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undiscovered-horizon · 4 months

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Rainy Season - Morpheus x Reader

[Spoilers for Brief Lives I guess?]

[MASTERLIST] | [Sandman-inspired playlist]

SUMMARY: Fed up with Dream's stubborn and at times childish attitude, you leave Dreaming. But when Morpheus's sorrow makes itself known, Matthew has to fetch you before the kingdom completely floods.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.7k

It’s a tumultuous morning in the Dreaming. Even if none of the dreams and nightmares are privy to the ongoing feud, they know something is wrong. It’s as though the air in the kingdom, the marrow of their bones, turned bitter last night. Their skin is crawling but the sun is shining as it did yesterday. They birds chirp the same song they had throughout centuries. And yet, against their better judgment, something is terribly out of place.

To be honest, you don’t even remember how all of this started but the damage is already done.

A frustrated scream ripples through your chest, "The world doesn't revolve around you!" You're fuming. There's only so much patience one person can hold and recently, Morpheus had proven himself exceptional at trying to reach its limit until he, unfortunately, succeeded today. "For someone who's supposed to know every thought ever entertained, you sure can not look past the tip of your own nose."

His eyes, cold and hurt, stare at you in utter confusion. Dark eyebrows furrow. "I do not know what you're expecting of me,” he states in an angry voice. It appears that he really does not understand the reason for your outrage. "I am not human, I am unable to look at the world as you do."

Of course he says that, you think to yourself. It seems to be his favorite line of defense. Dream of the Endless is a strange, eldritch creature. He doesn’t comprehend the world like a mortal does and, or some reason, he treats this fact of nature as an excuse not to try. At first, you thought it charming - to see the universe through the eyes of a creature you can barely begin to understand. Who wouldn’t? The strange wonder of the man in front of you made you seek his company again and again. Truthfully, there’s something poetic about it: the reason you’ve come back to him so many times might be the very reason you bid him farewell. For good.

"Good news, then: you don't need a cardiovascular system to exercise empathy.” Your sarcastic tone has an effect on Morpheus. He frowns, hurt by your words, only to grow angry that he’s so affected. Dream’s pride makes him want to not be influenced by your bitterness. Alas, he cares more than he’s willing to admit. "Not everything is about you, Morpheus, and until you realize that, I don't think we've got more to talk about. Goodbye."

Even after you shut the door behind you, the word echoes through the castle. The stone walls seem to whisper it back to Morpheus, rubbing the salt in his wound. How strange it is - to be haunted by somebody still alive. To be the king of dreams and feel hopeless. It would be funny if it didn’t make him want to be unmade.

A thunder rolls. A blue lightning splits the sky in two. Despite the lovely weather in the morning, it starts to rain in the Dreaming.

The storm doesn’t stop after a few hours nor does it cease after a few days. Black clouds cover the sky as they did four days ago. The only change is in the water level: the kingdom is flooded. When everyone thought the rain is bound to stop soon, no one minded much the rising tide. However, when the situation only worsened with no evidence that it’s going to improve in the near future, worried voices started to reach Lucienne. If the storm doesn’t cease in the next day or two, some parts of the Dreaming will share the fate of Atlantis.

If Morpheus knew he was being observed, he didn’t show it. Perhaps he doesn’t feel up for another confrontation. In any event, he remains still, standing against the balcony reiling, as his friends begin plotting:

"How is he?" Matthew whispers to Lucienne. "Has he moved from there at all? Ate something? Said anything?"

"That's three 'no's, I'm afraid,” she answers slowly. The librarian lets out a heavy sigh. "He's just dramatically standing there, wallowing in pity."

Dream really is 'just standing there’. Drenched. His hair and clothes are stuck to his pasty skin. It can’t be comfortable but it would appear that matters other than cosiness are on his mind at the moment. For the past few days, ever since you left, he hasn’t moved even a quarter of an inch. Truthfully, he looks about as alive as a marble statue, if monuments could appear excruciatingly miserable.

"Should we do something?" The raven continues. What he really wants to ask is 'What should we do?’ but Lucienne seems to catch the undertone of his words nonetheless.

"You could ask her to come back but no guarantee she'll want to,” she thinks out loud. "They've fought before but this time she looked really defeated."

Morpheus, although doesn’t need to breathe, sighs loudly. As he exhales, another lightning tears the sky apart.

"Alright, I'll try to convince her to talk to him again,” Matthew states. His worried voice makes him sound determined to have the two of you reconcile. "Hopefully, we'll be back before you need a canoe."

Lucienne doesn’t respond. As much as she doesn’t want to admit to her pessimism, she knows better than to have much hope in the matter of Dream’s love life.

Repetitive tapping on the window diverts your attention from the dishes you were washing. Seeing the black bird sitting on the outside windowsill, you quickly wipe your hands against the dishrag and jog to open the window.

"Matthew?" you ask in surprise.

He wastes no time pleading his case in a plaintive tone. "You gotta go back to him. Everything's gone to shit."

You furrow your eyebrows. Leaning against the wall, you cross your arms on your chest. "What do you mean?"

