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burytherosemarysprigs · 4 years

Text

of pyhrric victories and car rides | Bruce Wayne

/ Masterlist /

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Word Count: 8.5k

Summary: A collection of moments from yours and Bruce’s relationship

Warnings: break ins, harassing women, stalking, etc.

“Mr. Wayne, are you with us?”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Right then, I do think that the company’s stocks are headed – “

Although he tries not to, Bruce can’t help but lose track of the conversation again, and though he’s not exactly sure who the man he’s talking to is, it’s not particularly what is bothering him at the moment; what’s bothering him is you.

Well, what he thinks is you.

Because not even in his wildest dreams would he imagine that at the Wayne charity gala would he see you conversing with donors in the corner of the ballroom.

Before he has a chance to get a better look at your (supposed) face, a heavy hand is placed on his shoulder and the men he’s been having to entertain conversation with – fall silent as he turns around to see a familiar face.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting something gentlemen, but I was wondering if I could borrow Mr. Wayne, here, for a second?”

There’s a scattered murmur of compliance and the man next to Bruce flashes a bachelor-smile before they both walk away.

“I’m sure you’re aware of why I wanted to talk to you, Bruce.”

Bruce has to refrain from smiling, of course he does, for what other reason would the brother of the woman he’s been trying to seek out this whole evening come to talk to him about, except about you?

“I believe I do, but I would’ve preferred it if you had told me before this evening.”

His response elicits a small chuckle from the man beside him and he grabs two flutes of champagne from a waiter passing by before replying,

“Now what would be that fun in that. And, anyways, she told me not to tell you – or really, anyone about this.”

“About what?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s moving to Gotham.”

He passes the second flute to Bruce, who silently took the glass – still reeling from the words he just heard.

“Why is she – “

“Are you done bothering Bruce?”

Another voice interrupts their conversation, and for the first time tonight, Bruce finally gets to see you. You’re dressed in an ebony gown, with pale gold swirls tracing the expanse of the fabric – light and empyrean around you as the warm white glow casts a rosy look on the room as you stand in front of them – holding your own champagne flute, and of the pink liquid remaining, you swirled around the base of the glass.

“Of course, I’ll leave you to it.”

He casts a knowing smile at you before he leaves but not before you roll your eyes at him. Then, a silence befalls between the two of you – because it’s been 5 years and it feels a little too much like walking on eggshells between each other in this moment.

“Hi.”

You’re surprised that your voice is more breathless than you expected, and Bruce finds a small smile making its way onto his lips – matching yours.

“Hello.”

The conversation fizzles out again and you begin to fiddle with your hands, before Bruce clears his throat that you look up at him again.

“I heard that you’re moving to Gotham now?”

It takes a moment for you to comprehend his question, and then you’re nodding you head in confirmation.

“Oh, yeah, I – “ You pause before continuing. “They’re planning a re-opening of the theatre and Alyse Rosovsky – who’s idea it was – asked me to be part of the cast –”.

Of course, sometimes it slipped his mind, but he remembers your fascination with theatre films, pearls, Broadway lights and your mother’s tattered avant-garde dresses that you would convince her to let you wear. Sometimes, he forgets how much you love the sweeping curtains and backstage vanity tables – the ritualistic ideal of appraisal.

So, it wasn’t necessarily a surprise when you had told him – almost five years ago, that you were going to New York to study theatre and it wasn’t a surprise either when he saw you holding a neoteric award in the newspaper – the black and white picture of you on a podium blossomed a similar emotion to what he was feeling right now.

“– of one of the stage plays they’re planning.”

“Uh – oh.” He feels a little embarrassed for losing track of your explanation and all he can offer is a dazed smile.

“It’s been so long since I saw you, Bruce.”

It’s strange how your voice still sounds the same to him – basking in its honeyed twang and soft inflections that he remembers from years ago, and he’s not entirely sure why both of you never kept in touch after your departure but he pushes that sinking feeling away and shares a nostalgic smile with you.

“It’s good to see you.”

“Mhmm, I was wondering if you – “

“Y/n!”

You’re interrupted by a blonde woman; who’s donning a black slip dress and strands of hair are slowly escaping her intricate chignon and her eyebrows are furrowed as she approaches you both.

“Mr. Wayne,” A small nod of acknowledgement is exchanged between them both before she turns around to face you,

“Vistila is here and he’s dealing with the ‘sharks’ alone, so I came here to ask your help.” She begins to chew on her bottom lip as she explains the situation to you.

“Alyse it’s no problem, I – I’ll be there in a second.”

A relieved expression takes over Alyse’s face as she squeezes your shoulder but before she can leave you stop her.

“Oh – before you go, do you happen to have a pen?”

You eye the leather shoulder bag she’s clutching, and she quickly nods her head before pulling out a blue ballpoint pen and rushing off into the crowd.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

You ask as you place your empty flute glass and uncap the pen and ready it in your hand – raising an eyebrow in his direction as what you’re about to clicks in his head and he shakes his head.

“Good.”

You move closer to him and lift his free arm in your hand, pushing back the smooth fabric of the suit jacket and shirt sleeve underneath it, your cold fingers brushing over his warm skin – causes light goose bumps to raise, but you don’t notice as you list of a series of digits and smile at the phone number you’ve written on his arm before pulling down the fabric – covering the numbers and taking steps away from him.

“Call me sometime?” Your voice is cheeky, a rosy flush on your face as Bruce only takes a sip of his drink before you send a wink to his way and disappear into the crowd as well.

And all Bruce is left with is the scent of your perfume and the lingering touch of your fingers.

It was nearly 6 pm when the clatter of dinner platter ware and Alfred’s call for them to come to dinner brought both children into that hall between the drawing room and the dining room – waiting for them was both the Butler and a woman toying with the gold pendant around her neck, her lips pulled into a thin line and sharp brows furrowed together in agitation.

“Where have you two been?”

“Mother, look!”

The little girl pipes up first, her pigtails whipping the air as she runs forward with something clutched tightly in her arms – but the dim lighting prevents the woman for seeing what it really is until the little girl reaches her. A little boy following in her steps, his face was also flushed and clothes askew.

“Look, look, look what we made for Bruce’s mom!”

The woman crouches down to see a pearl necklace in the little girl’s hands – and it clicks in her mind, as this was the reason the little girl had snuck away the faux pearls and string on their way to the manor.

“That’s so lovely, she’s going to love them,” Her voice is silky, and an earnest smile plays at her nude lips as she reaches out to smooth out the stray hairs in the girl’s hair, “But we have to go now darling, okay?”

“Okay! But wait one second.” The little girl turns around to pull the little boy along with her as they huddle away from the adults – who share a bemused look. They whisper with each other before the pearl necklace is carefully passed from the little girl to the boy who holds it with a delicate hold before they break apart from their huddle and the little girl happily wears the coat her mother assists her with.

“You can say goodbye now Y/n.”

The girl waves at the boy – who does the same and she exclaims,

“Mother, can Bruce come to our house so I can show him Jellybean?”

“Of course, darling.”

“Okay! Bye Bruce!”

The little girl is swept away in a flurry of coats and scarves and when they’re out of earshot her mother asks her,

“Now what was that for Y/n?”

“We made Bruce’s mom a present and – and Bruce is gonna give it to her when they’re going to go to the theatre!”

A small smile graced her lips and she pressed a light kiss to her daughter’s hair,

“That’s lovely, dear.”

“We were on a date.”

That silences Betty’s rant while de Vos only lets out a low whistle, which prompts a small snort on your side.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You have to try not to sigh because for the past 15 minutes all Betty has been doing is a rant on last week’s newspaper headline – which is understandable, considering it’s her job.

Ever since you moved here, your parents had insisted in more security measures, their argument being that your 6’3 veteran driver (de Vos), wasn’t enough, leading them to hire Betty – she was barely 5 years older than you but there was purpose gracing her. There was a steely look in her blue eyes – which made them seem greyer than in actuality and she always wore the same gold chain necklace – with a feeble gold coin hanging from the middle.

She had been guarded in the beginning – which had led de Vos to say ‘what’s stuck up your ass’ at her standoffish behaviour at a gala, (to which she gave him a look than caused him to not a single word the rest of the night), but it was after a week when you were at a little café south of the theatre, and you spilled your coffee and (almost) dropped your croissant on the waiter, that she had genuinely laughed. And you had believed that maybe she har started to crumble her resolve a little after that – but it seems less likely now as you watch her frown deepen.

“I – I – “

“Press work was not part of the job description, and maybe a heads-up next time?”

You nod before contemplating your next words, which hang in the air after spoken,

“Well, I guess you should know that I’m meeting him now?”

Before anyone can respond, your phone starts ringing, prompting you to pull it out of your coat pocket, and quickly checking the caller id before answering.

“Hey, Jas.”

“Hi – I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“No – I was just going out for dinner.”

“Oh cool, sorry, I just saw the gazette headline and I – “

“Oh.” You start playing with the little buttons on your skirt as you listen to Jasmine and try to pretend that Betty and de Vos aren’t eavesdropping on the conversation.

“- you’re friends with Bruce Wayne?”

Friends? You’re pretty sure Bruce and you are more than just friends.

“I – I guess I am?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, I’ve gotten to meet him about 2 weeks ago?” It’s not a complete lie, considering you only met him – properly after years at the gala but it’s not like your complete history with him is something you’ve wanted to share publicly, especially since it means so much to you.

But you haven’t really had the chance to tell all that to Jasmine – considering you’ve known her for about half a year, the topic of Bruce had somehow never come up, which might be ironic, seeing how much time you’ve spent around her – and how close of a friend she was.

“And you didn’t know him before?”

“I – uh, I kinda did” Your response sounds a little pathetic and she only snorts in response. “It’s just that mine and Bruce’s parents had been really close friends so we just kinda spent a lot of time when we were young.”

She hummed in response,

“Are you going to come to my house for tea this weekend?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it if I could.”

“That’s a nice sentiment for my ego.” Her voice is soft as you hear the rustle of paper in the background and you smile – not that she can see.

“Hey, I’ll call you later, okay?” You rush out, eyeing the little café shop coming into view of the windshield, and hang the line after a soft goodbye is exchanged.

As the car slows to a stop, you grab your bag and before opening the car door, you lean forward so you have both de Vos and Betty’s attention.

“Not a word.”

You try not to smile and have to bite your lips and de Vos does the same before you quietly slip out of the car. Towards your date with Bruce.

You eyed the letters again before placing them back into the bag Betty had brought into the dressing room, before an uneasy feeling settled into your stomach.

“Are you ready?”

Betty’s orotund voice rang across the empty room, prompting you to lift your head out of hands to look at her through the vanity mirror you were currently sitting at. The warm lights from the vanity illuminated the deep frown on her face and simple gold chain around her neck glinted off the light.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

You voice came out more strangled than you hoped, followed by a throaty sob which you poorly tried to disguise as a laugh.

“Just calm down,” she paused as if she wasn’t sure if she should continue or not,

“Listen, I’m taking the letters to the station to have them examined and de Vos will take you back to the apartment and then we’ll figure out what to tell everyone and - “

“God, what the fuck am I going to tell them? ‘Hey mom and dad, there’s a fucking stalker who won’t stop sending me creepy letters and might potentially kill me, but I’ll be fine.’”

You wildly moved your hands around to illustrate your point to her, but she only sighs in response.

“They’ll understand, now come on, de Vos is waiting.”

She made her way to the vanity table before picking up the bag and tapping you on the shoulder as a gesture to get up. At which you release a deep sigh before harshly wiping at your watery eyes and smoothing your hair out before deciding to put on the comically large sunglasses that lay on the table as you collected all your things but before making your way, the wilting amaryllises in the sepia vase caught your eye and a small smile graced your lips, your mind reminiscing but before you can do anything else, Betty calls for you and you hesitantly walk away and grab the coat Betty was holding out for you at the door.

“It’s ten pm.”

She quips after a pointed look at your glasses.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I love it when you’re this annoying, did you know that? It’s my favourite part of the job.” The glasses disguise the eye roll you send in her way, but she knows you well enough to realize what you’re doing.

A beat passes before you speak up.

“Do you think we can stop by Bruce’s house before going back? I just wanted to talk to him.”

“Is there a reason why you can’t call him?” You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes again.

“You don’t think I’ve tried? All of them straight to voice mail.” Your voice is bitter, and Betty can tell so she relents.

“Okay, I’ll let de Vos know.”

“Thank you.” The words come out softer than you expected, and it elicits a soft (and rare) smile and nod from Betty.

…

“Miss Y/n, what brings you here so late?”

Alfred’s usual monotonous voice is laced with (some) surprise as he opens the doors for you to enter.

“I just needed to talk to Bruce about something, and he wasn’t picking up his phone so I thought I could stop by to talk to him… if he’s here?”

You hope he doesn’t notice the nervousness in your voice, as you clasp and then un-clasp your palms, watching him hang the coat in its place and turn to face you.

“Of course, miss, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

He leads the way to the drawing room and before he leaves you there – he hesitantly pauses to face you, face unmoving but you can feel him think.

“What is it Alfred?”

“It’s just, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but have you been crying miss?”

You don’t know why you’re not reacting to his question, but it takes you a painfully long moment to process his question before you respond,

“Oh – uh, yeah, well not really. I mean, I think the allergies? Well – I – I don’t have any allergies like I – I, that’s what I’ve always told everyone, I mean you know - you know how Autumn is around here, I just – “

“It’s fine Miss, I’ll send Master Bruce for you.”

His voice is monotonous again and the uneasy feeling comes back as he slips out of the room – leaving you to release a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

The next few minutes compromised of you pacing the room anxiously, going through the plan Betty and de Vos had told you and thinking about what you were going to tell Bruce. And in your perpetual state of worry, you miss the familiar sound of dress shoes clicking against the hardwood floor and a figure approaching you, until you feel a presence behind you and a hand reaching to grab your arm, that you let out a small cry of shock.

“Are you – “

“Oh my god, Bruce!”

It takes a second for the cuts and bruises littering his face to process in your mind, and as you reach out to take a hold of his cheek, he pulls back,

“Bruce – “

“Why’re you here?”

Your staring at him like a gaping fish – your worries about everything that happened this evening disappear as you frown at his unkempt state.

“I – I – What happened to you?”

You try and reach out again for him, but he grabs hold of your arms so that you can’t move to touch him, and you find yourself looking at the bags under his eyes, the shadows around his nose and your hearts aches – because he looks so tired.

“Bruce, I’m serious, what – “

“Why’re you here – “

You both speak at the same time, drowning each other out and you try to start again – but Bruce beats you to it,

“Y/n, what are you doing here?”

“I – Bruce, what the fuck happened to you?”

Your staring at his face – and his jaw only clenches in response and you search for any other response in his eyes – but they feel too steely under the dim glow of the light.

“Nothing, just an accident.”

“Bullshit.” You don’t know why you’re being so defensive and pressing the matter even though the rational part of your brain is telling you to stop, you don’t.

“Y/n, it’s nothing.”

“Well, I know it’s nothing, Bruce.”

That’s not wrong because you do truly know it’s not nothing; and the rational part of your part is now screaming at you to stop – and your thudding heartbeat is deafening in the silence of the room. Bruce only looks at you in response and somehow his lack of response edges you to continue on.

“Just tell me, I – I care about you.”

“Well, I never said that you needed to.”

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re only running on four cups of coffee, a granola bar and it’s almost the middle of the night and today you found out that there’s an obsessive, psychopathic stalker after you that you feel something snap.

You take a step back – lips drawn into a thin line and eyes trailing the tiles on the floor and make your way out of the room with all your things tightly clutched between your hands – you try to blink away the tears blurring your eyes but when that doesn’t work you quicken your pace – your boots clicking against the floor wood and keys frantically jiggling in your hands.

“Hey – “

You hear Betty’s voice as you exit the front doors, but you make a beeline for the car – dismissing her presence and prompting her to follow you,

“What happened?”

You don’t respond and she trails helplessly after you, face contorted into confusion and concern – which she mirrors with de Vos as you both near the car, you slamming the backdoor closed, leaving her to stand next to de Vos’ window, both of them quiet and sharing silent looks.

The ride starts of in an uncomfortable silence – no words exchanged and the only sound that was heard was the ignition starting and the occasional sound of you sniffling in the back.

De Vos can’t see much of your face through the rear-view mirror due to the darkness and shadows falling across your face every time a streetlamp passes by – but when he catches your eyes in the mirror as you harshly rub at the tear-stained cheeks, he has to say something,

“Kid – “

“Please don’t,” your voice is small, and the words come out more softly than intended and Betty only shares a pleading look to de Vos to continue.

“We’re just worried about you,” He sounds a little apprehensive, his usually gruff voice more clear and mellow now, “You can tell us anything, ya know, we’re here to protect you.”

When there’s still no response from you, Betty clears her throat and begins speaking,

“Look, I knew he wouldn’t be happy about this situation, but you should – “

“I didn’t tell him,” Your voice is strangled and abrupt, throwing Betty of track and she looks back at you,

“W-what – “

“I didn’t tell him anything about the letters.”

“Then why – “

“I don’t fucking know, okay? I don’t fucking know why he’s suddenly acting like he hates me and telling me that he doesn’t want me to be with him, okay?”

The last word is spoken more softly and comes out much less harsh and the car plunges into silence again – but you still feel like you can’t breathe, the words dawning a painful realization over you.

“Actually, can we go to Jasmine’s tonight?”

The words slip out before you can think them over and Betty nods her head after a moment and the rest of the car ride is full of an awkward silence that no one tries to fight against.

…

“Y/n?”

Jasmine opens her door after a fourth ring, her dark curls untamed and bouncing everywhere, and her eyes full of sleep.

“Hey,”

“What’re doing here? Do you know what time it is? Wait – why are you crying?”

She sobers up almost instantly, after glancing at your red, puffy face and your arms wrapped around your body tightly – behind you Betty moves forward to say something but you pipe up,

“Can I stay over tonight?” Your voice is feeble, and you can’t help but berate yourself for sounding so pathetic.

“O – of course, yeah, come in,” She moves, allowing the dim hallways lights to illuminate the figures on her front porch.

She moves to wrap an arm across your shoulders, pulling you closer to her so that the scent of her familiar agarwood perfume fills your senses.

“There’s something I need to tell you Jasmine.”

“Thank you, Betty!”

You exclaim, voice giddy and slightly slurred as you embrace her from the back of her seat, and fail miserably, which results in you erupting into giggles in the backseat of the car – as Jasmine tries to placate you

“Right. Just hurry up.”

She sighs as you and Jasmine make your way out of the car. Both of you walking in relative silence minus the occasionally stumbles and giggles from you as you walk towards the building, and it’s Anael who greets you at the darkly lit front desk, after hazily waving him ‘hi’, the elevator ride passes by as you ramble about Anael to Jasmine as she listens with a bemused look on her face.

“Crap, where are my keys,” You rummage through your bag noisily till the jingling keys are in your grasp and you drunkenly try to unlock the front door – that is until Jas coerces the key out of your hand and opens it herself and then you’re greeted with your apartment.

“Finally!” You exclaim, spinning around until you collapse on the beige couch in the middle of the room, your bag hitting the coffee table in the centre and you take in the room, something seems a little of place but your drunk mind can’t comprehend anything else so you watch as Jas places her bag on the marble counter top all the way across the room, in the dimly lit kitchen and she disappears into the hallway as you hear her say,

“I’m just gonna pee really quickly, and then we’ll look for your bag, okay?”

You hum in response and close your eyes as the silence settles around you and the only noise are the distant cars and faint sirens.

That is until your hear a thud and heavy footsteps approaching.

“Jas? Didn’t know you could pee so quickly?”

There’s no response.

You promptly push yourself up from the couch and the person you see walking towards you isn’t Jasmine and you feel yourself freeze in your place.

The man standing in front is wearing a dark jacket and in his hands there’s an envelope you can barely make out properly and the world momentarily stops as you lock with him. They’re steely and grey and your heart rate picks up.

Your mind fails to form a coherent word and all you can do is gape as he makes his way near you.

“God, I’ve been waiting to meet you for so long,” His voice is rough and the small chuckle he lets out rumbles through the air – and you can feel the goose bumps on your skin rise as he towers over your place on the couch. “You know you’re not an easy person to find.”

“How did you get in here?”

The words tumble out of your mouth but it’s hard to process anything when your heartbeat is deafening in your ears.

He chuckles before replying, “You don’t need to know princess, but people here are a lot more gullible than I thought,” he pauses before adding in, “Told ‘em, I was here for some flower arrangements and it wasn’t a lie, look,”

He draws your gaze to the little cream envelope in his hands and takes your hand – but your body doesn’t react fast enough as he grips your wrist tight – it doesn’t feel so tight but you can see his knuckles turning white as he holds your wrist and the warmth from his fingers on your cold skin makes you numb but all you do is watch as he places the withered orange lily from the envelope in the hand he held,

“Sorry ‘s a little withered, but I’ve been waiting for a while and didn’t have the time to get a new one for you, hope ‘s okay?”

You don’t respond and he notices it.

He reaches out to graze his free hand underneath your chin and you reflexively flinch under his touch so he grabs your jaw – roughly pulling your face to face him and you want to scream, yell, shout; do anything but your voice dissolves into nothing every time you try.

“I said, is it fine?” It takes a moment – but you nod your head ever so lightly and it suffices for him, so he loosens his hold on your jaw – only a little for you breathe properly again.

“Are you always this stubborn, Y/n?” The way his mouth forms your name makes you sick, it makes you upset because he shouldn’t be able to say it like that – with a wide smile on his face, twisting the vowels on his tongue in whichever way he pleases as you squirm under his grasp.

“Even with him?” His eyes darken and so does his grip on you, “Don’t worry, I got all his things out of your room, I’ll get rid of them.”

“No.” You voice is barely above a whisper as you shake your head, “Please let me go.”

“I’ve waited so long to be here with you, I’m not leaving now Y/n.” His grip is suffocating, and he doesn’t relent as you try to squirm out of his hold, but he only chuckles.

“You can call me by my name, you know?” You don’t say anything. “Do you not remember it? I wrote my initials on the letters, I hoped you would figure it out.”

The memory of the letters makes you sick again as he reaches out to tuck the stray hairs behind your ear and you recoil from his touch, so he tries to placate you by continuing to talk.

“I sent them because I wanted to tell you how much I – “, His words are cut short off by the distant sound of thundering footsteps and you hear him swear underneath his breath, before letting go of his hold on you.

“Well, I guess I gotta introduce myself to all you friends now, huh?”

Before anything else can be said, the front door is burst open as quickly as the man in front of you pulls you up and into his chest – you back against his chest and his steely grip locked onto your arms but this time, you feel a cold blade on the base of your neck – freezing you in place.

“Stop!”

A blur of dark uniforms surrounds but you can’t see much as your mind blurs – from the alcohol you’ve consumed or the nausea building up in you, you’re not entirely sure. You can’t hear much because of the pounding in your chest and before you can comprehend the scene around you, the arms holding you in a suffocating grip – disappear. A gasp escapes from your lips as your knees give out and you fall to the floor, your mind blanking.

“Y/n, can you hear me?”

A muffled voice registers in your head as you slowly blink your eyes open. The warm white lights feel more harsh than usual and there’s an ache in your left eye.

“I – “

“Is she awake? Are you awake Y/n?”

Betty’s voice is full of panic and maybe you would’ve cracked a joke about it if you didn’t feel a growing sting on your head as you slowly regained consciousness.

“I – “

“I’ll let de Vos know, and – and, where’s Gordon,”

Betty leaves your side before you can say anything and another person – which you assume is a medic, through your hazy eyes, you can barely make out his face, let alone what he’s trying to tell you.

“I’m fine – “

“No, no you’re not, Y/n.” Betty has reappeared, this time, her glabellar lines are more deep-set and her voice firmer. She’s about to say something else, but the medic stops her this time, and diverts your gaze to his face.

“You’ve been concussed, and I just want to ask you a few questions. First, can you tell me your name?”

“It’s Y/n.” The light from the lamp next to the loveseat your splayed on is bright as you squint at the man in front of you.

“Great, now, do you know where you are and what day it is?”

“I – I’m in my house, and…” You looked out towards the French windows and door, the bleak night visible through the white, lace curtains. “It’s Saturday night, the – uh, 17th of October.”

“Okay, can you tell me the address?”

“Uh – it’s 356 Victoria street.”

He nods, and the asks,

“Now, do you know what happened?”

You really wished that you could say no to his question, but it’s all vividly clear in your mind. His face. His eyes. His hands. Him.

“Yeah.” You voice is croaky, and you shift your gaze to your hands in your lap.

“Okay, that’s great,” He turns around to face Betty, “She’s A&O4, just make sure she’s not moving and get her some water for the headache she’s probably going through right now.”

Betty nods her head before making her way towards the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and the medic besides you leaves, and you finally lift your head up to see the amount of people currently in your apartment. There’s police offers standing at the front door, some of them standing around the windows and others scattered around the living room and kitchen.

Your eyes drift around the scene and am uneasy feeling settles in your stomach as you take in your appearance in the windows. Your hair is a mess, and the spaghetti straps of your black dress and falling of your shoulders, but it’s your face – a bruise blooming near your left eye, that causes you to release a shaky breath, the shades of purple and blue are nauseous and you bring your hand up to light graze the wound, but it stings at the slightest touch from your shaking fingers.

“Y/n.”

Betty comes back but just as she holds out the glass of water, something clicks in your mind.

“Betty. Where’s Jasmine?”

You swing your legs of the loveseat and attempt to stand up, but she stops you.

“Y/n, stop, stop, listen. She’s okay.” She places the cold glass between your hands before continuing.

“Uh – he just locked her in the bathroom.”

“Well, why didn’t I hear her?”

“He also knocked her unconscious.”

“What? Where is she?”

“She’s in the bedroom, don’t worry, she’s just resting there, the medic checked up on her, she’s perfectly fine – just a bit shaken up like you.”

The conversation fizzles out as you stare at the ice cubes slowly melting into the water – the cold from the glass numbing your fingers but you can’t bring yourself to worry about it.

“I’m so sorry, Betty” You whisper, hoping she doesn’t hear you – but she does, and you try your hardest to blink away the tears forming in the corner of your eye.

“Y/n. please don’t say that.” She crouches down. “You never could’ve thought of this happening.”

“I know, I know but still – “

“Listen, it’s okay, we got him.”

That piques your interest as you raise your head to meet her hazel eyes.

“He tried to make a run for it from the open windows, but we got him.”

“How did you know – “, your voice is unsure and thick.

“I tried calling Jasmine, but she didn’t pick up, so I went to talk to Anael at the desk and he mentioned something about flower arrangements and a man, and it clicked in my head.”

Before you can ask her anything else, your moment in interrupted by a clearing of a throat and both you and Betty turn around to see Gordon standing in the middle of the room.

“Y/n, I just wanted to ask questions – “

“I’m sorry Gordon, but we’ll have to do that tomorrow, if that’s alright?”

Betty cuts him off and Gordon only nods and smiles sympathetically at both of you before moving to converse with the other detectives. You clear your throat before asking,

“Uh – Betty, can I please go outside?”

“Y/n, you know what he – “

“Please.”

Betty mulls it over as you look at her with pleading eyes and she nods before extending a hand for you to help stand up. It takes a moment but as soon as you’re on your feet, you feel your legs wobble and you regret wearing heels tonight but you wrap your arms around your body and Betty guides you out of the front door, and the emptiness of the beige hallway and the starchy air causes you to properly breathe as you move towards a corner not swarmed with people – the window that faces the streets is the same. The distant sirens and cars sound the same, but it all feels so different.

Emerging footsteps rounding the corner of the hallway pull you out of your train of thoughts and you turn around to see -

“Bruce?” Your voice is feeble and his head snaps towards you – standing at the end of the hallway, dishevelled and you feel small under his gaze as he walks towards you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You should be surprised that that’s the first thing he says to you but you’re too focused on him that you don’t process the question. Somehow, the bags under his eyes are more prominent than Wednesday, he looks gaunter and his hair is almost as dishevelled as yours but the cuts and bruises on his face have faded now.

“Y/n.”

“Bruce I – “

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Bruce, I fucking tried, okay.” Your voice is snappy, and you’re surprised you have the energy for this.

“Remember the night I came to your house, and you fucking said you didn’t want me there? I came to tell you that I’ve been receiving letters from an unknown stalker and that I was fucking scared! But, no! I – “

You feel tears pool in your eyes, and you have to stop yourself from breaking down again. You cast your eyes down to the linoleum floors and there’s no response from Bruce or there isn’t a response until a voice calls out your name and you turn to see Jasmine standing at the entrance of the apartment.

“Jasmine!”

