinder could feel her eyes darting to the right, and lefr, then back to, Jaune, and yet she had no intention in her mind to move her eyes.

Cinder: M-M-My eyes?! You’re moving my eyes?!

Jaune: I can also regulate your heart beat! Why do you think I kept on tapping my finger?

(Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap…)

Cinder focused on her body, slowly she started to feel the controlled beating of her heart as, Jaune tapped his finger to a steady beat.

Cinder: You made my heart race at an unnatural beat… causing my body to go into shock because of my blood wasn’t flowing properly, causing me to…

Jaune: Panic. Yes, tis a very effective way at making people nervous. I have to tap the beat though… I could hold out my hand, and flex my fingers inward, like so…

Jaune held his hand before, Cinder, and simply made a closed fist that lasted, but a hairs breath. However…

Cinder: AHHHHHHH?!!?!

It caused, Cinder to collapse in pain as her breath came in hard, and laboured gasps like a drowning man struggling for air as water filled their lunga. Her eyes widened in horror at the stunning realization of what he had just done to her.

Cinder: You… Y-You… haaahaha… you were crushing my heart?!

Jaune: Correct… My semblance is no doubt among the most powerful there is. I can tell precisely where a person is based upon feeling a persons circulatory systems. I can even tell people apart to some extent.

Jaune turned behind him to look at the one way mirror, and pointed at it.

Jaune: Right there is, Qrow Branwen. I can feel the alcohol in his veins, don’t ask me how, I can’t explain it. Next to, Qrow right there should be, Glynda Goodwitch. I can tell it’s her because the blood flows differently in woman than it does in men.

Jaune: I can also tell it’s her because I can sense more blood in the… front.

Jaune turned back to look at, Cinder; his face etched into a look filled with self loathing, and disscontempt.

Jaune: There are many things I despise about my semblance.

He shook his head in disgust as he pointed back at the mirror.

Jaune: Ahem… right next to her is, Ozpin; I can tell because I can feel his body posture that indicates he is resting on a cane, and that he is holding a bug in his hand. And, all the caffeine in his veins. Guy seriously needs to cut back on the joe…

Jaune: Next to, Ozpin is another woman. I have no idea who she is, but I know she’s there.

Jaune: And, right there is, General James Ironwood. I can only sense half a man partly floating in the air… such a perverse feeling… I can feel the blood flowing to his toes on one leg, but on the other it stops when it reaches his hip. The same on his arms; I can feel it reach his finger tips one one hand, and yet on the other I feel it stop at the shoulder joint… Such a ghastly feeling…

~~~

Winter: B-Blood magic?! That’s his semblance: Blood Magic?!

Ozpin: It is as he says… he can sense, and manipulate the blood in a persons body. To say it’s ghastly is a understatement of a lifetime.

Qrow: He can tell it’s me based on my blood alcohol levels? I better cut back a bit…

Glynda: He knew it was me because of my bust…?

Winter: At least he takes no pleasure in knowing that.

Glynda: Haaa… A gentleman to the end…

Ozpin: James? Are you alright?

James Ironwood gaze was dead stead at staring at his right hand, his robotic hand. It was a terrifying thought, that, Mr. Arc could feel precisely where his body ended, and where his cybernetics began without even touching at him. He understood the pains wrought upon his body in ways no others could, not even the victim of such mutilations could feel.

Ironwood: I can… speculate why I haven’t seen, Mr. Arc until now… Such a semblance must bare heavily on its user…

Ozpin: Jaune tends to keep to himself out of necessity, rather than a desire to be left alone. To many people around is like listening to a thousand voices all at once. Simply put; it’s overwhelming to the senses.

Ironwood: I take it then that, Mr. Arc is done with the interrogations? At least…using his semblance?

Ozpin stared at, Cinder as she managed to regain her breathing, and steadied her heart beat as she stared defiantly at, Jaune. Ozpin shook his head at the notion.

Ozpin: I’m afraid, James… the worse is about to begin…

~~~

Cinder: Haa haaa… Hahahaha!

Jaune: What’s so funny?

Cinder: You told me what your semblance is… I now know what you can do with that semblance of yours… it doesn’t matter what you do now! It doesn’t matter what! I will not tell you anything! You’ll crush my heart before I let anything spill! Come on, Arc! Do your worst!

Jaune: Pfff! Haha… hahaha… Aaaahahahahahaha!

Terror filled, Cinder veins as, Jaune let loose a laugh that found everything, down to most minute of details, in, Cinder’s attempt to show her bravado, her arrogant pride absolutely, unequivocally hilarious.

Jaune: Haha-ha-haaaa…

Jaune: My worst? You think me grasping your heart is the worst I can do…? My dear sweet summers child… I can do so much worser things than that, that honestly; I’m not sure what my worst is!

Jaune: I can bend every bone in your body till it shatters, then put them back together! I can stop your heart, kill you, and then bring you back to life! I can cause a brain aneurysm, and kill you on the spot! Cure you, and again I could bring you back to life! I could crush your entire body, turn every muscle in your body in on yourself until your body is nothing more than a meat cube! And, I know I can do this, because I’ve already done it before, and I will do it again!

Jaune: So tell me, Cinder Fall… Do you want to just tell me who else you are working with, and what are your other plans. Or, shall I torment you with pain unimaginable that I may break your mind from the pain?

Cinder could understand that he was just saying this to scare her, that he wouldn’t got that far to break her. But, she knew deep in her heart, that he could do it. But, she knew he couldn’t kill her, he needed her alive, otherwise all her secrets would go with her to her grave. She resolved her, and she would grin, and bare what was to come.

Cinder: Do your worst asshole! Hak-sptoo!

And, with that she spat on, Jaune’s who merely rubbed it off, and shook his head in disappointment.

Jaune: Haa… very well… I did warn you…

Jaune leaned back in his chair, and held his hand up, before he turned to gaze at, Cinder one last time.

Jaune: You know… They say there are different ways one gains their semblance; Personality, or circumstances… I believe the later one is applicable for me. Cause you see… everyone thinks I’m an only child. When in reality, I’m the only son in my family, when I actually have seven sisters. So, I think I developed my semblance, just to shut them up, because I swear…

Jaune leaned forward, and gave, Cinder one more predatory smile.

Jaune: That seemed to happen at least once a week!

Cinder pondered for a moment what he meant by, ‘once a week.’ Until it dawned on her, and a terrifying thought appeared across her mind. If he knew how to deal with that, then he knew how it was cause, and if he knew how it was cause…?!

“Snap~!”