The raven hops closer to you. "It's been pouring nonstop since you left. He's just standing there, soaking wet and he won't talk to anyone."

It might sound sadistic but it’s a nice thought that he’s grieving your departure so severely. For what it’s worth, it means he’s not as blase as he likes to appear. Perhaps, Morpheus cares about you more than you’re even aware of.

"How bad is it?" you ask warily.

"How bad?!" Matthew screeches. "The House of Mysteries is so flooded, Abel is fishing."

It sounds like 'bad' is nothing more than an elegant euphemism. In his heartache, Morpheus is willing to let Dreaming decay and fall into partial ruin. If your accusation had been correct and Dream of the Endless truly is unable to care about anyone but himself, such a disaster would never have happened. A selfish ruler wouldn’t let his realm turn to rubble because of a broken heart. And if you’re more important than what he calls home, then…

"I'm assuming that's not a usual feature,” you give the raven a half-hearted response. The thoughts inside your head are in a painful turmoil, trying to lift the truth out of the indications.

"Yeah," he answers sarcastically.

Matthew glares at you in anticipation. Perplexed, you rub your arm without thinking much about it. Right, it's the mature and responsible thing to do but at the same time, why do you have to be the one to cave in every time you two fall out? If Morpheus cares for you as much as his dramatic show of pain and grief would suggest, shouldn’t it be him travelling across world and realms to reach you?

The raven cocks his head. Something about the look in his eyes changes as though his frustration has faded away or grown into desperation if not powerlessness. He’s tired and out of options.

"Alright, let's go," you say with a sigh. "But no promises. I still have pride and self-respect and he's still a stubborn..." you take a deep breath, "nevermind. Let's just go."

Miserable.

That's the only word that comes to your mind as you stare at him from afar. One would think that an entity of his sort can not be or look miserable but maybe this world is even stranger than you've thought. His clothes are drenched to the point of being see-through. Dark, once-tussled hair is now stuck to his face and neck. Dream's body looks even more stringy as his head is hanging low between his shoulders.

The rain is almost deafening. Your cautious, hesitant footsteps shouldn't be audible and yet Morpheus turns around to look at you when you come closer.

"I didn't think you'd come back," he says in a low, groggy voice. Dream's eyes, once blue and cold, are now red and unsettlingly vacant. Has he been crying? "What do you want?"

You take a deep breath. It was vain to expect him to welcome you with open arms. An eldritch being with a bruised ego and a broken heart could never make for a hospitable host. Even to those whom he misses the most.

"I still stand by what I said, it's just..." you hang your voice for a moment to find the proper words. Seeing him so broken by your fight makes some part of you want to renounce everything that lead to your argument. Anything just for him to be alright again. But the more reasonable side of you knows that such an action would only hurt both of you in the long run. "I admit, I could have said it in a more civilized way. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that harshness."

His gaze falls and Morpheus looks away for a moment.

Whether he's doing it consciously or not, the rainstorm ceases. Black clouds slowly drift away to uncover a clear, blue sky. Somewhere in the West, if there are cardinal directions in Dreaming, the sun is beginning to set. Despite the significant improvement, the air remains cold. A harsh wind nips at your drenched form. In a vain attempt to shield yourself from the discomfort of the weather, you put your arms around your torso. Still, your body trembles.

"Perhaps I should have put more effort into understanding your concern. I'm..." he turns silent for a second. His lips are apart but no sound is coming out of his mouth. Dream's hurt gaze meets yours. "Sorry," he whispers finally. Despite his voice being hardly audible, the weight of his confession is almost deafening.

"There's one more thing, Morpheus."

Those sad blue eyes stare at you in anticipation. The misery on his face makes you think that he's expecting to have his heart broken again, instead of mended.

A couple of grey clouds reappear above your heads. Oh no.

"I'm tired of always being the one to reach out," you confess. His gaze is too intense and you quickly look away from him. There's much on his mind. "No matter who's right or wrong, it's me who bridges the gap between us. Even if that angers me, I still do it. Every time. And I don't know what that says about me."

Your body trembles again but this time it doesn't go unnoticed by Morpheus. He, quite literally, pulls a coat out of thin air. Dream's movements are almost fearful as he cautiously places the garment around your shoulders.

"Perhaps in certain aspects, you are better than me," he answers quietly while fixing the coat to fit you better.

You know you're pushing your luck when you look at him again and ask a not-so-innocent question:

"You mean a 'better person'?"

"I'm not-" He bites his tongue just in time. Morpheus is not a person. Both of you are perfectly aware of it. But it was the mention of this very fact that had brought such disastrous rain to Dreaming. "Yes. A better person."

There's not much conviction in his words but there is, however, a silent promise to find it.

______

Now that I’m in mourning, I thought it fitting to finish reading "Brief Lives" and the bittersweetness of it felt all the more pronounced. Reading it prompted me to rewatch the show and long story short I’m kind of back in my Sandman feels.