A wave of relief rolls over you as you quickly make your way past Bruce, towards Jasmine, whom you engulf in an embrace as soon as you reach her and let the familiar scent of warm agarwood overtake your senses.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Jas.”

She’s taken aback at first but then pulls apart to reassure you,

“Y/n, please don’t say that. It’s okay, I’m okay, you’re okay.” She draws circles on your shoulder blades as she whispers, “We’re both here.”

You want to keep on apologizing, thanking and basking her presence but it’s cut short by de Vos rounding near the hallway and exclaiming your name – his Jersey accent boisterous.

“God damn it, kid, thought I was gonna have to punch some fucker’s face today.” In complete de Vos fashion, the man is still wearing his coat and gloves and his hair is gelled back and his enormous figure fills the door frame he’s leaning against and you follow the curve of his hooked nose and watch the deep-set lines of his forehead crease before wrapping your arms around him.

“It’s always good to keep you on your toes, de Vos.” Your voice is croaky still and you don’t know how you managed to crake a joke all of a sudden but the weight in your chest feels a little lighter now that you’re not stuck in the apartment anymore and surrounded by fewer police officers.

“Okay, if you’re ready to go now then we can head out – I’ve asked Gordon to arrange for a safe house for you to stay in for the night as we work out the safety details – “

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

Bruce’s low voice causes the little circle (you, Jasmine, Betty and de Vos) have formed – to turn around and see his figure approaching yours.

“Bruce – “

“Oraine, I’m sure you’re aware of how safe Wayne Manor is, Y/n can stay there for the night.”

The conversation falls quiet as Betty silently assesses the proposition before nodding and you find yourself interjecting,

“Betty – “

“No, Y/n, he’s right,” She cuts you off and steps closer. “This time, please trust me.”

You can’t argue with her now – not while you feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on you, so you just nod and train your eyes back to the floor.

The rest of the trip down to the car is silent – besides from the uncomfortable weight that nobody addresses until you’re outside the building and the crisp air causes you to release a breath you didn’t know you were holding and the October breeze causes you to wrap your arms around your torso tighter split into cars.

“Right, me and de Vos we’ll go in that car, you and Bruce in his and Jasmine – “

“I’ll come with you guys, Betty.”

Before you can protest Jasmine leaving you alone with Bruce, they’ve all made their way to the car near the curb and you’re left with no option but to begrudgingly follow Bruce into his car – which had been haphazardly parked, almost climbing onto the sidewalk.

Neither of you say a word as you climb into the passenger seat and he buckles into the driver’s seat and you both drive in complete silence – except for your anxiety ridden heartbeat thudding in your chest. You watch the streetlamps pass by the dark shadows, the apricot orange light falls solemnly on the gravel roads and it invokes a sense of déjà vu in you, to last Wednesday and a humourless laugh almost escapes your lips but you manage to keep the silence – and it’s still stifling.

By the time, you reach the Manor, it’s almost 2:30 am on the digital clock in the car and Bruce stops the car and neither one of you makes a move to get out. Instead, Bruce puts his hand into his breast pocket and pulls out an envelope. It’s the same cream colour as the ones you received in the dressing room and the one, he gave to you tonight.

“Bruce?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you hesitantly take the envelope – your fingers shaking as you open envelope – the seal was already broken and your fingertips against the hoarse paper is the only sound you can hear – and you watch the moonlight frame shadows on Bruce’s face as he looks at you.

“What is this.”

A beat passes before he speaks.

“That night, uh, before you came to my house, Alfred gave me this letter that he found, and I read it and it said – “

“That ‘this is a warning to stay away from her’”, you completed his sentence, reading off the letter. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You know I’ve been asking you the same thing for the past couple of days.” His voice is oddly strained, and you pretend you didn’t hear what he said.

“You shouldn’t have told me to leave that night,” You don’t look at him when you say this, head looking out towards the window and the peak of sunlight edging off the horizon and you wait for him to say something.

“I know.” There’s a slight tone of bitterness in his voice but you don’t dwell it for long because his hands come out to guide your face towards his – his cold fingers resting gently under your chin, and a chill goes down your spine as you match his gaze.

“I’m sorry.” You don’t say anything, but you don’t make a move away from him either. “You know that I never want anything terrible happening to you and I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

A beat passes.

“I didn’t mean anything I said that day and I just didn’t know what to tell you.”

“Just like you don’t know how to tell me you’re Batman?”

You bite your lips in anticipation as Bruce’s eyes grow wide – his hold on your face disappearing and it takes him a second to process your confession.

“Y – You know?”

“Well, at least you’re not denying it.” You try to lighten the mood, but his face is still shocked. “Remember when I came over to your house for my 17th birthday? I heard you and Alfred talking about how you should be more careful on patrols.”

He doesn’t say anything, so you take your hand in yours and draw small circles on it before continuing.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to do anything stupid.”

“Stupid?”

“Like stop talking to me or I don’t know, erase my memory?”

“I can’t do that, you know.”

“Yeah, well I was scared and that’s why I kinda stopped talking to you after that visit.”

You intertwine his pinkie finger with yours and lift your joint hands above the console and he looks at you with a confused look.

“No more secrets after this,” You squeeze your hand. “Promise?”

He moves to press a light kiss against your temple before whispering

“Promise.”

Currently facing the large manor windows out-looking the gardens and entrance, you watch rain pour down copiously – making the view almost incomprehensible and a small frown makes it way on your face as you fidget around with the gold locket around your neck.

“Are you alright, miss?”

Alfred’s monotonous voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you look at him in confusion before he speaks up again.

“Master Bruce is in the study,” He studies you for a moment. “I though you would like to know.”

“Oh – yes, thank you.”

With a small nod in your direction, he turns around and you wait for the footsteps to fade away before you start to move away – on your way, you stop by the gold accented hanging mirror and adjust invisible creases in your dress – which was a soft pink, and off-the shoulder, before padding through the silent halls.

“Alfred says that you ‘seem sad’?”

Bruce doesn’t even lift his head when he questions you as you enter the study and watch the unnerving amount of bookshelves and sharp woodwork surround his hunched body over piles of papers in the corner of the room and you only roll your eyes as you make your way to the large, velvet armchair he was sitting at.

“Does he now?” You mutter under your breath – slightly embarrassed at the prospect of Alfred telling Bruce about your sadness over something so trivial.

“Well, are you sad?”

“I don’t know Bruce, am I?”

He doesn’t say anything but raises his eyebrow in response – at which you motion for him to move so you can make yourself comfortable in his lap – confined by the oak table in front of you and his arms wrap themselves around you as you burrow your head in his neck, enveloping yourself in the scent of his sandalwood cologne and body warmth.

“What happened?”

You incoherently mumble into his neck, which prompts him to nudge you and you slowly lift your head out and look at him with slightly red eyes and a pouty face.

“Love – “

“I really wanted to go out to the lakes today.” You hope he doesn’t hear you, but he does, and you can see his eyes light up in humour and he barely contains a smile as you shake your head.

“I had it all planned!” You start to move your hands as well now, making exuberant gestures to accentuate your point. “I was gonna bring these picnic blankets, and this wicker basket and I wore this dress and – and I made mini cherry pies and this fucking stupid rain just ruined your surprise.”

You finish off your rant by burrowing your head again and leaving Bruce with a small smile on his lips as he tries to get you to life your head, but you just shake your head and a small chuckle escapes Bruce’s lips and you let out a small whine.

“It’s not funny!”

“Certainly not.”

You raise your head to stare at him unamused as you watch him follow your movements before he asks,

“Are you going to be upset this whole evening?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, what would cheer you up?” His voice is bemused as you contemplate his words in your mind before scanning the expanse of the room before something clicks in your mind.

“Can you play me the piano?”, your voice is soft and barely above a whisper, and Bruce comprehends your request, playing the piano? It seems simple enough and Bruce is a little confused.

“Y/n, I don’t really – “

“Please,” You move your hands to play with the buttons on his shirt. “Remember, when we were kids, and we had those piano lessons and I was so fucking bad. Like really bad,”

Bruce smiles a little as you laugh at the memory.

“And Mr. Lebedev was a terrible teacher and I hated him, and you used to try and teach me, but I was so bad.”

“So?”

You don’t stop the eye roll before responding.

“So, can you play the piano for me because I can’t – and I’ll feel less bad if you do.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, before nodding his head and trying to stand up to leave but you stop him, motioning him to pick you up.

“If you can bench-press a thousand pounds, then honey, you can lift me up.”

There’s a satisfied smile on your lips as you picks you up with a roll of the eyes before walking across the room, towards the grand piano set in the room, facing the large windows.

“What do you want me to play?” He asks as you both sit on the leather bench,

“Anything you want.” You shrug in response as he concentrates on the piano, deep in thought before moving his fingers – shakily – over the keys, and a delicate sound fills the air as his fingers glide expertly over the piano and you hold in your breath without realising as he plays his mother’s song.

You can remember it quite clearly because every time, she would ask Bruce to play a piece, she would always ask for this one.

You don’t want to say anything to disrupt his concentration, so you only closed you eyes and moving to softly rest you head on his shoulder, the intricate melody tangent to the patter of rain against the window and it feels a little ephemeral, and you feel yourself melt a little sitting there – wrapped up in the quite atmosphere.

le fin

how was it? part 2?

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagines #dc #batman #batman x reader #batman imagines #dc fanfic #alfred pennyworth #gotham #fanfic #robert pattinson

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rainydayhogwartsimagines · 4 years

Note

Hi could you write to Draco? The Malfoys signed a marriage contract with another thoroughbred family, time passed and the girl who would marry Draco was selected for the hufflepuff so she thought the contract would be canceled, but when the war was over Lucius thought it would be a good idea to do Draco marries someone other than Slytherin to clean up the family image a bit, of course keeping the tradition purebred.I could have anguish I like, but the ending is very happy? Please!

I’ve got you homie!

Warnings: Self harm, swearing, slight NSFW stuff.

The battle of Hogwarts haunted everyone’s memory. It was slightly infuriating to be a muggleborn child in that time because it was impossible to come home and tell family what happened. Wizards would deal with their demons in the invisible walls of the world only you all knew. You could only imagine what wizards who were forced to abandoned their families unwillingly. Hermione only talked to you about that pain. How she had to remove herself from the memories of her own parents. You got lucky. You were a pureblooded wizard, your parents being ones of a high income family. Your parents loved you, they fought with you during that battle. They didn’t hesitate to run to their bleeding daughter when you took a hit for Fred Weasley, ultimately saving the boy’s life. They didn’t hesitate to stay by your side when you recovered due to Fawkes taking a liking to you. They didn’t hesitate to protect you when you ran back out into battle. You understood they loved you.

What you never understood though was the arranged marriage. When you were eleven, you were set to be in a arranged marriage to Draco Malfoy. He was nothing but an ass to you though, part of you questioned whether or not he even knew about the arrangement. Well he did. And quite often threw it back at you when you were in his presence. When describing this boy, you wouldn’t exactly use the word “hate”. No you didn’t hate him. You had a STRONG disliking to the boy. He often was rude over your house, saying you must’ve been weak to be put in Hufflepuff. You swore one day you’d prove him wrong and actually did when the battle of Hogwarts came. You saved his life, pulling him back and shouting a defense charm telling him to be more careful before running off. Draco was surprised to see you fight for him in such a way. He nearly expected you to leave him for dead but you didn’t. So he stealthily watched you through out the battle, allowing you to narrowly escape death a few times. When you did nearly die he was actually present. You weren’t aware of him being in the makeshift medical unit, watching you silently. Your parents were very aware though. They recognized his presence and the fact that he had been anonymously keeping you alive throughout the entire battle. When sides had to be chosen it was gut wrenching to look at you. You were good friends with Harry and his ragtag group of friends. When you saw Harry dead in Hagrid’s arms you just fell to your knees staring at the boy with shock and tears. Hermione and Ron both were by your side as your eyes just locked onto him. Voldemort seemed to take great joy in seeing you in pain. Draco’s parents were visible, standing with the dark lord with great pride as to say “We won and you can’t fight us anymore”. Lucius extended a hand to Draco but you stopped him, grabbing his hand with this pained expression. “Don’t go.” You whispered. Draco looked at you and then his father. Would he really stay for someone who he seemingly hated? Would he stay because you asked him to? The answer seemed to be obvious. But it surprised everyone when he stepped back into his place with Hogwarts

It seemed you two buried the hatchet after the battle was over, especially when Harry turned out to be alive and Draco grabbed his wand from his father, giving it to Harry. It was the only time you heard Draco say “Potter!” With no disgust in his voice. You were the one that kept him safe though. You grabbed Draco’s hand and ran to the order. “We need to move.” Remus said. “Where, the battle is literally going on everywhere!?” Fred asked. “We need to not be stopping, that’s for sure, I’ve already almost died once here, I don’t plan on doing it again!” You said. You all ran to the second floor, finding a vacant hall so you could finally rest. “I am too old for this!” George whined. “You’re joking right? Tonks, tell me the boy is joking.” Remus said making you let out a breathy laugh. Draco had this confused look on his face. “Why did you help me?” Draco asked. “I--” You were cut off by the crackling noise of Harry’s magic against Voldemort. Your eyes couldn’t even handle looking at it, it was so bright. But then almost as quickly as the battle picked up... It stopped. You were terrified that Harry might’ve lost but when you could finally see you saw Harry still standing. “He did it!” You gasped. Tonks looked out the window and let out a relieved sigh. “It’s over.” You said. “Draco its-- Draco?” You noticed his absence and that was the last you saw of him

Until today. You opened the door to your parents’ home and there he was, that same stern expression he usually kept plastered on his face. “Draco?” Your father asked. Draco let out a long sigh and you rose a brow. “The contract was never terminated.” Draco said. Contract? What was he-- WAIT WHAT!? “I see.” Your father said. “My father cannot terminate it because of his... situation so it appears we’re stuck in this.” Draco said to you. “...Shit.” you muttered. Your father didn’t even bother to scold you for that one. “Well... Welcome to your new home for the time being I suppose.” Your father said. “Thank you sir.” Draco said, blank expression as he stepped in. “May I speak with you? Alone?” You asked him. “If you must.” Draco said. You dragged him into the empty dining room. “Are you alright?” You asked. “Excuse me?” Draco asked. “You disappeared after the battle and I got worried something had happened... Fred tried writing to you.” You said. “I see... You’re concerned with me? Genuinely?” Draco asked. “Yes!” You said. “Why?” He asked. “Because... Someone has to be.” You said. “What?” He asked. “You deserve to have someone care about you.” You said point blank. “Plus you apparently saved my life. Multiple times.” you added. Draco blushed slightly, putting a hand on the back of his neck and looking away. “So you did?” You asked. “I... May have kept you alive longer?” he said. “Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked. “Because I didn’t want you acting strange about it!” He said aggravated. You couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t hate me do you?” You asked. “I never said I did!” Draco said. Your smile grew bigger “This is exactly why I didn’t say anything!” Draco groaned making you laugh. He liked hearing that laugh... Something about it was so... Pleasant. “So do you actually want to get married or are you sticking with ‘it’s my duty, nothing more’?” you asked. “I mean no offense, but why would I want to actually get married to you?” Draco said. “Offense definitely taken.” you nodded. “Look, you can understand how I am not exactly thrilled to be bound to marry a girl I barely know by a fucking contract.” He griped. “It’s no cakewalk for me either asshat.” You said, roughing up his hair. He frowned and swatted your hand away. “But you’re right. We barely know each other. so we should start getting friendly now.” You said, pulling a seat out at the table. “Christ don’t--” “Sit.” You said sternly as your father walked through. “Little tip for your marriage, son: The women actually run the household.” He said before leaving. Draco sighed and sat down, you sitting across from him. “Sooo. Where did you go after the battle?” You asked. “...I really don’t want to answer that.” He muttered. “Can you at least tell me that you’re okay?” you said, showing legitimate concern, taking one of his hands into yours. He looked into your e/c eyes and swallowed. “Yes... Y/n I’m fine.” He nodded. “Okay... So Harry might be coming in five minutes.” You said. “What!?” Draco asked. “Hey, we didn’t realize you’d be here today! They’ve been coming over for dinner since the war.” You said. “Oh Christ, all of them are coming!?” Draco asked. “Yes and they’ve been worried about you too!” You said as he stood up. He turned back around. “Why?” He asked. “Because you were a leading cause of winning the war dumbass, your name is everywhere.” you said. Draco sighed. “Plus your parents--” “Don’t.” Draco muttered. You nodded. “Sorry... But Molly feels responsible for all children... She cares about you and she doesn’t want you to feel alone. And neither do I.” You said. He ran a hand over his face and the front door opened, a house elf walking into the dining room. “The Weasley family.” She said. “Thank you Francis.” you said, the house elf nodding and leaving. Molly walked in and halted. “Draco showed up earlier and--” Molly hugged Draco making him freeze before slowly looking to you. “hug back” you mouthed. Draco slowly hugged her back and she pulled away.

“We’ve been so worried about you dear!” Molly said. Fred walked in and he hugged Draco on sight. “Told you they were worried.” You said. “Was there any doubt that we weren’t!?” Fred asked. “I’m not exactly liked Fred, please let go.” Draco said. He did and George hugged him afterwards making Draco groan. Tonks, Ron, Hermione, Remus, Harry and Teddy all joined you soon after. You soon all sat down for dinner, Draco being silent for most of it. “So you’re safe. What made you leave?” Fred asked. “I was checking on my...” He swallowed and shook his head. “I was checking on my family... Before they...” he muttered. Remus nodded. “We’re grateful you’re safe son.” Remus said as you wiped Teddy’s mouth. Draco noticed you with him, keeping him on your knee while you ate. “He almost said your name the other day.” Tonks said to you. You smiled. “Did you now?” you asked Teddy rhetorically, hugging him. He let out a giggle and Harry smiled. “He clearly favors you.” Harry said. “Hmm, you give me a run for money though.” You chuckled. Remus smiled. The house elf from earlier emerged. “Yes Francis dear?” Your mother asked. “A package for Miss Y/n has arrived.” the house elf said. “Oh.” You got up, passing Teddy to Draco. “Y/n I don’t--” “Harry, help the poor guy.” You said as Draco seemed to struggle with Teddy. You walked out and Draco sat Teddy on his knee, mimicking the same way he saw him with you. “See you’ve got it.” Harry nodded. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” He admitted. “Oh, you’re doing just fine son.” Remus assured as you walked in. “What was the package?” your father asked. “A new set of stationary.” You replied sitting down. Teddy made grabby hands and cooed as if to ask to be back with you. You took Teddy and smiled, kissing his cheek. “You’re so becoming our babysitter. He never stays this calm.” Tonks chuckled. “Y/n has always had a way with children.” Your mother said. “She gets that from you.” Your father told her. “I don’t know.. Teddy do I have a way with children?” You asked with a smile. Teddy giggled and grabbed your finger making you chuckle. Draco smiled at the sight and Fred noticed. “So what exactly brought you here?” George asked. “Uh... I’ve been in a arranged marriage with Y/n since the first year of school.” Draco admitted. “Wait what!?” Hermione gaped. “Since father is in... Azkaban no one can revoke the marriage so... We’re both stuck with this.” Draco said. “Yikes.” Tonks winced. “When is the wedding?” you asked. “Looking forward to the marriage or something?” Fred teased. “I just figure there’s no loophole or anything. We may as well just accept what’s happening. Glass half full approach.” You shrugged. “Y/n, your Hufflepuff is showing.” Tonks coughed out making Remus smile. You chuckled and Draco sighed. “I understand where your coming from. I suppose she’s right.” Draco nodded. “Did you just... Agree with her?” Harry asked. “And?” Draco asked. “You two argue over almost everything.” Ron pointed out. “We do not.” Draco sighed. “We spent three hours in an argument over potions before.” you reminded. “.... I’m just trying something new.” Draco admitted. “...Being more agreeable?” Ginny asked. “Being nicer... From what I understand I’ve... Been kind of a pain.” Draco said. “Kind of?” George asked, Fred kicking him from under the table as a response. “I’m trying to make up for what I’ve done.” Draco admitted. You smiled.

The rest of the night was mostly spent with the family. But Draco stayed up once everyone went to bed, sitting in the library by the fire. Well... Almost everyone. “Couldn’t sleep?” You asked, making him turn. “No.” He said, turning back to the fireplace. He seemed to be thinking about something as you sat down. “Something wrong?” You asked. Draco swallowed. “I went looking for the ministry...” Draco admitted. “Hmm?” You asked. “Why you never saw me... I went looking for the ministry.” Draco said. “...Any reason why?” You asked. “To find my parents... If I was going down they were going down with me.” Draco said. “Wait, why would--” “Because I had a dark mark. I chose to bare this. I chose this.” Draco said, clearly saying it to himself rather than you. He started scratching at his wrist and you stopped him, hugging him close. “You don’t have to bare these demons alone Draco.” you said in his ear. He clung to you as if you were the most precious thing to him, sobbing into your shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Was the only thing he could seem to get out. When he finally calmed down you left, coming back with hot cocoa. “Here... I’ve learned from Remus that chocolate fixes everything.” You said. He let out a small chuckle and took the mug. “You’re always so kind... I honestly feel like shit when I think of how I’ve treated you in the past.” Draco said. “Can I admit something crazy to you?” You asked. He nodded. “I had a massive crush on you in third year. to like our sixth year.” You admitted, making the boy nearly choke on his drink. “...That is crazy.” Draco said. “I know.” you chuckled. “I had a crush on you in our second year.” He said. You rose a brow. “You treated me like shit our second year.” You laughed. “I did not handle those feelings well, as you can see.” he said making you laugh. “What, pray tell brought on those feelings?” You asked. “Quidditch.” He admitted. “What?” You asked. “There was a quidditch game where it was Slytherin vs Hufflepuff and you ended up nearly falling off your broom for the snitch. I watched you leap off your broom, fall and then get right back up, covered in grass and dirt. And apparently twelve year old me thought that you were amazing.” Draco chuckled. You smiled and seemed to hide in your hair to cover the blush forming on your face. Draco however brushed back your strands and smiled looking at you. “Your eyes are very bright...” he commented, his voice low and soft. Your lips parted, looking at him. “When did you stop?” You asked softly. “hmm?” He asked. “When did you stop liking me?” You asked. His breath hitched. “I never did.” He admitted. You looked at him surprised, blinking a few times. “Sorry... I-I didn’t mean to--” “N-no it’s fine, it’s just I.. I didn’t expect to hear that.” You said. “Why?” He asked. “I always assumed you disliked me so I dropped it.” You admitted.

Draco sucked in a breath and chuckled. “So Potter actually kept it a secret.” He said. “Kept what a secret?” You asked. “The Amortentia lesson. You were sick with a cold and you couldn’t come to class.” Draco began. “I had to work with Pansy Parkinson and we were making the potion... I didn’t realize what the scent of the potion was until I made a comment.... ‘Jesus Y/n did you bathe in your perfume this morning, this place stinks of it’.” Draco recalled. “Amortentia smells like--” “Whoever you have feelings for... Which is you. And Potter was there and I practically begged the guy not to tell you... I’m surprised he kept it to himself.” Draco admitted. “Course I was the dolt that decided to say that bit out loud--” you cut him off with a kiss, him cupping you cheeks as he realized what was happening. You pulled away from air and he smiled. “What brought that on?” He asked. “You became bearable.” you chuckled. Draco kissed you again, you pulling away before getting up and straddling his lap. He kissed you passionately, running his fingers through your hair. “I feel like we shouldn’t do this here.” You breathed. “If you don’t want to I understand.” He breathed. “My god you are the perfect man.” You whispered, making him chuckle. He kissed your nose and you smiled. “Suddenly this arranged marriage thing isn’t so bad.” He said. You curled up in his arms and he chuckled. “Tired?” He asked. “I can only take so much human interaction... Wait till Arthur isn’t working a nightshift... He will not stop talking. Love the man to death, honest... But if he asks Harry for the function of a cellphone I’m going to impale myself on a fucking fork.” You whined. Draco looked over at your chair and saw a blanket. “Accio Blanket.” He said before he pulled it over you. “We don’t have to actually--” “I’m comfortable, it appears your comfortable... Why not sleep here?” He asked. “... Wanna get married?” You teased making him kiss your head. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

Your parents found you two the next morning, you curled up in his lap his arms holding you close. “Ahem... Dear?” Your mother called. You sucked in a breath, leaning up and blinking a few times. Draco shifted and turned around. “Mr. and Mrs. L/n!” Draco said getting up and you hitting the floor. “Oh my god Y/n are you okay!?” Draco asked, helping you up. “We fell asleep.” You said to your parents. They started laughing and you both rose a brow. “You’re both adults. And engaged. We just wanted to know why you weren’t at breakfast this morning and it seems we have an answer.” Your father said. “Aha... righhhtttt.” You nodded, blushing a bit. You two sat at the breakfast table and your parents went off to work. “So...” You cleared your throat. “Hmm?” Draco asked, sipping on a coffee. “Last night was fun.” You said, making him almost cough it up. You chuckled and handed him a napkin. He chuckled and sighed. “I suppose it was.” He agreed. You smiled and Francis brought you the paper, you reading one half while Draco read the other. Your hand rested on the table as you read and you felt Draco grip it and you smiled. “Your hand feels nice.” You said. “Mmm, does it?” He chuckled. “Surprisingly soft... Okay, you’ve got to tell me what moisturizer you use--” Draco began laughing silently as you spoke. “Oh God.” You said after a while of rambling. “What?” Draco asked, clearing his throat. You showed him the article. “Battle Hero Draco Malfoy is engaged to Y/n L/n. An article by... Rita Skeeter.” He read aloud. “How the hell am I considered a battle hero!? You saved more lives than I did!” He gaped. “Probably that wand incident that landed you the title.” You shrugged. “I don’t want it.” He grumbled. “Besides she’s completely writing you off. You nearly died for Fred, you saved Remus and Nymphadora, you literally a war hero but she’s--” “Draco, you’re squeezing my hand too tight.” you winced. He eased up and kissed your knuckles almost as an apology. You chuckled. “Draco, this is Rita Skeeter. All of her stuff is bullshit.” You snorted. “True. I still remember that ridiculous article she wrote on Potter.” Draco nodded. You snorted “ ‘eyes glistening with the ghosts of his past.’” You recalled. “God it was so terrible.” He laughed. You smiled. “You have a nice laugh.” You pointed out. He smiled. “So is this our new thing? We’re... together?” you asked. “Well considering the marriage... We were technically already together. But yes, I presume this does mean we’re... Friendlier?” He said making you snort. “If a make out session with you is friendly, what happens if I sleep with you?” You teased. He chuckled and leaned to your ear. “Wonderful things.” He said making you nearly knock over your cup of coffee. He chuckled and you grumbled in your seat, annoyed he could make you flustered. “You pout like a child.” He said. “Fuck off.” You griped making him chuckle and shake his head.

You and Draco spent most of the day actually wedding planning. Your parents came home to a heated argument. “Are you blind!? You have to be to think that is a good color scheme!” Draco said. What the hell was he talking about? “We are not making it green and black Draco that is depressing for a wedding!” You said. “Alright, compromise. Silver and Yellow.” He suggested. “Yellow? Ehhhhh” “Oh come on!” He sighed. “Blue!” You said. “Blue?” “Blue! Blue and silver are pretty.” You said. “...Blue and silver actually sound nice.” He nodded. “What are you two doing?” Your mother asked. “Wedding planning.” “Roses?” Draco asked. “Are you out of your mind? With blue and silver?” You asked. “True. Lilies?” “Not bad.” You nodded. Your parents nodded, watching you two bounce ideas off of each other. Draco smiled and pulled you into his lap, kissing your cheek as you wrote. “Then there’s the cake.” You said. “hmmm. Chocolate?” He suggested. “Somewhere Remus just screamed. Absolutely.” You nodded. Your parents smiled.

Maybe this whole thing wasn’t so bad after all.

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tf2-parqcxsm · 4 years

Text

Scout x Reader: For Too Long

You repeatedly tapped your pen on the table, biting your lower lip as you thought about what to put on the paper that was laid out right in front of you. "Alright, well, Pyro had some strange stuff in his closet, but I guess I'll consider it." You uttered, and proceeded to mark the box next to Pyro's name. You were one of the Administrator's assistants, and your job was to check the mercenaries' rooms to see if they have any suspicious equipment. You have to admit, it was boring, but you can't complain either. You did develop some interesting relationships with the team, anyway.

Placing your pen down, you stretched out your arms and laid back further on your chair, relieved that you finally finished what you have to do for today. Your body felt numb, all because you walked through the bases, which are also extremely huge and are separated in a far distance. A long sigh escaped your lips, "Finally. I can rest." You were supposed to close your eyes, until a loud knock interrupted your relaxed moment.