Cinder:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Then she would know what true pain felt like.

~~~

Haaa…

To think I went through all of that just for that last bit…

#rwby #jaune arc #cinder fall #emerald sustrai #mercury black #rwby roman torchwick #winter schnee #james ironwood #qrow branwen #glynda goodwitch #rwby ozpin #rwby salem #rwby amber

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dropsnectar · 5 months ago

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Pollen and Potions: Bee-men x Afab!reader

PART FOUR

So I know I said this part would have smut but it would just mess with the pacing, so the whole next section is where you will find your spice. This part is a little shorter for that reason. Anyway, I hope you like!

When you woke up, you felt incredibly warm. Your legs were tangled up with… someone elses? You would say it was someone else but human skin didn’t feel like this. It was firm and a bit fuzzy, but not like hair. Your nose was being tickled by… fur? Whatever it was smelled amazing.

You recognized this scent. You opened your eyes to Lyith’s round, sleeping face. His impossibly big eyes were closed, revealing his long blonde lashes. His expression was serene, and a bit of drool had escaped his half open mouth. Your sleep-addled brain vibrated with excitement. He was so cute you could just kiss him…

Nope! Awake brain was working now, bringing some clarity to your head. Lyith and Rena had made a habit of covering your face in kisses but it had all been platonic. Excessive affection was a Bee-men trait. Probably? You thought back to yesterday, when he had kissed you and you had kissed him… was that truly platonic?

There was a heat in your stomach, butterflies whenever he would hang off of you or tease… A part of you wanted to face these feelings but you weren’t ready yet. After all, how could a bee-men be with a human? You had heard of monster-human relations being something that could happen, but was their species even compatible with you? Was there a future there?

“You're thinking awfully hard for 8 in the morning.” Lyith breathed next to you.

Your awareness returned to you, and you were very cognizant of the fact that he had been holding you in his sleep. You pulled yourself back a bit so you couldn’t feel his breath on your face. He narrowed his eyes and his lip jutted out. A childish but cute pattern of his.

“W-What are you doing in my house?”

His mouth twitched. “You are a sick person. You should have someone to look after you. I’m glad though, you only slept for a day this time.”

You looked at him, eyes squinting, “Are you okay though? Don’t you need to be at the hive for your… bee duties?”

Lyith sputtered at you, his body rocking with laughter. “And tell me, what are “bee duties”, Little witch?”

Your cheeks heated and you sat up, crossing arms over your chest.

“I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be in trouble, is all. What exactly is your duty in the hive anyway?”

Lyith stared up at you under his long lashes. “I am a forager. A scholar. An ambassador who goes to human town to get our supplies. Actually..”

He brought himself up and stretched out his wings. They seemed sturdy enough not to get too bothered by him laying on them all night.

“.. I used to know your grandmother. She used to let me forager her garden. Of course, she was a lot more sparing with her magic, so it was nothing like what you do.” He gave you a pointed look, “But she taught me how to speak human. An interesting person, your grandmother. We used to buy seeds for flower monsters off her. She must have had quite a life.”

You stared at him in surprise. Your grandmother had always been somewhat of a stereotypical grandmother. She’d spoil you and laugh at your jokes, leave little candies in your pocket when you weren’t looking. You had never imagined her to be the type of person to deal with Flower Monsters of all things. It also explained why Lyith seemed so trusting of you, off the bat.

“Hey Lyith?” You breathed out, trying not to think about how your legs were still touching.

“Yes?”

“Do you want some breakfast?”

***

After that, you saw Lyith almost everyday. He made a point of stopping to talk to you every time he visited your garden. Once a week he would take you to see Rena and you would work more magic over the plants. As the spring progressed into summer, the flowers changed. You learned that your magic, while creating magical nectar, only stayed within the plant and not the soil. You were right in your worry that a different approach was needed.

You met a lot more of the hive, as on their days off, some Bee-men would come and watch you work on the flowers. Not all of them were able to speak human, but they communicated their gratitude through sharing their emotions. As you experienced this more and more, you started to pick up on what could even be counted as them asking you questions. You’d try to answer in kind, putting a hand on their arm or shoulder and trying to push images or feelings at them. This worked only half the time, but when it did, the Be-men would look so pleased they would dance.

Rena, had always seemed a bit jealous by this.

“Why don’t you speak to us like that? We speak human for your convenience you know. Aren’t I closer to you then some random creature?”

“Don’t call your hive mates ' creature’, that's rude.”

Rena would get up in your face, throwing her arms around your shoulders and touch her nose to yours. In your mind you would feel her jealousy. A possessiveness that you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy about. You tried to straighten out your feelings, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Then, you’d try to project some calm, warm energy at her. She just looked at you, sighing.

“You humans are a lot more dense than I thought.”

Then she’d buzz off to deliver her nectar to the hive, leaving you behind in the company of her Hive mates. Lyith and Rena had been giving you more space lately when it came to your magic. You’d take more breaks, and often were given time to socialize. The Bee-mens youngest hive mate, Haven had grown especially fond of your company recently. He was your friend in gossip.

Rena and Lyith had a habit of glossing over the issues of the hive, but Haven was very different. He would answer any question you could think of. You had learned that Rena and Lyith were actually pretty high up there in the social hierarchy, as they were both scholars who taught the rest of the hive in their free time.

He was also very honest about the struggles of the hive.

“It's been about two decades since the last Queen died. We were having some issues with ambassadors from hives from the northern hive when a squirmish broke out. A lot of Bee-men died that day. Several of the Queen's favorite drones passed on and upon hearing the news her heart gave out.”

“Immediately? She wasn’t sick?”

“Do humans get sick before they die of heartbreak? For us it is impossible. Our bonds are our happiness. Without each other, our home isn’t a home, but an empty structure…” Haven trailed off, his expression wistful.

“But what was the squirmish about? I thought Bee-men were a friendly species.”

“You see, the two Queens had been sisters. The Northern Queen never liked our late matriarch and had been up to some mischief. She had convinced the Bunny Hybrids and the werewolves to move out of our territory. Eventually, the flower monsters left as well, and all the magic in the area just… disappeared. And Queens usually travel and make their own hives, or pick up abandoned ones. We’ve been waiting for so long!”

“Thats got to be hard. I mean, your guyses population can’t grow right?”

Haven looked at you weird.

“It’s more than that! Our Queens Pheromones give our magic structure! Without a Queen our magic grows weak and it's harder to communicate! Even making our honey properly becomes difficult because our grasp of our magic slips. We are so lucky we found you, little witch! Your magic is so easy to convert. I told you, you are a blessing!”

“But if you guys haven't been able to make honey properly for a while, how have you survived?”

“We haven’t. It's like your mana sickness. Sometimes our magic just eats us up.” You stared at Haven, your stomach turning. Haven looked at you sadly. “You should know this. Your Lyith and Rena have been sheltering you way too much. You're basically part of the hive at this point.”

You reached forward and hugged Haven. He trilled happily.

“Honestly it could be so much worse!”

You spent the rest of the day in silence. You had known they were starving, but you hadn’t realized how badly. Something else didn’t sit right with you either. The fact that the monster races had left their territory had been something that had been bothering you. That had to be the reason why the soil wasn’t absorbing magic, right? That was the only thing that had changed?

Then it hit you. What was soil? It was broken down waste. No Monsters. No decay. No shit. And how did the Bee-men manage their own waste anyway? Could you do something with this? Could it really be that simple?

You got so excited to tell Rena about it that it surprised you when you saw her at your door. Rena never made the trek to your house, saying that human civilization had a terrible smell to it. When you saw her face, she was crying.

“You have to come with me. Now.”

“Rena whats wrong, are you--”

“It's Lyith.”

All you could hear for a moment was the large thudding of your heart. Without another word you jumped into Rena’s arms and she held you, giving you a huge squeeze before buzzing off into the forest.

Part Five (Beware NSFW)

#monster fucker #monster lover #monster #monster x reader #terat0philliac #teratophillia #bee hybrid #bee hybrids #bee hybrid × reader #bee hybrids x reader #monster romance #fantasy romance

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leonw4nter · 11 months ago

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Hi! I love your works sm and have a silly little idea.. Maybe planning and having a wedding with leon? Like im seeing you in your dress for the first time, choosing flowers, the rings, and having all of your friends/family at your wedding etc? Just little headcannons about it would be super cute!!!

DI!Leon Headcanons on planning + having a wedding…

RE:DI!Leon x F!Reader

Leon was supposed to propose to you during an out-of-the-country trip to Switzerland but unfortunately, he left the ring behind and had to secretly beat himself up over it. One beautiful evening, after you and him had just gotten home from the orchestra, he fished the tiny velvet box from his pocket and got down on one knee, too overcome by nerves to remember the speech he swore he memorized and too much in love to stall the question.

“You’re the last person I’d want to lose and the first person I’d think of growing old with. Y/N, will you marry me?”. In the end, he got the most unforgettable ‘yes’ he’s ever heard from you.

The wedding planning took 12 months, enough time to plan the wedding straight out of your dreams. He made sure to make the occasion magical, ensuring that the wedding is fit for a goddess amongst women (in his humble opinion). The wedding rings you and Leon agreed on were perfect, eager for the day that you two will finally have them on forever and ever, the rings facing wear and tears as you go gray and feeble with him.

Everyone saw your wedding dress before your wedding day– everyone but Leon. As soon as the large doors opened up and revealed you, Leon could no longer stop the tears flowing down his cheeks– you were so beautiful and breathtaking and it was as if veiled light itself was walking down the aisle. He was unable to keep his gaze to the front, head tilting to admire you every second. “You look so beautiful,” he excitedly whispered. “I can’t believe I’m marrying you.”

Since you and him agreed on a wedding color scheme of black, different shades of pink, and varying shades of warm white, the flowers you had for your bridal bouquet also followed that scheme, the flowers being cashmere anemones; white and baby pink tulips; vanda orchids; white limonium flowers, and white mink proteas. Everyone else also wore their dresses and suits in pinks and black; Chris opted for a sleek black turtleneck and blazer with a pink flower pinned to his breast pocket. Most of the women in attendance at your wedding opted to wear pink, with the men opting for black. Everyone was buzzing with excitement in their placements: Rebecca and Claire making joking bets that whoever cries first will pay up; Jill and Hunnigan were talking about how pretty you will look; Ethan and Chris were hyping Leon up since the groom was nervous but nevertheless excited; Piers and Carlos were talking about how good everything looks and how magical the air feels.

When the priest said “you may now kiss the bride”, Leon took a small step closer to you, gently lifting the veil that covered your face. He did everything slowly, as if he wanted to savor the moment and commit every single detail– the sparkle in your eyes, the music in the background, and how everyone and everything else seemed to be a blur of colors except for the glowing bride in front of him. As soon as he removed the veil from your face, he took a few moments to admire you and pepper you with sincere compliments. He placed his left hand on your waist while his right gently cupped your cheek, big hands handling you with so much caution as if you were made of porcelain. He leans in and presses the gentlest, softest, most tender kiss ever, a small spreading on his lips when it really sinks in that he finally gets to call you his wife.

You and Leon had your first dance somewhere private since you wanted it to be a moment only you and him will share so after the first dance, you and him walk back to the reception hand-in-hand with the brightest smiles. The ring looked amazing on both your hands and Leon couldn’t stop to admire your hand. “You’ve got a ring like mine too, you know,” you’d softly tell him. “I know. It looks better with you though,” he��d respond sweetly before kissing the back of your hand. For the bouquet toss, you decided to use an exact replica of your bouquet since you wanted to keep your flowers in your own home; Rebecca ended up catching your bouquet, much to everyone’s surprise. She happily swung it around, showing it off to everyone, before walking with a happy sway of her hips towards her boyfriend Billy, which made Billy chuckle before pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

You and Leon left early, waving everyone good night and good bye as you got in the bridal car that would take you to the hotel you were going to stay in. Since Chris was sober and had already volunteered to drive you to the hotel, he also left the party early. As soon as you two were out of the reception, it was immediately all kisses and giggles and I love yous muttered. Chris had to look you two through the rear-view mirror and say “I’m still here. You’ve got a room for all that when we get there.”

Married life won’t be all smooth sailing and conflicts are unavoidable but in facing and resolving those conflicts together, you will discover just how strong your commitment to each other is.

NOTE - TYSMM to the anon that requested this, I know I took long before I finally got to answer it but I hope it was worth the wait (despite this drabble being shorter than usual) <33 Currently craving ramyeon and mushrooms and seafood... naw but eating noodles late at night?? TOP TIER EXPERIENCE. Kinda stressing rn since one of my groupmates can't do their part on our research paper and it's getting on my last nerve BECAUSE I GAVE US SO MUCH TIME GIRLIE PLEASE 😭😭🙏🙏 Anyways, let's hope that I passed my entrance exams and the exams I took last week bc my grades cannot take another beating 🕯️TYSM for reading my fics, I <33333 UUUUUU !!!!!!!!

The hanging star divider is made by @benkeibear , the images are colored by me (sourced from Pinterest).

#fluff #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy fluff #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #rebhfun #biohazard #death island leon #resident evil death island #resident evil x reader

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spookyrea · 1 month ago

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For Years to Come (maybe even more)

After revealing to Loki that you two are soulmates (in an admittedly less-than-ideal fashion), the two of you finally discuss your matching soulmarks.

Chapter 2 / 3 - read on AO3

A soulmate-identifying mark AU - heavy petting involved in this chapter (kinda *shrug emoji*) - epilogue will contain smut

(chapter one) -- (epilogue)

If Loki was going to avoid you, you decided that it was well within your rights to avoid him, too.

You spent the last week of December on Natasha's couch, pretending to help her knit by unwinding her skeins of yarn while watching whatever wintery drivel you could find on television. She never asked you what was wrong but you suspected that she already knew, between her super-spy attention to detail and the compromising position she had found the two of you in on Christmas Eve. There was a decidedly Loki-shaped hole in every conversation, a vacancy that she would open to you with a side-long glance. Thor and I are going to go look at the lights before they take them down, she might say. His brother will probably join, since they're attached at the hip.

You never took the bait, which she respected (if sometimes with a rolled eye). Inevitably, by virtue of there being twenty-odd people living in one designated tower, more people were folded into your menagerie of distraction, and you made it all the way to the new year without having to think about the letter burning a hole in your kitchen counter.

That wasn't to say that Loki's absence wasn't festering inside of you; you hadn't realized how large a role he played in your day-to-day until he was gone. You had been so hyper-aware of his presence every time he entered a room, and now you could only focus on the emptiness where Loki should have been. On the churning discomfort in your chest that one day he might finally enter the room and not come sauntering up to your side to try and vie for your attention. Occasionally, you would catch the low hum of his seidr in the buzz of a fluorescent light, or in the twinkling sound that preceded snowfall, and would yearn for the sweet kiss of magic against your cheek.