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mermaidgirl30 · 3 months

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✨Welcome to the Moulin Rouge✨

A/N: I have been wanting to write a Joel inspired Moulin Rouge story for a couple months now. Didn’t know what the storyline would be, didn’t know how to quite put it together until I was listening to “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers. Needless to say, the song majorly inspired this one shot. So I hope you enjoy all the angsty Joel feelings since this is in his POV 🥰 We love a good angsty, jealous Joel. Enjoy, lovelies! This might very well turn into a full series once I finish up some of my other wips if people are interested ❤️ Comments and reblogs always make my day 💕

“His eyes upon your face. His hand upon your hand. His lips caress your skin. It’s more than I can stand.”

- “El Tango De Roxanne” from Moulin Rouge

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Pairings: Joel x you

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: Angst, longing, love, jealousy, flashbacks, no outbreak! Joel

Summary: Welcome to the Moulin Rouge where touches and gazing eyes turn to feelings and longing that overpowers all senses. That’s where Joel meets you, the girl of all his desires. The girl that starts a fire inside him that he can’t control. But he’s not the only one after her. No. And he’ll have to share even though it destroys him.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The night is dark, foggy, a haze of misty rainfall that pelts against his thin tan jacket. Drip, drip. The rain comes down harder, beating against the slicked back tousled curls that now lay flat against his head. The air is cold, numbing, just like his chest feels now. It’s as icy as his begrudging, still beating heart.

He can hear it, feel it. Almost like he’s there in the room right now with you. He can feel the way the other man claws at your soft skin, hear the stadistic words that spray like venom out of his dirty mouth to you, can taste the way he dips his vicious tongue into your inviting mouth as you swallow the guilt and disgust away deep down your closed up throat. It burns like hot lava, burns like the back of a knife that cuts deep into his skin that smothers all nerve endings in one slice.

He can hear your faint cry of moans, feel you come apart around the other man, taste the stench of regret on your binded hands. You’re supposed to be his, not the other man’s. Mine, mine, mine. That’s all that plays in his aching mind.

Jealousy. That’s what this is, that’s what it’s always been. Ever since he found out that you belonged to him. Terrance. The other man. The absolute pain in his spine. And it wasn’t by choice, it was never by choice. It was arranged, an untieable agreement that was set in place by your uncle long before he even knew about it.

It was about money. It was always about the fucking money. It was to save your future, to get you out of the Moulin Rouge. But it was also about all the money your uncle would get out of the arrangement. And it was so fucked that he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the mess he was tangled in, but he wanted you. He wanted you so goddamn bad and nothing could keep him from having you.

The rain continues, lightning crackling in the near distance as the Moulin Rouge sign blinks big red letters over the whole city to see. It’s pulling the men in, calling their names to invite them into the twisted little fantasy where they’ll spend all their money and pay anything to sleep with the beautiful women of the Moulin Rouge.

The jealousy eats at him, consumes him as it twists its suffocating roots around his wrists and binds him to the ground where he has to watch you go into that back room of the Moulin Rouge with Terrance night after night.

It’s dismantling, unnerving to watch when there’s nothing he can do. He’s just a poor carpenter. He has no money to save you from this hell, has nothing to give except himself. But you always tell him that’s enough, that he’s enough for you. Because you want him, just like he wants you. He tells you he’s not good enough for you, can’t give you a bright future that you deserve. But you tell him he’s enough, more than enough. And it shakes him to the core every single time you tell him this.

His fingernails dig into the backs of his palms, almost to the point of feeling warm blood all over his hands. It’s too much, this is too much. He can hardly stand to even think of you in another man's arms. It burns, stings, pulls at him as his mind breaks apart. Ticking and ticking until he’s almost combusted into dust and remorse.

He needs to feel you, needs to wrap you in his arms as he holds you close in his little barely affordable single bedroom apartment. You always say you don’t care about the money, always say you just want him. And it makes the yearning even worse. Makes it barely tolerable.

You’ll come back, run to him when it’s all over, tell him how much you hate Terrance. Tell him how mean and cruel he is and that he just uses your body like a piece of meat, a golden trophy to display to all the rich, entitled pricks in that burlesque. It makes him sick, sicker than a starving dog. He wants to wring Terrance’s neck until he stops breathing, wants to really make him feel the pain that he does when you’re rolling around the sheets with Terrance, forced to perform for him. It makes him sick to death.

He takes a drag of his cheap Marlboro and inhales the toxic smoke as it soothes his racing heart, slowly blowing it out to try and clear his foggy, lovesick brain. He can almost smell the expensive brand of Cuban cigar Terrance lights after he fucks you, can almost see the way you lay there cold, lonely, in a heap of shame against the damp sheets. And it makes his skin absolutely boil with fury and resentment.

He’s not like Terrance. No. He cares about you, deeply, irrevocably. He’s always so careful with you, always so gentle and soothing and loving. He never does anything to hurt you, always puts your needs first, always takes care of you after he makes love to you in his tiny apartment. He loves you. Just like you love him, immensely.