The noise immediately caused you to stand up from your chair and walk towards the door. There wasn't anyone else in the office — except for Miss Pauling and the Administrator — to suddenly come up on your door, so you had no choice but to quickly answer the door.

You fixed yourself before opening the door, and to no surprise, you were faced with your boss. "Ah! What can I help you with, ma'am?" You forced yourself to flash a small smile. Don't wanna look gloomy now, do we? The puff of smoke from the Administrator's cigarette somehow made its way to your nose, and you simply covered your face with your hand. "We need to talk, Miss (Y/n)." She spoke, while her gaze was away from yours. The solemnity in her voice made your stomach swirl. You knew you wouldn't like what she was going to say next, you didn't know what triggered her but all you know is that it was probably something you did. You gritted your teeth and furrowed your eyebrows, "U-Uh— Sure. Would you like to come in or—?"

"We can talk here."

"Ri- Right…"

You closed the door behind you and stood up straight, waiting for the Administrator to speak up once again. "Miss (Y/n), how long have you been here?" She raised a question that filled your head with confusion. She knows the answer, and yet she asks you this question. However, you still answered, not wanting to irritate the woman in front of you. "Um, I've been here for three years, ma'am." You responded formally. Clenching your fists, your arms stayed at your sides. The Administrator walked towards the window, which was at the opposite side of your room, and spoke whilst her back was onto you.

"In those three years, what have you done?" She questioned again. Your eyes followed her figure, but you stayed at where you were. "Well, I go around the bases on a daily basis to see if the mercenaries are keeping anything in secret." You could have sworn to yourself that you saw her turn head on a slight angle. You could feel her intense gaze, even when she isn't looking directly at you.

"What else?"

You thought for a few seconds, bringing up your hand to your chin, "Oh! I often substitute Miss Pauling whenever she's busy with…other business." You explained, the last part of your statement sounding rather unsure. Maybe tuning your voice like that was a bad idea, as the Administrator fully turned around to you with a displeased expression on her face. "And that's it? You've done nothing else?" She creepily walked towards you as she spoke, causing you to take a step backward. Anxiety crawled up to your veins as you caught a glimpse of her eyes. "I, uh— Yes, ma'am." You stammered between your sentences, in fear that she might slap you out of nowhere.

But she didn't. Instead, she narrowed her eyes at you. She backed up and dropped her cigarette on the ground, stepping on it to get rid of the smoke. "Miss (Y/n), did you forget that we have cameras all over this place?" She questioned you again. "Huh?" You blabbered, genuinely confused by her sudden questioning. You didn't know how to respond, you simply stood there with a puzzled look on your face. She hummed at your stance, the corner of her lips perking up. "We know everything. We watch everything."

You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. You felt like you were being choked by some kind of invisible force. "Well, maybe except for your room. That would be an invasion of privacy." The Administrator interrupted your running thoughts as she walked past towards you, making you tense up your shoulders. She stopped right behind you while you were contemplating the situation.

"So, from this day onward, you will be forbidden to visit the bases."

Did you just hear that correctly? You immediately turned your head towards her, waving your hands everywhere as you couldn't understand her motivation behind this. "But- I don't- May I ask why?" You were extremely in shock that you couldn't get your sentences right. The world felt like it was breaking down to pieces, the gray color replacing the rainbows that once scattered around your vision. "Why?" She repeated your question and turned around, looking directly at you with such seriousness. "Because you've been distracting the mercenaries!" She yelled, finally breaking her formal gestures and speaking. "Especially your little sly boyfriend." You gasped at what she said.

"Bo- Boyfriend?"

Oh.

Scout.

Realization struck through you. "Wha- Ma'am, it isn't what you think!" You tried to make up an excuse. It was true that you have some feelings for the youngest mercenary in the team, but having the Administrator find out what you've been doing just for him for the past few years will get you real trouble. You couldn't bear the thought. "No, no more excuses. I've had enough." She breathed in and out, calming her senses. "That's all. You can get back to work." She simply stated, walking away and leaving you utterly broken.

But she stopped in her tracks, saying one last thing before she leaves the scene, "Oh, and,"

"Miss Pauling will exchange jobs with you."

She walked away sassily. All sorts of emotions burst through you, causing you to immensely tremble. You knew Scout had a huge crush on Miss Pauling before, what if it comes back now? You'll lose your chance. Oh god, you can't even accept the fact that this whole thing is happening. You won't even be able to see the other mercenaries! They were like your best friends.

You felt a tear drop from your cheek. You quickly wiped it away to avoid anyone from seeing your weakness. Afterwards, you quickly returned to your room, letting out all your tears as you weep on your bed.

Little did you know that Miss Pauling saw the whole thing happen. Watching from a corner.

The Next Day

"Oh, hey, Miss Pauling!" Scout greeted the purple-wearing lady as she entered the base. "Hi, Scout." She greeted back with a weak smile. The young man looked around the surroundings, as if he's looking for something — or someone — specific. He scratched his head, "That's kinda weird. Usually, it be (Y/n) who comes around by this time." Miss Pauling nervously laughed at his statement and gripped her clipboard tightly. "Ah, well— We're just switching jobs for a bit. She got a lot of work from the Administrator." She waved her hand in front of her neck, implying that she could get killed if she told him the actual reason.

Scout got the sign but interpreted it wrongly. He first raised a finger, his eyes narrowed and mouth slightly agape. His eyebrows then raised and his eyes widened as soon as he realized what she was trying to say. "Ohh, right, right!" He finger gunned at her, and she merely nodded in response. They both agreed on something they didn't even get the message correctly. "Well, uh, why don't ya check my room first?" He pointed behind his back with his thumb. "Sure." Miss Pauling accepted his offer with a smile. Scout led the way to his room, skipping over the way as the black-haired lady trailed behind.

Eventually, they arrived at their destination. Miss Pauling quickly checked around his room — it was unsurprisingly messy — and marked off Scout's name on the clipboard she has been holding. "Seems like you've got nothing suspicious hidden." She remarked, turning around just to see the young man scavenging through his closet. "Uh, Scout?" She called out for him. He didn't even bother to look up or hum at least, and it caused Miss Pauling to approach him to take a closer look at what he's doing.

"Aha! Found it!" He cheered as he raised his arms with a pen in hand. "It's a…pen." Miss Pauling spoke in an uninterested tone. Scout waved the pen, "Hell yea it is! I borrowed it from (Y/n), actually, and I was gunna give it back to her today, buuut only you came." He approached Miss Pauling with a pleading smile and lent the pen to her. "Maybe ya can give to back to her?"

Miss Pauling snickered at his gestures. "Sure. I'll stop by her room later." She took the pen from his hand, taking a quick scan of the item. It was a simple-looking pen with a cap, the ink almost drained out and the ends look like they've been scratched intensely. She couldn't understand how it happened but here she is, with your pen in hand. When she took her gaze away from the item, Scout was grinning widely like an idiot. He suddenly took her into a tight hug for a quick moment and put her down afterwards, nearly leaving her breathless. "Thanks, Miss Pauling! You da best!" Scout gave her a thumbs up as his wide grin stayed on his face, Miss Pauling did the same thing but with a more distressed expression.

Later that day, she actually stopped by your room to give back your pen. She knew you had a lot of spare pens to use, so she didn't see why she still had to give this to you, but she could see that you were lonely and wanted to check on you, at least. You quickly answered the door once she knocked, and you were actually surprised that the dorkiest person you've known for the entire time that you've worked here would actually give back something you never really thought of. You merely thanked your co-worker and went back to work, Miss Pauling got extremely concerned when she saw the depressed look on your face.

She had to do something.

Several Weeks Later

Another day, another chance to sulk in your room. You were getting bored with the current job you had, all you had to do was watch the battle immense and take down notes. Where's the fun in that? The only people you could talk to was Miss Pauling and the Administrator, and nothing interesting ever really comes up in your conversations. You already missed the enormous laughter and screaming voices of the 9 men you loved wholeheartedly. It gets you sad every time you think of them.

Meanwhile, Miss Pauling was once again in the base, checking everyone's room for any suspicious equipment. She decided to visit Scout last, as she didn't know how to confront him in case he asks where the hell you are.

But this day was different.

Scout was acting strangely. Too strangely. He was silent the entire time Miss Pauling searched throughout his room, with his arms crossed against his chest and leaned on one of his desks. She got worried and questioned what was bothering him, "Scout? Are you okay? You've been quiet."

His lips almost immediately turned into a thin line, his eyebrows furrowing. Miss Pauling sighed, the expression on his face making her feel uneasy. "Scout, are you—"

"Where the heck is (Y/n)?"

And boom. Her heart skipped a beat. She knew he would ask one day, but for some reason, she wasn't prepared for this moment. Nervously, she spoke, "Scout, I can't tell you that."

"And why not?!"

"Because we're being watched!"

Silence fell through the room. It wasn't normal for the lady to shout in conversations, and even Scout himself was shocked at the event. Miss Pauling rubbed the bridge of her nose and took a heavy sigh before looking up again, "Scout, look, I really want to clear your questions and all, but I just can't tell you. Alright?" The young man frowned at her response. He brought his gaze away from her and stared hard at the ground. It's been so long since the last time he saw (Y/n), he's getting mildly worried and wanted to ask Miss Pauling where she was, but all he got was refusal of an answer. Even the other men were getting worried about the lady whose bright smile would make up their day in an instant.

And Miss Pauling knows all of that. She wasn't dumb, she took notice of their actions and frequently received questions about her friend. A sigh once again escaped her lips, rolling her eyes as she grabbed her clipboard, and started writing.

Scout didn't notice as he was too focused on keeping his attention away from the lady. He doesn't like her anymore, was she trying to get him back when it's already too late? His thoughts were cut off when Miss Pauling suddenly took his hand and put something in it, "Don't tell anybody. And don't do anything stupid." She whispered quietly to him, she immediately backed away from him and left the room without saying a single word.

Scout blinked multiple times before setting his attention on whatever Miss Pauling just gave him. It was a piece of paper, and was almost crumpled. He carefully opened it with his bandage-wrapped hands, and what he read made his jaw drop and immediately regret those thoughts he had earlier.

He should have known.

Some Time Later

"BLU team, the intelligence has been captured! Retrieve it now!" The Administrator shouted into the microphone, alerting the team and causing everyone to move quickly. You stood there beside her, with a clipboard and pen in hand. Specifically, you were using the pen that Miss Pauling gave you, the one that Scout borrowed. You missed him and the others, and just wanted to at least bring one piece of memory that could cheer you up as you watched the battle through the screens.

You saw Scout run through Tuefort, a frown on your face. Even with him visible across the screen, you couldn't help but feel a little bit of sadness in your heart. He was the one, and you knew that, and the Administrator took it all away. You couldn't blame her either, though.

A knock on the door somehow echoed throughout the room. Both you and the Administrator turned your heads around to the sound, but you made it up for her, "I'll go get it."

She nodded and went back to announcing alerts for the teams, as you quickly jogged to the door and grabbed the doorknob, expecting to see Miss Pauling or, perhaps, Mister Hale. That guy is crazy but who else would disturb his assistants when there's a battle going on? You took a quick breath before completely opening the door and putting on a fake smile, "Hello, how can I—"

"Hey, (Y/n)!"

Your eyes widened, your jaw dropped, and you even nearly dropped the objects you were holding. "Whoa, okay there. Is just me, sweet buns." Scout spread his arms for reassurance, but you stood there completely shocked at what you were seeing.

"(Y/n), who's there?"

You turned around nervously at the sound of the Administrator's voice, thankfully she was still facing the screens, but still, you couldn't let her know that one of the mercenaries was in the office! You will get screwed! And worse, him! "Um, it's just, uh, Miss Pauling! She's asking some questions and I'll be helping her for a few minutes!" You spitted out a lie, if you had to be honest, you didn't know if it would work.

But it did. The Administrator trusted your words, even with that tone in your voice, and let you off easy. "Okay, make it quick."

"Yes, ma'am!" After responding to her simple command, you immediately closed the door and grabbed Scout's wrist, taking him somewhere else as you didn't want your upcoming disastrous conversation to be overheard by anyone. You ended up dragging him — he was wincing and begging you to slow down — in a storage space and that's where you bursted out. "Scout, what are you doing here?! Actually, how are you here?! Who's in the battlefield?!" Your hand gestures just showed how shocked you are at this moment. Scout waved his hand to shake off the pain and merely grinned at your questions, "It was Spy! Cool, ain't it?"

Was he flexing? He was flexing. You took a palm to your face and sighed, "Of course it was Spy."

"Hey, at least I got here!"

You looked at him with disappointment, your hands running over your hair and your face scrunching up. "No, Scout, you can't be here. You know that! Both you and I will get screwed if the Administrator finds out!" You were practically yelling at this point, you still couldn't believe the boy of your dreams somewhat managed to get here, how else were you supposed to react? Even Miss Pauling would be devastated at the sight of him being here. Scout noticed the emotions you were emitting and frowned, "Come on now, it's been far too long, (Y/n)." The change in his tone made you ease up a little bit. Your arms dropped at your sides as you listened to what he had to say.

"Actually, I just wanted to see ya— But, uh, the other dudes missed ya too!" He was shifting and blushing furiously, his ears were flushing red as his eyes were going everywhere except at you. You were speechless. You didn't know what to say. Did he really escape the battle just to see you? Would you even be able to believe that? What if it was a Spy who was trying to make you feel all sorts of emotions?

No, it can't be. Spy was too old for you. "Scout, I, I didn't— I wasn't expecting to—"

"To see me here? Yeah, me either."

Scout cut you off before you even got to finish what you were trying to say, he continued to ramble about his journey all the way here. One part included that he had to beg to Engineer for making a teleporter but he was rejected by the Texan. You heard everything he said, but you just couldn't speak up. He is right in front you, weren't you supposed to feel happy? Didn't you want to see him?

You didn't know what to feel and just cried off at the spot, bringing your hands to your face. The young man immediately stopped his gibberish talking as soon as he heard you sob, and he panicked, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Okay, chill! Did I say something wrong or what?!" He tried to hold your arms for comfort, but he was afraid he would scare you. His eyebrows furrowed in worry as he saw your tears fall off your cheeks. "Dammit, Scout! I've missed you so much!" You wailed as your hands stayed on your face. Another sob escaped your lips. The heartbreaking sound ripping out Scout's sense of hearing and tearing his heart apart. He couldn't bare to see you like this.

He sighed, "I- I missed you too, (Y/n)." He shyly spoke, averting his gaze away from you even though you had your eyes covered. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "No, to be honest? I really wanted to see you. Shit, maybe I did this because I love you."

"Huh?" You put away your hands and looked at Scout in confusion. You still had tears falling off from your face, but you came to your senses. His face was so red to the point he looked like a tomato, "Eh, well, I mean— I loved you! I mean, I love you right now, but like— I just— Ugh, whatever." His sentences came in stutters as he was too embarrassed by what he just said, he had his head lowered in defeat. But you didn't care. You thought it was cute, actually. For once, a genuine happy smile crept to your face. You embraced him into a tight hug and cried into his chest, this time they were tears of joy.

Scout was shocked at your action and didn't move an inch. He was hesitant if he should hug you back, but sooner or later, you felt his arms around you. It made you feel safe and happy, and you didn't want to let go.

"I love you too, Scout."

Extra Scene

The sun shone through the windows of the base, setting off shadows of various shapes and adding a warm glow to the large area. Scout walked through the hallways to the dining area with a cheeky grin on his face. The other mercenaries noticed this as he sat down, starting to munch down on his food without saying a word.

Sniper raised an eyebrow at his change of mood, "Ya seem lively today, mate."

"Yeah, yesterday was awesome!"

Spy remembered what he had to do with him and groaned in frustration. Soldier slammed his hands on the table, causing the utensils to shake vigorously due to his force, and pointed a finger aggressively at the young man. "Did you get a girlfriend or what?!"

"I did!"

Their eyes widened at his answer. "I…I was not expecting that kind of answer!" Soldier announced as he sat back down. Scout grinned cockily at them, amused about the fact that they couldn't believe a word he said. "You guys don't believe me? Her name is—"

"Hey, guys?"

They all turned their heads to the door, and there you were. "(Y/n)!" Scout stood up from his seat and ran towards you, bringing you to a hug.

"IT'S (Y/N)?!" The other mercenaries shouted in disbelief. You looked at them in confusion, but soon realized what they were saying. Bringing your gaze to your newly found love, you gasped, "Scout, you told them?!"

He grinned at you, "How can I not? I want to flex to them my beautiful girl." He poked your nose, making you giggle. The 8 men watched you two lovebirds, a frown on their faces except for Pyro who was clapping happily for the new couple.

It was kind of embarrassing to know that the Administrator did find out about you two, though.

#a bit long but it's ok #actually it's really long #tf2 #tf2 scout #tf2 fanfic #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 x reader #scout x reader

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strayen-fx · 4 years

Text

Counting Stars

Bang Chan x reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff

○○○

You felt something so right by doing the wrong thing.

You were never a party person--you were never a people person, actually. You hated crowds, especially crowds that contain more than three human beings.

And that is precisely why your parents were more than surprised when you told them you were going to prom.

It was already D-Day, and the mix of shock and interest in the faces of your folks would have made you feel so guilty. But, for some reason, you were feeling nothing at the time but excitement. You told them your friend's date ditched them on the last minute--lie--and that they needed company for the night--another lie. Maybe. You hoped it wasn't a lie. You really wanted to believe that your friend wants your company.

You told them your friend has already rented something for you, and that you were going to get fixed in their house. When your parents asked you to take some pictures, you rolled your eyes and reasoned: "Going to prom is uncomfortable enough. Do I really need to do something even more uncomfortable?"

Do you need a ride home? "I'd stay with my friend overnight."

What time will you get home? "I don't know." Truth.

Your parents were too surprised, and also too excited by the fact that you were trying to get out of your comfortable box, that they didn't bother to question you any further. They trusted you and your decisions. You were their quote-baby-unquote, but you were big enough to handle yourself. They were holding on to that.

And so, before your parents could change their minds, you headed straight towards Chan's home.

°°°

"You can't be serious."

"Why wouldn't I be serious?"

After spending a few hours watching Interstellar (Chan's choice), you stepped out into the early night in your hooded sweater, jeans and sneakers. Chan was sporting an almost identical look, and together, the two of you looked like a pair of troublemakers heading off to wreak some havoc.

You pointed at Chan's motorcycle. "You expect me to ride that machine of destruction? Do you even know the fatality rates? They're crazy. Over the last year--"

Chan laughed, cutting you off. He expected that kind of response. "No need to pull a PowerPoint presentation, Y/N." He placed his hands on your shoulders and tried to meet your eyes. "This night is all about 'getting out of your comfortable box,' remember? This is the first step."

"The first step was lying to my parents," you corrected him.

"Touché. So this is the second step."

"Being twin masked-riders prowling the night? That is our second step?"

You tried to remind yourself that this is Chan: resident troublemaker, outlier, the obvious suspect. Of course he's using a bike. Sure, he's got a huge black bike that he probably uses for his personal illegal matters. Or at least, that was what people said about him. You have believed such rumors for, what, three years?

And then, a week ago, the two of you were brought together for a school project. You finally realized that all of the rumors were just that: rumors. Made to taint his reputation, because people need Chan, you know? They need guys like Chan so they could point their finger towards someone else and say: that's the bad guy.

One week of being with him was enough to erase all the negative impressions that had seeped into your mind. It was enough time for you to realize that everyone else was just... well, blind.

Chan grinned, handing you his spare helmet. "There's a whole big world to see. You won't see any of it if you won't move your feet forward."

°°°

Chan felt something so wrong by doing the right thing.

Given, you were the one who suggested the whole thing: ditching prom, having a night drive all across town (not in a bike, though--that wasn't part of your plan). But still, when you clamped your arms tightly around his waist, Chan felt something tug at his insides. It was a foreign feeling, but his mind knew it was something wrong. Something he shouldn't be feeling, especially not towards someone like you.

You were the poster picture of a good kid. Headed off to an Ivy League school, offered scholarships, loved by teachers and the school board. He was almost the exact opposite.

He has also been a regular talk of the school body, but not because of his achievements or anything of the sort. He was labelled a rebel, a scapegoat, someone who is always off to no good. Because he got a kid hospitalized for messing with his friends back in freshman year.

The kid tried to tingle with the breaks of Lee Felix's car. It would have caused a major accident costing the lives of more than five people, but that part of the story didn't matter. News that Chan has some tendencies began circulating, and the label stuck until senior year.

Once people see a small stain in you, they begin seeing nothing else but that stain. It's hard to get out of a label, especially if people were seeming to enjoy seeing you crumble. Chan didn't crumble, of course. He stood tall. But still.

He felt like you being with somebody like him was just plain wrong.

He wanted to give you the chance to step out of your comfort zone and see the vastness of the world. You deserved at least that. So when you approached him with your special request, he didn't have the heart to decline. You trusted him despite everything you may have heard from him. That was more than enough for Chan.

He wondered if you could hear his heart pounding through his back.

°°°

"Chan.... this is so.... beautiful."

Chan entered the woods, and for a moment you were genuinely afraid for your life. But then a serene lake came into your view, and you knew it was the right decision to trust him.

Chan parked a few meters from the water. You immediately took your helmet off and ran towards the bay, your hands clutched over your heart in deep admiration. You have always loved water -- it helps you calm down, especially during those times when you felt like being you was the biggest mistake you've ever committed.

"I have no idea we have a lake around here," you said, smiling widely.

Chan grinned. "You can't find it in the books, wise girl."

You jokingly glared at him before staring back into the water. You thought: Chan's right. There is a whole big world to see.

If I have Chan, maybe I can start seeing the world around me.

The lake was glistening faintly, the moonlight reflecting off its surface. It was nothing special, really--just another lake in a small town under the vast collection of stars, but being with you there made Chan feel like he was standing at the top of the freaking world.

And at that moment, Chan felt so weak.

°°°

It has been at least an hour since you arrived at the lake. Chan took out a blanket and some snacks, and the two of you sat talking as you watched the stars in the night sky. Actually, it was mostly you doing the talking, which was out of character. Chan was oddly quiet and distracted.

And you were afraid. Not of Chan, of course, but of the invisible wall that has suddenly appeared between the two of you.

"Hey. Is everything all right?"

Chan nodded, his expression stone-hard and unreadable. "I just kinda think we should go home now."

"What?" You checked your watch. "It's not even midnight, Chan. Is anything wrong?"

He pursed his lips. Then he began standing up, collecting your trash into a small plastic bag. "Come on."

You stood up, confused and exasperated. "What is wrong with you?"

"Everything!" Chan shouted. You flinched. His gaze softened and he continued, "Everything is wrong with me, Y/N. You shouldn't even be talking to me."

And you understood. You understood what he was talking about.

"Chan..." You reached for his hands and held them within yours, relieved that he didn't try to yank them back. "Look at me. I know what those guys say about you. I have heard of all the rumors, the bad words, the accusations. They say you're unpredictable, that you hurt people, that you're...." You sighed. "But I also know that they're not true. Chan, in just a matter of week you have shown me how beautiful this world is. You taught me how to see things in a different perspective. You have shown me how to break free from my mechanical life. Hell, you even made me ride a bike."

A soft laugh escaped Chan's lips. You smiled. You brought your hand to his chest, right over his thumping heart.

"Chan. I know you better than those people. Their opinions do not matter. This heart? This heart contains all majestic and spectacular things. This heart contains the most amount of kindness I have ever felt. This heart gave me warmth. I hope you could realize how much you're worth. How beautiful you are. How ethereal you are. How--"

Your words were cut off with the feeling of Chan's lips on yours.

He was warmth and radiance and perfection, and though the kiss only lasted for a few seconds, it has left your mind in a swirling haze of euphoria.

You thought: He kissed me.

You thought: Did that happen? Did that just happen?

Chan pulled you into a tight hug, and nothing else mattered anymore. You hugged him back, easing yourself into the comfort of his wildly beating heart.

"Let's stay like this, yeah?" Chan said, and he meant something much more than embracing each other under the moonlight.

You giggled. "Until we have finished counting the stars."

Chan smiled. "Until the universe run out of stars."

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sondepoch · 4 years

Text

Day 5

10 Days (Jumin Han x Reader)

You didn't expect to find yourself locked in an engagement to Chairman Han, but with your own mother forcing you into it, you have no way of denying her. But as time continues and things change, you begin to develop affections for your fiance's son: Jumin Han. But the sad truth is that there's nothing either of you can do to stop the marriage, and you only have these 10 days before your future becomes reality. 10 days with Jumin Han.

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | ✔

MASTERLIST

How much time passes before you understand what's happening? How long is it before a thought finally finds it way back into your stupid, foolish head, and you realize the consequences of kissing the son of the man you're engaged to?

Too much time.

You're on top of Jumin, straddling him with two legs on either side of him. His kisses are slow. Passionate. Lips trailing down to your neck, he sucks on the skin ever-so-gently, and it's only when you hear the lewd sound of your own moan that reality hits you.

You stiffen.

And Jumin notices.

"(Y/N)...?" Jumin asks, raising his eyes to yours.

"We can't do this," You murmur breathlessly. "We can't. I'm engaged. To your father."

With those final words, Jumin's eyes widen the slightest—as if he too had forgotten the fact—and you pull yourself off him. But he pulls your wrist before you can leave the couch.

"That can change."

The man's eyes are earnest, as if he genuinely believes what he's saying. But he doesn't know the truth. "We're meeting your mother tomorrow, no, today. In twelve hours, she'll be here, and you'll be free of your engagement and we can..."

You turn to Jumin. "We can what? What is there for us to do?"

"This," Jumin murmurs, stealing a chaste kiss from your lips. You let the moment linger, basking in its tranquility, before pulling away.

"My mother won't let me cancel the engagement, Jumin." You cast your eyes low on the ground. "My personal desires don't matter. I can't go against her wishes."

"You can." Jumin encourages.

"No, Jumin. I can't." You stand up, brushing past him to get to your room, ignoring even Elizabeth's innocent meow in your haste to hide your tears. Only when you get to your room do you allow them to fall, whimpering softly over your own inability to control your fate.

You press your back to the door and slide down it, trying your hardest to keep your cries quiet.

It's not fair.

Your whole life, you've been the perfect daughter. Even your mother had struggled to find excuses to take her anger out on you, until your father had sacrificed his life to save you from being hit by a car. From that moment onward, she had only needed one reason to hurt you: the fact that you were even alive.

Pitiful, isn't it?

It was a drunk driver who ruined your life so.

But your mother was still furious.

She loved Father, you realize bitterly. After that whole escapade with Jumin, you had your first taste of what a true relationship would feel like—if only it weren't forbidden to you—and you'd come to realize that whatever your mother felt for your father was akin to your feelings for Jumin.

It's not fair. You think, choking back a sob. It's all so unfair. Why must you pursue Chairman Han when you would be so much happier with someone else? You bite your lip as your mind automatically fills in the blank. Why must you pursue Chairman Han when you would be so much happier with Jumin?

The media would love it. The corporate heirs of BC-Sonic and C&R uniting in holy matrimony to pave the way not only their families but the enterprising future of their companies.

And Jumin's actually my age, you think, scoffing at the fact that he's still older than you.

You sigh.

You've stayed with Jumin barely five days, and he's already been the perfect gentleman. The perfect husband. And from those kisses, it's obvious that he wouldn't be opposed to a relationship with you.

Your heart feels a little bit lighter when you think about the prospect of a future with Jumin. It would be a future free of everything you'd been chained down to since your adoption.

It would be a perfect future.

But it's a future I can't have, you think bitterly, before dragging yourself to bed.

And that thought lurks in your mind for the rest of the night, through early morning, and during breakfast when you and Jumin sit opposite each other, separated only by the extravagant sea of dishes prepared by his private chef.

He sits across from you, already handsome and ready in suit and tie, despite it still being early morning. He cuts into an onion and cheese omelet, expression calm and controlled.

Even when he doesn't try, he's perfect.

And I can't have him.

"(Y/N)..." Jumin trails off, interrupting the silence. "We should speak. About last night."

You bite your lip. On the list of the many things that kept you up last night, this impending conversation was ranked high.

"Last night was a mistake, Jumin. We can't let it happen again."

"You expect me to believe you truly desire my father over me?"

"I expect you to understand that I have to desire your father over you."

You hate the bluntness of your voice, and how stern your responses are to Jumin's gentle questions, but you have to be firm. Because even a moment of weakness may lead to a recap of yesterday's events. And you can't let that happen.

Breakfast passes by quickly.

Too quickly, for your liking.