“You have to tell me what happened,” Wanda insisted, eventually. She laid beside you on your couch, her feet propped up at awkward angles to avoid smudging her still-wet nail polish. “Or else I’m calling Steve and then you’ll really be in for it.”

You weren't in the mood for one of his pep-talks, though, so you pulled your blanket down from your head and sighed. “Loki is my soulmate.”

That must not have been the answer she had been anticipating. You watched one foot slowly drop, then the other, and then Wanda was turning on the spot to look at you, her black-rimmed eyes blinking over at you. “You’re joking.”

“He kissed me.” It felt good to tell someone else. It made it all real, somehow. “We got into an argument because he likes me and I’m so awkward around him that I can’t look him in the eyes, and then he kissed me.”

“But you like him.”

“Yes.”

“You got in an argument because he likes you and you like him.”

“I wrote him a letter.” You scrubbed your hands over your face, trying to will the hysteria away. “It’s stupid. It’s so stupid. What a mess.”

“Was he any good?”

You laughed, watery, your eyelashes a little damp. “Yeah. Yeah, he was.”

“Okay.” There was a sincerity to her voice that was uniquely Wanda. As if she had approached the world upside-down and somehow come back with exactly the right thing to say. “Imagine if he was a bad kisser. Then he’d be nothing but a pretty face.”

“You can teach someone to be a good kisser.”

“He’s ancient. If he hasn’t learned how to kiss someone by now, it’s hopeless. And also – Loki. He would see it as a personal attack. He would kiss worse on purpose.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

The television droned in the background; two men were making intricate sugar cookies decorated to look like disco balls. They had an easy kind of camaraderie that spoke of years of work together. You watched in a companionable silence until an advertising break broke the spell. “So are you two… together now?”

“Um… no. No, I don’t think we’re going to be together.”

“You know he goes a little,” she spun a finger through the air, flashing red for extra effect, “when you’re around?”

“The seidr thing?”

“I was thinking about the ‘I'm-the-coolest-guy-in-the-room’ thing but sure, that too.”

You sighed. “Why couldn't you be my soulmate? I can talk to you.”

Wanda was a pragmatist at the end of the day. She was a little like Steve in that way -- fiercely empathetic in a practical way. “How does ‘talk to your soulmate’ sound as a resolution?”

“It sounds like a start.”

“Mine is to learn how to cross stitch.” There was a plan forming behind her eyes; she took you by the wrist and hauled the two of you off the couch before stomping off in search of her coat. “We need to go get you a new outfit.”

“We do?”

She nodded. “A dress. A pretty dress. A dress that says ’sorry I was so awkward but you’re really scary and hot and I’m only a puny mortal’.”

“You just want an excuse to go shopping.”

“I am a woman of many interests.”

You bit back a smile. Linking your fingers together, you gave her hand a long, strong squeeze and let her pick the first store on your agenda.

You were running a little late; there was a shoe malfunction, and a missing eyeliner pen, and before any of you realised it was almost ten o’clock. You took the train; in New Year’s Eve traffic, it was a tight fit – each car was full to bursting, humid and smelling of sweat and cologne – but you only had to make it three stops. You held onto the rail and Natasha, Carol and Wanda held on to you, giggling, sidled up close.

The bar Tony had rented was, mercifully, only a few feet from the subway entrance. The three of you picked your way through the snow while Natasha, ever the pinnacle of grace, somehow glided across the sidewalk in her five-inch heels.

The place was dingy in a homely kind of way. All exposed brick and wooden beams, the walls were covered in sports memorabilia and framed Playboy covers, and a net of twinkling lights was strung up along the ceiling. A low drone of chatter and jazz hung in the air, a nostalgic sound that reminded you not of winters passed, but of years from now when you would look back on this moment. Outside a snowstorm howled, blanketing the city streets in a navy haze, but for now you were warm and dry and a little lovesick.

Natasha kissed your cheek before slipping away to find Clint, who no doubt had already turned his hearing aids off and was nursing a beer in some secluded corner. Wanda clung to your elbow for support while she scanned the crowd, balanced on her tiptoes. “Do you see him?”

“No. Hey, wait–” You caught a loose bobby pin, hanging on by a thin curl, and smoothed her hair back in place. “Ok. Better. Have you found him?”

“Thanks.” She had that look in her eye, that fit-to-bursting expression she got when the whole extended family got together. It seemed the entire Avengers rota was in the room. “And yeah, there, with Thor and Steve.”

A long table – which you suspected was actually three or four pushed together, based on how haphazardly the chairs were scattered around it – sat slightly askew near the back of the bar. Your team had congregated at one end, grinning, a few clearly inebriated.

Loki was tucked away at the very opposite edge, rolling a glass between his hands. His perpetual rain cloud seemed to have given way to a veritable storm because a few of the lights overhead were sparking, glowing green around the edges. Some pretty creature hovered by his side, twirling her shiny blonde hair and batting her eyelashes.

Her neck was exposed; her mark was a stark thing made up of sharp geometric lines, and you admired how bold she was to approach him knowing she wasn’t a match. She was leaning over the back of an empty chair, tracing a neatly manicured nail down its woodgrain. Her comment had Loki smiling, rolling his eyes good naturedly, preening a little under her attention. She tilted her head toward the dancefloor; though you couldn’t see her face, the question was obvious.

“You look great,” Wanda whispered.

“Thanks. So do you.”

You watched Loki consider her offer. He enjoyed company, of course; Loki was seldom alone, even if that meant hanging around crowds who weren’t very fond of him, or that he was fond of. Maybe it was survival, or loneliness, or some combination of the two, but Loki liked to be included in the joke, even at his detriment.

Yet his eyes scanned the crowd, seeking someone else’s attention. Everything felt right when they found yours.

You took your time rounding the table, lingering by Steve and Rhodey so you could watch Loki unwind to a petulant slouch. When you reached the end, Darcy leaned over to give you a kiss on the cheek, smearing her lipstick a little in the process, and pushed a drink into your hand. “Happy new year!”

It was a short distance but a long walk to the empty seat next to Loki. The closer you got, the more excited his seidr seemed to grow; it whispered sweet nothings in a language you couldn't understand, crowding up against your cheek like an affectionate cat. Ushered you close so it could kiss you so tenderly while Loki looked on with cool disinterest. He waved the girl away.

“You looked lonely,” you hummed. “All the way over here.”

“My ill mood was making our colleagues’ devices malfunction.” He tsked, taking a long pull from his glass. “I’m afraid you have the same effect. On my seidr, I mean.”

“You mean it doesn’t… play with other people?”

His expression was unreadable. “What was it you said? ‘You make me nervous because I’m attracted to you’?”

“The other you didn’t seem all that nervous. Ginger-Loki.”

“You do like him better, then.” It was meant to be a joke but the mirth didn’t quite reach Loki’s eyes; he watched you a little despondently, like a man who had spent his entire life just shy of perfection.

“I told you before. I like this Loki.”

“He’s not very nice.”

Your right hand tiptoed across the table to lay over his wrist. Now was not the time to be shy. “I’m sorry about the letter.”

“I’ve been called worse in languages older than you.”

“Maybe so. I wasn’t done, though. It was supposed to say something like ‘You’re vile and–” Something about his expression made you pause; Loki’s gaze had gone far-off, fixated on the snow accumulating on the windows. “...It was supposed to be a love letter.”

He snorted. “Charming.”

“I’ve had a crush on you for forever. I could barely stand to look at you sometimes because I thought you would notice. I wanted to put everything down on paper but then I just… couldn’t.”

“So you attacked my character. Delightful.”

“Loki. Look at me.” It was his turn to avoid your eye, it seemed. You pressed on his cheek until he was looking levely into your eyes. “Have you been trying to hit on me?”

“‘Hit on’. No, I was not trying to ‘hit on’ you. I’m a prince. I was trying to woo you. Or at the very least, manufacture conversation.”

“How many times have you tried?”

“How many times have you run away, kitten?”

There was a great commotion across the bar. Steve called your name, hands planted on his hips. “Tell the kids they have a curfew.”

Peter, Ned and MJ began to complain all at once. They had commandeered one of the overhead TVs to play someone’s Nintendo Switch and were passing the controller back and forth to beat a boss. Morgan sat in Wanda’s lap, too young to understand the mechanics but eager enough to cheer on, and each of them wore a knitted cap that Natasha had made for them.

It came over you all at once. You were sure that Scott and Sam would join them in a few minutes to help beat the boss. That Clint would come by and take Morgan somewhere quieter when she started dozing off. That Bucky and Steve would pick people at random and swing them around to club music that didn't match the sock hop, just for the fun of it.

You had a soulmate but it didn’t really matter, at the end of the day. All the anxiety, the fear and loathing and stoicism -- none of it was necessary. You would pick these people no matter their marks, and they would pick you because love was an innate but fickle thing; there was no use trying to control it, only to appreciate it when it happened.

“Let them stay, Cap," you called back. "Until the crowds die down.”

Peter and Ned whooped. Steve smiled like he never intended to run them off, anyway.

Loki tugged on your shirt sleeve; how he loved to do that, to commandeer your attention. Like a dog not yet done playing fetch – look at me, he demanded. I’m starved of your affections already. His fingers threaded through yours.

“I’m not running away this time, I promise."

A single curl was snaking free from his short ponytail, falling across his forehead in a little crescent shape. He pushed it aside with your linked hands, like letting go was out of the question.

“Why are you here,” he blurted out. “If it’s pity, or some self-sacrificing sense of duty, then I would advise you to leave.”

You watched him watch you.

“I think… We’re finally on an even playing field. And I owe you another letter.”

“You could call me despicable this time. Egregiously egotistical.”

“I could call you ‘mine’.”

Loki’s seat was askew, not quite tucked under the table, and he turned sideways to face you, one arm dangling over the back. He finished his drink in one long pull, tilting his chin just high enough to strain the crisp collar of his shirt. “Do not pretend. I have to warn you, I’m well versed in wanting.”

It was perhaps the first time since you met Loki -- before even being hired, back when you were a street-level hero who got roped into conflicts too big to comprehend -- that neither one of you was trying to fill an awkward silence. Loki played with your hand, puppeting your fingers open and shut with the same meanness that one might pet a beloved cat, while you sipped on your drink. You found that you liked the silence; when neither one of you was anxiously prattling on, you seemed to get along quite nicely.

“What does, um… Ket– kettlina? What does it mean?”

His other hand threaded through the elastic in his hair and snapped it free, vanishing it elsewhere with a flick of his wrist. “Ketlinkr? It’s a diminutive.” He shrugged. “‘Little cat’.”

Magic hummed – maybe his, or maybe the inherent magic of love – in the air, kissing your cheek so sweetly. Loki, seeming to sense it, traced the spot with the tips of his fingers.

Every breath you drew was heavy. You wanted him to lean in so badly that it hurt, worse than a pang, worse than an ache - there was a pain inside your chest that you felt only his mouth could soothe. “Kitten.”

He smiled – shy, almost. “Yes, but affectionate. T’eta minn ketlinkr. My kitten.”

At some point, his hand had crept over the back of your chair. In the half-circle of his arms, it was as though every dream you had ever dreamt had secretly been about him. Like every moment of déja-vu, every time you heard someone call your name and found no one there, every inexplicable instance of strange magic in your mundane life - it all traced back to him, in that moment. “Ketlinkr,” you tested the word. “I never did agree to the nickname.”

He drew the pad of his thumb over the lipstick smudge on your cheek, blinking uninterestedly down where his thumb came away red. “T’eta hverr, ketlinkr. Minn minikla ketti.”

“Why not, um… Ben…”

“Bendr,” he hummed. “Would you like to be my mortal wound?”

He knocked at one of your chair legs, tottling you backwards, then forwards when you overcorrected. You collided inelegantly with his chest, giving him the perfect opening to slide his arm around your waist and ‘catch’ you before you tumbled out of his lap. The new proximity pressed his cheek to yours. “Terribly sorry, kitten,” he spoke against the shell of your ear. “You’ll have to excuse my manners. All the alcohol I guess. I don’t know my own strength.”

You clutched at his collar. “You did that on purpose.”

“You have no proof. It’s your word against mine and I am excellent on the stand.” He held you tightly, winding his other arm around your back like a snare. You felt his cheek tip up in a smirk against yours, your shared giddiness seeming to overwhelm.

“I thought you were going to be nice.”

“That was the red-head. This is your Loki. Loki-Loki. He’s vile. ”

“Good evening, New York!” Tony had clambered up on the stage and commandeered the microphone. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, so many buttons deep that you could just make out the lines of scar tissue around his arc reactor. “Just a reminder that you have two minutes until midnight. So if you haven't found your soulmate yet, you’d better pick the hottest person in this room and settle for second best. Or hope! You never know.”

The crowd cheered. Loki deposited you on your knees, precariously balanced on his lap. “Hottest person in the room?”

“You’re supposed to kiss someone at midnight. Something about ringing in the new year and good luck in love.”

“Oh. Well, good thing I’ve already snatched you up. It would have been a blood bath if I had to find you with a minute until midnight.”

You tipped your head back and laughed. “My blood, more like. You should see the looks people are throwing you.”

Indignation glanced off his eyes; his hand rode up the length of your back, the heel of his palm slotting just under your skull to cradle your head. “I would never let anyone hurt you.”

“It’s less about ‘letting’ and more about a dozen peoples’ personal journeys to find out what’s under your collar.”

The televisions mounted to the ceiling flickered; a thirty-second countdown began ticking down overhead. You tested your weight against Loki’s chest, curling your fingers around his shoulders.

“Well, if it’s tradition,” Loki started, his voice coy but eyes burning hot, “then who are we to deny?”

“You’re right. Tradition to uphold. It would practically be illegal not to.”

“Exactly. And I’m a good guy now, right? A hero. I am bound by duty to respect the law to the letter.” He paused. “That sounds horribly boring. Forget I said that.”

The crowd started counting at fifteen - a few stragglers at first, snowballing until the entire room was chanting. It was infectious, so heady that you felt as though your chest was fit to burst any second; you turned your face down to meet Loki’s, hardly able to stop yourself from just leaning in and sealing your mouth to his.

“I like it when you look at me,” Loki murmured.

You slid one hand over his cheek and traced the lines carved by his smile. “I like it when you look at me, too.”

Five, the room chanted. Loki tilted his head, his lips parting with an inaudible sigh. You moved your hand back down to his shoulder to steady yourself. Four, three–

You didn’t make it to one; Loki closed the distance early. Time slowed to an endless stretch that consisted only of his thumb, tracing a long, slow line down your ribs; of the amorous sound of your breath catching in your chest; of the weight of his legs pressed against yours. Though it seemed impossible, he drew you even more securely against the solid wall of his chest, so that you had no choice but to unfurl, winding both of your arms behind his neck.

The room must have been alight with noise and celebration but when you pulled away, you were only aware of him. His heavy-lidded eyes tracked your lips with a liquid kind of want, something that seemed to spill from him with every shaky breath.

He kissed you again.

“Why don’t you bring me back to your room,” he whispered, “and I’ll show you why they call me Silvertongue.”

You crammed yourselves in the backseat of a cab with the middle seat yawning a respectable distance between you. The driver greeted you with a grunt, his eyes resolutely fixed ahead; at just past midnight, you had a feeling he wasn’t in the mood to listen to drunken drivel or to sit through a peep show.

The streets were chaos; why you thought this would be easier, you couldn’t comprehend. Later, you would blame it on the dizziness, or the lovesickness.

You blinked out of your reverie when something brushed against your wrist. Loki’s hand had crossed the distance between you and lay, palm facing upwards, next to yours. He’d wiggled his index finger under your pinky.

With every block that you crossed, your giddiness was melting away to something else entirely, something hot and wanting. Something like honey, or maybe whiskey. At three-and-a-half blocks away from the tower, the two of you tumbled out of the car with a lacklustre happy new year, which the driver waved off. You paid him with too many bills, not willing to wait a second more.