He remembers the first night he came to the burlesque. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, but he found a group of unlikely writers that dragged him to the Moulin Rouge, to his doom. Remembers how he bought a bottle of whiskey that was so expensive he didn’t eat for two days after. He remembers the night so clearly, just like it was yesterday. Just like it was happening now.

He remembers seeing you for the first time up on that lit up stage, remembers how you kept glancing his way, eyes locking with his as you pulled him into a trance that was so strong that nothing could break it. He was hooked on the first look of your long waves that spiraled down your back, entranced by your big, beautiful eyes that called to him like a siren’s forbidden song, captured with the way your short, flowy pink dress hiked up your smooth thighs as tall, translucent heels wrapped around your feet as tight as they latched on to him.

He wasn’t supposed to end up in that dark room alone with you, wasn’t supposed to put his calloused hands on your smooth porcelain skin, wasn’t meant to dance with you to that slow, romantic song as he wrapped his arms around you and breathed in your sweet vanilla perfume. He wasn’t supposed to cup your chin and pull your lips up to his wanting mouth, wasn’t supposed to chase his tongue with yours as he drank down your cherry flavored taste, wasn’t supposed to get lost in your lips as he kissed and nipped at the plush skin, getting drunk off your taste, off your scent, off your skin.

He wasn't supposed to fall for you after one kiss, wasn’t supposed to tear off your dress and throw you on the bed as he crawled onto the silky sheets and crowded your body with his own. He wasn’t supposed to make love to you, wasn’t supposed to even be near you, but he did. He did. And it was the best thing he ever decided to do in his miserable life.

He was hooked right off the bat by your charm and your beautiful smile and the way you talked about your love of books. He wasn’t supposed to keep seeing you in secret, wasn’t supposed to keep coming back to you inside the burlesque, wasn’t supposed to fall for you when you had your entire life mapped out already.

He wasn’t supposed to fall completely in love with you. But he did, he did. So he’d take what he could, even if it was forbidden. Even if it meant there was a chance of getting caught. It was worth it to him, you were worth it. If he was caught, Terrance would surely put a gun to his head and pull the trigger, end the suffering he has to endure day after day. But he can’t stay away from you. No. You were his, and he was yours. Two doomed souls to walk the eternities of hell at the Moulin Rouge. Two fiery souls that burned for the other, pined for each other.

Forbidden love is like a bad habit that takes over every bleeding thought of the day. Inescapable, paralyzing, intoxicating. It feeds on you like a slow, corrupting disease. Consumes every part of your anxious, debilitating thoughts. But if that means he can have you, he’ll suffer. For you. For you he’ll do anything. Cross the entire ocean just to see your bright, starry eyes one last time. For you he’ll do it all. Anything. For you are his perfect diamond in the rough, his constant. Just as he is yours. The forbidden fruit you were never allowed to taste. But you did, you did.

Welcome to the Moulin Rouge where tainted dreams die and longing for the unreachable becomes your worst nightmare. The only thing that holds you up now is him. Only him. Your favorite forbidden desire. Your escape. Your lover.

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rae-gar-targaryen · 1 year

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Why yes, your Honour, I would like to lick Jake Seresin’s abs. Each and every one of them. Trace them with my tongue. If that’s a crime throw me in jail.

Well, congratulations, lovely anon. You've inspired something that no one ever thought possible -- Rae writing for a BLONDE MAN, of all people. Pls enjoy this little blurb. Even though it's probably not the greatest thing I've ever written --

your name (on that coffee cup)

warnings: none, just bad flirting.

pairing: jake jortles "hangman" seresin x fem!civilian reader

word count: 2.3k (you've gotta be fucking kidding me) of sweet, if not stilted, flirtation and whatever the fuck this is...

Reblogs make the world go 'round! 🌿💜

The coffee shop was more crowded than usual today. You supposed it might have something to do with the fact that today, the weather gods had decided that it would be the one, annual rainy day, forcing commuters to seek shelter indoors from the "deluge" (but what you considered to be, at most, a decent sprinkle). Southern Californians were decidedly not built for the rain.

You casually observed the casuals and regulars alike filtering in and out from your chosen table adjacent to the pickup counter. Your usual table, from where you'd set up shop, plinking away at your novel with your playlist and the welcome, muffled bustle of customers as backdrop busy-noise that filtered through your headphones for company.

People-watching was uniquely inspirational whenever you were facing a bit of writer's block, so you had opted for leaving the relative coziness of your nearby apartment – content to perch on at this table and allow the quirks of strangers to serve as fodder for your novel.

Except that today, it was more overstuffed than your favorite blue-velvet chair in your apartment. The queue of bodies waiting for their cups of caffeine and their matcha lattes causing the already-warm interior of the shop to fog the windows.

You'd just finished a particularly troublesome paragraph – How your two stubborn protagonists were ever going to set aside their differences as they made their way through the enchanted wood, you weren't one hundred percent clear on. But sometimes it was best to skip the mental obfuscation and jump straight into a part you were excited to write … their eventual love scene was beckoning you.