By lunchtime Mother will be here, you realize with a start. And for the first time since your arrival in this apartment, time seems to fly by. You do everything in your power to make things feel slower, the most mundane of tasks that make minutes feel like hours. But nothing works.

For the first time, as you close BC-Sonic's feedback logs, you find that the four hours you spent reviewing department productivity rates flew by and you have scarcely fifteen minutes before your mother's expected arrival.

And she's never late.

So all you can do it wait.

Jumin tries to maintain a facade of calmness, but you can tell by the way he's constantly straightening his tie that even he's nervous to meet your mother. Is he regretting inviting her here?

He should, you think, memories of childhood abuse flooding through your mind. The sheer thought prompts your hand down, where you massage the damaged skin on your outer thigh before you forcefully move it away.

The past is the past. And after this meeting, it will be behind me.

In another room, Jumin's grandfather clock chimes twelve times.

Midday. Noon. 12 o'clock.

Twelve hours ago, you'd been on this same couch, arms wrapped around Jumin without a care in the world. Now, all your thoughts are of the diamond ring on your finger and a single knock.

Your mother.

She only ever knocks once, too certain of her status to ever bother with more. It's an insult that I even have to knock, she'd told you once when you asked her why.

Your eyes dart up to Jumin, who instantly gets up and walks to open the door.

"Hello, Mrs. (L/N)." His tone is courteous, charming even, and your mother glances at him, eyes wary and cigarette in hand. You can see the distrust in her eyes, but she finally responds with a polite nod, her voice laced with only a thin tone of superiority.

"You were very discreet over the phone, Jumin," Your mother says as she places her purse on the couch opposite you, seating herself. Even with Jumin in the room, you can't help but feel like the same seventeen-year-old girl you'd been the last time she'd hurt you.

So much time has passed since then.

But only the exterior scars had healed. Inside, you're just as frightened now as you were then.

"I was wondering if we could discuss the details of (Y/N)'s engagement to my father over lunch," Jumin states calmly, and you try your best not to let your terror show on your face.

"Oh?" Your mother turns to Jumin, and you're relieved that she's not directing her question at you. Your palms as already sweaty and you can feel your threadbare thoughts loping into knots as you try to calm yourself. "And what could there be to discuss about two people in love?"

Jumin swallows, evidently not prepared for your mother's show of ignorance. A moment of silence passes before he speaks.

"I think that's the matter to discuss itself: whether these two people are indeed in love."

"It's very bold of you to make these claims, Jumin." Your mother says, smiling and taking a puff of her cigarette. Her smile is empty, though, and you can hear the hissing snake of accusation in her words. "What do you have to say about this, (Y/N)?"

Your mother turns to you, and her (e/c) eyes have never been so intense as they are now. Her gaze is penetrating as she stares you down, challenging you.

"W-well," You stutter, trying to hide the tremble in your voice. "I think...that love...is a very strong word."

"Do you doubt that Chairman Han loves you?" Your mother states.

"N-not at all. I never mea—"

"Then it's only right that you should return his feelings wholeheartedly." Your mother offers you a smile, and her expression is prideful. I win, you can almost hear her say.

You can't bring yourself to say anything else. All you've said to her for the past two and a half decades has been in agreement with her. You'd been trained to tell her "Yes Mother" and "As you wish" without any hint of resistance.

Even if you knew what to say to her, you doubt you'd have the courage to.

Thankfully, Jumin steps in.

"For the sake of my father, I think that it'd be wiser to postpone the engagement until a time when (Y/N)'s feelings are more...developed. If such a time should come, then I think all parties involved would be pleased to watch her and my father partake in the marriage."

"If such a time should come? Jumin, are you doubting my daughter's feelings for your father? That's quite rude, I must say. If I were you, I'd apologize to (Y/N) at once for such a callous comment."

A fire lights inside you, at your mother's rudeness to Jumin. His eyes are round in surprise as he looks at you, and you fear that your mother's words have already gotten to him, so you speak before he can.

"Mother, Jumin is right."

The moment those words leave your lips, it's as if the apartment has dropped ten degrees. It feels like winter, and the chill rage radiating off your mother is truly terrifying. Her glare is ice cold, and you pull your eyes away. Instead, you look at Jumin who offers you a nod of encouragement for what you're about to say.

"I don't want to marry Chairman Han."

With those words, Jumin smiles at you. You can tell that he's proud you finally mustered up the courage to tell your mother the truth...but the moment you turn your gaze back upon your mother, you quickly realize that the truth isn't going to be enough.

"You think I don't already know that, (Y/N)?" Your mother drops her cigarette on the ground, lighting a new one before taking a sharp puff. "Very well. It seems I have to remind you why you obey me. Jumin, lock the door."

No...

"Pardon? The chef will be in with appetizers any moment now, so—"

"Lock the door."

Not in front of Jumin...

"(Y/N), strip."

Please don't...

"Now."

But your body betrays you, and you're no longer a proud businesswoman in her twenties. You're back to being the same foolish child your mother spent years abusing, and your fear won't let you do anything but obey.

With shaking hands, you remove your top.

"(Y-Y/N)!" Jumin sputters out, his temporary shock overridden by the sight of you actually meeting your mother's absurd request. "This is madness, don't—"

"This is the real world, Jumin." The snake that had been hiding behind your mother's words had finally come to play, and it was a hissing monster, vicious as it was cruel. "You made the decision to get in the way of my relationship with my daughter, so now you will see the consequences of your actions. Very good, (Y/N). Stand up."

Now wearing nothing more than your delicate (f/c) panties and a bra, you force yourself to stand, ignoring the vigor at which your legs are shaking. You keep your eyes fixated forward, unable to look at your mother or Jumin or anything else that might make your tears fall.

Your mother approaches you, ignoring Jumin and his attempts to stop her.

Even then, as he stands in front of your mother, telling her how ridiculous she's being, he doesn't understand the severity of the situation. For such a shrewd businessman, he still doesn't realize what's happening.

Your mother approaches you, drawing the cigarette from her lips.

And then you see the realization dawn on Jumin's face. He figured it out. Why you'd been terrified of your mother, why you were marrying Chairman Han at her request, why you had begged him to cancel today's meeting.

Child abuse.

At least, it had been child abuse. Once you turned eighteen, your mother decided that she had enough power over you to free you from the shackles of pain, and your skin had begun to heal, the burns fading into scars.

Until today.

Your mother twists your neck painfully and forces you to look her straight in the eye as she presses the hot end of the cigarette down against the familiar spot on your thigh. The scars had just begun to fade, you think helplessly as tears ran down your cheeks, the pain familiar but excruciating nonetheless.

You stood paralyzed before her as she continued to dig the hot stub into your upper thigh, bringing back years of memories from when you'd stood before her just like this with no escape before her merciless hands.

But Jumin steps in.

"Mrs. (L/N)!" He practically shouts, all but yanking your body away from your mother to pull your smaller form into his. Now he, too, is trembling, but he wraps his arms protectively around you. "Security! SECU—"

"Jumin," Your mother interrupts, a threatening glare on her face. She drops the cigarette she was holding onto the floor and pulls a lighter from her purse. With a single flick of the thumb, a flame has appeared. She holds it dangerously close to your skin. "Call your guards, and I will make certain that (Y/N) here endures much worse than anything she's had to handle with me. You both need to accept the truth. (Y/N) will marry Chairman Han. That is final."

Your mother returns to her seat on the couch, acting as if nothing had just happened, casually lighting another cigarette.

"Mrs. (L/N)," Jumin pleads. "Why are you doing this? I am the corporate heir to C&R, a marriage with me would be far more beneficial than o-"

"Oh? You want to marry each other? You two children are in love, is that it?" Your mother's smile is unamused. "Yes...I was in love with (Y/N)'s father before she ruined everything. Whatever affair you have going on here makes no difference. The press statement was released yesterday. I've already spoken to Chairman Han. He wishes to wed you immediately, (Y/N)."

"How immediate?" Jumin voices your thoughts, and you're so relieved that at least he has the courage to speak. The last of your strength sizzled with the cigarette your mother drove into your thigh.

"More immediate than you'd think. If I were you, I'd give your father a call. It seems that C&R is in some serious trouble," Your mother smiles pleasantly, confident once more in her power over you. "And he wishes to tie the knot with BC-Sonic down as quickly as possible to minimize damage. There's nothing either of you can do to change that."

Your mother stands up, confident that with her decision, this 'meeting' is concluded. "Do not call me again, Jumin. Apart from seeing (Y/N) at her wedding, I do not wish to see either of your faces ever again."

Your mother doesn't bother bidding either of you farewell, simply taking her leave. She's finished what she came here for and reasserted her power over you in the process with that cigarette.

Your eyes drop to the familiar spot on your thigh where the old scars have been further uglified by the fresh mark. At the very sight of the burned skin, you lose the last strength in your legs. If not for Jumin's quick reaction, you would have collapsed.

"(Y/N)?" He murmurs, holding you up. He uses his thumb to wipe your tears away. "Shit. Please don't cry, (Y/N), please." Jumin cradles you, and you let out a distressed sob.

You'd thought you were finally free, but your mother just demonstrated that it doesn't matter how far you flee or who you're with—the abuse will never end.

"Everything will be okay," Jumin murmurs, picking you up and carrying you bridal style. You continue to cry into his chest. Nothing will be okay. If your future had been sealed before, now it's airtight. Your mother won't let you do anything to change that.

You whimper as Jumin sets you down on the cold countertop in the kitchen, still half-naked. You tremble when he momentarily steps away, but Jumin is quick to pull you back into his arms once he has an ice cube in his hand. The kiss of the ice is biting as he rubs circles into your thigh, but it's still nothing compared to the pain of when she was actively harming you.

"Everything will be okay," Jumin repeats.

No, it won't, you want to scream at him, but your current state renders you unable to do anything more than tremble in his arms.

Before you register it, Jumin has carried you to what you imagine is his bedroom, lying you delicately under the several blankets. He never releases you, never halts his ministrations with the ice, never stops wiping your tears away.

He doesn't leave your side, not even for a second.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N)" Jumin murmurs once your cries have died down. "If I'd known that she'd...I wouldn't have...it's my fault. I'm so sorry."

You offer Jumin a weak smile, hating the expression of guilt he's wearing. He looks better when he's smiling.

"Don't blame yourself," You finally manage to say. "It's over. She's gone, and I won't need to see her for a long time."

At the back of your mind, you recall her words about Chairman Han. He wishes to wed you immediately.

"The future might be set in stone, but we have the present, don't we?" You say weakly, smiling up at Jumin.

"Don't think like that," He protests, pulling you up so he can look you directly in the eyes. "I'll get you out of this. You don't need to marry my father. You can marry...someone different."

"Someone like you, you mean?" You respond. The very thought brings a smile to your face. "I can't. I'm destined to be with your father. It's...it's for the best."

"Best for who? If you marry my father, only he gets happiness, and that's if you manage to convince him that you're genuinely in love with him. That's one person. But if we were to be together," Jumin brings a hand to cup your cheek. "Then the two of us are happy."

"When I wed your father, it won't just be him who's happy. It'll be the whole world. And the media. Everyone in C&R. And...and I think it'll make my mother happy."

Jumin instantly frowns when he hears that last part. "How could you compromise your own happiness for hers? She's abusive, (Y/N). She just burned you with a ci—"

"She's my mother," You say firmly.

"Adoptive mother."

"Exactly. She chose me because she wanted me to bring her happiness...and I stole her happiness when Father protected me from that car and sacrificed his life for mine. If I can give her even a little bit of it back..."

"Don't do this," Jumin whispers. "Don't let yourself get trapped in the guilt."

You sigh.

"I don't have any other choice, Jumin. If I displease Mother, you know what will happen."

"I'd protect you," Jumin murmurs, his voice getting desperate. "I'd do everything I could for you."

But you can't accept his love.

"I know you would, Jumin." You tell him, leaning your forehead against his as you did just last night. Only this time, the atmosphere is gloomy and miserable, both your minds heavy with the knowledge that your futures lies not in each other, but along separate paths.

And no amount of love, passion, or desire will be able to change that.

MASTERLIST

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | ✔

Word count: 3.5k

Notes: Woohooo! My hand has (mostly) healed and I am back in action! All the ideas have been stacking up - you're going to get so much content from me these next few days. :D And this series will officially begin updating on Saturdays AND Wednesdays! Whooopeeee! (sorry im so happy to finally be able to write again)

Comment & Like

Next Update: 4/29/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

69 notes · View notes

loganscanons · 3 years

Text

Unfinished Business - ch. 1, pt. 3

Summary: Makani finds out why Ismena broke off their friendship.

Chapters: First | Previous | Next

They are fated to sit across from each other, separated by a circular table, Makani thinks as she picks at the frayed edge of a yellow placemat on the Karagiannis’s table. Under Ismena’s gaze, a calculating, analyzing gaze, Makani realizes she never asked Ismena what, in the end, made her decide to leave. As long as she’s making an attempt at self-betterment, she might as well learn what drove people away in the past. If she knows, she can avoid repeating those actions with Precious.

The question is abrupt and heavy in the silent room, a weight swinging in the air, “What did I do that made you decide to leave?”

If Ismena is surprised by the question, she doesn’t show it. Her expression remains unchanged, and she draws in a deep breath. “It was a build-up of things overtime,” she answers.

“Was there a specific moment that made you realize you wanted to leave?” she asks. She needs specifics.

Ismena sits quietly for a moment, leaning back in her chair again. Her gaze drifts away from Makani, and she worries her lower lip between her teeth as she considers the question. The clock on the wall behind Ismena ticks slowly, and Makani watches the secondhand move. The kettle begins to whistle. Ismena doesn’t move or pull herself completely out of her thoughts, but the burner flicks off and the kettle lifts into the air. The whistle falls silent. A cabinet door squeaks open, and two mugs drift down to an open space on the counter.

“What kind of tea do you want?” Ismena asks, staring into space.

“Whatever you’re having.”

The pantry opens. Two tea bags make their way out of the darkness of the pantry and settle snuggly at the bottom of the mugs. Still in the air, the kettle moves over each mug in turn, pouring hot water without a single drop landing on the countertop. The kettle returns to the stove, landing on a different burner.

“Milk? Sugar? Honey?” Ismena asks, her eyes flicking briefly to Makani.

“No, thanks.”

The mugs move across the kitchen, as if toted by an invisible waiter. Ismena holds her hand out for hers, grabbing hold of the handle without looking. Makani’s lands gently on the table in front of her. She’s impressed. She knows Ismena isn’t trying to show off – Ismena was never one to gloat – but to perform such magic without lifting so much as a finger suggests a deep understanding of the craft. And to do it while focused on something else is even more impressive. Makani smiles to herself as she gazes down into the steeping tea.

“It was when you suggested hexing the coworker that was annoying me,” Ismena says finally, turning her full attention to Makani. “That was my breaking point.”

“Really?” Makani asks, allowing herself a moment of genuine surprise. She suggests hexing people all the time, but unless it’s for business purposes, she’s usually suggesting it in jest.

“He was just a guy,” she says. “A bit annoying. But just a guy. An innocent person.”

“Nobody’s innocent,” Makani says. “Everyone is guilty of something.”

A sad smile touches Ismena’s lips, “That is an unfortunate view to have of the world.”

Makani shrugs, unaffected. She’s never met anyone who wasn’t guilty of something. Even Ismena has skeletons in her closet.

She asks, “Why that moment? I don’t remember it, but wasn’t I joking if the annoyance was so trivial?”

“You were,” she says. Her voice is low. The rich tone is enchanting without Ismena intending so. If only Ismena had had fewer morals. The two of them would have been unstoppable. “But I realized in that moment how little human life means to you. And I knew what you were capable of. I knew you would never care about me the way I cared about you, and I knew I didn’t want to become the villain in anyone’s story.”

Makani looks at Ismena, her expression neutral as she considers Ismena’s words. Ismena always had a way of pulling Makani out of her flippant, flirty attitude, guiding her to serious rumination, even if only for a few short minutes. As Makani lets herself be serious for a moment, Ismena’s eyes don’t venture from Makani. She’s not uncomfortable under Makani’s intense gaze, as people often are. She sits with the easy grace of a sage old witch, who has seen too much of the world to let herself be bothered by someone else.

What a pair they could’ve been. Ismena’s unflinching nerve combined with Makani’s brash boldness. The combined power of their magics. The way they could make others squirm with just a look. Nothing would have been able to stop them.

“Why do you ask?” Ismena queries. “You’ve never cared before. What’s changed?”

Makani is tempted to say she was just curious, but Ismena knows her better than that. She’d see right through the lie. But to tell the truth is a risk. To trust someone with information that could be used against her. If any witch can take her in a fight, Makani knows it’s Ismena. Not only does she know Makani better than most, maybe even as well as Precious does, she knows Makani’s weaknesses, her vices, her magic. And Ismena’s powerful. If the casual use of magic to make tea is any indication, magic has become as easy as breathing for her.

But, in all their years of separation, Ismena has never betrayed Makani’s trust.

As she answers, Makani doesn’t attempt to add false lightness to her words. She speaks delicately, bares her true feelings. “I’m making an effort to better myself.”

“Really?” Ismena asks. Her lip twitches as she tries to hold back an amused smile. “And why is that?”

“My roommate, Precious,” Makani says. She chooses her words carefully, trying to make it clear that for once, she’s being serious. “I care about her, maybe as much as you once cared about me. I’m not sure. Recently, I upset her by…by being me. Enough that she almost moved out. And I don’t want that.

“So,” Makani says with a smile, “I’m turning over a new leaf. A new me.”

For a moment, Ismena says nothing, just stares at her with a considerate frown. She’s never known Makani to change for anyone, to want to make anyone more comfortable. In her experience, it’s always been the opposite, with Makani trying to make people uncomfortable. But there’s no flippant cadence to her tone. Against all odds, Makani seems to genuinely care.

Ismena smiles warmly and says, “I hope that works out for you, Makani. I really do. She must really be special to make you question your morals.”

Though she doesn’t say it out loud, she also hopes it works out for Precious too. She doesn’t need to know Precious to worry about her. Ismena knows what it’s like to be the object of Makani’s affection. She knows how enchanting Makani can be, in spite of her cruelty.

“I’m not questioning them.” Makani says. “I’m just not acting on them anymore. As much.”

Ismena lets out a quick laugh, “Well, I guess that’s about all one could ask of someone like you.”

A comfortable silence falls between them. The room buzzes with the warm memories of old friendship, a few moments where they both let themselves feel the way they once did for each other, without the burden of animosity and years gone by between them. Silently, each woman turns over remembrances of happiness and camaraderie that she’ll never experience again, at least not with the woman who sits across from her.

The reverie is broken by the scrape of a key trying to find its way into the lock. Ismena stands, knowing her mother is due to arrive home with groceries for tonight’s dinner. The door swings open before she reaches it, and sure enough, her mother stands in the threshold, bogged down by two arms full of groceries. She’s a small, round woman, with tanned olive skin and the same pointed lips as her daughter. Her eyes are a warm honey brown, and they light up as Ismena meets her at the door and she sees Makani at the kitchen table.

Ismena takes the grocery bags from her mother, relieving her of the burden; a few bags float in the air alongside her. The pantry and refrigerator doors swing open as she begins to sort through the bags. Items surf the air to their allotted spots in the kitchen, drifting lazily past Ismena as they go.

“Makani!” Eleni says, spreading her arms wide. The cheery woman leans down a few inches, and wraps her arms around Makani in an affectionate, maternal hug. She smells of flour and rose perfume. Makani turns in her chair and returns the hug with a warmth she doesn’t actually feel, then lets the woman kiss her once on each cheek. “It is so good to see you! Are you staying for lunch? We love to have you.” She clasps her hands together, grinning broadly. How two people who express everything like an overzealous lead in a high school play ended up with a daughter so composed and reserved is a mystery to Makani.

“I would love to,” Makani lies. “But unfortunately, I have prior commitments I need to attend to.”

Makani exchanges a sidelong glance with Ismena. And your daughter doesn’t want me around.

“Ah, what a shame,” she tuts, her lower lip pushing out into a dramatic pout as she leans in to give Makani another hug. “You are welcome anytime. You can come for another day soon. When are you free?” She has the same Greek accent as Ioannis, and her words tumble out quickly and enthusiastically.

“I’d love to,” she says again. “I’m unavailable for the foreseeable future, though. After this week, I’ll be out of town for a while.”

Because she’s looking at Eleni, Makani doesn’t see Ismena’s head whip around, but she can feel her eyes on her, boring into the back of her head.

Makani continues, “I can pay you a visit when I return. I’ve missed your cooking.” That much is true. “I came by today to pick up an order and say hi.”

“Ah, yes, yes! Ioannis tells me that your order is ready whenever you are ready,” Eleni says. “But stay for a bit longer! It has been so long since I saw that beautiful face of yours.” She cups Makani’s face in her aging hands.

“I wish I could,” Makani lies. “But I need to get going. I have to deliver the order of lamb to my friend before a meeting this afternoon. I’m glad I got to see you before I left, though, even if it’s just for a moment.”

As Eleni pulls her hands away, beaming at Makani, Makani pushes the kitchen chair back and stands.

“Yes, so good to see you,” Eleni says. “Come to visit when you get back to Chicago, yes?”

“Of course,” Makani says with a grin.

From behind her, Ismena’s low voice says, “I’ll walk you out, Makani.”

Before Eleni can lengthen the goodbyes, making Makani promise to call and visit, asking if she can’t stay for just a little bit longer so she can take some food with her, lamenting how infrequently they get to see her, Ismena walks swiftly to the door and holds it open.

“Goodbye, Eleni,” Makani says. “I was good to see you.”

“Yes, goodbye, Makani. Come back soon. Do not be a stranger!” she calls after Makani as Ismena pulls the door shut behind them.

At the bottom of the stairs, Makani turns and reaches for the door to the small storage area, but Ismena stops her, placing her hand on Makani’s wrist.

“You’re leaving Chicago?” Ismena asks. Her warmth from the kitchen is gone. Makani meets her cold, untrusting gaze.

“For a little while, yeah,” she answers.

“Why?” Her eyes narrow.

Makani gives her a playful smile, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Ismena.”

She quirks an eyebrow.

“I have some unfinished business to take care of,” Makani says. Ismena continues to stare at her with suspicion. “Like Hugo; you remember him?”

Ismena jolts. She could never forget Hugo, as much as she wants to. Her words tumble out, caught off guard by the mention of him. She says, “Hugo? What are you going to do with him? You can’t kill him.”

“I know,” she says, curling her upper lip in annoyance. Then, she sighs, “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. New leaf, remember?”

“Uh-huh,” Ismena says, sounding not at all convinced. “Well, best of luck to you. And if you do see Hugo, be sure to give him my regards and tell him I hope he rots in the deepest pit of hell, forgotten by anyone he’s ever cared about.”

Makani raises her eyebrows and laughs sharply, “Boy, Ismena, why don’t I just stab him for you too?”

“No need. He’ll get what’s coming to him,” Ismena says flatly.

“Ominous,” Makani says with a grin, wiggling her fingers in Ismena’s direction.

This time, when Makani reaches for the door, Ismena doesn’t stop her, and they pass into the chilled storage area.

“I can help you bring the lamb to your car,” Ismena says, offering not out of kindness but a personal feeling of obligation.

Makani says her thank yous and goodbyes to Ioannis, which Ismena cuts short before Ioannis can let it to go on for too long. The two carry the meat to Makani’s car in a nearby parking garage and pack it into a large cooler that’s waiting in the back seat.

As Makani slides into the driver’s seat, Ismena crosses her arms and says, “I hope things work out for you, Makani.”

Makani smiles and says, “See you around, Ismena,” then pulls the car door closed.

Arms still crossed, Ismena turns, heading toward the parking garage exit. Makani turns on the car and watches her walk away as she considers which errand she should run next. Daisy or Carm? Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and she cranks down her window.

“Hold on, Ismena,” she calls out. Ismena turns with a questioning look, one eyebrow raised.

“What?” she asks, taking a few tentative steps toward the car.

“There’s something I should tell you,” Makani says. She pulls back from the window and grabs her bag from the passenger seat. She rummages through it until she finds a scrap of paper and a pen. As Ismena nears, Makani flicks through her phone and scribbles three names and three numbers onto the scrap of paper.

“What is it?” Ismena asks, still a few feet from the car. She bends down and tilts her head to get a better look at Makani.

Makani glances in her rearview and side mirrors, then to Ismena. The parking garage is empty. She holds the paper out to Ismena, held between her forefinger and middle finger.

“What is this?” she asks, taking the paper.

“There are witch hunters in Chicago,” Makani says.

The soft, natural glow of Ismena’s cheeks drains away, and her eyes widen. Old memories, old fears strike her heart. Then, she composes herself, straightening her back as she takes a deep breath. Witch hunters aren’t as much of a threat to her now. She can hold her own.

“Those are the numbers of a few witches I know in the area. Might be good to get in contact with them,” Makani shrugs.

“Precious, Aoife, and Carmen?” Ismena frowns at the numbers scrawled on the paper.

“Yeah. You’d probably get along with Carmen,” she says with a grin. “She doesn’t like me. And I wouldn’t complain if you kept an eye on Precious.”

Ismena nods, “I will keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“See you around, darling,” Makani grins. Ismena doesn’t have a chance to respond; Makani is already pulling out of the parking space and heading for the exit.

#makani calipusan #ismena karagiannis #my writing #unfinished business

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kaeda-the-wolf · 4 years

Text

Guerra

Summary

Part 1: Close to the Heart

Warnings: Some language

Author’s note at the end.

His day goes from bad to absolute shit in a matter of seconds.

"Lieutenant Carrillo, General Giménez wants to speak with you."

Those words ring through his head like a high pitched bell that's been rung too close to the ear and he responds only with a mute nod as he tries to figure out what in the hell he's done that has caught the attention of the General this time.

Whatever it is, he's not about to apologize for it. His new position carried a purpose, and that purpose was leadership. He couldn't lead men who were incompetent at what they were doing, not when civilians depended on them to protect and uphold order, and if the cure to any incompetence was more drills, more training, then so be it.

He wouldn't accept anything other than the best. He wanted his men to be the best.

Sure, making Trujillo and a couple of his buddies do extra combat drills in the grueling heat and humidity that'd been plaguing Medellin for the last week because they were doing a little too much goofing off was a bit of an asshole move, but it would make them better officers in the long run.

If his actions had pissed them off, then so be it; he wasn't afraid to step on some toes. Being in an authoritative position isn't synonymous with being a friend.

Besides, it wasn't like they'd have been any cooler inside; the air conditioning on base had been messed up for days.

Better to get the ass chewing over with now, he decides, getting up from his desk. The moment he moves, though, he remembers just how hot and miserable he is. The shirt he's wearing beneath his uniform practically sticks to him from sweat, his neck is killing him because he's spent most of the day doing paperwork, and if that wasn't bad enough, the office itself is even worse. The air is stale and smokey from too many cigarettes being lit at once by people who would rather just suffocate everyone around them than go out in the sun, and it smells so fucking bad that its making him regret eating lunch.

I just want to go home.

Lieutenant Carrillo takes his time as he makes his way to General Giménez's office. He's not in any hurry to get an earful from his boss, but at the same time he knows he can't avoid it, so when he steps up to the door, he doesn't hesitate to knock. Giménez's door is wide open just like it always is, but the air doesn't smell as bad here, much to Carrillo's relief.

What's even more relieving than that, though, is the way the General smiles upon looking up.

"Ah, Lieutenant," he greets cheerfully, "come on in, son! Come in!"

"You asked for me, sir," Carrillo replies, shutting the door behind him, just in case he is actually about to get his ass chewed and the General is only lulling him into a false sense of security.

"Yes. I have something I wanted to show you," Giménez replies, and Carrillo can't help but wonder why the man is in such a jovial mood as he empties out a large yellow envelope onto his desk. Pictures scatter across the desk, but in the midst of all of them, he thinks he spots a letter as well. General Giménez searches through the photographs -Carrillo doesn't bother to look too closely at them, because it's none of his business- for a moment, until he finds the one he seems to be after.

"You remember my daughter, don't you?"

A familiar face with hazel eyes and a mischievous smile framed by long pitch black hair flashes in his mind's eye, and suddenly it feels like he's been kicked in the chest.

Carrillo had been so busy with his career for the last couple of years that he hadn't thought of her nearly as much as he once had, but he most certainly remembered General Giménez's eldest child. Of course he remembered Elena, they'd been best friends when they were kids. He could never forget her, not when the pain of her absence still stung, even though it had been… what, almost five years since he'd seen her last?

"Of course I remember her, sir," Carrillo replies, trying to keep his voice even and cool.

General Giménez smiles, eyes lit with a knowing glint.

"Good," Giménez chuckles, "I would hope so; you two were basically attached at the hip until her mother moved her and Luís to Miami."