The tower was deserted; even the lobby, which was usually lit up all hours of the day, was dark. The security guards had all left for the night, waved away by Tony with the insistence that FRIDAY could vet potential intruders while they enjoyed their evening. Your footsteps were painfully loud in the empty atrium.

Loki followed you up to your room like a spectre. By the time you got to your door, your hands were shaking so badly that you could hardly get your key into the lock, too distracted by the way Loki was mouthing at your jaw, breath hot and humid on your skin, his hands riding up your sides to tangle in the fabric of your dress.

“You have to stop for a second,” you gasped. “I can’t– I can’t think with you like this.”

His tongue traced a line over your pulse point. He turned you around and plucked the key from your hand before crowding you against the door, the open curve of his mouth a teasing pressure against yours. You heard the key grind against the little pins, then turn; Loki caught you at the last second when the door swung open underneath you, laughing, equal parts arrogant and aroused.

Loki leaned against the doorframe, his arms bracketing it on either side, and watched you back away. His head tilted; his eyes pulled you apart like a butcher pulled pork. You continued until the backs of your thighs met your couch, your bag and coat forgotten to the side in a sad heap.

The deadbolt slid into place with a click.

You beckoned him forward for a quick kiss. Hardly more than a peck.

“Oh, I think I deserve a little more than that.”

You hummed. “Careful, ben.. .”

“Bendr.” He reached up and toyed with your bottom lip, then leant down and licked where his thumb had been. “Your accent is infuriating.”

“I’m trying,” you gasped. One of his legs slotted between yours so he could lean his weight on the couch, effectively pinning you under him.

“Loki–” You were cut short by a sharp roll of his hips against yours. A truly evil grin shaded his handsome face before he tipped his head to kiss you again. You squirmed, turning your cheek; undeterred, Loki pressed his mouth to the highest point on your cheekbone. “Loki, really–”

“It’s fun. We’re just having fun, kitten.” He punctuated his sentence by working his hand over your body, palming one breast upwards with a turn of his wrist.

“Stop interrupting me.”

His mouth closed over your pulse point, dull teeth scraping over your skin with purpose. The hand not groping your chest slipped under your skirt, hiking it up so he could toy with the waistband of your underwear, drawing a featherlight path along the edge before occasionally sliding his thumb under, admiring the soft skin of your hip. Any coherent thought fizzled and stuttered until your mind was a blank well for him to pour his desire into. Don’t I make you feel good, he asked. Imagine what I can do with my hands. With my tongue.

He cooed at you, licking a long, flat stripe up your neck. The hand around your hip slid even higher, slotting nicely under the jut of your ribcage. He pressed his face into the dip between your neck and shoulder and sighed, his chest filling then draining to a terrible, shaky emptiness. He pretended to smile. “Humour me. Use me.”

Using the hand in his hair, you twisted his head to the side and kissed him, pressing all the things you couldn’t say into his lips. How sorry you were for not speaking sooner. How you hoped there might be a future left to scrounge. "Have I ruined it?"

His mouth twisted to a funny line. You got the impression that he wanted to continue pretending, to slip into a caricature of himself where your words hadn't hurt him. Maybe it would be easier to act as if the two of you had organically fallen in love and not stumbled, face-first, into a strange, unconfident dance. But then -- Loki had made many mistakes in his lifetime. Had fought losing battles until the end of days in the name of spite, or pain. He couldn't fault you for a mistake he would have made ten-fold, had he been in the same scenario.

So he kissed your knuckles for the simple pleasure of kissing you.

“Loki." You would write him a hundred love letters after tonight. “Look at my neck.”

His hands drew away slowly, though the ghost of them lingered; his seidr smoothed up and down your sides, as if Loki was committing to memory the feel of you unconsciously.

He twisted the top button from its buttonhole, then followed the placket all the way to the top of your belly until your dress was limp and wide open. It slipped down your shoulders; you would have expected him to be ogling you, or to make some lecherous comment now that you were exposed to him, but his eyes stayed neutral, his hands shy where they traced your upper arms.

“I’m going to turn around now.” You disentangled your legs and twisted, drawing your feet up and over the back of the couch so you were seated on the back.

He was silent for a while. “Have I developed your mortal hysteria? I must have conjured you up out of lust.”

“No, Loki. It’s just a… a cosmic prank, I guess.”

Silence yawned and stretched, a creature warmed from a long slumber. Eventually, Loki rounded the couch so he could kneel on the cushions between your knees. You wound him in by the collar of his shirt, fisting it until he was close enough to be kissed, whereafter he met you in steps – realization, that you were kissing him; elation, that he might get to kiss you; and desperation, to keep you there forever.

"What else could you call me?"

"Duva. Ljufi. Ah, ja, minn ljuflinkr."

"Ljufi?"

"Love." The stereo system under your tv picked up, crackling with static. The air grew thick with ozone and magic, which settled like humidity over the back of your neck and whispered nonsense. “Alright, my skittish kitten… What do you call me?”

“Hm... Love, maybe? Um, sweetheart? My soulmate?”

He nodded gravely, hands on either side of your face. “We have weeks to make up for. Again.”

You threaded your fingers through his belt loops, urging him to lean his weight on you. He followed gingerly, drawn by your voice like a dog on a lead. “Soulmate. My soulmate.”

He couldn’t ask you a third time. He was too busy committing to memory the curve of your mouth against his.

The picture was uploaded to Twitter on January 1st at 3:47 AM – It was terrible quality, taken in a dimly-lit bar only a minute after midnight. You and Loki were perfectly framed in a sea of lovers, so wrapped up in the other that you weren’t aware of the flash. Darcy’s lipstick was still smeared on your cheek; few stray curls hung in a curtain in front of Loki’s eyes; and his right hand was balled up in the fabric of your dress, the tension just right, so that the top few dots of your soulmark peeked out.

You were both beaming.

#loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x female reader

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berenwrites · 7 months ago

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A Simple Question - Steddie - PG13

for @steddie-week Day 2

Prompt: Hands / touch starved / Invisible Touch by Genesis

rated pg-13 | 1155 wds | tags: kissing, fluff, everybody lives, post vecna, mentions of sex

Eddie is a little tipsy and he has a question for Nancy.

(Also on AO3) ( My Other fic on Tumblr)

A Simple Question: Ha! What Boundaries?

Eddie was on his way to drunk, which was why he sat on the couch next to Nancy and cut himself off. Ever since his brush with death, he was something of a lightweight. At least everyone else seemed to be pretty buzzed as well. He’d passed on Argyle’s weed because of the aforementioned lightweight status, but the others hadn’t.

Jon and Argyle were currently lying on the floor having a deeply philosophical discussion about mushrooms, and not even the magic kind. Steve and Robin were draped all over each other in the corner giggling. And Nancy had been staring into space until Eddie sat down.

“Greetings, Wheeler the Badass,” he said with a smile as she looked at him.

“Eddie the Not-So-Banished,” she replied with a smile, “to what do I owe the honour.”

That made Eddie giggle.

“Came to ask you a question,” he told her. “Probably an ill-advised question, but I figured you’re too mellow to hit me.”

Nancy lifted an eyebrow at him for that.

“You’re probably right,” she agreed much to his surprise.

“Really?” he asked, because he would have shut his mouth if she’d objected.

“Really,” she said. “Ask away.”

“So,” he began, drawing out the ‘o’ sound, “Steve…”

“Ah,” Nancy said with a smile that Eddie couldn’t quite interpret.

“What do you mean by ‘ah’?” he asked.

“That your question?” Nancy replied.

“What? No,” he protested.

“You only get one,” Nancy told him.

“You’re changing the rules,” he complained.

“I could go and talk about mushrooms,” Nancy said.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie said, pretty sure if he had had one less beer the conversation would have been a lot less annoying, but then again, they probably wouldn’t have been having it at all. “So, Steve, reputation with the ladies deserved or hyped up?”

Nancy snorted a laugh and patted him on the leg in a rather unsettling way.

“In a sexy way or romantic way?” she asked.

“Um … sexy,” Eddie admitted quietly.

“Totally deserved,” Nancy told him, “and actually in a romantic way too. Probably would have eaten that shit up if, well, the stuff that happened hadn’t.”

She looked sad for a moment, so Eddie patted her hand in what he hoped was a sensitive gesture.

“So totally deserved?” he prodded when no more was forthcoming because his brain to mouth filter was on low power.

“God yes,” Nancy said, turning to look at him. “You would not believe how good he is with his hands, oh and his mouth. Fuck, his hands and mouth in combination.” She beckoned him closer. “Jonathan’s good,” she whispered, “but he’s never given me three orgasms in a row.”

“Three?” Eddie whispered back.

Nancy nodded.

“And that was just for starters,” she assured him. “I think he gets off on getting his partner off,” she revealed.

“Wow,” was the best Eddie could do with that information.

“You should shoot your shot,” Nancy said and all but shocked him sober.

“What … me … but …” he babbled.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Nancy said quietly.

He wondered if she was actually as high as she was pretending, because the look in her eyes was anything but vague.

“I’m that obvious?” he asked, sagging into the couch cushion.

He’d come out as bisexual to this older group of friends when Robin had accidentally outed herself at another of their exclusive get-togethers and panicked. That Steve had known since Starcourt and been Robin’s number one cheerleader really shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise as it had really.

“Only among friends,” she told him, wrapping her hand in his. “You should talk to him.”

“He’s straight,” Eddie pointed out.

“Not if the way I saw him making out with Argyle is anything to go by,” Nancy replied.

“Argyle?”

“Yes, my dude?” Argyle asked, so possibly Eddie had said that louder than he had meant to.

“Just passing on your haircare tips,” Nancy covered for him.

“Always here if you need advice, Brochacho,” Argyle replied with a wave before going back to talking to Jonathan.

“I couldn’t hear what they were saying,” Nancy said, leaning in again, “but I did see Steve thank Argyle and walk away with that, wow I’ve discovered something face he does when he’s processing new things.”

“The one with the adorable little crease right here?” Eddie asked, pointing to the top of his nose.

Nancy lifted both her eyebrows this time.

“Wow you have it bad,” she commented.

“I know,” he admitted and sighed dramatically. “But he’s Steve and I’m me. He’s an adonis and I’m a wet cat.”

So maybe he deserved the laugh from Nancy for that one.

“Talk to him,” Nancy encouraged.

“But what would I say?” Eddie asked kind of desperately.

“You could try, ‘Steve fancy kissing me’,” an all too familiar voice said from just behind him.

It was at that moment he realised Steve and Robin were no longer in the corner, far, far away from the current conversation. He kind of froze, only turning very, very slowly to find Steve standing directly behind the couch with a couple of cold sodas in his hands.

Apparently, adrenaline was amazing stuff, because Eddie felt one hundred percent sober in that instant. An embarrassing squeak escaped from his throat.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Robin said, throwing herself onto the couch on the other side of Nancy, “the romantic tension was getting really annoying.”

“Says the woman who still hasn’t made it to first base with Vicky,” Steve bitched back.

Robin just made a kissy face at him, while Eddie continued to freak out.

He’d been daydreaming about Steve ever since he’d woken up in the hospital with Steve standing guard over him like some angel from heaven. Apparently, nobody argued with Steve Harrington when he looked like he might bring down the wrath of God at any moment, which had given the rest of the Party enough time to get Eddie’s name cleared. The whole ripping a demobat in half had started it for Eddie, and that had totally clinched it.

Steve was looking at him now in that earnest way he had that kind of melted Eddie’s insides.

“Hey Steve,” he finally said, “fancy kissing me?”

It was all kinds of pathetic, but it was all he had.

With a cocky smile, Steve passed the sodas he was holding to Nancy, leaned over the back of the couch and slipped one cold hand into the hair as the base of Eddie’s skull. The kiss was long and deep, and Eddie never wanted it to end. Of course it had to, especially when Jonathan, the traitor, wolf whistled.

Steve picked up a cushion and threw it at Jonathan’s head as Eddie sank back into the couch with what he was sure was a dreamy expression on his face. Nancy leaned in.

“Wait until you get the full magic hands too,” she whispered.

The End ( My Other fic on Tumblr)

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fluff #romance #eddie lives #post vecna #steve x eddie #steddieweek2024

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ac0531 · 7 months ago

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youtube

Did an analysis and got some of the most interesting things Aaron said during this interview!!

“Whatever it unlocks, do you have to be connected or master some arcanum to unlock that? Anyways, I will say that there is a big reveal about the key of Aaravos in season 6”- Aaron

“We have many plans for Terry’s character. He’s a main character and we’ll see a lot of him in seasons 6 and 7. In terms of the meeting story between Terry and Claudia, yes we do have a story in mind but I don’t know how it’s going to get told. Sometimes we’ve talked about a book 3 and a half that’s sort of Claudia’s story that’s focused on the two years Claudia is moving around Xadia trying to solve the problem of saving Viren. You’d also have the story of Rayla hunting for Viren and you might have them cross paths, but yeah during that time you’d see her (Claudia) meet Terry- so we’ve talked about Book 3 and a half as maybe a novel or maybe a movie between season 3 and 4.”- Aaron

“That’s another story we’d love to tell at some point. That story sort of involved her rise from her being an orphan to her becoming the queen of Katolis- part of that story also connects to Aaravos and what happened a few hundred years ago. There is more story after season 7 that is important and I’m actually going to talk about it at SDCC.”- Aaron!

“You’ll learn more about Leola in season 6 and the questions you’ve asked will be answered very clearly.”- Aaron (Goji asked “Who is Leola, if she has a connection to Aaravos and if she’ll play a role in season 6”)

“The two examples that came to mind in your list are one: the symbol on the coins which is also the symbol on the book, and yes it connects to old deep magic and you will see a bit more of that in the coming season.”- Aaron

“And then the second thing you mentioned was the staffs in the starscraper, so I’ll share something a little meaty which is that is where they came from, so the question would be- how did it go from there to Viren? I know we’ve seen the scene with Ziard talking about the staff and it being a gift from a great one but yeah, that (the starscraper) is where it’s from.”- Aaron

“A lot of the origin story on who and why (Aaravos backstory) are going to be revealed in season 6.”- Aaron

“Who is he? What does he want? How has he come to be in a situation where he has somehow been involved in magic passing from Startouch elves and you know the elves and dragons to the humans- what is his involvement in that? Some of those questions will be answered in season 6”- Aaron

#tdp #the dragon prince #tdp spoilers #tdp lore #Aaravos tdp #aaron ehasz #HYPE STUFF!!#Youtube

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moonyswritinq · 7 days ago

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How about an enemies/rivals to lovers with the cat king and a male reader? Idk why their rivals, maybe the reader is dog person?? or just REALLY hates cats. You really get as much creative liberty as you want. I'm not very good at requesting pr coming up with ideas, sorry.

cat got your tongue — the cat king x male reader

❝ CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE ❞

SYNOPSIS ➢ You’ve never been fond of cats. The little pests always drove you insane. Which is why, when encountering the bloody Cat King, you are even less happy to be stuck in Port Townsend. What started as distaste for the man slowly turns into him becoming a distraction—a rather nice one that you start looking forwards to.

PAIRING ➢ thomas the cat king x male reader

CONTENT WARNING ➢enemies to lovers, harsh language, hate towards cats (yes it deserves a warning), graphic and explicit gore (the body at the cat king’s lair), suggestive content, kissing, tension, flirting, use of y/n

WORD COUNT ➢10 k

AUTHORS NOTE ➢ GUESS WHO GOT CARRIED AWAY AGAIN? your one and only. sorry this is a bloody bible, and that it took forever to write. this hurt a bit because I love cats, but I also love enemies/rivals to lovers so shjshdjhsj. enjoy!

MASTERLIST, TAGLIST

You sneered at the tabby cat at your feet, kicking it gently off of your leg. It had tried to rub against you, which you knew was its way of marking you and showing affection. It was disgusting and you had half a mind to kick it harder. As if reading your thoughts, a ginger cat, perched on a large throne-like chair in the middle of the room, hissed in warning.

Edwin had warned you that this was a matter of diplomacy and to let him do the talking, and despite your usual favour to physicalities you decided to heed his words. So you merely rolled your eyes and let the cat be.