You worried your drink's straw between your teeth, eyes unfocused, pondering how to get Ser Marcus out of his shirt and beneath Lady Lucy, when he walked in.

Him.

The tall drink of water with broad shoulders and dirty-blonde hair. With a million-watt smile he graced to whichever barista happened to be handing him his coffee that day.

He looked like a Ken-doll, if you were honest. But not in a bad (junkless) way. More of an All-American, conventionally attractive way, if he'd asked you. Not that he had. You had certainly seen him here before. But you weren't sure the same could be said of him.

You watched idly as he breezed past you to place his order in a damp shirt that was veritably plastered to his torso, and running shoes that squeaked with rainwater, the noise making its way over the dull din of the shop.

Perhaps he'd been out for a run when the rain had started.

He spoke to Monica the barista at the counter, out of earshot, though the easy way he leaned against the counter and smiled at her made it clear he didn't mind his own state of dress. The sort of easy handsome of an Eastwood.

You had turned back to the blinking cursor of your doc, thoughts buzzing with handsomely tanned skin and wet clothes, when the unmistakable shadow of a person loomed over you.

You glanced up, only to be simultaneously thankful for your screen protector and greeted with –

"Hi there," he breezed.

It was Ken. In the perfect plastic flesh.

And, really, it was the fact that his torso was directly in your seated eyeline (and no other reason, you swear) that allowed you to notice (appreciate) that his already-rainwet and plastered shirt hugged his torso in such a way that allowed you to observe (appreciate) that you could see the outline of every. single. one. of his abdominal muscles, as though his shirt was made of flimsy tissue paper that might tear away beneath your touch.

No, this was fine.

"Uhhh." You were articulate, you swear. "Hi."

"Would it be alright if I sat with you while I wait?" He gestured over his shoulder with a pointed thumb vaguely in the direction of the pickup counter. "It's a little crowded in here today, and this is the only open seat."

Ah. An arrangement of convenience, and not that he wanted to sit with you.

You bit down your disappointment long enough to ease your lips into what you hoped resembled a smile, gesturing openly to the seat.

"By all means."

He shot a grateful–if not cheeky– wink your way as he pulled the seat out, angling himself to maintain eye contact with you, while still keeping one ear open for his name.

"Thank you, ma'am," he conceded politely, voice still warm and easy, as though no one had ever refused him a paltry request in his life. (And maybe they hadn't.) "I didn't exactly want to stand there in my wet clothes."

"No," you agreed. "Sitting in wet clothes is much more pleasant. Especially in those tight, Baby Gap-sized t-shirts. Everyone knows that."

"Everyone," he agreed, eyes twinkling and allowing you to appreciate just how green they were, glimmering, verdant and mossy, like the forest bedecked with fresh rainfall. How fortuitous, then, that he'd choose to sit with you on San Diego's one rainy day per year. "Teacher? Grading?" He nodded at your laptop, gem eyes flitting over the fading, curled stickers slapped onto the back.

You couldn't help yourself. You giggled.

"No," you shook your head. "Novelist."

"Ah," he conceded. "So whatcha writing?"

And as you made to open your mouth to tell him that he shouldn't really ask a writer those types of question, he perked, and held up a finger as if to say "hold that thought," as he shot up to retrieve his beverage from the counter.

He must've heard his name. Ah well, it was nice while it lasted. You tried not to feel disappointed that your one encounter with hot coffee shop guy had come and gone in the blink of an eye. And tried not to beat yourself up that you hadn't caught the name when it had been called…

To your surprise, he turned back and plopped himself back into the seat opposite you, expectant eyes awaiting your answer as he blew into the small hole at the lid of his coffee cup.

"Ehm," you continued. "It's… a … novel," you finished, lamely. Flushed with the prospect of having to admit to this guy that you wrote high-fantasy erotica for a living, your self-preservation instincts kicking in before you admitted something you wouldn't necessarily have the chance to come back from if he decided to make fun of you for.

And he was ridiculously handsome. The sort of guy who looked like he belonged on the cover of the type of book you were writing, billowing unbuttoned shirt, and all... Maybe he'd pose if you asked?

If he was annoyed or put off by your evasiveness, Ken-doll didn't show it, that million-watt grin easing its way back onto his very pleasing face, prominent jaw and white teeth on full display as he played along.

"I might've guessed," he said. "I'm Jake, by the way."

He held out his hand for you to shake. You responded in kind, allowing his hand to envelop yours with both size and warmth as you pumped your arm in a firm, decided handshake.

"I might've guessed," you parroted.

He shot you a quizzical look; brows furrowed.

"It's on your cup," you nodded in the direction of the cup clutched in his other hand, the corner of your mouth titling into a smile.

"A dead giveaway," he agreed, pleased that you had thought to make the observation. Maybe you were this way with everyone, he thought. All sweet smiles and starry, foxlike eyes, discerning but decidedly available. Selfishly, perhaps — he hoped that wasn't the case.