There's a hint of bitterness in the General's words that Carrillo can relate to. He knows how upset Giménez had been to find out that not only was his wife leaving him, she was taking their children, too. If there was anyone who may have missed Elena more than Carrillo had, it was Antonio Giménez, and even that was debatable. Carrillo had spent more than a few nights lying wide awake, wondering how she was doing, wondering if she'd missed him as much as he did her.

"You know, I hadn't heard from her since she left for Maimi?" That doesn't surprise Carrillo. He hadn't heard from her, either.

"But then," Giménez continues, "I got a letter in the mail one day. At first I couldn't believe it, but once I saw her handwriting, I knew it was from her."

There's a beat of silence, and in that moment as Giménez glances down at the photos on the desk that Elena had sent, it becomes very apparent how much the man has missed his family.

"She doesn't write very often; she stays pretty busy with school," he says quietly, voice laced with damn near obvious regret. "But when she does… Ah, well. You probably don't want to hear about my feelings, do you?"

Actually, Carrillo thinks to himself when General Giménez chuckles slightly in an attempt to seem as excited as he initially had, it's nice to know there's someone else who understands how I've felt without her here.

"Anyway, Horacio," Giménez says softly, pulling him out of his thoughts. In the General's outstretched hand is the one photograph he'd picked from the pile.

"I figured you might appreciate her life update as much as I did," he says as Carrillo takes it from him. Giménez says something else, something about how he'd give him more photographs if he wasn't so selfish, but those words fall on deaf ears. Carrillo is far more focused on the picture where his best friend seems to be staring directly into his soul. There's a bright smile on her face and the expression goes straight to his heart; she's in the middle of laughing about something and he swears he can almost hear her fits of giggles.

For a moment, he's taken back to an old memory, one where she's laughing at him for having busted his ass trying to do something -he can't remember what- stupid. Her hair is pulled up into a short, messy ponytail, she's wearing ripped jeans and a black shirt that he's pretty sure actually belonged to him at one point, because it's way too big on her, and… damn.

The longer he looks, the more his chest starts to ache.

She's obviously older in this picture; her dark hair is longer than he's ever seen it, her skin isn't as tan, and she's wearing a deep blue dress that looks impossibly pretty on her. Carrillo doesn't know how recent this photo is, but her eighteenth birthday had been last month. Maybe that was what these photos were from?

"That's one of her graduation photos," Giménez explains, almost as if he can read Carrillo's thoughts.

"She is doing well, then," Carrillo questions, genuinely curious, because other than showing him this one photo, the general had said little in regards to how Elena was actually doing. She looked happy enough in the photo, but looks could be deceiving.

When Giménez nods in response, Carrillo manages a small smile, though he doubts it even looks slightly convincing. It was good to have some insight into how she'd been over the last few years, but that didn't change the fact that he would much prefer to have her back home.

"That's good. I'm glad to hear that," Carrillo responds quietly, his gaze going back to the photo in his hand. Eyeing it intently, he tries to commit every detail to memory. The silence that has filled the room draws out, growing more oppressive the longer he looks, and finally, he can't take it anymore. Carrillo lifts his eyes back to Giménez, but he's still reluctant to hand the picture over, tapping it against his thumb absentmindedly.

He's pretty sure that if he looked in the mirror right now, he'd be dangerously close to looking more like a lovesick teenager than a police officer.

"I appreciate the update, General," Carrillo says, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. It takes far too much effort to make the words flow and he's gritting his teeth in an attempt to keep his emotions at bay.

He hadn't been prepared for a trip down memory lane when he walked into the General's office.

Trying not to make it obvious that the thought of parting with the photograph in his hand is absolutely killing him, he holds it out for Giménez to take.

It's completely and utterly miraculous that his hand stays steady.

"Oh, no. You keep that, Horacio."

Once again, he feels like he's been kicked in the chest.

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Of course I'm sure," Giménez counters without a second thought, and Carrillo can't keep the smile off of his face. General Giménez returns it, but then his face goes straight, and there's a look in his eyes that Carrillo can't quite decipher.

"Listen, Horacio," Giménez starts, and his near dire sounding tone has Carrillo's undivided attention. "You're a career man, just like me. I've served Colombia for many years, and I'm very proud of that. I am not at all trying to say that you shouldn't do the same, but… take it from an old dog like me -and you may not understand the importance of this now, because you're young, but one day you're going to have a family of your own- don't dedicate everything you've got to this job. Remember that there is no criminal out there who can do so much harm that bringing them down should take precedence over the people who love you. Remember to cherish your friends and loved ones in your life. Don't do what I have done and wait until you don't have much time left to give them."

Carrillo raises an eyebrow at that. What was that supposed to mean?

"What do you mean you 'don't have much time left', sir?"

"Never mind that, Horacio. It's just a figure of speech, really," Giménez replies quickly, and Carrillo has the sinking suspicion that his words aren't just a figure of speech.

"Just promise me… just promise me, son, that you'll take heed to what I'm telling you. Don't make the same mistakes I have."

Carrillo is slow to reply; he doesn't really understand where the General is coming from, throwing all of this at him, but he suspects it has something to do with Elena getting back in touch with him, so he takes it in stride.

"Of course, sir. I promise."

And he does try to keep that promise. He's a man of his word, after all,honest and true. It's the passage of time -of years- that makes those words become more fuzzy, their meaning not as potent.

The General's words drift to the very back of his mind, buried under career advancements, starting a family.

Life is good.

But, you know what they say: nothing good lasts forever.

And for Carrillo? If he'd have at all known what kind of hell was coming… He'd have held General Giménez's words closer to heart.

A lot closer.

_______

A/N: Wooo, General Giménez comin’ in hot with that life advice. This is a prologue chapter of sorts. A young 20 something Horacio Carrillo who is a natural born leader but also feels like he has to PROVE he’s a good leader was too fun of a concept not to toy with a little bit. This is set about 15 years PRIOR to the actual story. What do you all think so far?

Behind the scenes note about the title: I changed the title for this half a dozen times but eventually just went with my original idea. This was initially meant to be a one chapter, quick fic. My initial concept for this was that it was meant to just be my girl, Elena, and Carrillo getting caught up in the realities of the all out war going on around them, and they end up sharing a moment despite the fact that they shouldn't. The basic thought behind it was the whole 'we could die tomorrow, so fuck it. Let's do something stupid.' Carpe Diem, baby (Carpe Diem was one of my title ideas.) That didn't quite sit right after I thought about it for a while, though, so I decided to give the two more of a history, just to make the story a bit more well rounded. The concept of two people making a reckless decision in the midst of war became more of a background theme because of this, but it's still there underneath it all, hence why I kept the title of 'Guerra' (war).

The title also comes from this song.

@1zashreena1 @chelsfic @squidlywiddly87 @sparrows-books

#Horacio Carillo #elena gimenez #narcos #narcos fanfic #guerra #writing #i think i got all the tags

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reformedkingsmanagent · 5 years

Text

A Werewolf in Vizima — Part 2

A/N: I decided to break up the last bit into two pieces, for my own sanity, otherwise I’d continuously edit and re-edit the same bits over and over again because I’m never satisfied. I really hope this is okay, and I promise, in the next one things will pick up drastically. Thanks so much for spending your time here, I truly appreciate it. Accepting any/all criticism and suggestions. Also, a friendly reminder, this is much less based on CD Project Red’s interpretation of Geralt and more focused on what I anticipate the new Netflix series will look like. AKA I really just like Henry, alright? There, I said it. Now try to enjoy.

[PART 1] [PART 3] [PART 4]

“And you’re sure she hasn’t been out?”

The matron looked horrified. “A young, ill woman like herself? Absolutely not. She wouldn’t have even made it down the steps on her own.”

Geralt had to admit, for all his theories on the way over, he didn’t smell dog. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if he’d just stepped into a completely different issue entirely as his eyes traced the runes carved into the inside of the wooden doorframe.

He looked towards the various gifts and plates gathered around Johanna’s door, none of the items touched. “Well liked.”

“Yes. She has quite a few admirers, and good friends as well. This is a terrible thing to happen to such a lovely young woman. Everyone hopes she’ll pull through before winter comes.”

Geralt wasn’t listening anymore, he was looking deeper, vision swimming slightly with every subtle turn of his head, looking for something—

“Pleasemyheadissplittingmakeitstopmakeitstop—”

He could smell the antiseptic chemicals, the much softer iron leftover from cleaning her wounds. Not the werewolf he was looking for, but there was definitely something off about it all.

“She’s extremely ill,” he interrupted.

“We’ve done all we can for her,” the matron insisted. “She just needs to rest and the fever will pass on its own.”

“I think if you let me take a look at her, I could help. She needs someone who—”

“I’ll not be releasing her to the care of some sorceress, or yourself, for that matter. Whatever you might think, Witcher, I assure you, there’s nothing more to be done.” The thinly-veiled insult fell off Geralt’s shoulders, as he was much more concerned with the suffering young woman on the other side of that door. With the woman standing in front of him so entrenched in the idea that she knew what was best for poor Johanna, Geralt knew he’d get nowhere himself.

“She is beyond your care.”

His pleas made no difference.

The matron crossed her arms over her chest, her impatience clear. “I’ve had enough of you nosing around. You can leave. Or shall I call for one of the guards?”

The busy streets offered Geralt a chance to clear his head. He zoned out briefly, the din of evening conversation filling his head as he thought out his next move.

Definitely still looking for a Werewolf, he mused, images of the disemboweled guards filling his head. Unusual to find one hiding so well in the city. Someone should’ve noticed its comings and goings.

The trail had gone cold just a few feet after turning off the main street, a problem the expert tracker wasn’t used to having, but such is the reality of trying to track footsteps in a city with paved streets. It didn’t help that the streets were absolutely filthy, a by-product of being at the center of all the major trade routes across the region.

Still, the captain of the guard had mustered up quite a large purse of coin to see this dealt with, before any more lives were lost. He needed to return to the scene, to try again to catch a scent, anything that would help.

“Help me.”

It was whispered weakly, but it reached Geralt’s ear anyway. He squeezed his eyes shut. This girl, something is very wrong here. Geralt couldn’t shake off the desire to figure this one out, even without the lure of coin, though the woman in charge was proving to be quite an obstacle.

Just then a laugh cut through everything, clear as day. There you were, crossing the street, large bag slung over your shoulder to hold the supplies you were surely taking home. Milla, the tavern owner, walked beside you, sharing your laughter.

Geralt had an idea.

***

“Can you believe the nerve of him? I almost whacked him over the head with the Erveluce, and what a waste that would’ve been!”

“I definitely believe it. Some people think they deserve the world—”

As you spread your arms wide, embellishing your mocking tone, a gloved hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you from smacking the new arrival in the face.

“What—”

Your shock was short-lived as you locked eyes with the Witcher from before, the one who’d mocked your meager resources and left a sour taste in your mouth as you cursed him while cleaning up.

A firm stare-down later, he released your wrist.

A gentle hand met your shoulder and you turned to see Milla smiling, her meddling obvious to anyone who knew what to look for. “I’ve got to head back. You’ll see her home safe, sir?”

Geralt nodded. You watched her go, shooting her a ‘how dare you’ look until she was a good distance away and the quiet was uncomfortable.

“I need to ask you a favor,” Geralt began, sounding hesitant.

Good. A chance to counter with all the words you’d been stewing over throughout the day.

“Is there pay involved? Much like you, Witcher, I now only work for coin, and as you are well aware, I possess but a pittance at the moment.”

The words cut the way they were meant to, but Geralt recognized that there was less malice in your voice than just genuine hurt, as much as you tried to hide it.

“I’ve offended you.”

“No, no, certainly not.” It was difficult to hide your grin as his expression changed to register that this wasn’t going to be a simple ask.

He sighed, moving in front of you to prevent you from continuing on past him. “This is important, I need your help.”

He sounded serious enough that you briefly considered giving up on your crusade. Briefly.

“My help? What on earth could I help you with, Witcher?”

“Geralt,” he muttered, eyes glancing skyward while he tried to shake off the annoyance that rose in him. It shouldn’t bother him that much, but there was something about you calling him ‘witcher’ that felt wrong, as if you too thought of him as the mud and shit caked on the bottom of your shoe.

“What?”

“My name. Geralt. I’d rather you didn’t—”

“Call you by your profession? What, like barmaid?” You stepped around his imposing figure, interested in getting home before dark, especially as you didn’t expect he’d actually walk you home. Besides, did he forget? There was a monster on the prowl.

“I didn’t realize you were so easily bothered.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault, is it?” As you glanced over your shoulder, you were startled to realize he was right behind you.

“You are…”

“What? Difficult? Obstinate?”

“...different.”

You didn’t have a good response for being called different, and you weren’t sure if it was an insult or a compliment. Almost sounded like a compliment. Fortunately, you were relieved of the need to come up with a witty answer as he fell in step beside you.

“It’s about Johanna,” he finally explained. “I think there’s more to this.”

“Are you done thinking she’s a murderer?”

“Of the guards in the square? Yes. Can’t rule her out completely though, not without your help.”

“Why me?”

“You’re the only access I have to her.”

“But I don’t have access. That woman forces me out if I linger too long. I won’t be allowed in.”

He stayed quiet for a good while, following dutifully beside you as you took the winding way home. You noticed all the stares and harsh looks he was receiving, along with people giving him—and you, by extension—a very, very wide berth.

“The only thing I’m sure of is if things stay as they are, she’ll be dead inside of a few days.”

“What’s wrong with her?” You felt a bit lightheaded at the news. Johanna, dead? In days? He had to be wrong.

“Not entirely sure, but it’s beyond traditional healing. Her sickness, I don’t get the sense it’s entirely natural. There were some carvings in the doorframe. Could be nothing, but…”

“Could be something?”

“Is something. Just not sure what. And that’s what I need you to find out for me. I’m still on a hunt, and I need to take care of it before someone else gets gutted in the street, but if you could trace the runes, give them to me, I can ask someone for help.”

“Another Witcher?”

“A sorceress. You’ve probably already heard of her—Keira Metz.”

“Advisor to Foltest himself? How on earth do you have such high friends?”

“Done a few favors for Foltest in the past.”

“Not favors though, you got paid, right?”

“No matter how much he pays, he always expects something more in return. It’s the risk you take, doing work for a King.”

“What sort of favors would a king need?”

“The kind I’m not quick to talk about,” Geralt answered, shooting you an amused glance. Still, the message was received and you kept quiet, mulling over the news about Johanna.

As the path home wound higher up the hill, you redoubled your grip on the bag slung across your chest, grateful for the supplies, but cursing having to carry them.

“Need some help with that?”

He held out a hand to you, and while you detected no catch to his offer, you still declined, shaking your head.

“I’m fine.”

He let out a chuckle, and the smile that spread across his face was visible even in profile. You forced yourself to look down, pretending it had anything to do with not stumbling over your own feet.

It’s nothing, put it right out of your mind.

His earlier words echoed in your ear. ‘It’s something.’

“Do you usually take the long way around?” he asked.

Your face burned. He knew, of course he knew. He’s probably been up and down these streets a million times before.

“Just wanted to be able to yell at you for a little while longer.”

“Feel any better?” He stopped on the corner, forcing you to turn around to face him.

The last bit of sunlight reflected in his amber eyes, his slight squint only adding to how disarming he looked for the moment. With the top half of his hair pulled back out of his face, he looked much less intimidating.

“Not sure. Somehow I think you might’ve got off easy…”

You trailed off as a scream filled the evening air. You didn’t know why, but it sent your pulse racing. Geralt took only moments to process it before running towards the end of the street, in search of the source. After his monster.

You followed him.

#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #the witcher #yeah it's focused on the netflix series that we know absolutely nothing about #hope you like it!#henry cavill honestly

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bladesoflightandshadow · 5 years

Text

indefinitely [lucas/mc]

note: hi! hello! i wrote another thing! finally! this one was actually supposed to be part of a series of ficlets based on a prompt list which i abandoned, but i think it holds its own well enough to post. i know the ‘character has bad dreams and has their partner comfort them’ trope is way overdone when it comes to the it lives series but like.....i love these two too much not to try

pairing: lucas x mc (everett walker)

word count: 1,947

warnings: discussions of trauma & anxiety, though nothing you haven’t already seen if you’ve read ilitw.

tagged: @teja-desai

summary: a late night talk with lucas has everett re-evaluating his feelings.

. . . . .

Everett learned quickly at the start of his and Lucas’s relationship that they’re both restless sleepers.

For Lucas, it’s always been like this—worrying about what he has to do in the day ahead or the day after tomorrow or what he did the day before and what went wrong and what could go wrong all keep him up—so sometimes he doesn’t bother with sleep at all, and it’s only made worse by the events of homecoming their senior year.

For Everett, it started in the weeks leading up to the homecoming incident. Despite numerous sleeping aids and therapy and God knows what else, sleep often feels like a trap he needs to outsmart, with memories of that night and of what Noah did and what he did always just in his periphery, waiting for the right time to strike.

Not to say that what happened didn’t affect their group of friends too, if seeing another one of them have a breakdown about it every week after the incident was any indication. But Everett never could shake the roiling guilt of feeling responsible for what happened to them—to his friends, to Jane, to Noah.

And it’s these thoughts that plague him while he’s lying awake in bed tonight, staring up at the ceiling.

When it becomes hard to breathe, he kicks his sheets away and paces the room, hugging himself as a sudden chill crawls up his spine. Everett contemplates going for a walk to clear his mind, but one look at the woods outside and just the thought of being anywhere near them makes him physically sick. He grabs his phone from his nightstand and sees that it’s 3 A.M. Knowing Lucas, he’s probably awake at this time too. Everett considers texting him to see if he’s awake, but his thumbs hover over the keyboard, worried that if Lucas is asleep, the sound might wake him up.

Before he can decide, though, a text appears on his phone screen, the sound startling him into dropping his phone. When he picks it up—unbroken, thank God, he can’t afford to ask for a new one—he sees that it’s from Lucas, seemingly having just read his mind.

Can’t sleep. Thinking about you.

He feels himself smile, almost involuntarily, as he types out a reply. When are you not thinking about me?

Ha. Then, after a beat: Rarely, to be fair.

Everett steps towards his bed and falls back onto it. I am a pretty good distraction, aren’t I?

Only the best. Everett sighs, momentarily forgetting why he was unable to sleep in the first place.

Lucas sends him another text. Can I call you? I miss your voice.

You spoke to me in person earlier today.

And what about it?

He closes the messaging app and finds Lucas’s number in his recent call history, the name in his contacts plastered with heart emotes. Lucas picks up almost immediately.

“Hey,” Everett says, quietly so as to not rouse his parents in the next room.

“Hey,” Lucas responds. “Sorry if I’m bothering you.”

Everett lifts his arm to cover his face, sighing slightly. “Nah, I was already awake. I was thinking of calling you too.”

Lucas hums in response. There’s a near-imperceptible edge to his voice, and he’s clearly agitated—more than usual, anyway. Everett asks him what’s wrong.

“Nothing?” A pause, in which Everett hopes to communicate the sentiment of, I know you too well. Don’t lie to me. “…Yeah, okay. Something’s wrong. It’s… it’s stupid.”

“Everything about our lives these past few months has been stupid,” Everett says, shifting around on the bed so that he’s under his duvet again. “Nothing you say can surprise me.”

Lucas lets out a half-hearted chuckle. “I suppose not.” He hesitates, then sighs. “It’s just… It’s the first time I’ve been home alone in a while. My dad’s away on some business trip and my mom is staying with family for the night, so I’m the only person in the house, which makes overthinking every sound I hear or every shadow I see a lot easier.” He sighs again. “It’s…childish, I know.”

“No, it’s not. Trust me. I… I get it.” Everett bites his lip, unsure of how else to reassure him when he’s not feeling any braver himself.

At his lack of response, Lucas asks, “What about you? Why are you awake?”

A pause. Everett closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “Oh, you know, the usual. Just trying to stave away the feeling of overwhelming guilt and fear over letting my childhood friends get hurt at the hands of a powerful supernatural being, two of which are now dead, while said supernatural being is probably still out there somewhere.”

There’s a silence that stretches on a beat too long. Everett starts chewing on his lower lip. “Sorry. That was too much.”

“No,” Lucas tells him. “No, you’re allowed to express how you’re feeling, even if it is through really morbid jokes.”

“Who says I was joking?”

He falls quiet again, and Everett’s worried he went too far this time, until he speaks again. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

Everett breathes in, slowly, shakily. “I know,” he whispers. “I know. Everyone keeps telling me. I know. But I also can’t fucking convince myself to believe it. So I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

“Hey.” There’s rustling on Lucas’s end. It sounds like he’s getting out of bed, or sitting up. “Do you want us to talk about something else?”

“Yes, please.” Everett thinks for a moment, rattling his brain for conversation topics. “Where’s your dog?”

“Tolkien?” More rustling on the other line as Lucas presumably moves to look for the terrier. “He’s sleeping on the floor next to me.”

“So you’re not really home alone after all.”

“I suppose. But Tolkien’s an old man. I don’t think he can do much to protect me.”

“I still can’t believe your parents let you name him that.”

He lets out a snort. “In all fairness, I was nine.”

Everett takes reprieve in the conversation shift, letting himself retreat into their usual banter. “You must’ve thought you were such a smartass, naming him after a writer that was way above everyone else’s reading level at the time.”

“You joke, but that was probably my exact thought process,” Lucas says, a smile in his voice. “Also, this is rich coming from the guy who named his cat Cattywampus.”

“Wampus is a business professional and she does not take well to your mockery.” Lucas laughs, the sound soft but genuine, and Everett allows himself to ease into the warmth of it.

Slowly, the fear that had kept them both awake fades into an afterthought, as they let the conversation carry them through to the early hours of the morning. When Everett wakes up, he’s relieved to find that one of them had, wittingly or not, ended the call before they fell asleep. His phone reads 11:36 A.M., and his heart jumps to his throat for a moment before he realises it’s a Saturday.

Almost without thinking, he taps Lucas’s name on his phone to call him again.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he answers, almost annoyingly chipper. Even when he’s barely gotten any sleep, Lucas can never bring himself to wake up later than 9 A.M., something Everett’s had to learn the hard way.

“Mornin’,” Everett murmurs through a yawn. “God, how are you such a morning person?”

He can hear the clattering of pots and pans from Lucas’s end. “Hmm, I guess it’s hard not to be one when I get to hear your voice first thing in the morning,” he says.

Everett roll his eyes, but even the tiredness can’t fend off his smile. “You didn’t even know I was gonna call you.”

“Wishful thinking?” More clattering. “I’m making breakfast. Or brunch, I guess. Do you want to come over?”

Groaning, Everett pulls the covers over his head to block the sunlight streaming directly onto his face. “Give me, like, an hour to feel alive again and then I’ll be there.”

“Alright. Let me know when you’re near.”

“I will. I love you.”

It goes quiet on Lucas’s line. Everett half expects him to have hung up, but one glance at his phone tells him he’s still there. There’s a long, long pause as Lucas takes in what he just said, and as Everett wakes up enough to realise what he just said.

“Oh,” he stutters. “Oh—shit, I’m sorry, that was…I know you said you wanted to take things slow, and I—agh, I’m sorry, Lucas—”

“Stop,” Lucas says, and his tone is gentle, but Everett’s heart still freezes in place. “Did you mean it?”

It takes him a few moments to collect his thoughts. Even in his morning bleariness, Everett knows the answer with clarity. Who else does he know that makes him feel this safe—this calm? Who else would Everett, without even thinking, want to call first thing in the morning, when he knows he sounds like absolute hell? Who else does he trust this much?

He breathes in, letting the feeling wash over him, and he wills his heart to calm down just long enough for him to speak.

“Yeah,” Everett exhales, and something like relief floods out of him. “Yeah. I did mean it.”

In all honesty, part of him had known for a while, yet there was always something, some nagging feeling putting him off from admitting it. They’d talked before about how they wanted to take things slow after everything that happened—to handle this relationship with the care it deserved, at least until they got to a point where things weren’t so fraught.

Yet, despite the anxiety that had kept him tossing and turning last night, Everett feels calmer than he’s been in weeks. Like Lucas’s mere presence through the phone were enough of a remedy for his nerves. His pulse is still hammering, but there’s no fear.

“Good. Because I love you too,” Lucas says, and he sounds… like he’s in awe of the fact. “I’ve known for a while. I just… I didn’t want to say it too soon, especially after I told you I wanted to take things slow…”

Everett is suddenly wide awake, unable to shake the giddy smile from his face. They both take a few moments to just bask in the revelation, the quiet between them profound and full of warmth. Love. They love each other. No holding back.

“You jerk,” Everett says suddenly. “You were waiting for me to say it first so you wouldn’t feel weird about it.”

On the other end, Lucas laughs, brightly, a sound Everett doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of. “And what are you going to do about it?”

“Uhh, hold it over your head for the rest of our lives?” He’s smiling so much his face aches. “Face it, Thomas, you weren’t man enough to say it first.”

“Pfft, you only said it on accident.”

“I at least demand a consolation prize!”

There’s movement on Lucas’s end, the scraping of a chair as he sits down. “Fine. Whatever you want, name it.”

Everett bites the inside of his cheek, lifting his free hand up to cover his face like it might stop the unadulterated joy from spilling out. His head is spinning. Is this what love is?

“Just keep saying it. That you love me.”

“That’s it?” There’s a smile in Lucas’s voice, too, like he can’t stop himself either. “Just keep telling you I love you, indefinitely?”

“Indefinitely. Yeah.” Everett laughs. “For as long as you can.”

And he does.

#playchoices #playchoices fanfic #it lives in the woods #lucas thomas #lucas thomas x mc #lucas x mc #i never know what to tag these how do u get attention for ur writing in this godforsaken fandom #anyway yeah it's 5am but i'm just gonna yeet this out there before i overthink myself out of existence bye !#my writing #long post #mc: everett walker #if i squint i think i can say im proud of this one

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scratchface · 5 years

Text

Ryoken and Playmaker’s Identity

Anon asked: “Hope it’s okay to ask. I find your analysis very interesting. How do you think Ryoken felt when he learned about Playmaker’s identity? What of his feelings when Yusaku told him they lived in the same world? And the recent development between him and Yusaku. Despite being rivals, Yusaku still sees him as his special person. How do you think Ryoken copes with that?”

Sorry this took so long! Let’s right down to it!

So at first, Revolver really didn’t care who Playmaker is, whether he managed to do what they couldn’t or not. He thought Playmaker was just another person that had a grudge against the Knights of Hanoi, because there are apparently quite a lot. And considering that most of the organization was just a means to an end, Ryoken felt like Playmaker and whatever he held against them was unimportant. Ryoken is always keeping the bigger picture in mind at this point; he’ll do whatever it takes to destroy the Ignis, no matter who gets hurt. The grievances of other people can’t compare with the big bad threat against humanity!

But as the duels go on, he gets more interested. Right up until Yusaku says “three things”.

Rev gasps then. As far as I know, this is the first moment we see Revolver have such a genuine reaction to anything since closing the Cyberse. Before this, it was all smirks and mocking and disregard. He’s caught off-guard, and you can see it on his face. He goes through a lot of emotions: surprise, disbelief, dismay, and then anger.

He seems betrayed. Even jumps to the assumption that Playmaker is helping SOL, even when he has evidence to the contrary. He’s angry and irrational in this moment, like he’s been hurt. More than his loss, this is what seems to hurt him most. Playmaker “choosing” SOL over him. Revolver perceives this as a sort of rejection, and feels wronged by it. Playmaker, as some nobody, hating Hanoi and “helping” SOL didn’t bother him in the slightest. But Playmaker, as the child he saved, hating Hanoi hits Ryoken hard.

When Kogami interferes, he snaps out of it. He recollects himself, and gets back into character as “Revolver”. Here we see Ryoken’s faith in “fate” kicking back in, and he retreats, knowing that this isn’t the end of the matter.

Upon his return, we see Ryoken scowling in the hall. He’s failed, lost an arm, and someone important to him has turned against him. This is the first time we’ve ever seen Revolver look so frustrated outside of the duel with Playmaker. He didn’t even make this kind of troubled expression when the Ignis they’d been hunting for ten years was captured by an enemy.

Kogami is right about Ryoken being shaken by the mention of the incident, but he seems to think that it is just because Yusaku is one of the victims, not a particular victim. It doesn’t seem like Kogami knows about his son talking with Yusaku during the incident. This may seem like a small detail, but it does suggest that Ryoken has been hiding everything in regards to his relationship with one of the test subjects from his father since the beginning. For someone who admires is father as much as Ryoken, who even compares his father to the gods, that Ryoken feels he needs to hide this tells us a lot about its relevance to his “mistake”: ending the Hanoi Project. Ryoken doesn’t want to bring up the victims, or at least one particular victim, around his father. We’ll get back to that later.