As your group had entered the building, the length of a warehouse stretched before you, a cat surrounding you from every direction. A group of them dispersed from a throne as you neared it, revealing a half-eaten human body laying before it. The skin around the all too visible bones had been picked off and was seen hanging in thin threads, more a skeleton than a body. Chunks of meat was completely missing in some areas and spilling out of it along with blood colouring the wooden floor—one of its eyes had been dragged out of its socket and probably played with like some toy. The sight of it made your stomach turn, almost to the point of looking away. The others groaned behind you and you heard Crystal let out a silent gasp.

“What’s wrong? Just a bunch of cats,” one of the cats commented, the smart-mouthed bastard.

Your urge to kick it overcame you once again—this time even stronger. Edwin seemed to sense it and held out a hand to halt your step, then glanced uncertainly towards the cat on the throne.

“We were invited to see the Cat King,” he said.

You turned your gaze to the throne to find cloud of purple flames erupting from the throne and then a man sitting in the place of the earlier cat, your own mouth opening in a surprised gasp.

“What? Never seen a handsome man before?” his lulling voice asked, winking in your direction. You promptly shut your mouth with a scoff.

“Can all cats do that?” asked Crystal from beside you.

The man laughed dryly. “‘Can all cats do that?’” he repeated, leaning his cheek on his hand. “Of course not! I’m the Cat King.” His glance shifted between the four of you. “I can tell you’re not the brains of the operation. Nor the looks. But who is, then?”

One of your eyebrows raised at his question and he caught your gaze, eyes raking over your figure as his smiled widened. The weight of his gaze made heat travel up your neck but you ignored it in favour of letting your face settle into a grim stare. The Cat King seemed unaffected by your reaction—or he chose to ignore it—and merely yawned.

“Sorry, I’m already bored,” he chuckled, turning in the direction of one of his cats. “Which one of them used the magic on you?”

The cat that had spoken before opened his mouth again, nodding in Edwin’s direction. “The scrawny one that just had the nerve to talk to you.”

The Cat King tilted his head and let out a soft, “Oh.” His eyes briefly glanced in your direction again. “Shame.”

Edwin cleared his throat and gestured to the other three of you. “We are the Dead Boy Detectives, we’re solving a mystery—”

“Oh, I don’t care,” interrupted the Cat King. “Using magic on my cats is a total car crash on your part. We…” he paused to stand up, rising to his full impressive height, “should discuss your offence.” His eyes jumped between you and Edwin before taking a step down from his pedestal and uttering the final word. “Privately.”

You felt yourself scowling and then adverting your eyes from him with a swallow of your throat. For whatever reason, you were not sure.

“Oi,” said Charles, drawing out bat from his backpack. “He’s not going anywhere with you.”

Your eyebrows raised alongside Edwin’s and sighed, before he motioned to step aside.

“Charles, come here,” said Edwin and walked away from the Cat King. You followed him together with Charles and Crystal, and once out of earshot he lowered his voice. “Perhaps a conversation is the play here.”

Crystal shook her head at Edwin. “I agree with Charles. Let’s just kick cats until we’re out.”

“Yeah, fuck ‘em,” you chimed in, before shooting a glance at the nearest cat and the thought of lowering your voice even further entered your mind. “They’re all savages, they can’t be diplomatic.”

“Do you two want to end up like him?” hissed Edwin, gesturing to the body behind him. Your glance followed his and again you were overcome by the urge to vomit. He kept talking in a hushed whisper. “Not to mention, cat scratches are like poison to ghosts. There are too many cats here who seem to know that.”

Charles seemed to contemplate Edwin’s words. His eyes briefly flickered towards the Cat King before letting out an already resigned sigh. “I don’t like the look of him.”

Edwin met his eye with confidence. “I am perfectly capable of handling this,” he said.

“So, telling secrets about me already,” said the deep voice belonging to the Cat King. You sent a murderous glare over your shoulder before turning back.

“Quiet bastard.” You rolled your eyes.

You heard his chuckle behind you, being able to picture his smug smile all too clearly. “What can I say? It’s the cat in me.”

“Clearly,” you muttered.

“Am I sensing some animosity?” asked the Cat King, his voice closer than before. You hadn’t heard him walk closer, but again, he was half a cat. You turned to face him fully, raising an eyebrow at him. He was leaning forward with his hands behind his back, a suspiciously innocent expression on his face.

“So, you’re not as stupid as you look,” you said with the ugliest scowl you could muster.

He winced, although you didn’t miss the way his lips tugged upwards. “Ouch.”

“Look, just take care of what you have to do and we can get out of this cat-infested hell-hole,” you said, throwing your arms out in exasperation.

“You don’t like cats?” asked the Cat King. There seemed to be genuine surprise on his face.

“Would I like getting run over by a ten ton truck filled with lighter fluid and then set on fire with me under it?” you retorted. Your voice was dripping with sarcastic poison and you couldn’t help but to roll your eyes. “What kind of question is that? Of course I don’t like cats.”

The Cat King tilted his head. You might have imagined it, but you thought you saw his brows furrow into a slight frown. “Hm. Strangely specific.” He looked as if he was going to say something more but instead he turned his attention to Edwin with an easy smile, as if he had not heard your words even to begin with. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“Don’t you dare try any funny business,” warned Charles, holding out the bat threateningly at him.

You saw the Cat King sigh smugly, a last glance thrown your way that made you advert your eyes, before a cloud of purple smoke engulfed him and Edwin and they were both gone. Immediately, Charles tried to rush forward, grabbing hold of nothing. He turned around to the two of you with a desperation you had not before seen in his face.

“Look, calm down, mate,” you started saying, reaching out a hand to hold his shoulder. He slumped against your grasp and met your gaze with the most pathetic look you had ever seen. You led him to sit down on one of the crates, the cats dispersing now that the Cat King was resolving the problem.

“He’ll be fine,” said Crystal, sitting down on the other side of him. “He’s Edwin.”

“You’re right,” agreed Charles, rubbing a hand against the bridge of his nose. “I’m just so used to looking after him it feels strange to not be able to protect him against this cat bloke.”

You continued to rub a hand across his back and said in the most comforting tone you could muster, “If it’s to any consolation, I don’t think the Cat King will try to harm Edwin. Judging by the looks of him, he seems to want compensation in, er, other ways.”

His head whipped towards you with a raised eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“I, er—”

Your hand halted uncertain in it tracks and you suddenly had trouble finding your voice. How could you tell Charles what you meant without disturbing anything in his and Edwin’s relationship? It would be much easier to let the two boys solve it themselves than crudely spitting out the fact that the ‘cat bloke wants to fuck your mate’. Luckily, Crystal came to your aid by distracting Charles with asking about his magical backpack and you were free to roam the warehouse.

There were no more cats in sight for you to kick your frustrations out on, despite the warning gaze of the Cat King that appeared in your mind would they have been there. For what seemed like hours, the three of you waited for Edwin’s return, filling the time with mindless chatter and recounting past cases and answering any questions voiced by Crystal. Your skin crawled at the eerie feeling of the warehouse. It made you painfully aware of every sound or movement, waiting for the swarm of cats to come back and attack you. You equally dreaded and weirdly looked forward to seeing the Cat King again.

Finally, long after the sun had already gone up and spread its orange glow through the open doors of the warehouse, Edwin returned. The space didn’t make shivers travel down your spine anymore, but felt rather homely with the bright light. You and the others had settled down on a few crates nearby, but by the resounding crack and Edwin’s form suddenly visible through a cloud of purple, you jumped into action.

“Edwin!” shouted Charles, running over to him. “Where have you been?”

Edwin frowned at him. “Only been gone a few moments.”

“No, you’ve been gone for literal hours,” answered Charles, frowning as he tilted his head. “Are you all right, mate?

You felt the hairs at the back of your neck rise in suspicion as you regarded him. “Where’s the Cat King?” you asked him, looking around as if the man would appear behind you at the mere mention of him.

“Probably where I left him, still scheming or something of the sort,” he muttered and glanced away with clear discomfort.

“And, um, what is that on your wrist?” added Crystal, drawing the attention to the hand that Edwin had raised. Gleaming, a golden bracelet shone on his wrist, the image of a cat eating its own tail. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Ouroboros. Usually, you enjoyed the symbol, but coming from the Cat King it just seemed like another slap in the face. Especially as it meant you were all now stuck in this damned town. Together with him and his scoundrel cats.

- - -

One. Ten. Twenty-four. Forty-six. Eighty-nine. One hundred. Eventually, Edwin’s count reached one hundred and thirty-seven. One hundred and thirty-seven cats in Port Townsend had been found so far. You would normally say it was impressive for only a few days of searching for cats, but this town seemed to be filled to the brim with them. You would have more trouble trying not to find a cat somewhere you went. God knew how long it could take to count them all. It didn’t help that trouble seemed to be extraordinarily good at finding the five of you, now with Niko within your midst. The stress was getting to you as you stood waiting outside the butcher shop, the bridge of your nose pinched between your fingers and your mind starting to imagine shadows following you out of the corner of your eye.

“One hundred and thirty-eight, one hundred and thirty-nine,” said Edwin from next to you, putting his fingers to his temple. You scoffed and gave the cat nearest to you a harsh glare. It jumped off the fence, after Edwin had counted it of course, and ran off around the corner.

You turned to Edwin. “Better get a hurry on with counting all those cats, mate. They’re everywhere.”

“What do you think I am doing, hm?” he asked, raising an eyebrow defiantly at you.

You gave him a glance over, noting that the book in his hand was not related to the case, but rather to astrology. It was your turn to raise an eyebrow, pointedly looking at the book. It seemed that he was not fully focused on the cat-counting but had other things on his mind—more specifically, other people on his mind. Edwin avoided your gaze with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat, just as Charles came out of the shop, with Crystal and Niko in tow.

“So,” started Charles, bringing his hands together, “Shall we get a crack on with the case, then?”

Edwin threw a brief glance in your direction and nodded promptly. He immediately put the book in Charles’ infinite book bag, ignoring the questioning glance he received from the other ghost.

“Don’t forget to count the cats,” you said to him. He rolled his eyes and Charles smiled brightly, cocking his head and taking off along the street. Crystal glanced at you as you made to follow, immediately feeling better to be on the move. Niko bounded over to the other side of you, nudging your side.

“What’s got you so depressed?” she asked suddenly.

“I’m not depressed,” you muttered.

Crystal shook her head. “No, but you’re something. C’mon, you can tell us.”

Your glance jumped to the two ghosts ahead of you, making sure they were out of earshot before replying. “I don’t mean to blame Edwin or anything, but I really don’t like being stuck in this town.” Another shadow at the edge of your vision had you craning your neck only to see nothing there. “I just want him to count all the cats so we can get out of it.”

Crystal and Niko seemed to share a look you could not make out the meaning of.

“Why is that?” asked Crystal. You raised an eyebrow at her. “I mean, we all want to get out of this place before something more dangerous happens, but you’re in an unusual hurry.”

You sighed. “How do you know I’m not always in a hurry, Crystal? We haven’t known each other for that long, y’know.”

“No, something else is up,” she said, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Niko nudged your side again, piping in. “She’s right. I know I don’t know you that well either but you keep jumping at every cat you see. And in my opinion as a detective, that is very strange behaviour.”

You glared at her out of the corner of your eye, or as much of a glare you could muster to counter her bubbly smile. “Er—great detective work, Niko.”

Her smile widened.

“Fine.” You let out a long sigh, again making sure the dead boys could not hear you. “It’s just— I really don’t like cats. And I suppose the whole Cat King ordeal set me a bit on edge.”

“Huh.” Was all Crystal muttered before she shrugged and said, with as much nonchalance as possible, “Thought the Cat King would have something to do with it.”

You cocked your head in her direction. “And what do you mean by that?”

She shrugged again. “I’m not blind, y’know. I saw the way he was looking at you. And the way you were looking at him.”

“Ooh, do I sense some love in the air?” Niko let out a soft coo.

Your steps fully halted as your brain processed their words. Your surprised gawk turned into a scowl as you stared at them both. Love? Between you and the Cat King? What? Both Niko and Crystal had stopped when you did, waiting expectantly for you to continue.

“What? No. Absolutely-bloody-not,” you bit out venomously.

A deep breath later and your feet started moving faster than before, now wanting to outrun the conversation with the girls. But they matched your steps, albeit with a bit of difficulty,

“Come on, you can’t deny that he was definitely flirting with you,” teased Niko, sending a playful wink your way.

“Perhaps so.” You shrugged. “But I’m sure it was like any other usual game for him.”

“Maybe it was, but what if it wasn’t?”

You let out an annoyed sigh. “Even so, he’s the Cat King. And I hate cats. He literally stands for everything I despise.”

“So what you’re saying is that without the cat part you find him attractive?” Crystal said, her tone frustratingly implying something that was simply not there.

“Wha—that’s not what I’m saying! I—er,” You let out a frustrated groan and ran a hand down your face. “Listen, it doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is that he’s the reason we’re all stuck in this town and that is reason enough to hate him.”

Your feet started moving faster to catch up with Charles and Edwin, thankfully escaping the row of questioning the girls had sent you through. What was even so interesting that they would feel the need to do that? All of it only to find out how much you hated cats, and the Cat King in association. Sure, he had looked at you with a glint in his eye, something that told you of hidden secrets untold, just laying in wait for someone to come and unravel him. And you had felt an unfamiliar warmth against your cheeks, something you hadn’t felt since you first met Charles and he had flirted with you—a crush that you had very quickly gotten over as soon as you noticed the lingering glances between him and Edwin, might you add. But it did not change the fact that the Cat King had trapped Edwin, and the rest of you, in Port Townsend—and that could not change your distaste for him.

“There it is,” Niko suddenly exclaimed from behind you. She was pointing to the large lighthouse in the distance. Point No Point Lighthouse. As your eyes flew to the top, you spotted a woman clad in a white gown climbing the fence.

“Hey,” said Crystal, feet starting to move hurriedly towards it. “Get down from there!”

Before any of you could even think to intervene, she had let go of the railing and plummeted to the water. Your head turned away from the sight when you heard the unintelligible splash of the waves as her body hit it. You dared open one eye to the lighthouse again, afraid that if you looked another human would spawn at the top only to fall to their death. Nothing of the sort was there. Instead, stood only a regular lighthouse, seemingly unaware of the tragedy that just took place.

“What the actual fuck?” you let out in a breath.

Ever so the detective, Edwin got to work immediately, as if he hadn’t just seen a woman take her own life. He started compiling questions to ask the ghosts of the leapers, who now sat at the stone fence facing the ocean. Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted through your leg, causing you to cry out.

“Ow—bloody hell!” You looked down to see the cause for the sudden burning on your leg—a cat. You kicked the thing off of you, glaring at it as it ran away.

“One hundred and forty-two,” said Charles as soon as his eyes landed on the cat.

You looked to where the cat had disappeared—or rather not disappeared, as it had stopped at the corner of the path. It sat there, looking back at you expectantly. It was almost as if it was waiting, and you had a small hunch that it would not go away until you followed it. You let out a deep sigh and started walking towards it.

“Wait a tick, I’ll be right back,” you said, throwing one last glance behind you before following the cat.

“What was that about?” Crystal’s voice asked behind you. You could imagine the receiving shrug Charles gave her before you trudged away.