"Unless of course they had gotten the wrong name, and it's really, like, Jack, or James, or something," the fizzling pleasure of his hand on yours and the swelter of this coffee shop was really doing a number on your head, because now you were rambling. "Then if I had called you Jake based on the cup, I would've been both presumptuous and stupid. Like a 'Mark-with-a-C situation… Cark," you finished, unhelpfully.

"Now that's just unlikely, sweetheart," he disagreed. "You're clearly too sharp for that… Bridget." He squinted at your cup, greeting you with a name that was not your own.

"Oh, no…" you laughed, the pleased sound meeting his ears despite the relative staticky-din of the late-morning rush around him, "My name isn't Bridget," you explained, sheepish about the relative silliness of the game of being friends with one of the workers. "Uh, Monica likes to give me a new name every day I come in. Sort of to mock me for how often I come, I guess? We've known each other awhile. So, she's allowed."

If Jake thought it was childish or silly, he didn't let on, instead nodding and smiling at your explanation, still incomprehensibly interested in what you had to say…

"So that's why I see you in here so often," he conceded. "A novelist who writes in a coffee shop, where she knows everyone. Cute."

Out of any other mouth, it might have sounded condescending. But there was no hint of condescension in his honey-smooth voice. Only the facile twang of Southern charm and genuine earnestness.

But all you heard was that he'd seen you before. He had seen you.

And you must've asked this out loud, because the next thing you knew, he was all smooth laughter and glimmering teeth,

"Yeah, I've seen you," he agreed. "You always look so concentrated, I never want to interrupt. My mama raised me better than that. But today I actually had the chance to say hello. So, uh, thank the rain, I guess…" he eased.

And you'd really hoped that the pleased warmth of flirtatious embarrassment wasn't inclined to show itself in any way, across your face or the exposed skin of your shoulders. Because you were certain those sparkling eyes of his were shrewd enough to tell. And how could a guy like this not be aware of his effect on women? So, you pressed on, closing your laptop lid, the better to focus on him with.

"And what do you do, Jake? If you're out for a run in the rain, you're clearly committed. Let me guess," you tapped your chin in mock-consternation, voice trailing in thought. "Model? Please say no because that would be a lot for me."

Jake barked a laugh at this. And perhaps you'd incidentally, dangerously boosted what was already a high ego. But he continued in good humor –

"No, sweetheart. Not a model. Naval aviator," and he'd actually shrugged at that, like it was no big deal. "I'm at the base down the way. So, yeah, I guess you can say I'm dedicated."

You groaned, teasingly, fucking your head into your arms, "Oh fuck, no. So just a civil servant who looks like a model. You can get the fuck outta here with that." You leaned across the table to teasingly shove one of his (ridiculously sculpted) shoulders, pleased at the feel of him beneath your fingertips.

"It's my honor to serve you, ma'am," he straightened in his seat, taking on his best "official" voice. (Oh, god, this was doing a number on you.) He continued,

"In fact, I think you should let me take you to dinner…?" He trailed off, perhaps in realization that he still didn't know your name.

You twisted in your seat to pluck a pen from the messenger bag hanging from the back of your chair, turning back to pluck his cup from his very hands in a move so cheeky you would swear you were having some kind of out-of-body experience. You were never this bold.

But the attentions of this, okay, let's be real… this veritable Adonis before you was likely doing something dangerous to your own ego, never mind his. Your head was somewhere in the clouds (a place he was clearly comfortable, being a "naval aviator, ma'am," and all)..

You tugged the pen cap off with your teeth, your attention fixed on the label.

Huh. Vanilla soy latte.

You didn't comment on his drink of choice, choosing instead to strike through his name with the pen, and ink your own, your phone number printed clearly and neatly beneath it. Handing the cup back to him when you'd finished, recapping the pen as he twirled the cup in his hands to read what you'd put on the label.

He parroted your name back to you, the way his mouth worked out the letters an image you'd likely think about for a little too long, ya know, later... and the sound of it from his throat ringing in your ears.

"I'll text you," he assured, winking at you as he made to stand, rapping his knuckles on the corner of your table before mock-saluting you with two fingers to his forehead and an easy, charming grin on his lips. "I look forward to hearing about that novel over dinner, ma'am."

With that, he walked out of the shop, taking with him the air in your lungs and your certainty that that had actually just happened, and leaving you with the faintly buzzing feeling of lofty flirtation and the blooming promise of a fucking date!

Eager to capitalize on the fizzy feelings, you opened your laptop lid and turned back to your unfinished section now, wan smile borne of fresh flirtation affixed to your lips, your thoughts swimming in a seafoam green ocean of emerald eyes, breezy flirtation, and, yeah, tight t-shirts...

"It was then that Lady Lucy swung her leg astride Ser Marcus, devilish fingers peeling his tunic from his toned stomach. With a smirk painted across her features, she dipped her head, allowing herself to trace her tongue along the ridges and planes of her lover's stomach, reveling in the feel of each prominent abdominal muscle beneath her tongue. Greeted with the delightful sound of her beloved's surprised gasps, manifestations of pleasure at her attentions…"

And no, you reasoned with yourself as you typed. You totally weren't thinking of green-eyed, handsome Jake as you wrote. These desires were your character's, not yours – you swear.