Meanwhile, Ryoken still seems to be in shock. His initial anger and betrayal givens way to doubt and disbelief. It seems rather like he doesn’t want to just accept it, but the evidence is right there and he can’t ignore it. He stands there processing it, taken aback by this turn of events. It’s pretty clear that Ryoken never saw this coming. Maybe because he reached out to Yusaku, or because Spectre came back, but either way, it doesn’t look like Ryoken was prepared for Yusaku to ever come back and challenge them. Who knows what he thought and hoped Yusaku was doing instead, but is seems he never even once considered the possibility.

But once he does process it and accept, Ryoken almost seems…okay with it? Not exactly resigned, not exactly glad, but he accepts it thoroughly. I believe what he feels from then on is a sort of kinship with Yusaku. Yusaku hasn’t been able to move on from what happened in their childhood either, Yusaku is still fighting, Yusaku can’t and won’t forget what happened—all those things seem very important to Ryoken.

Ryoken maybe even appreciates it, is grateful Yusaku hasn’t moved on. I think for Ryoken, Yusaku is proof that he’s not alone either. The two of them share a destiny. Ryoken clings to his father’s expectations of him, to be the savior of humanity, but every “hero” needs a “villain”, and I think part of Ryoken was relieved to find one in Yusaku. No doubt, this emotion intersected with Yusaku’s confession about living in the same world, because Ryoken knows all about feeling like you can only walk one path forward, about feeling isolated and trapped.

He uses his faith in destiny to cope with Yusaku being Playmaker, his “arch nemesis”, and he uses Playmaker to cope with what he sees as his “destiny”. The two feed into each other as Ryoken tries to keep himself together in the face of what the future holds, resulting in the obsession we see for the rest of the series.

The Knights of Hanoi have two plans to save humanity:

Plan A: Find Playmaker, take back the Dark Ignis, locate the Cyberse, and destroy it. Vyra makes the Another Virus to lure Playmaker out, the Generals all get comatized and trapped in the network (and they actually do uncover Playmaker’s identity, but we’ll get to that.)

Plan B: Nuke the Internet with the Tower, destroying the Cyberse and everything else.

They only need one plan to work, and Ryoken favors Plan A for all the wrong reasons.

If the program activated, Kogami would be a dead man all over again. But it seems like Ryoken was already resigned to this, as his main concern is not the impending death of his father or the thousands of others being placed in the line of fire, but finding Playmaker, the child from all the way back then. That in and of itself reveals a lot of the depth behind Ryoken’s feelings about Playmaker. However you chose to interpret the nature of those feelings, I think a good word for them is: all-consuming. Revolver is right when he pegs it as an obsession. He’s desperate to find the one from ten years ago again, just like Yusaku is.

Ryoken wants to settle things with Playmaker, but that doesn’t require knowing his identity. In fact, those two things never intersect in the first season at all: even after learning Yusaku’s identity, it’s not like Ryoken uses it to get him to duel him. He doesn’t do anything with it at all. They seem to be entirely separate goals that just regard the same person. He wants to know who the child from back then is. He wants to defeat Playmaker.

Moving on to the final identity reveal, we have the Smile.

I made a post ages back about this scene and the implications it had both on its original airing and in hindsight post S1. And I think the conclusion I came to then is still on point: Ryoken doesn’t smile because he intends to use Yusaku’s identity to defeat the Ignis, he smiles because he final knows who Playmaker, the sixth test subject, really is. His curiosity is satisfied.

Is he happy to see that the child he saved had a chance to grow up? I think so. The smile above seems to say “Well damn, it really is you” or something along those lines. Triumphant, I suppose.

He goes down to Kusanagi’s truck and looks at them, monitors his enemies even though it nets him no information on them, or at least, no information he ever uses against them.

Did Ryoken go all the way down, just to see them? Based on the evidence, that’s the only assumption that can be made.

At this time, Plan A could have been a complete success, and the Tower would never have needed to activate at all, if Ryoken just used Yusaku’s identity like everyone intended for him to. His family could be saved, and no one else would have to get hurt, except for Yusaku.

Problem being, after his initial reaction of dismay, Ryoken almost seems pleased that Yusaku has come back. And they still haven’t settled things. Once more, we have to acknowledge that Ryoken’s desire to duel Playmaker was completely separate from his desire to know his identity, even if he never verbally drew a distinction between the two. The two goals never intersected at all, but all the others (and us the viewers) just assumed they did.

Ryoken even acknowledges how messed up his priorities have become, but he still can’t overcome it.

But with the identity loose end finally tied up, Ryoken can focus on the Tower of Hanoi. Before he found out Playmaker was one of the victims, his father was the one asking for more time.

Afterwards, its Ryoken asking to delay.

Going with Plan B, they ditched Plan A, even though they had everything they needed to make it a success. But of course, Ryoken hides this from his father, blatantly lying to his face about knowing Playmaker’s identity. At this moment, whether he understood it or not, Ryoken essentially chose Yusaku over his father. Between Yusaku and Kogami, Ryoken pretty much decided which one of them was going to live and which one was going to die with this lie. Had he told the truth, Kogami would not need to sacrifice himself for their plan, no matter how accepting of his own impending death he was.

Just like ten years before, when Ryoken unwittingly chose the six children over his father, he makes the same decision all over again, but for drastically different reasons. And once more, he regrets it when his father is killed all over again, as he finally comes to understand that his actions once more have consequences on his family.

He despairs, and decides to make it right by killing Yusaku, Ai, and himself.

The Tower of Hanoi duel is Ryoken’s lowest moment. He’s going to kill everyone he cares about for his father’s mission and as his “punishment” for once more betraying his father’s expectations of him.

And then Yusaku saves his life. His father is dead, the Tower failed, and there’s nothing he or anyone else can do about it. Ryoken takes months, seemingly, to pull himself back together from this blow, and at the end of it, his feelings about Yusaku are even more complicated. Ryoken has always had the tendency to blame himself before he blames others, so it’s not surprising he doesn’t seem to blame Yusaku for Kogami’s death.

Their relationship changes a lot in the wake of Ryoken’s return. As the only remaining leader of Hanoi and the one entrusted with stopping the actually very dangerous Ignis, he’s finally managed to fix his priorities. Instead of living like his life is on a timer and he has to duel Playmaker now, he is able to focus on the matter at hand and wait for a better time to take on his “fated enemy”. And even more so, he seems to have no intentions of putting either of their lives on the line over a conflict between them again. Rather than struggle further to prove to himself that he doesn’t care about the six victims, Ryoken seems to have finally accepted that their lives matter to him, and that there’s nothing wrong with that. He’s no longer trying to deny that he cares, and instead trying to navigate the best way to show it (as opposed to denying it and denying it until his whole family is “dead” and things have spiraled massively out of control). He doesn’t alway succeed, nor does he always show it gracefully, as the “duel” with Takeru showed, but he’s trying. Those aren’t easy emotions to navigate, and it’s not always easy to say the right thing to people that are hurting or do right by them, but Ryoken isn’t just taking responsibility for his mistakes anymore. He’s trying to take responsibility for his own emotions and the role he played, good or bad, in the six victim’s lives. He found out about Windy’s Origin, he was apparently monitoring Jin’s facility, he created a program to protect Yusaku. Ryoken knows he’s invested in the victims.

Ryoken is really bad at Emotions, as the first season made abundantly clear, and caring about people. His father really messed him up, and the repercussions of that still linger in his behavior. But he’s taking care not to put others at risk anymore, he’s trying to navigate complex priorities better.

Of course, he’s not going to let others know that so easily. Ryoken is proud, and still very much intends to defeat Playmaker, and he’s taken steps to make sure Yusaku understands that. Instead of giving Yusaku false hope that he’s given up on destroying Ai by, Ryoken is up front about what comes after.

To Yusaku’s face Ryoken acts rather condescending and disdainful, but behind Yusaku’s back he acts like this what talking about Yusaku:

He still holds Yusaku in the highest regard: he talks about Yusaku with more respect and admiration than he does with anyone, even his father. He believes in Yusaku, and seemingly, in their destiny.

Ryoken does care, and he has changed, but he’s not done changing yet. He’s far from the desperate teenager that almost got thousands of people killed he was in the season 1 finale. He’s not trying to hurt anyone anymore, and knows it. He has resolved the conflict of interest that drove everything off the rails before and sent him to the brink: having to defeat Playmaker but so obviously not wanting to endanger Yusaku further.

Don’t get me wrong, he very much still regards Yusaku as his final obstacle. I think what Ryoken really seeks in regards to Yusaku is closure on everything that happened with his father and the Hanoi Project. Yusaku/Playmaker is the result of his mistakes, a representation and embodiment of everything he regrets. Both a dangerous enemy and a powerful ally of his own making, which is why Ryoken thinks he’s the one that must fight Playmaker. Only by either accepting Yusaku or defeating him will Ryoken ever really be able to move past his guilt and regrets.

...This got so long I don’t even know if I answered the question anymore...my head is swimming with screenshots of alien cyber terrorist boy...

#yugioh vrains #vrains #ryoken kogami #kogami ryoken #ygo #vrainalysis

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triggeringthehealing · 5 years

Text

revelation

Derek/Stiles | ~2k | G | AO3

Summary: I never hated you. Derek said it like it wasn’t a big deal, like he didn’t blow Stiles’s mind. Of course, right after that bombshell, the pack showed up and the movie night started.

A/N: Written for the @fullmoonficlet challenge - prompt #310: tension

Tense.

It's the only way to describe the atmosphere in the room right now. They're in the loft, where they always seem to be these days, but it's not the same space as it used to be back in Stiles's high school days. It's more polished, livable, looks less like a battlefield than it used to back then.

The loft is not anyone's living space anymore though. It's like a clubhouse, a place where the pack and all its extended members come to hang out. Which is precisely why they're all here now, with a movie playing on the massive TV screen that everyone pitched in for some time ago.

And the air feels thick and suffocating, at least to Stiles.

He's not the same restless teenager that he was back when, but right now he is having flashbacks to those days. His mind is spinning and running around and dragging him from one corner to another. He's tapping his fingers on his thigh to let out some of that energy and to relieve the tension. But the thing is that he's about ready to either jump out of his skin or to say something. Because holy crap is he ever trying to process the conversation from just before everyone else got here.

---

"I didn't hate you. I still don't hate you."

Derek is looking at Stiles with the most sincere expression in his face, with a softness and fondness that is unfamiliar. At least to Stiles, who vividly remembers the permanently closed off face and the "stay away" vibes that Derek used to radiate when they first met. This is nothing like that.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Stiles asks because he doesn't understand. Sure, he and Derek struck up a friendship at some point, but Stiles has always been convinced that it was only because he was attached to Scott's hip. He hasn't talked to Derek in several years -- not since Derek got into a car after the war with hunters and drove off into the sunset.

"I wasn't very fond of you when you got me arrested, or for some time after, but I never hated you," Derek says. "If anything, I thought we were friends now."

"Dude."

"Or at least close acquaintances," Derek adds, looking a little disappointed. "That's what I was assuming. But if even that is too much, then that's fine. I'll deal."

"What do you mean that you'll deal? I didn't even think friendship was on the table, let alone anything else," Stiles tells him, feeling a little hysterical. "Is there anything else on the table?"

Of course the pack showed up before Derek managed to respond. So now Stiles is sitting on the couch and staring at the screen without watching the movie and his mind is reeling. The air continues to feel thick and he starts wondering if it would be super rude to leave right now.

There's also the fact that he's absolutely sure that no one else in the room feels the tension that he does, that they're all oblivious to the way he wants to jump out of his skin -- something he hasn't felt in years. They're all happily watching the movie and are completely clueless. Except Derek.

Derek looks like his claws are about to pop -- Stiles sees it when he dares to glance in that direction every once in a while -- and there is a distinct flash of color in his eyes that isn't supposed to be there. Again, Stiles notices when he looks at Derek and finds him staring back, like he's trying to read his mind.

I want to know what you meant, Stiles thinks.

Of course, he can't say it out loud, not with everyone else scattered around the seats and floor around them, several people between the corner of the couch that Stiles claimed and the recliner that's always Derek's place during movie nights. But he's craving solitude in a way that he usually doesn't, a one-on-one conversation about what could be and about all the things he'd want and didn't think he'd ever have.

Because Derek's words from earlier reignited Stiles's hopes, lit a fire under the attraction to Derek that was the gateway to exploring his sexuality and eventually settling firmly on bisexual. The words were an echo of those that he used to dream of hearing, the ones he hoped for years ago and for a long time after. It's only recently that he made himself accept that they would never happen.

And yet...

Stiles glances over again and bites his lip when Derek's eyes are already turned to him, when he finds that neither of them are following the movie. He squirms on the couch when Derek doesn't look away, when his eyes flash with the red that he's gained back since the war ended.

"Oh my god, would you sit still," Jackson -- who's sitting next to him -- groans in Stiles's direction. "Didn't you grow out of that?"

"Sorry," Stiles mutters, genuinely apologetic not because his movements are distracting Jackson but because he got called out on being like this.

"Go walk it off or something," Jackson suggests.

Stiles has a quick retort on the tip of his tongue but then he realizes that Jackson's idea is good. That maybe walking away is the answer right now, even if it's only to head out to the balcony and try to work through all the thoughts that are whirling in his head. He throws one more glance at Derek as he gets up and circles around the couch, then he heads out to the side door, taking a deep breath the moment the cool air hits his face.

He shuts the sounds of the movie out by closing the door and replaces them with the muted noises of the town below. They're far enough up that he can't hear anything clearly and that alone -- the fact that everything sounds like he imagines a blurred artwork would -- is helping already. His mind is still spinning, sure, but 's easier to sift through the newly acquired information this way.

I never hated you.

Stiles spent too long being wrong about what people thought about him, how they felt about him. Hell, he misjudged his father's feelings, not that it was surprising for a kid dealing with grief and with his dad's way of coping at the same time. He was wrong about more, but he'd been absolutely sure that at the very least right at the start of the werewolf chaos, Derek did genuinely despise Stiles. Not so much later on, of course, when they struck up what could be seen as an alliance, if not friendship.

But this sounded like something else. These were words that were used to say that the person felt the complete opposite instead of the assumed. So did Derek actually like him? And if so, in what way? And why had he never said anything?

"Communication issues," Stiles mutters. "We could all probably write books on those."

There's a creak behind him, the noise of the movie for a beat, then silence again, but Stiles knows he's not alone anymore.

"I think there are enough books that will tell us how dumb we've been," Derek says quietly from behind Stiles's back. "It's not like we'd write anything that hasn't been written yet."

"True. But clearly just reading wouldn't help," Stiles mumbles, still looking at the town instead of turning around. "Also, listening in is not fair."

"I wasn't trying to," Derek says. "I wanted to make sure you're not trying to scale the wall to get away."

"If I wanted to leave I'd have used the front door."

"Except scaling the wall would nicely redirect questions from everyone else," Derek points out.

Finally, Stiles turns around and feels the corner of his mouth tugging. "You're starting to think like me," he tells Derek. "I don't know if I should be proud or worried."

Derek gives him a pointed look and then shrugs his shoulders.

"So, you're here for a reason. Is it because of what I said?"

"No."

"Lie."

"Again with the unfair things," Stiles grumbles. "Why do I have to be friends with walking lie detectors? It's very inconvenient."

"I didn't listen to your heart. I just know your lying face," Derek tells him.

"I don't have a lying face," Stiles protests.

"Wanna check with your father and Scott about that one?"

It's a challenge and Stiles could if he wanted to. He'd lied to both of them more than he liked to admit and neither knew all the smaller lies that Stiles told through the years. There were fewer since college, but the ones during his high school years were plentiful and varied.

It's also a distraction from the topic they were on and Stiles is half tempted to continue in the new direction. But there's also temptation to resolve the tension he feels.

"Okay, yes, it's about what you said. What the hell, Derek?"

He didn't plan on sounding angry, but he's frustrated from trying to figure it out on his own and he wishes that they'd had this conversation years ago.

"I never thought you liked me," Derek says, leaning against the wall by the door, out of sight of anyone who's bother looking through the huge windows.. "Back at the start, I dismissed you as a kid who didn't know what he was getting himself into. Then I was pissed because of Laura."

Stiles winces because that's one thing he still feels like apologizing for, though he already did several times.

"But you turned out to know pretty well what you were getting yourself into, eventually," Derek continues, ignoring Stiles's reaction. "I really did not hate you at any point after the Gerard thing."

"Original or 2.0?"

"Original."

"Oh wow. I thought you still couldn't stand me then," Stiles says. "Even the summer when we were looking for Boyd and Erica."

"I know. I didn't think you were my biggest fan and that you just tolerated me because I could help Scott," Derek tells him. "But still, didn't hate you. The opposite, actually."

"You liked me?" Stiles asks and winces again, this time at the way his voice hitches in a way that makes him sound almost hysterical.

Derek nods. "You were still a kid though, but after the Nogitsune--" he says but leaves the thought hanging in the air, unfinished.

"We all grew up pretty fast then," Stiles says. "None of us was the same by senior year."

They both go silent for a little while then, until Stiles's curiosity wins over.

"So why didn't you say anything?"

Derek looks at him and smiles faintly, looking wistful.

"I left, after Mexico."

"I'm aware. You came back."

"And you were with Lydia."

"Ah."

Stiles understand a little. Everyone, Derek included, knew about his feelings for Lydia. About how long he'd been in love with her. How much of a dream come true their relationship was. But that was the past -- they lasted a few months after the big crisis, then realized how much better they were as friends.

"That was years ago," Stiles says. "You've been back here for years, Derek."

"And you didn't show a hint of interest in me at any point," Derek says.

"Okay, lie detector status revoked, you have no idea how to read my face apparently," Stiles tells him. "I spent all those years thinking I'm doomed to an unrequited crush."

"You... what?"

Derek's face is amazing to look at. He goes through several expressions -- shock, confusion, amazement, anger -- before he settles on something that looks like a mix of hope and bafflement.

"Dude, you are why I figured out I'm bi. You're more of an unattainable dream than Lydia ever was."

God, I sound sappy, Stiles thinks, but he lets it go. The words are out, there's no going back. If his guess about where this conversation is going is right, he will never have to.

"So we could have...."

"Done this years ago?" Stiles asks, then he shakes his head. "Yeah, apparently so."

"We're idiots."

"Can't say I disagree," Stiles tells Derek, then he pushes himself away from the railing he was leaning on. "Now, to avoid any further confusion and miscommunication," he says as he steps forward to close the distance between them, "I'm going to kiss you. If you don't want me to, speak now, or--"

Derek chuckles as he reaches forward, grabs Stiles's hand with his own and pulls him in until they're only an inch apart. Then he wraps his free arm around Stiles's waist and tightens his fingers around Stiles's for a beat.

There's no mistaking the expression in his face now, Stiles can read the hope in Derek's eyes clearly. So he closes the last inch of a gap and tilts his head just enough so he can brush his lips over Derek's.

Just like that, the tension he felt all evening dissolves into air and Stiles feels his body and mind relax into the kiss as Derek returns it with enthusiasm.

#sterek fic #sterek #eternalsterek

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overanalyzingelswordiswhatido · 5 years

Text

A Terrible Babysitter Chapter 3

Add’s eyes snapped open. He gritted his teeth and growled in frustration. He lifted his chin from his hand and glared at the bed. Yes, they were all gathered in his room because of his choice but that didn’t make it any less irritating. After the three hours it took to wrestle the lot of them up the stairs, he let them crash here. Their weapons were still in their rooms and truth be told, he wanted to keep as close of an eye on them as possible. He still wasn’t certain something bad wouldn’t happen because of this.

After a couple hours of relative quiet though, Add’s exhaustion had caught up to him. He hadn’t left his desk, but he had been trying to get some sleep. Of course the one time in his entire life he actually wanted to sleep, at least one of them was snoring so loud it was giving him a headache. It would be a lie if he said he didn’t have a couple guesses who it was. He was forced to use Dynamo as a railing on the bed to keep Elsword specifically, but also Ara, from falling off. Chung was officially sick and sleeping in his lap. Elesis, Rena, Raven, Ciel, and Rose had all volunteered to sleep on the floor so the others could pile onto the bed without as much trouble. Lu had moved off the bed to lay with Ciel in the blanket fort they’d forced Add to help make before they would finally lay down and sleep.

Oh yeah. Not to mention the two stray cats they made him bring back on their way home from dinner. Not that Add minded cats, but seriously? He didn’t want two more things dependent on him in the house. “Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath. He needed caffeine. Unfortunately, he had a sick kid in his lap that he did not want to risk waking after how long it took to get there. Who just randomly catches sickness from nowhere? How does that happen? Going out probably didn’t help Chung’s condition but there was no way in hell Add was going to cook anything, especially not for them. He was already putting enough effort into looking after them.

Add sighed and put his head back on his chin. The screens were bright in his eyes, especially when compared to the surrounding darkness of the room. According to all the data he gathered on them, they were perfectly fine. There wasn’t anything wrong with them other than they were children. When they shouldn’t be. How was he supposed to fix it when there was technically nothing wrong?

Add blinked open his eyes to someone tugging on his shirt. “What?” he demanded groggily. He was genuinely surprised he’d managed to sleep. It hadn’t helped his exhaustion as much as he would’ve liked.

“What’s for breakfast?” Elesis asked the moment his eyes opened.

Add stared at her for a second. How was he supposed to know what was for breakfast? He sighed, trying hard not to roll his eyes, “Just… give me a minute.” He still wasn’t going to make anything for them. Maybe there was cereal or something else easy like that.

“Can I have tea please?” Chung asked miserably.

Add looked at him, about to tell him no. About to tell him there was no way he was making tea but Chung looked so miserable that he knew he’d feel bad if he said anything like that. He clamped his mouth shut before taking a deep breath, “Sure.” I just have to figure out how to make it. He hoped whatever decided he could be the only adult was getting a good laugh out of this because he was one hundred percent done. It was tedious and annoying. These kids were lucky he was actually trying not to hurt their feelings. He wanted this to be over as soon as possible.

Add walked down stairs, into the kitchen, with Chung holding his hand and clinging onto his arm the whole way. Aisha and Elsword were fighting in the living room with Ara trying to get them to be nicer to each other. Elesis was playing a board game with Raven. Ain and Rose chased each other around and over the couch. Lu, Ciel, and Rena were in the process of setting the cookie jar on the counter.

“I don’t think so,” Add grabbed it and put it up on top of the cabinet.

Lu squealed in surprise and nearly fell off the counter. Dynamo helped Ciel catch her.

“Good morning Add!” Rena smiled innocently.

Ciel glanced at her and copied her innocent expression.

“Hey,” Add responded simply. He was still tired. He did not feel like yelling at the three of them, so he didn’t. He groaned and opened up the cabinet. After he got Chung some tea, he would get himself some caffeine. There was no way he was getting through the day without it and a lot of it at that. Maybe that was why Raven always drank five cups of coffee within two hours of waking up.

Add pulled the three flavors of tea normal, adult Rena had stored in the cabinet and handed them to Chung, “Pick one while I figure out where the fuck the medicine is.” He knew Rena put medicine in the tea whenever they were sick. He never tasted it, but she always let him know when it was there.

“How do you not know where the medicine is?” Lu demanded. “You’re the adult!”

Add opened his mouth then closed it again, keeping his scathing remark to himself. Instead he explained as calmly as he could, through gritted teeth, “This is the first time one of you has gotten sick.”

Chung set the tea he wanted on the counter next to Add and climbed up to put the others back in the cabinet.

Add didn’t yell at him. Why bother when he would’ve done the same? Ciel was the one that always yelled at them for climbing on the counters but Ciel was a child now, happily following Lu’s terrible influence.

Add snorted. Who knew? Were all children this exhausting and difficult to deal with? He had zero intention of finding out the answer to that. He shook his head and continued looking for the medicine. After nearly turning the whole kitchen upside down, he found it. When he finally did he muttered plenty of sarcastic comments under his breath but read through the instructions. It sounded incredibly simple. Just put a single tablet into a drink or some food and there. Medicine. He raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and followed the instructions. The surface of the tea turned green and glowed. A few seconds later it returned to its normal color like nothing was added. “Well that was pretty cool.”

Chung stood on his toes next to him, watching with mixed awe and confusion, “Where’d it go?”

“Into the tea,” Add shrugged. He reached into the cabinet to grab sugar because what kind of kid would drink plain tea when it was so bitter? He double checked the label to make sure what he grabbed was in fact the sugar and not salt before dumping some into the tea. Once he decided it was stirred enough he gave it over to Chung.

“Thanks Add,” Chung drank it without complaint.

“No problem.” Add scanned through the cabinets for breakfast type foods and was relieved to find cereal and similar things kids could easily get for themselves. He opened the fridge. They didn’t have a source of caffeine. Rena was going to get some but then this whole mess happened. After a long groan of annoyance he reasoned he could always get some himself. Leave Elesis in charge again, since she seemed so good at getting the others to do something productive with their time.

It was relatively easy gathering them all to the living room. After last night they seemed content to listen to him, at least when they weren’t upset for whatever reason, which was nice.

“Elesis is in charge,” Add told them, “Same rules as last time.”

Many of them groaned. Ciel and Lu complained that it wasn’t fair and Lu demanded she be in charge. There was nothing that would make Add agree to that. Ever.

Elesis of course was pleased at being put in charge again, “I’ll make sure nothing bad happens!”

“What rules?” Ain asked. He glanced around in confusion.

“If you argue with Elesis, she gets to fight you,” Add informed him seriously. “So don’t.”

“Well that’s not nice,” Ain muttered under his breath.

“You’re going to get stuff at the store right?” Ara asked.

Add bit his tongue. “Yeah. That’s what I just said,” he barely managed not to snap at her.

“Don’t forget food for the cats! We only got breakfast for them last night!”

Oh yeah. The cats. Add sighed, “Alright.” That was probably why they were so inclined to listen to him. It’s not everyday the resident adult allows two stray cats just because they were asked nicely. What was he supposed to do? Try to drag them away when there was twelve of them and they would undoubtedly throw a tantrum if he tried? Nah. It was easier to just let them keep the cats. He turned to the door, “I’m leaving. Do what Elesis tells you.” A chorus of reluctant and unhappy ‘okay’s followed him out the door.

“So. Cat food and some caffeine,” Add mumbled to himself. He might just get some tuna or something. Cat food was expensive and they seemed to like tuna just the same. Luckily he had enough foresight to also buy food for himself and the twelve kids he was reluctantly taking care of. It wasn’t anything he had to cook and most of it was snacks. Either way, it was still food. It would keep them alive long enough for them to get back to normal. There would most likely be hell to pay if he got himself some chocolate without getting any for them, so he got a large bag of assorted candies. Dynamo carried most of the groceries back to the house.

When Add opened the door, the kids were playing some game in the center of the living room. All the furniture had been pushed off to the sides so they could all sit in a circle, facing each other, in the middle of the room. Raven walked around the outside of the circle patting them on the head, saying “Duck.”

Raven patted Lu’s head, “Goose.”

Lu leaped to her feet and chased Raven around the circle. Raven circled it and slid into Lu’s spot, almost crashing into Chung. He dropped into a sitting position.

“Man!” Lu complained, “That’s not fair! You’re taller than me!”

“Lu. Everyone’s taller than you,” Rena reminded her.

Lu pouted.

“What’re you guys playing?” Add cocked his head to the side.

“Duck, duck goose!” Lu grinned, “It’s a game Elesis came up with!”

“Actually, it’s a game the kids in Ruben played a lot. I didn’t create it,” Elesis corrected modestly.

Add shrugged, “Well, alright.” He set down the bag he was carrying and looked them over, “Help put stuff away.”

“But we don’t know where stuff goes,” Aisha argued.

Add’s eyes narrowed, “If it’s cold put it by the fridge and I’ll put it away, otherwise it goes in the cabinets.” He grabbed the bag of chocolates, opened it, dumped it into a bowl and grabbed a handful.

“Ooo! Chocolate?!” Lu grinned.

Add glanced at her, “Yeah.”

“Can I have some?” Ara asked sweetly.

“One,” Add responded.

“What’s this weird can stuff?” Elsword asked as he carried a bag filled with medium sized dark cans into the kitchen in his arms.

“Those are mine,” Add answered. He took the bag from the kid and set them on the counter.

“Are you gonna drink all of them?” Elsword asked in amazement.

“One at a time, of course,” Add rolled his eyes.

“How come we can’t try some?” Lu demanded.