The longer you walked for, letting the cat lead the way through the winding forestry, the suspicion of where you were heading only grew. And a small part of you, as much as you hated to admit it, was intrigued to what you would find waiting for you. When you reached what seemed to be a lookout point made up of a stone ledge and a low fence surrounding the edge, you let out a deep sigh at the sight of the Cat King. He was laying on his side, one knee up in the air which showed off the skin on his legs that weren’t covered by white socks and a black skirt. His fur coat was open to reveal the golden shirt under it—which was painfully formfitting, as well. A roguish smile played on his lips as his eyes searched your figure up and down.

You scowled at him. “A note would suffice. The cat scratch was unnecessary.”

His eyebrows raised. “In my experience, guys like you enjoy a little bit of rough play, “ he said. He let his legs swing down and he sat up straight. A cat looking at his treat.

Your face twisted in disgust. “‘Guys like me’, what is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m sure you can figure that out on your own.” He sent you a wink. It made you roll your eyes.

“Reckon you should bother Edwin with this instead? After all, he’s the one under your spell and counting your cats,” you said, taking a step forward and crossing your arms across your chest.

“I will deal with Edwin in due time,” replied the Cat King. He stood up to his full height, a tad taller than you, and started slowly walking towards you. “Right now, I would rather bother you.”

You watched him step closer, circling your body with the featherlight touch of his hand caressing your shoulder.

“Figures,” you muttered.

He came to a halt in front of you, one hand still on your shoulder. “Don’t you enjoy my company?” he asked in faux concern, his eyebrows furrowed.

You did not let yourself believe his play. “Not in the slightest.”

“Ouch, I’m hurt.” His hand moved to grasp his chest where his heart was—if he even had one, that is—and turned away from you. You did not miss the playful glint in his golden eyes.

“Sure, you are,” you said rather matter-of-factly. “For what it’s worth, Edwin’s counted one hundred and forty-two cats.”

The Cat King let out a dry bark of a laugh. “There are absolutely not one hundred and forty-two cats. That is not even nowhere close.”

You threw your arms out in exasperation. “Well, what do you expect when you give him such an impossible task?” you said as your glare hardened. “Is this all only to amuse you?”

“Yes.” His head tilted to the side as he seemed to analyse you. A pause. “And it gives me more time with you.”

Your lips pressed together to keep your reply quiet.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” His words flowed from his mouth like velvet and his smile was all too inviting.

“Clever,” you answered, voice dripping in sarcasm.

He shrugged and smiled coyly. “I try.”

When the eye contact became too painful for you to bear, your eyes glanced away into the faraway trees. You could see his proud smirk out of the corner of your eye and it made your frustration bubble up to the surface with a quickness and fierceness that surprised even you.

Your breath came out in one sharp burst as you turned to him again. “Look, this might all seem like one big game for you, but surprise!—it’s not. Being stuck in this mindless town could actually result in real danger coming to find us.” You forced him to meet your gaze with the seriousness of your voice. “We need to leave.”

But of course he could not stay serious for even one second. He simply waved away your words and smiled.“Oh, don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure whatever trouble finds your way you are more than capable to deal with.”

A frustrated sigh escaped your lips. “Your opinion on whether I can handle it or not does not matter. Your opinion does not matter.”

The Cat King stopped in his motion, turning to face you fully. His head tilted to the side, golden eyes narrowed.“If it’s so dangerous for you here, why don’t you just leave? After all, you’re not the one bound to this town.”

“Er—” you began, but quickly shut your mouth. His words made you hesitate. You weren’t about spill your guts out to this complete stranger.

“I would make another ‘cat got your tongue’ joke but I don’t want to be redundant,” he said, still smiling. You watched him walk closer to you, one of his hands reaching to run up your chest before stopping to rest against the nape of your neck. The touch was warm and light, and you hated how you had to stop yourself from leaning into it. Almost as if he could sense your thoughts, he smiled and leant closer so that you could almost count the specks of orange in his golden eyes. “There’s something else that is keeping you here.”

“You’re despicable,” you spit out.

The Cat King simply tilted his head, almost as if in sympathy, before letting his finger run across your lips. “Tell me.”

You were too slow in pulling away from him, and his rough finger made contact. A cold sensation spread over your lips, not uncomfortable but tingling with unfamiliarity. You opened your mouth to spit out another insult but felt the words stick to your throat, like a stubborn mouthful of honey. You were unable to utter them. Instead, as if someone had reached down your throat and pulled the words right out of your heart, the truth tumbled out.

“I—I owe Charles and Edwin my life.”

The Cat King’s eyes widened and his smile turned into a frown.

“Oh, that’s not what I expected.”

As easily as the earlier words had come out, the rest of the truth poured out of your lips as well. “Without them, I would have died back in London.” You took a shaky breath, glancing away from the Cat King’s demanding gaze. “I thought it only fair to help them with their cases and save other lives. Well, ghost lives.”

He nodded, seeming to think about your words. Then, his smile returned, sly as ever. “Hm, and are you sure a part of you staying here is also not because you are intrigued by me?”

You were unable to stop the laugh that escaped you. “By you? Fuck no. By this situation? Slightly. But now I’ve found out you’re only a pathetic man who likes to play games because daddy didn’t give him enough attention as a child.” You walked closer to him as you spoke, a finger jabbing his chest to punctuate your point.

“Okay, wow, a bit hurtful, don’t y—”

“You’re the furthest from any reason to stay in this town,” you bit out. The truth wouldn’t stop. You kept on walking, forcing him backwards. His smile had slipped completely and some part of you felt grimly satisfied at seeing his facade crumble. “I would never fancy the sorts of you. Please get that through your head, you arrogant arsehole.”

“Oh.” Was all he responded with. His face seemed to have fallen a bit, and he was avoiding your eye, but with the usual grimace he kept on his lips you couldn’t be sure. With a wave of his fingers, the spell that had latched upon your lips dispersed into the air without so much as a trace. “Okay. Well, I won’t bother you much more then.”

You nodded numbly, turning to walk away.

The sound of his deep voice halted your steps.“Just remember to tell Edwin to keep counting the cats.”

You nodded again while letting your feet show you the way back. Your mind couldn’t let go of the Cat King’s face when you had told him off. It had felt wrong coming out of your mouth, even though the thoughts had felt completely right while in your head. And you knew they were truthful, thanks to the spell, but even then it had surprised you how much distaste you held for the man. And the simple fact of uttering those words to the Cat King’s face made them turn sour on your tongue. They left a bad aftertaste in your mouth, not unlike when you would forget to brush your teeth in the morning and could practically feel them rotting away.

It made you feel weirdly uncomfortable on the walk back to the others. You weren’t sure on the fact that you did not regret the words, and you weren’t sure if they were entirely so truthful anymore.

- - -

The following days trudged by slowly. Case after case distracted your mind from your earlier interaction with the Cat King, but the thought of it never fully disappeared. Had you been too harsh? No, he was a fully grown man, he could take a bit of criticism.

But despite this, your mind was painfully reminded of him every time you went outside. Before meeting him at the lighthouse, you could spot a cat on every corner of the town, making it remarkably easy for Edwin to get his count of cats into the hundreds. After, there was none to be seen, at all. You thought you had seen the tip of a cat’s tail disappearing around a street corner the other day but other than that, the Cat King had kept his promise of not bothering you—which had apparently extended to all of his cats. Somehow, that bothered you more and even made you miss the creeping bastards.

“Still one hundred and forty-two!” complained Edwin, throwing himself into a nearby armchair. “I’ve yet to see even one more cat since that lighthouse case. How am I supposed to count more cats when I can’t find any more of them?”

Charles’ brows furrowed and he turned to you. “What more did the Cat King say when you met him?”

You had told them of your interaction with the Cat King—well, not the full truth of it. But the barest minimum so that they could get the gist of it. Now, they were all looking at you expectantly.

“Oh, er, that was all, really.” You shrugged. “Just that there were more cats and to tell Edwin to keep counting.”

The answer seemed unsatisfying to Edwin, but there was not much more he could do. He merely shrugged and gestured for Charles to go on with the current case, something about two football players who had been murdered. Without thinking, you opened your mouth.

“I could go talk to him.”

“What?” they asked in unison.

“Yeah, what?” Crystal repeated, her narrowed eyes seeming to scrutinise you.

You screwed your eyes up in frustration, internally cursing at yourself. “I just meant that if there are no cats to be counted we can’t get rid of that bracelet, can we? So, I just thought that if Edwin can’t find any there must be a reason for it. I can go talk to him—to the Cat King, I mean.”

They all shared a hesitant glance.

“I don’t know,” said Charles. “He’s probably just playing another game with us.”

“Yeah,” chimed Crystal in. “I don’t trust him.”

You sighed. “Me neither, but we can either wait and hope for the best before something else comes and drags you back to the afterlife, or we can try to take care of it so we can get out of this town.”

“He does have a point,” said Edwin, head resting in his hand.

Crystal stood up from her seat, nodding in your direction. “Okay, but I’m coming with you.”

“No!” you said, before clearing your throat when she glared at you. “I just mean that you are needed for this case, is all. I’ll be OK.”

Her gaze was scrutinising and you had to fight not to fidget under it. Even though you had no ulterior motives, her glare made you want to admit the ones she obviously thought she could sense in your mind. “Fine,” she finally said, sitting down again.

Edwin gave you a curt nod before looking down at his notebook. Charles held your gaze for longer.

“Be careful,” he said.

You tried your best to send him your most convincing smile, but you had a feeling he wasn’t buying it. “Always am.”

With those words, you turned on your heel and started walking in the direction of the Cat King’s hideout. Your initial impression of it still remained strong—that it seemed very rundown for a so-called King. Now knowing the Cat King, you would have expected something much more glamorous and proper for his home.

Walking inside the warehouse, you noted that it was shockingly empty. Completely void of any signs of cats and the Cat King nowhere to be found. A small part of you was mildly relieved by the absence of them, but the emptiness filled you with an eerie chill. You picked your way around the space, trying to find any other place he could be hiding. It led you to a door you had not noticed before, surprising considering the intricacy of it. You grasped the golden handle and slowly wedged the door open, peering in carefully. You weren’t sure what you would find, but would rather not be caught off guard.

As soon as the door had been opened, a cat slipped through the small gap, making you jump back in surprise. The red light from the room coloured the floor and after a quick breath, you collected yourself enough to walk through, ready for any more cats who might have been hiding inside.

The first thing you saw was the big glowing neon light on the wall, the crown shining a bright red and a cyan ring surrounding it. It was almost mesmerizing in its simplicity and bathed the room in its colours. The second thing that drew your eye was the half-naked body of the Cat King. He was sprawled back on a circular bed, his legs tangled into the dark sheets and his robe casually hanging off one shoulder. His abs were on full display and it took every ounce of your willpower to ignore the flip your stomach made at the sight and raise your eyes to his face. His was turned away, eyes closed and seemingly oblivious to your presence. It allowed you to drink in every small detail of him under the neon lights, eyes jumping from the heaving of his chest, to the small scar on his lip, to his messed up hair and lingering all too long on the edge between his exposed skin and boxers. The whole sight seemed so perfect to you, you could almost believe it was effortless on his behalf.

“Fucking hell, Thomas,” he muttered quietly to himself, rubbing a hand over his eyes and growling out a sigh.

But then his eyes opened and found you, skulking in the shadows like an uninvited guest. You did not feel far off from some kind of pervert, especially when his display had caused warmth to pool in your gut and your cheeks definitely a shade darker than before. His eyes widened, and before he had time to try to cover up or say something you stepped forward into the light.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb.”

You tried desperately not to let your eyes wander south of his face, but it was difficult. He was the Cat King, yes, which meant he was an arse—and what else you had called him only a few days earlier. But bathed under the light like this and without having said anything stupid, you also realised he was hot. So bloody hot. So you swallowed and stepped even closer, suddenly nervously aware of yourself in comparison to him.

His head tilted and he sat up in a cross legged position, the robe almost falling off of him before he caught it and hung it on his shoulder again. A part of you wished he had let it go.

The Cat King glanced around before answering. “No worries, I, uh—I was not expecting you. It’s usually not this messy.”

Your brows furrowed in question and he cocked his head to the side of the room. It was first then that you realised the room was a fucking mess. Old takeout food had been left around, clothes strewn across the place and a few random cat toys laying around. You hadn’t even noticed it before due to the distraction that was the Cat King. As you met his gaze again he looked at you weirdly, eyes scrunched and brows knit together. It made you want to scratch at the shivers that traveled down your spine, weirdly self conscious under his pinned gaze. Then he shook his head and that easy smile was spread across his lips again. It seemed more empty though, but you could never be sure when it came to him.

“Not that I am complaining. Thought I wouldn’t see you again, so this is definitely a welcome change,” he said, leaning back on his elbows again. His knee was lifted into the air, swaying back and forth the same way a cat’s tail would when it was playing with its victim.

You tried to ignore the scratching at your throat and burning ears, meeting the Cat King’s gaze. “That’s why I came here. You have been avoiding m—us.”

If he noticed your slip up, he didn’t comment on it. He simply sighed and stood up from his bed. “You made it pretty clear you wanted nothing to do with me. So, as long as you are in this town, you won’t see me around.”

You watched him walk around the room, gathering the old boxes and throwing them into a rubbish bin. “I didn’t think that would apply to your cats as well.”

He halted, with his back to you, but you could clearly discern the tension in his shoulder. Then he released a deep sigh and angled his head towards the ceiling. “You noticed, then.”

“Of course, we noticed! Without counting all your cats, we’re still stuck here,” you said, arms crossed over your chest. “Something I don’t think you really mind.”

He tilted his head back to look at you over his shoulder, and right then and there it hit you how beautiful his eyes were. Deep swirling pools of gold, reflecting the neon crown beside him, and holding more secrets than you could ever try to figure out during your lifetime. He smiled, but it was different than how his other smiles were. This one didn’t made crows feet appear around his eyes or dimples in his cheeks. And it seemed sad, almost, in the way it couldn’t reach his dark eyes. It was gone as quick as it had appeared.

“I’ll allow them outside again for Edwin to count,” came his reply. You didn’t know whether to thank him for something he should already be doing or just leave. You settled on the former.

“Thank you. Er, it’s very kind of you.”

He turned back around, tilting his head. “Sure.”

You stood still for a moment, unsure of whether to leave or say something else. You could feel the tension in the air, something hanging heavy between you but unable to place your finger on what. After a moment, the Cat King sighed and plopped himself down on his bed.

“Will you please leave me to my self wallowing in peace?” he asked, a tone of sarcasm lacing his words. “I’d rather not have an audience.”

You didn’t trust your voice to speak for you. Only glancing back at him briefly, eyes traveling over his figure one last time and then hastily leaving the room. You thought you saw him deflate, as if he had been hoping for you to do the opposite of what he’d asked. You shook the thought away.

Finally outside the room, it was then that you could breathe freely and relax, his eyes no longer bearing into you. You could only hope that you hadn’t made a fool of yourself—or if you had, that the image wouldn’t last too long in his memory. The image of him, though, sprawled across the bed, had been seared into your mind and did not seem to be able to leave your thoughts. The way his voice had lowered when he thought he was the only audience to himself, that deep grovel in his voice that had your cheeks warming up instantly. You could almost imagine him speaking into your ear that way, whispering filthy things and pulling your waist closer to him.