And no, your thoughts also were definitely not on his promised text message, either, that lit up your phone as you glanced at it. Greeted with the proposition of "Dinner Thursday?" No, you totally weren't thinking of him…

It's life that imitates art, after all... (Or was it the other way around?) And you hadn't had the chance to taste those abs for yourself. (But hope springs eternal...)

Tagging: @withahappyrefrain @thegirlwhowritesfics @xbamboowishesx @friendly-neighborhood-blondie @abibliophobiaa @clints-lucky-arrow @inklore @phoenixhalliwell @ohmagawd-life @thematthewmurdock @mrshipsmcgee @p3mybeloved @decadentpaperduck @letmeplaytheliontoo @vestrangel @moonlight-prose @aphrogeneias @levylovegood @thatredheadwriter @2clones-1kamino @zombieaurora @shadeds-library @writercole @ijustwantedplums @gretagerwigsmuse @fanboysfangirl @shakira-sasha @siriusfahey @joaquinwhorres @jakexfmc @the-navistar-carol @jadore-andor @fanboygarcia @lavenderluna10 @fluffyprettykitty @mickeyluvs @mothdruid @maxmayfield @drew-garfi @eagerforthesky

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #hangman x reader #hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake 'hangman' seresin x you #my writing #tgm fic #top gun maverick fic #jake seresin imagine #glen powell #glen powell x reader #lovely anons #hangman fluff #jake seresin fluff #isn't it just like me to write for the white boy of the month several months too late #flopcity usa here we come #pls reblog

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iiseult · 7 months

Text

RED-HANDED: Gyutaro x reader - College!AU (part 1)

CWs -> surprise! It’s pervy!Gyutaro, femdom reader, masturbation, degradation, spit play, public sex, slapping (only once and he likes it), calling Gyu a good boy, he’s pathetic and I love him

Note: Does this count as Kinktober? I really wanted to participate this month but I’m an engineering student in college, so enough said. I’ll make part two likeeeee whenever I feel like it. Pls lmk what u think!!!! <3

word count: 3k

It was Gyutaro’s turn to host the study session. All day he had been running around, cleaning his dorm room to eliminate anything potentially embarrassing. He’d never had a girl over before, let alone a girl like you, and he might have been overthinking it a little. Would you be turned off by the socks his roommate had left lying around? What about the smell? Should he hide the protein powder? He had such a big, fat crush on you, and every time he thought about the two of you spending time alone together, the intrusive thoughts would beat out the rational thoughts. In no time at all, he’d be succumbing to his sexual fantasies, fisting his cock desperately to images of you and trying to rid his mind of them to no avail. How was he going to survive a night of your undivided attention?

Originally, it wasn’t supposed to be a one-on-one thing. Every Tuesday, a different friend from the group hosted a late-night study session at their dorm, and everyone except Gyutaro had already volunteered. He couldn't avoid it any longer; he was doomed. It was supposed to be you, your best friend, his roommate, Gyutaro, and Gyutaro’s roommate, but everyone got frat flu the previous weekend and had to take a rain check. Even Gyutaro’s own roommate couldn’t make it, deciding to go home for the rest of the week and recover. So, everyone had canceled. That is, everyone except you and Gyutaro. He was thinking of just calling the whole thing off after that, secretly relieved to avoid having people over his place for a little longer, but you wouldn’t hear of it. Your midterm was on Thursday, and you couldn’t lose a valuable study session.

It was already 7:50 pm– 10 minutes before you were scheduled to arrive– and he was taking care of some last-minute, anxiety-fueled cleaning. The bed was already made, the garbage had been taken out, all his laundry was clean and neatly folded away, and his desk was set up for a long night of studying. He had even sprayed a few bursts of his roommate’s air freshener, making the whole place stink of “fresh morning dew,” whatever that was. In those last 10 minutes before your arrival, Gyutaro even found himself practicing basic hygiene– something a bit out of the ordinary for him. He brushed his teeth and tongue vigorously until his gums bled, washed his face, applied an extra layer of deodorant, and re-did the bun his hair had been rotting in all day. Now, he was ready.

At precisely 8:01 pm, he heard a knock at the door, and sprang to his feet as if the chair he had been sitting on was on fire. He had been staring off into space and nervously tapping his foot in anticipation, wringing his hands and chewing at his lip and fighting back dirty thoughts about what you might be wearing, and before he knew it, the time had come. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Evening, Gyutaro,” you said, half-smiling and leaning to the left under the weight of the heavy bag that was slung over your shoulder. As usual, you were well-dressed, sporting a white button-down, brown blazer, and a pair of blue jeans that fit you perfectly. He tried not to stare, but the top two buttons of your shirt had come undone, and he couldn’t help but notice how exposed your cleavage was. He gulped. This was going to be a long, long night.