Add struggled to come up with a simple explanation the kids would understand that would also make them not want it, “Because they….have…bad stuff in them.” There definitely wasn’t any way he was going to let them touch the energy drinks he bought for himself. They would go crazy and he struggled to maintain patience now. He’d lose it.

“Then why are you drinking them?” Ara’s eyes went wide with worry.

“I’m an adult. I can drink what I want,” Add shrugged.

All three of them continued to stare at him, clearly not reassured at all.

Add sighed, “The… bad stuff is okay for adults. Your bodies are small so it’s bad for you.”

“Oh!” Lu nodded. She grinned, “So once we’re adults we can have some!”

“Sure.”

“Have some what?” Elesis asked curiously as she brought in a bag filled with snacks.

“Some of Add’s bad stuff cans!” Lu pointed to where they sat on the counter.

Elesis gave Add a very confused look, “Bad stuff?”

Add sighed, “Its not bad for adults.”

“Oh,” Elesis nodded, “So when we’re adults-”

“You can have some,” Add finished. That’s exactly what Lu said. He turned away from them and rolled his eyes. “Elsword, tell the others you all can have one chocolate.”

“Okay!” Elsword seemed to take it as a challenge to jump around and over the bags scattering the kitchen floor.

Add watched him leap through the kitchen from the corner of his eye. He wasn’t going to intervene unless Elsword tripped. He’d quickly learned it was best to catch them before they fell rather than let them. It was the easiest way to prevent crying.

“Add!” Rena called.

Add grumbled under his breath but crossed the kitchen. He saw Ara sitting, trying really hard not to cry, with a nice red spot on the side of her face. “What happened?”

“Ara fell into the table,” Raven explained.

Add pressed his lips together tightly, trying his best not to look irritated. He wasn’t sure how well he succeeded but at least he sounded relatively calm, “Come here.”

Ara got to her feet and carefully picked her way over to him. She stopped in front of him, wiping tears from her eyes.

Add touched where the red mark was.

Ara flinched and whimpered.

Add quickly pulled his hand away. Dynamo looked her over. At least she didn’t have a concussion so it wasn’t anything complicated. According to some quick research he never thought he’d have to do, he found out that the best way to treat it was with some ice. They didn’t have ice. He shrugged, “You’ll be fine.” He grabbed a chocolate and handed it to her, “You can have an extra one.”

“That’s not fair!” Aisha cried.

“Knock it off Aisha,” Add snapped. He gave her a hard look, but was careful not to actually glare at her, “You didn’t fall face first into the table.”

Aisha pouted but didn’t continue.

Ara looked embarrassed but took the chocolate he offered and ate it.

“You’re sure she’s okay, Mr. Ancient?” Ain asked worriedly, “That looked like it hurt.”

“Dynamo said she didn’t have a concussion,” Add shrugged, “So it’s not like I can do anything anyway.” Unless there’s pain medicine. But I wouldn’t know where to begin looking for that. Maybe it was another one of those tablet things. After all, Rena always gave him tea whenever he was in pain. He looked at Ara, “Does it hurt?”

Ara wouldn’t look at him. She shrugged, “Not that badly…”

Add snorted, “Really?”

Ara shrugged again but admittedly meekly, “I have a headache.” She shuffled her feet, “You’re busy with groceries-”

Add interrupted her, “That doesn’t matter. Sit.” It’s not like he could get her back to normal if she was injured. Besides, Rena would’ve treated her anyway. Since Rena wasn’t capable of doing that right now and he was the closest thing to an adult there, that was now his job, as much as he hated it.

Ara obeyed and sat at the table.

Add found the medicines and looked them over. Rena seemed to have medicine for everything. It took a couple minutes to find the one that eased pain but when he did he added it to tea, dumped sugar in it, and gave it to Ara.

“All the cold stuff is sitting by the fridge,” Rose reported seriously.

“And we organized the cabinet stuff,” Eve added.

Add stared at them for a second. He hadn’t asked them to do that but okay. He nodded, “Thanks.” He returned to the kitchen and put the cold stuff away. He grabbed another handful of chocolate and one of his energy drinks and set up at the table. They could keep playing their game in the center of the room, and he would keep working on fixing this disaster where he could still keep an eye on them.

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vampiric-daydreams · 6 years

Text

What Would Never Be (Part 2)

Here is Part 1

Jasper x Reader

Request 1: Can you do a pt 2 to What Would Never Be where the Jasper & Alice break up after Jasper finds out Alice kept her vision the reader being his true mate from him? - anon

Request 2: I’m not sure how old the post “What would never be” is but I wondered/was curious if you were still thinking of writing a second part? Jasper has found out the reader is his true mate, could you also include how the Cullens would react to the news & maybe meeting her for the first time? Thank you X (cont..) Could you maybe include readers reaction to finding out Jasper is a vampire? X - @raindancer2004

Word Count: 1942

A/N: I got two requests for part 2 so I’ve combined them. I’m sorry I didn’t include every tidbit of what you asked for in detail - a few fleeting sentences here and there were the best I could do. This took five completely different drafts and the first four were choppy. I’ve finally written a version I’m happy with and this one flows a thousand times better than the previous ones. I hope everyone can enjoy this!

They were surrounding you as you stood in the main lounge of their home. The expressions on each of their faces were difficult to read; ranging from what you considered uncomfortable to outright confused. It was hard to not take any of it personally. The situation had made waves in their household.

Jasper gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. You still processed it all. Sure, the Cullens had stood out around town; but vampires? Suddenly aware of your own heart beating, you tightened your grip on Jasper’s hand and recounted the events that landed you in this situation.

It was a sunny day in Forks, a rarity. The weather was warm, but not hot – and yet you could feel sweat forming on your forehead. The true pitfall of living in a cold, rainy town was the lack of summer clothing you owned. Your wardrobe – and everybody else’s – consisted largely of thick woollens and denims. Still, your jeans and shirt would get you through the day.

The excitement had the cafeteria buzzing. Beach dates and pier-diving sessions were being planned. Everyone welcomed the warmer weather; yet despite all the optimism surrounding you, you still noticed a negative. Jasper wasn’t at school. Neither were the rest of his family – most likely on another family camping trip away in the wilderness. You took a large bite of your lunch and tried to shake away the image of Jasper sharing a tent with his girlfriend. Getting intimate.

You had no reason to dislike Alice. She was never rude to anybody, and she always projected an aura of positivity; but the green-eyed monster within you was rearing its ugly head. It was difficult to bury once it emerged.

“(Y/N)!” Your best friend’s voice cut through your imagination. She stared at you as if she was waiting for a response. She’d been asking you something.

“Sorry,” you frowned, “I’m just having one of those days.”

“Jasper again?” She toyed with her hair. The ponytail she had just finished tying was the fourth hairstyle she’d worn that day.

“I can’t stop thinking about him. No matter where I am or who I’m with he’s all I can focus on. It’s driving me insane. Why do I have to be so hung up over a guy I’ll never have?” Then, you thought to yourself, he even overruns my dreams.

“Then come with us after school. We’re going to the beach for a few hours while the weather lasts. It might take your mind off him for a while.”

You scoffed. As if you could forget about Jasper Hale that easily. It wasn’t as simple as that. Whenever you saw him in class, all you could do was gaze at the back of his head, at his perfect honeycomb curls. It felt painful to tear your eyes away from him; but that pain held no candle to what it felt like to see the light in his eyes when Alice was with him.

There was a pull you felt towards him. You couldn’t explain it, but it felt as insane as it was pathetic. You wished you could get rid of it.

“I’ll let you know after school.”

The sun didn’t grace Forks for long. By the end of the school day the clouds had returned to cloak the town in an unwelcome but familiar shadow; and threatened to pour with rain. The beach plans were cancelled as fast as they had been formed. You stood alone in the car park beside your best friend’s car. As soon as the weather had taken a turn, she’d texted you suggesting retail therapy instead. You hoped she was right about it still being a decent distraction.

Jasper. His name echoed in your mind before you even realised it was him walking out of the office – likely collecting missed schoolwork. As ridiculous as it sounded, Jasper had an ethereal grace whenever he did anything. He wore a stylish grey coat with a blue shirt, and his hair was nicely in place. He didn’t look like he was going anywhere near the wilderness.

“I thought you were going camping?” You took a chance and called out to him. Since that time in the library with him, you’d spoken a few more times. He didn’t seem bothered by it. He looked over at you and smiled, walking closer.

“Change of plans,” he squinted at the sky, “I know I’m not the only one.”

“Yeah, everyone’s pretty bummed out about the change,” you told him. Over the past few weeks you’d improved with how you behaved in his presence. Sure, you stared like a deer in headlights when he wasn’t watching – but while you interacted with him you maintained your composure.

“Did you have plans, as well?”

“I was thinking about going to the beach, but I wasn’t sure. I guess Mother Nature decided for me.”

He chuckled. You made him laugh. The sound of it was so beautiful to you it nearly crumbled every ounce of composure you had. He cleared his throat. “Well, I’d better get home. I have work to catch up on, it seems.”

Your heart sunk, you wanted him to stay. Smiling anyway, you replied. “Okay, see you tomorrow if you’re in.”

With that, Jasper left and made his way towards a blank-faced Alice and a concerned-looking Edward. Your eyebrows knitted together. Is something wrong? Upon noticing Alice’s expression, Jasper hurried over to her – putting his hands on her shoulders and gently shaking her as if she was asleep. He muttered something to Edward, and the three of them climbed into his Volvo; but not before Alice’s eyes met yours. You could have sworn she frowned at you for a split second. In her eyes you could see she knew something you didn’t. Your heart stopped.

When the Cullens acted strange during the days that followed, it only affirmed your belief that something was wrong that day. And that thing was related to you. There was a lumpy feeling in your throat and stomach and it thickened every time you saw a Cullen; or as it seemed when a Cullen saw you. It seemed as if the entire family suddenly knew of your existence. It began only with Alice and Edward, who gave you varying looks of discomfort and curiosity. Then Emmett held the door open for you; not passively either. He waited the whole ten seconds it took for you to catch up to him. Rosalie glared at you a few times and then traded the hostility for awkward smiles. The only one who still seemed unchanged was Jasper. He was focusing on Alice more than ever. Her light was fading, he could see it. But why?

On the third and final day of the ambiguity, clarity presented itself. Jasper had been waiting by your locker after the final bell. Your heart skipped a beat as you strode over to him. He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t seem upset, either.

“Hey, Jasper.” You smiled at him. “Do you need me for something?”

“I’m sorry if my family has been making you feel uncomfortable these past few days.” Sincerity swam in the honey pools that were his eyes. You weren’t sure how to respond.

“Uncomfortable isn’t what it was...”

“Regardless, I want to apologise.”

“Thank you. I-” you cut yourself off. “Did something happen?”

Jasper’s eyes flickered, a range of emotions flittering through them in half a second, and too many to count. “Alice and I broke up.”

Your chest ached. “I’m so sorry.”

“Based on some decisions that were made, Alice thought it would be best for us both.” Despite what was coming out of his mouth, Jasper maintained composure. His eyes didn’t water. His fists remained unclenched. He seemed more himself than ever.

“If there’s anything I can do-”

“That’s why I’m here.” You titled your head. He continued. “I wanted to know if you wanted to go on a date, sometime.”

Your throat felt blocked. You had dreamt of this day, but you’d never imagined it to be like this – with Jasper asking you out mere hours after breaking up with his ex. It felt so wrong.

“Jasper, I’m sorry but my conscience won’t let me do that to Alice.”

“Actually, it was Alice who suggested we go out. It doesn’t have to be immediate. I wanted to make my intentions clear. Honestly, I’m a little uncomfortable with throwing myself at another woman so quickly – and frankly I’m relieved you share the feeling.”

You were speechless. How could you even respond to something like that? What were you supposed to say? Instead, you nodded. He held out a white piece of folded paper to you. You took it. “Your number?”

He smiled. “Text me, call me. I’m not ready to explore a romantic relationship with you yet, even though I’d like to. But I want to get to know you – if it’s something you’d want to do.”

You placed the paper in your pocket. It was a strange feeling, and not at all what you’d imagined. Yet, despite it, your heart was skipping beats and your stomach was overwhelmed with butterflies.

“Until then,” Jasper gently kissed the apple of your right cheek. You forgot how to breathe. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

It would take time. It wasn’t as though you expected immediate comfort and acceptance. Their entire ‘family’ dynamic was uprooted because of you. Esme offered you a reassuring smile; the warmth and genuine kindness in her eyes almost made you feel welcome. Still, it seemed like it was too soon to be frequenting their family home.

You had been dreaming about being Jasper’s love-interest for so long, and now here you were. But it didn’t feel right, yet. Something was missing. You didn’t feel you were ‘in’ the group like Bella was. Nobody had treated you poorly – even Alice had shown you kindness. Regardless, it would take time to feel secure enough to feel as though their eyes weren’t watching you.

It was like you were under a spotlight and they were inspecting your every flaw. You clenched your teeth and smiled as Jasper spoke. “I’ll be with (Y/N) for the day. Don’t wait up.”

The two of you turned and walked outside after you offered his family a series of awkward goodbyes. It wouldn’t be like this forever, you knew that. It wasn’t them, it was you. Regardless of how everything had panned out you couldn’t shake feeling you’d done something wrong. Behind each of Emmett’s jokes and Carlisle’s kind gestures you imagined a series of falsehood and judgement. It wasn’t true. They had welcomed you, but you wouldn’t feel welcome until you welcomed yourself.

Jasper cupped your face in his after closing the front door behind you. “You mean a lot to me, (Y/N). I really want to make things work between us.”

“So do I,” you whispered in return. It would take work to get yourself to the place you needed to be. The place where you felt relaxed around his family; around Alice. But you were eager to try your best.

Sometimes, late at night when you were alone, you hoped that you might have forever to try.

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olliexsmythe · 5 years

Text

Meet The Duvals || Nollie

Tagging: Oliver Smythe, Noah Duval [ @tapdancingduval ], Hector Duval and Clara Duval

When: Friday 26th April

Where: South Padre, Texas

Notes: Noah introduces Oliver to his parents. He always calls him Sir y’know?

Hearing the chirp, Noah pulled his phone out his pocket, pushing his sunglasses up to his forehead to read the text. “They’re just fifteen minutes out.” He was going for nonchalant, but the excitement was obvious in his voice. He looked over at Oliver. “Ready to meet the ‘rents?” He was more than ready for his parents to meet Oliver. He’d only talked to them a little about him and really wanted them to see how important this amazing boy was to him.

He was totally cool. Completely chill. Except he wasn’t; not really. He’d never actually met someone’s parents before, but he didn’t want to tell Noah that. He didn’t want to do anything that could dull his boyfriend’s excitement. Mentally he was running through habits he couldn’t show, language he had to shy away from and Noah’s words broke him out of his internal recital. ‘What? Yeah. Totally.’ He answered. His smile was real zbecause he couldn’t not echo his boyfriend’s expression. ‘Are you sure you’re ready for them to meet me?’ He suddenly realised he didn’t know which was the Dominant and which was the submissive. ‘So your Dad is the Dominant right?’ He guessed, far from confident in his answer.

He knew that probably Oliver was freaking out a little. How did you not freak out a little meeting the parents? But he seemed pretty together. The smile on his face was genuine at least. “Absolutely sure. But that doesn’t have to mean you’re ready. You know that right?” He never wanted to push his boyfriend into anything he wasn’t ready for. “Actually mom’s the dominant. Tell you the truth I totally can’t remember if dad was a switch or a submissive before they claimed.” He knew it would be clear that his mother was the dominant as soon as Oliver met her. His dad fit the mold of a submissive but in a less traditional way. He was quiet and reserved… professorial. “Mom’s very… ‘Dommy’, but I don’t know if that’s how she naturally is or if being a chef has nurtured that.” He let his sunglasses slip back down while reaching over to take Ollie’s hand. “You doing okay?”

‘If not now when?’ He replied. ‘Is anyone ever really ready to meet the people who brought their person into the world?’ He asked, arching a brow. Still Noah taking his hand allowed a sense of calm to wash over him. He both loved and was slightly afraid of the easy impact the other man had on him. Titles. He didn’t think they would be as much of a bother to remember them because he probably would have called them Mr and Mrs anyway. ‘I’m fine. Nervous, but fine, honestly.’ He promised, giving his hand a squeeze. ‘Does your Mom have a title she prefers?’ He asked, a frown furrowing his brow. ‘I wanna get this right Noe.’

“Yeah. I mean assuming our plan to run away to a deserted island to live out the remainder of our days is on hold, it’s probably going to happen sooner or later.” He squeezed Oliver’s hand. “I know. Believe me I’ll be even more than nervous when I meet yours.” He had to think about that. “She’s Miss to her submissive employees for sure,” He chuckled. “And to dad when they’re having an argument, but as long as you’re polite… you know Ms. Duval or something like that, she’ll be happy. Had a girlfriend back in high school call her Clara and that did not go over very well at all.” Raising his chair on to two side legs to reach over, Noah gently kissed his boyfriend. “I know.” He knew and he loved him for it. This was important to Ollie because he was important to Ollie. That was powerful.

He didn’t bother mentioning he didn’t think he would every introduce Noah to his parents. They didn’t deserve to meet the greatest thing in his life. ‘Ms Duval, not Clara. I got it.’ He nodded, already overthinking it and being aware that he was doing so. He knew Noah’s parents were important to him; he respected them and so their opinion mattered. He didn’t think Noah would end things if his parents didn’t approve but he craved their approval anyway. ‘Don’t kiss me.’ He muttered against his lips. ‘It makes me want to not stop and that would make a terrible impression. Your parents don’t need to see me kissing you senseless.’ He kissed him again anyway. Time seemed to pass in slow motion; he wondered if he should be kneeling next to Noah. He didn’t want to but he thought maybe that would make a better impression. He had to be a version of himself; one who was less outspoken about how broken the whole system was. He felt confident he would remember to call him Sir at least. ‘Is that them?’ He asked, nodding towards the couple now walking towards them.

Noah wished he could ease all of Oliver’s worries, but he figured only his parents could do that at that point. He smiled as he pulled back. “Kinda hope they’d be happy to see us kissing.” He leaned in as his boyfriend moved to kiss him again. He couldn’t help quickly cupping his cheek. Looking over to where Ollie had nodded his head, his face lit up. “Yeah!” He stood up and took his boyfriend’s hand. “Mom! Dad!” He realized that while he was excited to see his parents, he was more excited for them to meet Oliver; to show off the amazing person who had chosen him. His cheeks were flushed with happiness as hugged first his mother and then his father. “Mom, Dad this is Oliver, my boyfriend.”

Clara hugged her son tightly before pulling back and giving her husband the chance to greet their son. “Hello Oliver. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She was a warm person by nature, but also protective of her children. So if her greeting wasn’t effusive it wasn’t cold either. She would simply need to get to know him first. Besides she knew Hector would make up for it with his usual friendly manner.

Hector saw the light in his son’s eyes and knew this was much more than just a boyfriend. They’d met a lot of boyfriends and girlfriends over the years being the parents of three friendly attractive boys, but for Noah they’d always been… well he’d describe them as friends with benefits. Not devoid of love, no quite the opposite, but not this… whatever he was seeing in his boy’s eyes. “Well hello there, Oliver. It’s a pleasure to meet you!” He held out his large hand to shake.

Not Clara. Not Clara. He was more conscious of the fact he shouldn’t call her by her first name than he had been before Noah mentioned his former girlfriend. There was no room to make a mistake here. Despite his nerves, he flashed a bright smile. ‘It’s really nice to meet you Ms Duval.’ He greeted, holding his hand out to shake hers. It’s not that she doesn’t like you; she just doesn’t know you. Hector’ greeting seemed considerably more enthusiastic and so his own was in return. ‘It’s really great to meet you too Mr. Duval. No- Sir Noah has talked a lot about you both. From what I’ve gathered, you’re both basically the best parents on the face of the planet for putting up with him, Caleb and Nick.’ He laughed. It felt strange to call Noah Sir; so strange that he’d almost messed up something so simple. He hoped they didn’t notice his slip of the tongue; and he hoped Noah didn’t react to his use of it in the first place. ‘How was your journey down?’

Noah nearly jumped when Ollie called him Sir. What was worse was there was no way his face didn’t give away how uncomfortable he was with the title. He flashed his eyes to his mom and she was looking straight at him. He held his breath for long time, but then she smiled. Maybe she was just happy that someone was calling him Sir. Happy or relieved, he didn’t know. Either was better than suspicious. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t tell his parents. But this wasn’t the time. Besides it would sting a lot less once he and Ollie got this claim thing on lock.

Clara noticed the little stutter on the title and would have just taken it for just nervousness at meeting them, except her son’s face told another story. She did her mom thing assessing every inch of him… his body language and eyes... everything to figure out what was up. Oh there was a secret there, but in the end she decided it all added up to something good. Her little boy had finally found something serious. Something he could build a claim on.

“Oh they were certainly a handful. The three of them were like a three ring circus. But like all circuses they were… are full of fun and joy.” He looked over at his Domme and laughed. “And sometimes a giant mess.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Now that was a long drive and I’m famished. Couple of tacos and a cold beer would hit the spot don’t you think?”

His hand found its way back to Noah’s and he squeezed it tightly. ‘You know, I’d really love to hear some stories about this circus he starred in.’ He laughed, feeling a little lighter in Hector’ presence. ‘Beer and tacos sound great. We found a really cute spot on the beach front the other day. It’s been like a tex-mex scavenger hunt; trying to find the best place for it.’ He grinned. ‘I hear you’re something of a whizz in the kitchen Ms. Duval; I hope it’ll be up to your standards. It’s just this way.’ He gestures down towards where the restaurant was, and waited for Noah to lead the way. As soon as there was any distance between them and his parents, he brought his hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it. ‘Don’t panic my love. Tonight you’re Sir and I promise I’m okay with that. I won’t use it too much,’ he whispered, suspecting Noah wouldn’t like the fact he was using it at all. ‘Appearances for the sake of building our life right?’

“Oh man.” Noah laughed. “You are going to hear so many stories now.” He was glad of his dad’s calm friendly manner. More glad than he could remember being. When they were in front of his parents, Ollie took the chance to share a private moment about the title. “How do you know me so well. I know. I think it made mom happy. I’ll be okay. I can handle it for building that life. But you let me know right away if you need tap out okay? And I will too if I have to. I’ll have to tell them all of it at some point. Rather not do it tonight, but it won’t be the end of the world if I have to… we have to.” He was about to lean in for a kiss when his mother interrupted.

“Noah Thomas Duval, I don’t want you hogging all of that boy’s time. Let your mother have a word with him.” Clara caught up and exchanged places with Noah, shooing him back to walk with his father. She linked her elbow with Oliver’s and looked up into his face. “So Oliver, tell me about yourself.” She smiled, but tilted her head in that motherly way that said she wouldn’t be brushed off. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen my son look this happy when he wasn’t dancing… well ever. I’m thinking that has something to do with you.”

The nerve flashed on his face for only a moment and he tried not to think about Clara for who she was. He tried to think of her as another lady at one of his Dad’s parties, and his job was to charm her. He didn’t think for a second she’d fall for the usual flattery but he could be personable and charming regardless. ‘I’d really like to hope it has something to do with me.’ He confessed, offering her a smile. ‘He’s — Well the very least he deserves in life is to be the happiest he can be right? I have a thing I say to him about giving him the moon on a string. It’s ridiculous right? But it really accurately sums up how I feel about him. There’s nothing I won’t give him, nothing I won’t at least try to give him; even the moon.’ He realised he was becoming a little ramble and tried to pull it back. ‘But you didn’t ask about that Miss; you asked about me. Sorry.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘My accent slips sometimes so maybe you guessed already but I’m French. I grew up mostly in Paris and only spent a little time in the US. I’m bilingual. I graduated top of my class last year; studied journalism and political science. I like school; I think when I get out of Lima, I’d like to study some more. Maybe get my Masters before I do the grown-up job thing.’ He listed off. ‘Provided that’s all okay with Sir, obviously. We haven’t actually ah- talked about all that that y’know.’ He couldn’t help but glance back towards him. Even seeing him smile at someone else made him feel better. ‘I’m shit at this sort of thing; I never know what to say about myself.’ He realised he’d cussed and his face paled a little. ‘I’m really sorry. N — Sir Noah warned me about cursing. Told me not to do it. Sorry Ms. Duval. Won’t happen again.’

Clara could tell the boy was used to speaking to people, used to charming them a little. She was in fact fairly well charmed by the way he talked about Noah, obviously smitten. However she had been charmed by the best of them in the restaurant business so knew how to keep a clear head. “I’m a mom so I won’t disagree with that so no… not ridiculous. Maybe a bit impossible, but not ridiculous. Wanting to give everything you can to the people you care about is admirable.” She smiled and nodded. She patted his arm soothingly. “A little swearing doesn’t hurt. It happens a lot in a restaurant kitchen. Just breathe, sweetie.” She looked back at her son. “I might have made a bigger deal about not swearing when the boys were little to keep them from doing it too much. I did notice he accent. I spent some time in Paris studying at the Cordon Bleu. It’s a lovely city. I actually met Hector there. He was a history student at the time. We met at a cafe spent all day talking and then went our separate ways. And lo and behold guess who shows up the second day after I arrived at Lima Heights?” She chuckled. “So, you see I know a thing or two about romance.” She put on her more serious face and breathed in and out a couple of times. “You don’t normally call him Sir, hmm?”

Noah has never told him that. About his parents meeting in Paris and going their separate ways, only to be reunited. That felt a little magical but before he could really comment on it, she hit him with her bombshell observation and he could have kicked himself for not being able to just let the title flow off his tongue. He had two options; either he could lie to her or he could tell something that wasn’t his story to tell. Neither was a good option and so he made the only choice he could; the one that would hurt Noah the least. ‘No, it’s not that.’ He corrected. He was a good liar. He’d had to be growing up with his Father; he’d never felt an ounce of guilt about lying to him but he already felt bad about lying to Noah’s Mom. ‘He is my Sir. I’m just not used to calling him that around other people. Like with his title and his name y’know?’ He explained. ‘I always think that sounds silly because it makes him sound like he’s a knight at the round table.’ His brain whirled through countless conversations he’d held with other submissives. What else did they use? ‘Normally, I’d say Mr. Noah, or sometimes just his name but neither of those things felt right in front of you or his Dad, Miss. I mean, I was already nervous about meeting the two of you so why not make things more difficult for myself?’ He remained calm, flashes a grin and gave a chuckle when appropriate. It was a good lie. He just hoped she couldn’t see through it.

Clara had raised three intelligent, active boys. She was well aware when she was being shined on, but there was something other than just straight lies there. “He did seem a bit surprised when he first heard you say it.” She tilted her head. “Hector doesn’t call me Miss when it’s just the two of us under… non D/s situations.” They’d been married long enough that they didn’t scene as often and for the most part they’d settled as two people more than as Domme and submissive. But truthfully she would have expected her Dominant son, in his prime to be a more overt. She chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. It does sound a bit Kind Arthur doesn’t it?” She leaned into him a little. “I want to tell you to not be nervous but that is probably a big ask, hmm? We’re all nervous when we first meet the family.” She smiled kindly at him. “Still… Don’t be nervous.” She laughed again. “We’re not here to interrogate or try to make you uncomfortable. We’re just happy that Noah is happy and want to get to know the boy who makes him that way.” There was more… just a feeling that she had that she was missing something very important in this picture, but it was also clear digging wasn’t going to get her anywhere. Not yet anyway.

He was itching to get back to Noah. He felt uncomfortable; entirely of his own making. He didn’t relish lying, and he knew the problems that would likely stem from his lie. He could only hope that when he was found out, Clara Duval would understand the choice she had unknowingly presented him with and respect the fact that he would always choose the option that would be most in Noah’s favour. ‘I’m nervous because I know how important you and his Father are to him Miss. I don’t normally give a great deal of thought to what other people think of me; I am who I am and I like who I am; but I want you to like me too. I appreciate that you don’t want me to be but I fear I will be until we bid you farewell.’ He smiled. He obviously couldn’t hide his nervousness and so he decided to own it. Perhaps being upfront about it would cover for any future slip-ups he might make. ‘I’m not very good at this Miss.’ He confessed. ‘I’ve never been brought to meet someone’s parents before.’ He explained, glancing over at her. ‘I don’t know what Sir Noah has told you about me but I want you — I want you to know that I love him. As deeply I think it’s possible for me to love another person. I just want you to know that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.’ He knew that probably sounded ridiculous to a woman who had been married and claimed for as many years as she had but it was the truest thing he could say.