You blinked the thoughts away, mildly surprised at the appearance of them. The other part of you knew why they were there and a solemn dread washed upon you. Bloody hell. You were attracted to the Cat King.

- - -

Fuck, he thought. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why did you need to have gone to see him?

Thomas was humiliated. Every time he had met you, every move of his had been calculated. His outfit, always carefully curated to show off enough of him without being slutty. His hair, styled to frame his face and curled beautifully to make his eyes glow. His smile, ever so roguishly handsome to seem alluring yet mysterious. And his words always thought out before they left his mouth.

But after that afternoon at the lighthouse when he had finally found out how you felt, he hadn’t been bothered to care. And now you had seen him like that; a complete mess. He couldn’t get the image of you standing in his room out of his head, looking as handsome as ever, your head tilted to the side. It was impossible to discern your thoughts through those deep eyes. Had he proven you right—shown you that he really was as disgusting and despicable as you thought? Did you still hate him?

Of course you did. What a silly question. There was no point wondering. Even if he couldn’t read your mind he was quite certain what thoughts would have been running through your head—‘What a mess’, ‘I can’t believe how pathetic he is’, ‘I am so glad to be rid of him’. Your conversation had made it clear to him that you wanted nothing to do with him.

He rubbed a hand across his face, body still splayed across his bed. Gods. You had rejected him and still he couldn’t stop thinking about you. What was wrong with him?

He couldn’t believe himself. Thomas had only thought it a game between you two. Of course, he was infatuated with you, but he would never have imagined that you weren’t enjoying the play between the two of you. Hearing your brutally honest thoughts of him had stumped that belief. However ridiculous that belief had been.

And now—now, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

Thomas couldn’t keep wallowing in his den of self-pity, that was for certain. Despite your rejection, he could not let that defer him from projecting his most amazing self. He shook the cat off his lap and rose to his full height, taking in the mess around him. How could he so easily have let you affect him? Who was he kidding, of course he knew how. The moment his eyes had landed on you, he knew it was over for him. That easy smile, your deep gaze, the way you held yourself. How could he not have fallen?

He had done everything in his power to try to win you over—well the only way he knew how. And it hadn’t been enough. He wasn’t enough. The thought hurt him more than he cared to admit. Your rejection hurt him more than he cared to admit.

He had focused so much on you ever since he met you that now he didn’t know what to do. He would return to his usual self and life, he supposed, but he knew his thoughts wouldn’t let you go so easily. When putting together his outfit, he couldn’t help but question what you would think of it—or more important, of him in it.

Dammit. He had to stop thinking about you or he would never be able to go on with his usual life. He had a mission to do and a certain ghost to help. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let thoughts of you stray him away.

- - -

The thought of the Cat King would not leave your head. Ever since that day, seeing him like that, and coming to the realisation that you indeed fancied him, you had not been able to get him out of your mind. It was infuriating how easy your thoughts returned to him at even the slightest reminder. Even if the sun reflected a certain colour of gold in water, the image of his beautiful eyes would be brought forth.

You were quite sure you had been able to hide your growing attraction for him, though. The Cat King himself had not bothered you any more and the rest of the Dead Boy Detective Agency had not caught on either—what you knew of, at least. Crystal had not hinted at anything more and neither had Niko, and you weren’t sure if you were grateful or disappointed by the fact.

It did not matter, you decided, because you had been fully occupied by the case at hand. The boys were in especial danger from this species of ghost-eating fungus, which made you nervous for their sake. Even though you had not been with them for very long, they had accepted you into their Agency despite you not being dead and you cared for them deeply because of it. You weren’t used to worrying for them, since they were already dead, so this case had been very strange for you. It did not help that the darkening woods seemed especially sinister and suffocating, as if they were closing in on you. You had chosen to walk alone amongst the trees, but you were beginning to regret it.

“Y/n?” A familiar voice said behind you.

You turned, looking into the dim light and seeing the Cat King standing amongst the trees, looking right at you. You weren’t prepared for how heavy his gaze would feel after seeing him that last time in his den, but you tried your best not to let it affect you.

“Er—hi,” you said as indifferently as you were able to.

One of his eyebrows raised. “I thought Edwin would be here.”

Oh. Of course, he was here for Edwin. Not for you. Not that you wanted him to, you had made it perfectly clear you didn’t want anything to do with him. Then why did a pang of hurt suddenly hit you in your chest?

“He was, you just missed him.”

“Ah,” he said with a sigh. Was he disappointed or relieved? “Well, I should go find him, I have to help him.”

Your eyebrow raised. “How could you help him? So far you’ve been nothing but trouble for us,” you said and immediately noticed his crestfallen gaze. Part of you regretted your words, but it was so easy to fall back into your familiar insults.

He exhaled slowly and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Not that it is any of your concern, but I am actually not the asshole you make me out to be.”

You took a moment to let your gaze sweep over him. He was dressed smartly, his outfit outlining his figure as perfectly as ever. His golden eyes shone in the faint light, the sky growing darker with every minute, and you hated to admit how good the light looked on him. The only thing out of the ordinary was his faint fidgeting, his fingers pulling at the hem of his shirt, almost as if self conscious. Other than that, there were no traces left of the man you had seen wallowing in his bed.

The thought of that day brought the picture of him to your mind and you couldn’t help but let your eyes jump down his chest, where you knew his perfectly toned abs were hiding beneath his shirt. At that, you also remembered how good he had looked. You felt blood rush to your cheeks at the thoughts that suddenly rushed your mind and you forced your gaze away from him, trying to smother them.

The Cat King’s eyes narrowed at your reaction, but he didn’t question you further. He stayed silent, letting you speak first.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes widened in surprise, not expecting the words. “What?”

“Sorry for being so harsh,” you said again, meeting his gaze. “I appreciate that you’ve allowed your cats out to be counted by Edwin again.”

His head tilted to the side, not seeming to believe your words. “But as you said before, it’s my fault you’re even stuck in this town to begin with.”

“Are you trying to make me angry at you again?” You raised an eyebrow in mock frustration.

The Cat King spoke the next words quietly, mostly to himself, but it was loud enough for you to catch them. “I’m not sure I could make you hate me more than you already do.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in real confusion. While you may have claimed your distaste for the man earlier, all you could feel for him now, looking at his handsome face, was a warmth pooling in your stomach.

“I don’t hate you,” you said.

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. He rolled his eyes. “I heard you before. Just stop playing with me.”

Your eyes narrowed and you tilted your head in thought. He avoided your gaze, his brows furrowed in discomfort, but he seemed strangely vulnerable in his words.

“I would have thought that the Cat King would love playing games.”

“Not when it comes to my feelings,” he said. “And it’s Thomas.”

“What is?”

“My name.”

“Thomas,” you tasted the word gently, letting the name drip off your tongue. You didn’t miss the way the Ca—Thomas shuddered and looked away at the sound. Could you really have that much impact on him? The thought stirred something inside of you—a strange excitement, of sorts. You took a hesitant step towards him. Then another, and another.

“Please, stop,” said Thomas quietly. He had closed his eyes. Then he added, as if an afterthought, “I don’t think I could handle it.”

“Handle what?” You knew what he meant, but you wanted to get to the bottom of this. The warmth that had pooled in your stomach when you first saw him shirtless had not left you, and you only felt yourself growing hotter by each step you took closer to him.

He let out a frustrated sigh, rolling his eyes. “Are you really going to make me spell this out for you? It’s bad enough knowing you don’t feel anything for me without you tormenting me like this.”

Some part of your heart pulled at his words and the wounded look he was giving you. It led you to let out the words, “How can you be sure?”

“I asked you, remember?” He said it as if it was obvious. “And while your answer was harsh it was quite truthful.”

Your head tilted to the side. You knew what he thought you felt for him, but judging by the fire which flared every time you looked at him, you knew you did not feel the same as before. Every little look he spared your way filled you with warmth and you wanted nothing more than to step into his embrace.

So, you said, coyly, “Ask me again.”

“What?”

“I said, ask me again.”

Thomas rolled his eyes at your words. He must have thought it to be useless to hear your thoughts again, but he nonetheless drew a finger against your lips, the touch soft and warm. You felt the corner of your lips draw into a smile, but kept it from emerging. You met his steady gaze, waiting patiently.

“Alright, this is ridiculous,” he sighed. When you kept silent and stared intently into his eye, he opened his mouth again. “What do you feel for me?”

“I love you.”

Your eyes widened in sync with his. You were not prepared for those words to leave your mouth—you didn’t even know you felt that deeply for him. By the looks of it, neither did Thomas. His mouth opened and closed few times, trying to get any words out—or even any sounds. He eventually just settled with a slight gape to his jaw as he stared into your eyes, the question written clearly across his face.

The secret was out, you reckoned, so no point in turning back. When your lips curled into a soft smirk, he started fidgeting with his sleeve again and looked away furtively. It was adorable how nervous he was. Your hand reached out gently, grasping his cheek and forcing him to meet your gaze.

“No point in denying it now. I love you,” you repeated, gaze jumping between his golden eyes.

Finally, he managed to clear his throat and croak out an answer, “I must admit I am surprised. Sure, I hoped you felt some attraction for me, but love? That’s heavy.” He looked away again from the weight of your gaze.

You shrugged as your smirk widened. “What can I say? Somehow your stupid smile must’ve charmed me.”

That made Thomas’ gaze jump back to you within a heartbeat. “Oh, so it’s stupid now? I thought you loved it,” he said with an easy smile playing against his lips. It was infuriating how good it looked on him.

“Please shut up before I regret ever speaking to you.” You rolled your eyes, beginning to take a step back.

His arm reached out immediately, curling around your waist and pulling him closer to you. His strong embrace did things to you that you were not ready to admit, and you had to fight the nervous exhale that tried to crawl out of you.

Thomas smiled deviously, lowering his voice to a mutter and spoke softly into your ear, “How about you make me?”

His voice made shivers erupt across your skin and you tried not to fidget in his grasp. You pulled away to glance into his golden eyes before letting your gaze jump to his lips. He noted your gaze and his smile widened even further. You were not sure if you could take another of his cheeky remarks and swiftly closed the distance between you. His lips met yours in a hungry kiss, one full of emotion.

Thomas practically growled in your ear as he kisses from your jawline to your collarbone, his hands gripping your waist harshly. You were sure there would be marks there later, but right then and there you could not care less. Your arms made their way across his back and up his shoulders. He groaned as you tightened your grip on his shoulders, then pulled back slightly, breathless. You could see how dilated his pupils were, and the sight practically drove you insane.

“I’ve been wanting to do this since I first saw you,” he whispered, his lips peppering soft kisses across your jaw.

His lips returned to yours, hungry and greedy. It was as if he was a starving man and you were the only thing keeping him alive. His lips left yours, but only for a fraction of a moment before they’re on your neck, kissing you. You arched against him as he gently bit your neck, throwing your head back to give him easier access.

“Thomas—” you let out a breathless moan, his name bleeding from your tongue.

The sound of his name on your lips ignited a new passion in him, as he started kissing your skin more fervently. His lips never left your skin for more than a second, and you would be lying if you said that you weren’t enjoying him immensely.

“I’ve never liked my name more than when you say it,” he said.

You released a breathless chuckle. “I’m sure you love the sound of your own name.”

He pulled back to meet your gaze with an arched eyebrow. “Okay, now you’re just being unfair.”

“What are you going to do about it?” you whispered, leaning closer while a smile spread against your lips.

In a moment, his mouth was on yours again. He slid his hand to the back of your neck, an urgency to his movements as his lips parted yours. He easily gave entrance for your tongue to enter his mouth, the taste of him better than you could have ever imagined. He pulled your hips to his, and he gently bit at your bottom lip. Then, he pulled away again, releasing a deep exhale with a smirk playing on his lips.

“Now, the cat really did get your tongue.”

Your stare was heavy as the dead when you met his eyes. “I will walk away, right now, with no hesitation if you say anything like that again.”

His arms circled you and pulled you even closer, his lips tugging upwards despite your words. “Okay, I’ll shut up.”

Your lips met his again before he pulled away, his gaze furtively jumping around. He seemed suddenly nervous as he struggled to get out his words again.

“I—” he started, before closing his mouth again. You gently pressed your lips against his cheek before he took a deep breath and met your gaze. “I want to say it back. Y’know, ‘cause I do feel things for you. It’s just—”

You smiled when you understood what he was hinting at. “Don’t worry about it. Take your time,” you said, your thumb rubbing against his cheek. He leant into the touch, kissing your palm and almost closing his eyes. “I was not looking for validation when I said what I said, but just so you would know how I felt.”

He smiled at your words, nodding. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Your lips formed into a smirk. “Besides, it won’t be long before you’re bloody smitten with my charm, either.”

“Who’s the arrogant asshole now, huh?” he asked and raised an eyebrow.

You sucked in a breath, tilting your head. “I like to think I’m confident.”

Thomas just let out a dry chuckle, before capturing your lips again. He moved slowly against you, savouring the taste. You let out a low groan, pulling him closer and smiling into the kiss. He released your lips for a moment to whisper against them.

“So, you don’t hate cats anymore?” he asked.

You pulled away further to look him in the eye. “Eh, well, I never said that,” you said. He gave you a pointed glare and you opened your mouth again. “But, they might as well grow on me. Who knows? You did.”

His smile was all the answer you needed as you kissed him once again. You didn’t think you would ever get sick of doing that. And neither would he, judging by the way he was holding you so tightly.

Tag list: @a-gay-dumbass @eunxhan @loverclear @shobolanya @edit-me-prettyplease @bookholichany @h3artfili4 @scriblezz @miaxturboto @ghostlyaccurate @bbybnnybee @remussl0vers @yokolesbianism @lost-saints

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true-blue-sonic · 4 months ago

Text

To Make Amends

In which Silver and Tails talk out what happened in Sonic Rivals 2.

----

This isn’t precisely how Silver envisioned an alleged super genius would live.

The little workshop tucked away in the forest is nothing remarkable. It’s tiny and quaint, made of wood and metal sheets with a large water wheel spurring and prattling around on one side. In the light of the afternoon sun it looks charming enough, if it weren’t for the fact this place is supposed to be Tails’ bastion of knowledge where he invents new creations up the wazoo. The exterior of the place hardly looks impressive enough for that, Silver decrees. But Espio and Amy had assured him that in here, magic could happen: Tails is able to repair anything, they had said.

Hopefully also futuristic Extreme Gears made with materials that the past has never even seen.

Oh well. The only thing he has to lose is a race wherein he’s ended right in the stands with his Gear on the fritz, the hedgehog figures. Either Tails is able to repair the thing and all is well, or he isn’t and Silver’s got weeks left to find another solution before he’s going to partake in the competition. And thus the psychic flies over to the large metal doors on one side of the building, adorned with a logo of Tails’ namesakes. At least he knows he’s at the right place, a firm knock getting bonked against them.

“Coming!” resounds from inside, footsteps running over and the doors sliding open to reveal Tails.

…Whose eyes first widen as they meet Silver’s, before blinking, before furrowing into a deep frown.

“Silver,” the greeting comes. If Silver didn’t know better, he would describe it as icy.

“Hey,” the hedgehog nods back. “My Extreme Gear is broken and Amy and Espio said I just had to go to you so you could help me out.”

“Oh.” Tails makes very few attempts at moving out of the way. “Is that so.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with it. It keeps twisting to the left when I want it to go straight,” Silver explains further.

Slowly blue eyes drop from glaring at him to the Gear in question. “Really now.”

“Yes,” the hedgehog agrees; the beginning of a long, long silence wherein he stands with his Gear under one arm and wherein Tails’ narrow-eyed leer has flitter back up to him to stare. Intriguing, Silver muses. And awkward. Apparently it’s not a custom to invite people into a house in the past, or something. Doesn’t fit with Amy altogether dragging him into her apartment the few times he paid her a visit, but whatever. “Should I put it inside so you can take a look?” he thus speaks up, giving the Gear a little hoist.

An awkward clearing of Tails’ throat follows. “Actually, I’m a bit… busy?”

“I can put it down so you can look at it when you’re not anymore, if you want. Amy and Espio said that you’ve always got things to do, but it’s still weeks before the race.” Manoeuvring the Gear so it doesn’t hit Tails right in the face as he enters Silver walks past the fox cub, studying the interior of the place with a hum. Lots of technology, and tables with gadgets and items galore strewn about on them, and in their midst a bright red vehicle that gives the hedgehog pause. “You own a plane?”

Tails comes rushing closer, all but throwing himself in front of the thing. “Well, it’s Sonic’s!” the response comes, a tad yelp-y. “But, uh… Maybe you should-!”

“That’s cool. I won’t put the Gear close to it, then,” Silver assures him. His Gear is big; he can’t fault Tails for being worried the plane is getting damaged, with how delicate and outdated it looks. So somewhere tucked away it is; like in the corner between two tables, that looks like a nice spot without anything nearby to break if it falls over. “There,” the hedgehog nods, placing his Gear down. “Do you need my help with anything for it?”

Turning around back to Tails he perks his ears up helpfully; except Tails is looking a tad… frazzled. Awkwardly the fox tugs at his gloves, mouth open as if he wants to say something yet nothing coming out. “Or is this not a good spot,” Silver figures the problem is.

“That’s not… Sorry,” Tails mumbles back. “But, uh… Perhaps it’s, well… a bit audacious to put your stuff down just like that while asking- uh, you know?”

Audacious, Silver muses. That means that he’s bold? Or something. “I don’t follow,” he speaks up, Tails swallowing. But something more dour and irked crosses the other’s face the longer he stares at Silver, twin tails flicking most irked behind his back.

“I mean that you’re just waltzing into my lab like this.”

“Amy and Espio said I could,” Silver naturally responds, because they did and told him Tails would be happy to help.

Even if the sight of the fox cub in front of him is, well, very much not that. “I don’t think they meant like this,” Tails grumbles back, whipping around to return to a table with a ton of stuff and trinkets strewn about on it. “Anyway, you’d best leave. The sooner I can concentrate, the sooner I can work on your Gear.”

“Great! Thanks,” Silver nods at him…

And no response follows, other than a huff and a shrug.

And even Silver can tell that’s not the reaction of someone more than happy to lend a hand.

“You’re annoyed, aren’t you?” the hedgehog speaks up slowly.

Tails tenses, just a bit. “Hmh.”

“If you’re too busy, I can just take the Gear to someone else. That is no problem.”

“That’s not… it.”

Right, Silver muses. That tells him absolutely nothing indeed. But there is something going on, and if it’s not the Gear, he can think of a handful of other things: either Tails is so busy that he’s just stressed, or he’s annoyed by Silver. And only one thing is something he can tackle.

“It’s something I did,” the hedgehog guesses next.

A deep sigh follows, Tails shooting a look over his shoulder. “Silver, I appreciate you’re trying to talk to me about this, but maybe you’d really better leave.”

“I want to know what’s going on,” Silver shoots back, arms crossing. How can he solve whatever it is if Tails won’t even tell him? But the fox turns away once more, fiddling with some of the stuff laying on his table.

“You don’t. It’s in the past.”

In the past… This is honestly the first time he’s ever talked to Tails face-to-face, so they don’t have a lot of past together. “Something about when we met?” Silver thus guesses next. Not much remarkable about that, except the fact the world was literally on the brink of destruction and the only person being even remotely helpful in that situation had been Espio…

Yet Tails tenses only more. “It is!” the hedgehog promptly figures. “What precisely?”

Shooting Silver a look that he’s received from many a person before and that always makes him bristle – it’s the “You’re so dense” look, the “Why are you not following us, what isn’t making sense about this to you, stop being so wilfully ignorant” kind of mocking leer that makes Silver see red – Tails scoffs. “I’m just saying that you’re walking in with a lot of audacity asking for me to repair your Gear after you stole my rings.”

And Silver blinks.

Oh, he remembers. Oh, yes. He did very much do that.

“I needed them,” he answers, running a finger over the glowing cyan mark on his other hand. Espio had come up with the plan; he’d looked altogether horrified by how Silver had been shambling along with trembling limbs and body swaying like it could collapse any second, his powers exhausted entirely. That collapse had been mere moments away if Silver hadn’t gotten the rings in time, even if the hedgehog had refused to tell his friend that lest Espio would be too worried. But he has to commend the chameleon for how efficiently that situation had been resolved… even if it apparently still leaves Tails bothered.

The fox’s eyes narrow even more. “And you called me small.”

“That’s not true. I called you a half-pint,” Silver helpfully jogs his memory. “Because you’re smaller than me. That’s quite obvious.”

…And apparently also the wrong thing to say, because Tails is looking altogether peeved.

Raising an eyebrow at the sharp teeth getting bared in his direction and the way the fox’s ears pin right against his head Silver opens his mouth for something to add; before faltering. He also doesn’t like being called a half-pint, and if anyone were to lay a finger on the things he rightfully collected he’d probably just murder them on the spot. Same with anyone idiotic enough to call him a half-pint, actually. “You’re mad about it,” he concludes instead, a scoff following.

“You could say that.”

Right. That is easy to figure out, honestly, but it does leave Silver wondering. “What did you need the rings for, actually?” he prods some more. If that’s not resolved yet, he can just go get a bunch of them right now!

“Knuckles and Rouge asked us for help to collect rings for their Emerald detector. Not that we were able to lend it in the end,” Tails grumbles back at him, whipping around to return to his tinkering and leaving Silver disappointed.

“I see… So getting you rings now to make up for it wouldn’t do much, huh?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” That’s one potential way to make amends down the drain, Silver figures. And asking Tails about what he wants seems risky, considering the altogether murderous way he pokes a screwdriver into his gadget. But then what… “I understand that you’re angry,” Silver tries a new angle. “I wouldn’t appreciate being called small either.”

Tails makes a noise not unlike an overheating kettle. “Then why did you say it?!”

“I was about to collapse and you were in my way,” Silver recounts, twitching his ears as Tails glares at him disbelievingly. “No, really. My powers were completely exhausted. You and Sonic had collected all of the rings in the area already, so taking them from you was my next best shot. It was either that or fainting and then the world would have been completely destroyed because I couldn’t have done anything to stop the Ifrit.”

“…Right.” With his angry movements slowing down Tails stares some more; up and down over Silver’s body before halting at the marks on his hands, brow furrowing. “What exhausted you so much?”

“Running around collecting Chao for days, mostly.”

“Did you not… sleep? Rest?”

“No!” Silver huffs; Espio had asked the same, with his opinion that Silver had been pushing himself far too much clear to even the hedgehog, and yet the agitation inside Silver had spiked up in the exact same way as it does now. “How could I rest, when every moment I’m not working is one wherein more Chao could have been stolen and the chances that the Ifrit would destroy us all could have become bigger?”

A hum follows at that. “I see what you mean, even if you can’t know for sure that would have happened… But then, why didn’t you ask if you could have some rings? If it was that important?” Tails inquires, more pensively.

Promptly it’s Silver’s turn to bristle. “Because we’re not friends? Or on good terms?”

“So?”

“So you wouldn’t have given them to me because we’re not friends or on good terms? And you were already collecting them for someone else?” Silver repeats, spelling it out slowly. Jeez, he thought Tails was smart.

Yet one of Tails’ ears flicks. “Silver, even so, if you tell me that you’re actively dying and need rings, I’d have shared some with you. Maybe that’s hard to see in such a moment, but…”

“It would have earned you nothing.” And it wouldn’t; if anything, it would have earned Tails the ire from Knuckles and Rouge for not having enough rings to help them out, Silver figures. Although now maybe he earned their ire for not having any, even if there’s a reason for that. Hmm.

Slowly Tails shakes his head. “It would have earned me the knowledge I helped someone in need. Is that not something good to achieve? Do you not get happy when you’re able to lend others a hand?”

And Silver’s eyes widen.

“Oh. If you put it like that…” the hedgehog mumbles, gaze flicking up to the ceiling. If he had rings and someone came up to him proclaiming they needed them imminently¸ he would have given them all away… Heck, if he didn’t have rings, he’d have torn the planet asunder if that was needed to find someone. Even for a stranger… “I know what you mean. Knowing that you helped someone… It’s a nice feeling,” he adds.

Something just a bit more warm flickers over Tails’ face, though the tiniest twitch of a smile on there dissipates moments later. “But now you just took them from me.”

“And I called you a half-pint,” Silver recounts further. “And you’re angry about both.”

A scoff follows. “You could say that,” Tails sighs back; and with that, he turns around to return to tinkering once more.

That leaves Silver, pensively staring at the ceiling. Tails is mad, and Silver understands why Tails is mad, and if he’d been in such a situation himself he’d also be mad, and if he’d been mad, he would have appreciated it if…

“I’m sorry,” he speaks up. “For insulting you. And stealing your rings.”

The flicking of twin tails freezes. “…You are?” Tails asks, turning around slowly as Silver nods.

“I hurt you. And especially if you’d just have given them to me if asked, that’s… not nice of me. So, sorry.”

Blue eyes regard him warily, Tails’ head tipping to the side. “Would you have been sorry if I hadn’t told you about this?”

“Probably not. But I am now, and that means I won’t say it again. You’re not even that much smaller than I am, really, so I was wrong about that too,” Silver shrugs back earnestly.

For a few seconds Tails just stares. A prickle of discomfort goes over Silver’s spine at it; was that also the wrong thing to say…?

…But then a snort follows. “You’re a really interesting person,” the fox remarks, with a smile on his face; but this is a true smile, Silver is sure of it. “Apology accepted. Promise that if you ever find yourself in such a situation again, you’ll ask us to help you?”

Ask for help… He didn’t ask Espio for help, not at first, the hedgehog muses. Only after extensively running into each other with the chameleon relentlessly following him did they even get to talking. But he’d asked then: if Espio would help or keep getting in his way, and his not-yet-a-friend had chosen the former. And that had made them be friends, the working together and the aid Espio had given him when he needed it most. “If I ask you for help, will that make us be friends?” Silver inquires, Tails hesitating for a second before nodding.

“I think so. If you’d like that.”

“People in the past are nice,” the hedgehog tells him; not the most competent when it comes to mitigating calamities, clearly, but Amy has welcomed him with open arms and the Chaotix are an altogether amiable bunch. Who is to say Tails isn’t the same? “And is there really nothing I can do to make up for it?” Silver does add, after a pause. “I’d feel bad if I didn’t at least try to do something for you.”

“I’d feel bad for asking,” Tails notes back, screwdriver dropping on his desk as he turns to Silver’s Extreme Gear. “Although… You can tell me everything about your Gear and how it works and what it’s made of, and then it’s okay. Deal?”

Studying his broken Gear too Silver nods. “I’m not a technologist. That’s why Amy and Espio said I had to go to you instead, because you’re the greatest at it. But I can do my best, if you want.”

“Heh.” Tails blushes at that, the hedgehog swears, even if it’s hard to see with how the windows mute the light from the afternoon sun. “The greatest?”

“That’s what they said,” Silver recounts. “And, I mean, you do have a plane here. That’s pretty cool!”

“She’s Sonic’s pride and joy. I’m happy to take care of her until we need her for adventures,” Tails all but beams, the little vehicle getting a few pats on her side. “I can tell you all about the Tornado and the versions I made, if you want…?”

“I’d be happy to listen,” the hedgehog agrees; and Tails’ eyes light up, the Extreme Gear grabbed and hoisted onto a table as a torrent of words about technology and planes and Eggman ploys and gadgets begins bursting out.

Silver can’t follow even half of it, but he listens closely, and Tails marvels at his ability to psychokinetically lift up dozens of items at once to move them closer or put them back in their place, and before he knows it the sun has sunken away in full and all the light outside comes from Tails’ lamps and the stars. “It should work again just fine!” the fox tells him, handing over the Gear with a beaming smile of pride.

“Thanks, Tails. I’ll give it a spin immediately.” With careful touches Silver runs a hand over his Gear; it looks just as sleek and pristine as always, but Tails had found tons of little points and places to improve it, he’d said. Amy and Espio hadn’t lied one bit; he truly does know what he is talking about, the hedgehog concedes. Even if his lab is still a bit on the tiny side as Silver walks out of it, but perhaps also here there’s tons of things hidden that the hedgehog would have no knowledge of. Tails definitely has surprised him today.

“If anything is wrong, just come back and I’ll take a look at it.” Following Silver outside Tails rubs behind his head, a more awkward little cough following. “And if you’ve got any other tech from the future, or maybe something with your powers, ah…”

Muffling a chuckle at the shy but inquiring peek sent at him Silver nods. “You’ll be the first to see it, promise.”

“Thank you!” gets grinned at him, Tails’ namesakes twitching eagerly. That hopefully won’t cause any paradoxes or anything, Silver prays to the gods, but so far he’s been to the past a couple of times already and everything has been a-okay. “Take care in the dark, and don’t do anything reckless,” the other adds, giving the Gear a final pat.

“Will do. And thanks again,” Silver agrees, readying himself to go run with his board before jumping up. But before he does so, he draws a deep breath; leaving matters unresolved is not something he’ll ever accept doing. “And thank you for letting me stay. And that we could talk about what happened,” he adds. He’d never have figured out Tails was angry about it otherwise, probably, and that just won’t do for someone he's friends with.

His companion jolts, just a bit. “Oh! It’s really no issue,” the response comes, almost hurriedly… before it falters, and Tails squares his shoulders up as well. “But, it’s also… kind of you that you apologised,” he smiles. “I appreciate it.”

With a nod Silver returns the warm look. “Of course! I’m glad it made you feel better.”

“Hmh,” Tails agrees, ears twitching… before he peeks up and adds a: “And now you’ll never do it again, right?”

Head tipping to the side Silver studies Tails close; but where his words are sharp, something playful twinkles in the fox’s eyes, head tipped to the side and little grin on his face. So he’s joking, the hedgehog figures. “I promise to not call you a half-pint again and not to steal your rings again,” he thus nods back gravely, a snort following.

“Also for Sonic?”

Quite promptly Silver finds himself overtaken by a dour glumness. “Sonic’s on thin ice. Can’t promise anything about him, sorry.”

“Too bad. Any friend of mine is a friend of Sonic. You two will befriend each other as well, and that is a threat,” Tails winks back. And he remains unrelenting in that statement even as Silver huffs and shrugs him off, eventually leaving the fox in stitches with laughter at Silver’s protests while the hedgehog rolls his eyes and gets ready to blast off on his gear.

But there’s something happy and fuzzy bubbling in his chest as well, that Silver can’t exactly place but which he appreciates. And if befriending Sonic will feel like that too, and if Sonic is willing to have him around in the first place, then…!

Maybe he should go hang out with Tails more often, Silver decrees, and the trip back to where he’s staying at Amy’s is a happy one indeed.

#this shit is NOT showing up in the tags as the Ao3 link so we're also getting it like this lol #silver the hedgehog #miles tails prower #blue's writing #sonic rivals 2 #fanfic

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