Clara was surprised at the vehemence in the boy’s voice. Also at the softness it took when he was telling the complete truth. He did love her son. Was that enough in this world? Well, she wasn’t so young as they were, but her mother’s heart wanted to believe it could be. “Well, if you weren’t nervous that would probably mean this wasn’t important to you. Nerves are the brain’s way of telling the body to pay attention, right? I’m glad that Noah is important to you. Love is a tricky thing...” The logical part of her mind wanted to point out that love could be fickle, but decided to give him a break. She had a romantic side to her too and maybe this boy and her son really did have something. “Alright enough of the mom interrogation.” She laughed and pulled her arm away from his elbow. And moved back toward her husband, nudging Noah toward Oliver when as she took her place by Hector’ side. “Go walk with your beau.”

Noah was chatting with his dad about the latest history department gossip, but he couldn’t help but focus on what his mom might be saying to Oliver. When she finally came back he hurried to his boyfriend’s side. “You okay?” he asked as he reached to take Ollie’s hand in his own.

He immediately leaned into Noah’s side, lacing their fingers together. ‘Your Mom knows how to ask the right questions.’ He replied, leaning in to kiss his cheek. ‘She suggested that I don’t normally call you Sir. I lied about why it didn’t come naturally to me.’ He confessed. ‘You can be angry with me for lying to your Mother. I would understand that.’ He squeezed his hand. ‘I told her when I’m talking about you with others, I use Mr before your name but that it sounded less than respectful in front of your parents.’ He explained, speaking in a quiet whisper for his boyfriends ears only. ‘But I’m okay. I like her. I think maybe she likes me too. She knows I love you at least; and I’m sure she believed me when I told her how much.’ He brought his hand to his lips. ‘What about you my love? Are you okay?’

Laughing, he took his boyfriend’s weight and leaned right back. “Yeah. She could have been a cop the way she questions people. I’ve cracked under the pressure more than once.” He shook his head. “No way. I’m not angry. Listen, I love my mom. I love my dad, but I haven’t been honest with them. You had to lie because I’m the one who is lying. I’m gonna make things right sooner rather than later. Promise.” He didn’t want Oliver to live an inauthentic life because of him. They were working really hard at being true to themselves. But keeping how he felt from his parents really undermined that. He smiled and looked back at his mother who winked back at him. “Yeah, I think she does.” He breathed in and out. “Good. I mean keeping secrets is a little stressful, but I’m really happy to see them. I spent a couple of years being a selfish prick and didn’t stay close to my family and it feels good to be fixing that.”

‘Noah, I will lie for you for the rest of my life if I have to.’ He countered. ‘You can tell your parents the truth about our relationship whenever you feel ready to do so and never before.’ He promised. ‘This is good for us. We’re going to have to play by this role for a great deal of people and this is good. This shows me what I need to become more comfortable with.’ He frowned when Noah spoke ill of himself. He hated hearing that. ‘I never like hearing you talk ill of yourself.’ He commented. ‘Don’t focus on that. Focus on what you’re doing now. You’re a good brother, a good son and the most wonderful partner I could have ever hoped to have. I love you.’ He insisted firmly, coming up short as they reached the restaurant. ‘Play at being my Dominant tonight. I won’t sit until you tell me I can.’ He hummed. ‘You can order for me, tell me to kneel. You can do what feels right, or perhaps what feels wrong.’ He said with a smile. ‘All of it is okay with me. I promise you. I want this evening to be for you, to go how you want it. I will follow your lead no matter what it is.’ He promised earnestly.

Noah wrinkled his nose. He didn’t want Oliver to have to get used to anything. He just wanted them to be free to be themselves. But society just wouldn’t let them. He sighed, but a smile tugged at his lips. Oliver really would do anything for him. How many people were lucky enough to have someone love them that much. Not too many. His nose wrinkled again. “Okay.” He lifted Oliver’s hand to his mouth hand kissed the back of his hand. “You’re too good to me, you know.” He knew he’d never be able to order Ollie to kneel. It would be hard enough to order him at all. “Alright.” Taking a deep breath he nodded and looked over his shoulder at his parents. “Here we are. Not as good as your food Mom, but really good.”

“Nothing is as good as your mother’s food, son.” Hector smiled at the host and charmed their way to a table with a beautiful view of the beach. He held the chair for his wife and waited for her to nod her head before sitting. Their D/s was subtle, but most definitely there.

He couldn’t help but be curious enough to study the way Noah’s parents interacted. He no longer believed that everyone who practiced the lifestyle society forced on them was inherently evil or wrong or cruel; the views he’d developed watching his own parents interact. He found it was easier to remain calm with Noah at his side; it was easier to focus on their end goal because Noah’s presence reminded him. Unconsciously, he found himself echoing the example the older Duvals set. He pulled Noah’s chair out for him and waited quietly until there was a signal for him to sit. Under the table, he let his hand rest on his boyfriend’s thigh. ‘I’ve heard the most wonderful things about the food in your home.’ He remarked, a bright smile on his face. ‘I really should pick your brain about that Miss. Every time I ask Sir about his favourite food, he talks about real tex-mex and a good chilli con carne. It’s not really something in my wheelhouse.’ He explained. ‘I’ve mastered the chocolate someone is so very prone too though.’ He smiled, looking towards Noah.

Noah saw that Oliver was mimicking how his parents behaved and figured that was something he could do. After all, children often learned their habits from their children. Instead of nodding though, he smiled up at his boyfriend and winked as his own form of ‘signal’ He liked it better when they were at their place, eating in front of the tv, and Ollie just plopped down on the couch and put his feet in his lap while they laughed at some stupid show they were watching. But he could do this. He could play this part without freaking out.

“Ah so you’ve discovered his addiction to chocolate. Do you know one time he got into my baking chocolate? Even with how bitter it was he ate the whole thing.” She shook her head. “He’s a chocolate fiend, Oliver. Watch out.” The laughter then was natural. She liked this boy. There was a lot more to him than he showed to others, but he was good. She could sense that. And more than that he was good for her son. “We’ll exchange numbers. We can Skype and make chili together. Everyone should have at least one good Tex-Mex recipe in their repertoire.”

‘You did not!’ He teased, turning to look at Noah with genuine surprise. ‘You are utterly hopeless. Cooking chocolate of all things.’ There was a part of him that wished he could be meeting Clara and Hector as Noah’s equal. He wished he didn’t have to think so carefully about everything he said. When he thought about it though, he always came back to the simple fact that Noah was worth much more than a mild inconvenience in choosing his words and that’s all this was. What he could do however was still tease him, still smile and touch him freely; anything to make him feel more comfortable with the role he was playing. ‘I have to admit that’s one reason we’re so well suited. We’re both chocolate fiends; it’s normally a full pan of brownies each. I just wish I had his commitment to dancing to work it all off.’ He turned to look at Noah’s father. Although they now shared a mark, Fathers tended to make him think of his own and he felt mildly intimidated. ‘Sir says you’re a history professor Mr. Duval. I took a few classes when I was in college. Do you have a favourite time period to teach?’ He asked.

Noah just laughed and ducked his head, shrugging. “I can’t help myself.” It was true that chocolate had been one of the things that helped them bond. He turned to his mom. “You’re chili is the best, but gotta tell you Ma, Ollie’s brownies are kinda the best I’ve ever eaten.” His eyes widened playfully and he leaned in to his mother. “Uh-ohh mom. We’re in for it now. Get ready for the history talk.”

Hector waved off his family with a laugh. “Don’t listen to them son.” He leaned in across the table toward Oliver. “When I was young I studied the sacking of Paris by the Vikings and the effect the invasion had on French culture. I’m still fascinated by it, but my area of expertise is early American history. The war for independence, the Revolutionary war, whatever you choose to call it still has reverberations in the modern era. Do you have a favorite subject… history or otherwise?”

His favourite subject was politics but he feared that would prompt a conversation no-one at the table really wanted to have in that moment. It wasn’t really a lie, he justified to himself. It just wasn’t all of the truth. ‘I got my degree in journalism.’ He replied. ‘That’s always been a favourite subject; that’s the type of career I’d like to have but my favourite subject would probably fall under the generic banner of languages. I grew up learning two and I think I was just fascinated with the idea of speaking a language not everyone around me could understand. It’s something you learn for the rest of your life. And I’m definitely an academic so that appeals to me a lot.’ He smiled. ‘Sir tells me he’s going to learn French. I like the idea of him doing that too for the same reason I liked speaking English in my otherwise French household. For the most part, it becomes a secret language between just you and a select few. That appeals to the Peter Pan part of me.’

“Journalists and historians are close partners in the witnessing of events aren’t they. A noble calling, son. Not always an easy one in this modern world though is it.” Hector nodded his head approvingly. This boy seemed to fit in with their family in some fundamental ways. Not just that he was intelligent, but that he obviously valued learning and saw it as an ongoing process. “Noah is learning French,” he asked. “Wonderful. C’est magnifique.” He clapped his hands together.

“I did tell you Oliver didn’t I. France holds a special place in our hearts.” As the server came over Clara became engrossed in discussing the menu and the ingredients and everything. Hector joined in making jokes until the server was happy and smiling and Clara had ordered a mountain of food for the whole table.

Noah leaned in so he could whisper in Oliver’s ear. “Are you regretting this?” He chuckled. “At least now you know where my particular brand of crazy comes from right?”

“I heard that Noah Thomas Duval!”

He’d never felt that he needed approval for his choice of career but there was something quite setting about hearing a parent give it to him anyway and he couldn’t help but smile at Hector. His eyes widened as he watched the parents take over dinner; with Clara quizzing and ordering, and Hector seemingly keeping the mood light so the server didn’t feel overwhelmed. ‘How could I ever regret something that means so much to you? Don’t forget, I fell madly in love with your very specific brand of crazy.’ He drew the line at using a title when he was talking about how much he loved him; that was dishonest and he wasn’t about to ruin such important words with dishonesty. He squeezed his thigh, tracing a heart over his leg with his finger. ‘He says that only because he hasn’t worked out where my brand of crazy comes from.’ He laughed, looking across at who he hoped would become his in-laws. ‘Thank you for joining us. This is — it’s a rare opportunity given the set-up of the institute and I’m really glad to have the chance to meet you.’

Sometimes the things Oliver said and the honesty behind them made him dizzy with love. He felt the heart on his thigh and smiled like a fool. The smile was still there when he turned to his mom. “But I have figured out that our brands work perfectly together, Ma so it’s all good.”

Hector reached over and took his wife’s hand in his own. “The pleasure is ours Oliver. We understand why the school has the rules they do but it sure makes getting to know the people in your children’s lives. We’ve only gotten spend in person time with Mateo once and look… they’re already claimed. When we heard you’d be in Texas there was no question of not coming down.”

Clara was not soft like Hector but she had to nod in agreement. She missed her boys and getting to see them building their relationships. She worried about Caleb so much it ached and got strange feelings about Noah and his seriousness about making a claim. “You’ve already calmed my worries about Noe, young man. So I would say this was a wonderful idea.” She accepted her drink when the server returned with it and after an appreciate sip at the margarita, continued. “Are your parents living in France? That must make it difficult to see them.”

‘They’re based in Paris.’ He answered, subconsciously holding onto his boyfriend a little tighter. The conversations he wanted to avoid seemed to continually crop up and he wasn’t sure how to avoid this one. ‘But they’re in the States often enough.’ He explained. ‘We’ve never been close so even if it were possible to go see them, I don’t know that I would.’ He answered honestly, taking a sip from the wine he’d ordered. ‘My parents are — quite different from you.’ He thought perhaps that was the most he’d ever said about them. He hadn’t told Noah a lot, because he didn’t like to talk about them nor did he feel much need to. They weren’t really relevant in his life any longer. ‘Did Sir Noah tell you about the fact that he was asked to choreograph the school musical?’ He asked, changing the subject and putting the attention to his boyfriend. ‘He did the most amazing job. He whipped us all into shape let me tell you. He’s unforgiving when it comes to his craft.’

Working in the high end restaurant industry you got to know a thing or two about the jet-set clientele. She was a person more at home with roots and small comforts. With their combined salaries, she and Hector had been able to provide the boys with a very comfortable upper middle class upbringing. But they’d put most of their money into savings and just lived that comfortable life in their small way. She had an image in her head, fair or unfair, of Oliver’s parents lives being lavish and transcontinental, rich and unconcerned. She’d served people like that her whole career. And Oliver didn’t come across that way. In fact before talking about his parents she would have pegged him as coming a working class family. The eagerness to please and the worry over making a bad impression. “I’m sorry to hear you’re not close.” She paused for a moment considering her words. She didn’t throw such sentiments around without thought. “If you ever need some parental input or attentions… well we’re just a few states away, alright?” She held his gaze for a moment, hoping he knew she was being sincere regardless of his relationship with her son. She let him change the subject, though Noah’s dancing was a bit of a sticky point for her. It wasn’t that she didn’t support her boy. She just wished he’d chosen a more traditional career path.

“You didn’t tell us Noe. You called to tell us how great Nicky did and didn’t say a thing about it.” He shook his head. He knew his son didn’t share things about his dancing with them and knew the reason why. “Well congratulations Son! Did you enjoy doing the choreography.”

Noah shrugged. “It was actually more fun than I thought it would be. I’ve always held back from choreography, but you know… I didn’t suck.” He chuckled and shrugged.

He was more than a little taken aback by Clara’s offer. He didn’t really know how to respond to it without getting emotional and he didn’t want to get emotional, not at this dinner. That could be saved for when he was back in their room. He could tell Noah how much it all meant to him and not being concerned if he got a little teary. He just gave her a smile, and nodded. He understood what she was saying and while he wasn’t sure if he’d ever go to her, so used to not having that parental support, the sentiment was appreciated. He hadn’t been aware dancing was a sticking point but he could sense something around the table now. ‘Didn’t suck.’ He repeated, shaking his head. ‘What he’s not telling you is just what terrible dancers he had to work with. I’ve spun him round the floor in a waltz a time or two but anything to do with any kind of modern dance has me stumped and I wasn’t the only one. He was patient and kind; and let me tell you, his talent fu— shone. He was a star and he came up with something incredible with no help from any of the cast.’ He turned his attention to Noah, and gave him that no arguing brow arch he’d long since perfected. ‘You were amazing Sir. Don’t suggest otherwise.’

When it came to dance Noah was usually very happy to get praise, so it came as a surprise how much what Ollie said meant. He felt his breath catch in his chest. It was more than just the praise for the dancing. It was the belief that Oliver had in him. It was the that Oliver saw it more than just about the dance moves he’d shown them, but as much a reflection of his character. Why it was easier to accept compliments to his dancing than to his character was something he’d explore later. Right now he just needed to get closer to Ollie. “Ok. Love you… love you so much.” His parents presence was forgotten as he leaned in and kissed his boyfriend.

Clara watched the exchange between the boys and really listened to what Oliver was saying. Obviously he was defending his Dom, as was fitting, but it was more than that. She felt a little shudder run up her spine. The boys were in love. It would make things so much more difficult. She reached out and took Hector’ hand in hers. She loved her husband. That love had superseded their D/s relationship and nearly kept them from getting their claim approved. A mother worried about such things. It was their job. But with a simple look and a few whispered words that Hector proved that love was their strength.

Hector was a talented and enthusiastic historian, but what he was truly gifted at was reading his Domme. He turned from the boys with a smile and saw the look on Clara’s face. He shook his head and brought her hand to his lips. “Stop worrying. It’s going to be alright. They remind me of us… and look at how that turned out. Twenty five years later... claim is strong and marriage is strong...Not too shabby for a couple of romantics, right?” He winked and turned back to the boys. “Alright, alright enough of that. Here comes the mountain of food your mother ordered.”

‘I love you too.’ He let Noah kiss him. He welcomed it even; he wouldn’t initiate a kiss in front of his parents but he certainly wouldn’t turn one down either. When Hector interrupted them, he pulled back; there was a blush colouring his face. That prompted a small playful frown directed at Noah before he turned to flash a grin at the server. He expressed his thanks but held back from digging in first. Noah should go first, right? That was part of being submissive to him. ‘I’m not sure how much you think we’re all going to be able to eat Miss.’ He laughed. The longer they were with them, the more comfortable he became and the easier conversation began to flow. It felt nice in a way he couldn’t fully describe. He felt more comfortable with Noah’s parents than he’d ever felt with his own. He excused himself briefly so he could subtly leave his card at the till with instructions to charge everything to it, including the tip. He didn’t say anything about it when he returned, and fell right back into the conversation. This was another night he didn’t want to end.

There was a strange moment when Noah waited for Ollie to dig in while Ollie in turn waited for him. He barked out a laugh when he finally realized and just picked up his taco al pastor with a giant smile plastered on his face. When his boyfriend left, presumably to use the restroom, Noah couldn’t help looking over at his parents. He couldn’t actually ask the question, but his eyes did it for him.

Hector saw the look in his youngest triplets eyes and couldn’t help torturing him a little. He turned to his wife, winking. “Hmm….” He took a long sip of his margarita. “Sooo...Oliver….” He popped an olive into his mouth and slowly chewed.

“Dad!... Mom!”

Clara lightly punched Hector shoulder. “Hector, stop teasing your son.” She reached across the table and covered Noah’s hand with her own. “He’s a lovely boy, sweetie. You suit each other.” She paused then to take a sip of her own drink then caught his gaze again. “We like him very much, but don’t think for a moment that I don’t know there’s something you’re not telling me.” She watched his smile fade. “I trust you’ll tell us sooner rather than later. Right? But for now let’s enjoy our time”

“Thanks mom. We’ll talk soon… promise.” He looked between his parents. “I really do love him. And we’re perfect for each other.” When Oliver returned the conversation turned casual and free. Noah felt truly happy and relaxed and spent most of the dinner holding Ollie’s hand.

———-———————————————————

Dinner had passed and he was surprised there had been very little argument about the money paid. He’d really enjoyed the fact that Noah seemed to be as tied up in him as he felt; and he’d taken great pride in having their fingers laced together. They were leaving the restaurant; bellies full and smiles in place and he thought about how the night should continue. Frankly, the pretending was taking its toll and he hoped they’d be able to take their leave; but he also wouldn’t suggest for a second that they leave his parents before he wanted to. ‘Well Miss, I was wrong. I never thought we’d eat all the food but we managed.’ He laughed.

“See.” Clara laughed and leaned into her submissive, her husband. A little bit of wine and good, hearty food had made her feel loose and content. The good company did the same. “Never doubt a chef when it comes to ordering food.” She sighed feeling quite full. Regardless of what she was saying, it probably was a little too much food. “Well your father and I should head to the hotel. We’re spending the morning with Nicky and his Claim, and I need some good quality time with Caleb. And hopefully all of us will share another meal sometime this week before we have to go home.”

“Yeah, your folks aren’t as young as they once were, ya know. Takes some rest to keep up with you boys these days.” He chuckled and put an arm around Clara contentedly. “It was a real pleasure meeting you Oliver. I look forward to more nights like tonight in the future. Night boys.”

Goodbyes completed and hugs and handshakes all around, they each went their separate ways, but before they got to far, Noah stopped dead in his tracks. He looked into Oliver’s eyes and squeezed his hand, before turning around. “Mom! Dad! Wait... “ He knew they couldn’t live a lie. Not with his parents. There were plenty of people they’d have to try to fool. He didn’t want to fool them.

He knew exactly what Noah meant to do the moment he called them back. He didn’t need to ask him was he sure, didn’t need to tell him he didn’t have to do this. This needed to be Noah’s decision. He kept a tight hold of his boyfriend’s hand and followed his lead as they turned and walked towards his parents. ‘I’m with you.’ He whispered as they approached. ‘No matter what happens, I’m with you and I love you.’ He could only imagine how frightened he must feel in that moment and he wished nothing more than to be able to take that fear, that concern away. Noah was brave. Braver than just about anyone he knew. He could only hope his parents saw things in the same way.

I’m with you. He wondered if anyone knew how powerful those words were. He knew. He felt it. Even still he was actually shaking as his parents turned and walked back to them. He felt nauseous and weak in the knees. If he didn’t have Oliver at his side, holding him up emotionally… practically physically he wouldn’t be able to do it. “I… I..”

Clara thought they’d just forgotten something, but as they got closer she could see how pale her son was. His hand that wasn’t holding Oliver’s was actually shaking. She watched Hector reach out and squeeze Noah’s shoulder and she knew this wasn’t just her seeing something that wasn’t there. When he stuttered and faltered she looked between the boys, took a deep breath, and stood up tall. “Noah, just tell us son. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine.”

Noah wasn’t sure it would be fine. Not sure at all. They’d still love him. He knew that, but would they like him? Would they be angry? Would they distance themselves from him? “I… I don’t believe in the system anymore. I can’t. I think it’s wrong. Wrong in so many ways.” He turned to Oliver. “I love Ollie. That’s not a lie, but mom… dad… he doesn’t call me Sir or wait for me to let him eat. He doesn’t kneel for me. He doesn’t do any of those things. I don’t need those things. He doesn’t. We’re just… just Ollie and Noah. Just us.” He couldn’t read his parents expressions, but it seemed somewhere between shocked, disbelieving, and… and scared. “We’re not going to the auction house though. We’re going to jump through all the hoops and… and we’re going to claim each other.” He felt like he was saying this all wrong.

“Noah Thomas Duval what are you talking about? We didn’t raise you that way. The system gives us guidance, structure, safety… It’s the law Noah. How do you think you’re going to… going to what? Trick the headmasters?” She shook her head. “What are you think….” Hector hand on her arm stopped her.

“We’re going to need time with this Noe. But…” He looked at his Domme and then back at his son. “Thank you for telling us the truth. I don’t like thinking you were being… not yourselves with us. No matter what we love you. Not saying this is going to be easy, but we will always love you.” He looked at Oliver. “And you feel the same way as Noah?” He knew if he didn’t, they would never work and things would be dangerous for his son.

‘I didn’t believe in a system that took away half the population’s rights before I was part of that half. I haven’t believed in it since I was a fourteen year old boy watching his Mother be punished because she tried twice to get me something I wanted.’ He said simply, calmly. ‘Everything I’ve learned since has just given me more reason not to believe in it, not to trust it. I think everyone should be allowed to choose.’ He squeezed Noah’s hand tightly and looked over at him. ‘I don’t know if we’ll be able to fool anyone. You picked up on something quickly enough Mrs Duval. Maybe I just need more practice. What I do know is that I love your son more than I have ever loved anyone. I meant it when I told you there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him. I’m his. Completely. How we interpret that is just different to how you do. Neither of us are stupid. We know it’s going to be difficult, and uncomfortable and messy and sad. But I believe in him. And in us. And I think in the end, after all the hard stuff, I think we’ll get the good.’

Clara opened her mouth to interrupt, but Oliver’s eloquent words halted her. She could think back to when it was her talking to her parents explaining that she was going to have a romantic claim. They’d been scandalized. In their world purely D/s relationships were the only worthwhile ones… the only ones that worked. She had hidden the truth from them all the way up to hers and Hector’ claiming ceremony. It had been a mess. And to this day their relationship wasn’t the same. The shoes were definitely on the other foot now. She couldn’t understand where this was coming from. How could they not believe in the system? How could they not see how important it was? But on the other hand she could so easily put herself in their place, believing so differently than their parents. She sighed. “I won’t tell you I understand…. But Hector is right. We love you…” She shared a look for Oliver, letting him know he was included in this. “You’re right. This isn’t going to be easy. Messy doesn’t even begin to describe it. I hope you understand that you’re both risking slavery. But…” She paused leaning into her husband. “But you have our support. We’ll help however we can.”

Noah felt his eyes stinging with tears. It was more than he had hoped for. He knew there would be tense times between them. There would be topics that couldn’t be talked about over Thanksgiving dinners, but there would be Thanksgiving dinners. They’d be a family still. He surged forward to engulf his parents in a giant hug. “Oh God. I didn’t… Oh.. thank you. Thank you. I… I love you…” He couldn’t talk anymore cheeks wet with tears. He could only reach back to pull Oliver into the hug with them.

His heart felt immediately lighter. He had never expected it would go as well as it did. He’d hoped but to see his hope met and matched was something else entirely. He tensed slightly when he was drawn into the hug but he found a way he wrap his arms mostly around Noah, leaning into him and breathing out all his worry in one long breath. He moved back after a few long moments; wanting Noah to have this lingering moment with his parents. He could only imagine how important that memory was going to be in the coming months when things only become more difficult.

Clara hugged her son for long long moments. Her heart was still heavy, but somehow they’d make it through. Even if she couldn’t get images of her son in shackles out of her mind. When they parted she reached forward and wiped across his cheeks with her thumb. She turned to Ollie. “Nicky is my sensitive one, the most empathetic. But he’s affected by other people’s moods so easily and puts his own happiness aside when he senses other’s pain. Caleb is a pleaser. Dedicated, loyal, but vulnerable to looking after others before himself. I’ll admit I’ve worried about them in the way mothers do. But Noah… I didn’t worry so much. He just charms and lands on his feet. I think I… I ignored his feelings a little.” She sighed. “Ah well, nothing to be done about the past now. Besides it’s your job now sweetheart. I getting the feeling you can do a better job of it, anyway..” She didn’t say it in a self-deprecating way. She wasn’t given to feeling down on herself. It was just a statement of fact. And a genuine passing of the torch as well.

Hector was proud of his Domme. He knew when they got back to their hotel room all of her worry, fear and probably not a little upset over what they’d learned would come out, but she’d managed not to let any of that ruin their relationship with their son. “Well now, any more revelations for the night? If so you might need to hold them off til tomorrow when I’ve digested some of this food.” He rubbed his belly. He was always one to deflect with humor. Something he knew Noah had gotten from him. And right on cue...

“Yeah, think that’s it. We’ll save the running off to teach lions to be vegans for tomorrow pops.” Laughing he pulled his dad in for a quick hug. His mom got a longer one, during which he whispered “Love you mom.” in her ear, and then pulled back to put an arm around Oliver, feeling grounded as soon as they touched.

When they bid their goodbyes, and his parents were a safe enough distance away, Oliver turned to Noah and stole a fierce kiss. He kissed him the way he’d wanted to kiss him all night. As his boyfriend. As Oliver rather than the submissive he’d pretended to be. ‘I am so proud of you.’ He whispered. He didn’t leave more than a breath between their lips. ‘I am proud of you, I’m proud to be with you. My brave love.’ He smiled warmly. He wouldn’t offer any assurances that everything would be okay because it was a lot for his parents to digest. It would take time and it would be hard but this was a positive step forward into the life they were carving out for one another. ‘I love you Noah Duval. Completely and irrevocably.’ He brought his hand up to rest against his cheek, stroking his thumb back and forth over his cheekbone. ‘How are you feeling?’

His parents weren’t too far away before Oliver was kissing him. This was no little polite peck of a kiss though. This was how they kissed. Not Noah the Dom and Oliver the submissive. It was Noah and Ollie, in love, having each other’s back no matter what. This was passion, friendship, love, and, yes, devotion. “Love you too.” With each word he felt his boyfriend's breath on his lips. “Proud to be with you. Proud to do all of this side by side with you.” He leaned into Ollie’s hand. “Honestly? A little freaked out, a little overwhelmed. But I’m glad I told them.” He looked into his boyfriend’s eyes. “It was okay right? I mean mom’s… well I don’t know, but not exactly happy about this, but she wasn’t… she wasn’t mad, right? She meant all that stuff she said right?” It seemed to good to be true and hoped he hadn’t read things into what she’d said thatt weren’t really there.

‘I think you’re lucky you have someone has charming as me on your arm to sway them.’ It was a joke. A tease. His timing was perhaps poor but he could only imagine Noah had found it as hard as he had to be so careful about how they spoke and what they said all evening. A tease would do them good. ‘I think she meant it.’ He then answered seriously. ‘I don’t think anyone who loved their children would say what she did just to placate you.’ She’d spoken such beautiful words about trusting him with her boy’s heart and he felt the weight of that responsibility. It wasn’t heavy or overwhelming. It was right. ‘I’m glad you told them too. Because I think not doing so would have weighed heavy on your heart and we’re going to have to deal with enough heaviness.’ He kissed him again. ‘I think she’s scared but then we are too. I think she’s worried but then we are too. I think, maybe, she’s in this with us my love.’

Noah laughed, leaning in for a moment to touch their foreheads. “Handsome too.” He loved the way Ollie knew how to pull him back from the edge. Laughter was a big part of who they were and it felt right to tease in the moment. He nodded and lay his head down on Ollie’s shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “God, no kidding. That was exhausting.” He laughed a bit more, but sobered at his boyfriend’s words. It was true how could he ask her not to be scared and worried when they definitely were. “I think she is too. I’m glad. But you know what? In the end all that matters is that you’re in it with me…. That were in it together. Ride or die.” He leaned in for another good fierce and powerful kiss.

#[ take this sinking ship and point it home ]#nollie

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