“C-come in, make yourself comfortable. You can sit wherever you want,” he said, grinning nervously, stepping to the side and holding the door open to allow you entry. You nodded and brushed past him, your clothed shoulder grazing him gently. He shivered, hoping you wouldn’t notice. As soon as you entered the room, you made a b-line for Gyutaro’s bed, thrusting your bag onto it and plopping down unceremoniously on your back. You let out a sigh. The day had been stressful, and you wanted so badly to relax and release some tension, but there was work to be done.

After lying down for a few seconds to decompress, you noticed that it was oddly silent and sat up, half expecting Gyutaro to have joined you on the bed by now. But Gyutaro hadn’t moved from the doorway. He was still standing there, slack-jawed and staring. He couldn’t believe a girl was in his bed– you were in his bed– and she was there of her own free will. You had wanted to come, asking him not to cancel, and you had chosen his bed as the place to spend the evening. Not the desk and chair, not the floor, not the couch, but his bed. He gulped. He had imagined this many times before, and seeing you like that caused a specific few images to flash across his mind. His cock twitched. You were staring back at him.

“Gyu? Are you coming?” You asked, raising an eyebrow and readjusting yourself so there was room for him to sit next to you. He quickly shook himself out of his stupor and closed the door, walking awkwardly over to join you, hoping that if he put his hands in the pockets of his shorts you wouldn’t notice the growing bulge underneath them. When he reached the bed, he leaned his hips against the edge of it and crossed his arms, attempting to conceal his embarrassment. If you had noticed, you showed no signs of it, just crossing your legs and getting a little bit more comfortable.

“So, um… What subject did you want to study? Maybe we could work through some textbook problems together, or…” he trailed off, his eyes darting around and landing anywhere but you.

“Sure, sounds good. Hey, it’s hot in here, do you have a fan or something?” you asked, looking around and fanning yourself with your hand. Gyutaro frowned deeply and shook his head, suddenly feeling like a complete failure for not being able to provide you comfort.

“I’m sorry, I don’t. Maybe I could open a window?” he offered, gesturing to the pathetically small window on the other side of the room.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’ll improvise,” you replied. He was about to ask what you meant, but stopped short when your hands flew to your button-down shirt, undoing two more buttons from the top like it was nothing.

“Wh-what are you d-doing?!” He stuttered, looking away from you and at the wall instead to try and distract his racing thoughts. Even though he tore his gaze away as soon as he realized what you were doing, he still couldn’t help but see the very top rim of your nude-colored bra poking out from your shirt teasingly. Not to mention the swell of your plump breasts. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to calm himself down and stop his now fully erect cock from getting any bigger.

“Gyutaro? What’s wrong, are you okay?” You purred, leaning down so you were face-to-face. He opened his eyes. That was a mistake. From the way you were sitting, he had a perfectly unobstructed view of your cleavage, which was spilling out of your bra and unbuttoned shirt. He guessed that your nipples were just below where the fabric began. His eyes widened, and a jolt of electricity was sent straight to his cock, which was straining desperately against the side of the bed. He let out a tiny, almost inaudible whimper, but due to your proximity, it was not lost on you. You gently placed a hand on his shoulder, asking again if everything was ok, but there was a teasing undertone to your voice and a glint in your eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. Were you really…doing this on purpose?

“Uhm, don’t you think you sh-should, you know, b-button your shirt back up a…a little more?” he stammered, face flushed so red that he looked almost feverish. His eyes were still wide, and absolutely glued to your tits, like he was in a trance.

“Why? You don’t think I look pretty like this?” you teased, leaning forward even more and trailing your hand from his bony shoulder down to his bicep, which was, admittedly, larger than you’d anticipated. You wondered if anything else about him was larger than you’d anticipated…

“N-no! I mean, no, it’s not that! You…hah…look…” he rasped, not even able to form a complete sentence. He was no idiot. He knew what you were doing, playing with him like that. He knew you didn’t have any real interest in him, that you just wanted some easy attention from a pathetic virgin who would drool over anything with a cup size. It hurt, knowing that, and he didn’t want it to be that way. But just as much as that was true, he also wanted to know what it would feel like. Would it be as good as he imagined, cupping your heavy tits in his ugly, rough hands and running his thumbs over your sensitive nipples? Would you arch into his touch, begging for more?

Before you could even react, he was out the door, disappearing down the hallway towards the men’s room. You could only guess what he intended to do there. Probably cry, you assumed, having seen the expression on his face before he left. Instead of following him, you decided to give him a minute, hoping he’d come back before too long.

Meanwhile, Gyutaro knew what he had to do. He had to get rid of these feelings, get it out of his system once and for all. Thankfully, the bathroom was deserted and he had the luxury of solitude. He hoped he could get it done quickly before someone interrupted.

Gyutaro locked himself in a stall and pulled his pants down feverishly, finally freeing his throbbing cock and taking it expertly into his big hand. He wasted no time, pumping his fist up and down to the image of your tits in his face, imagining what it would be like to touch them, to take them in his mouth and suck them until they were black and blue. Before long, his head was thrown back and he was letting out soft, desperate pants. In fact, he was so enraptured in his fantasy that he didn’t notice when someone else entered the bathroom.

You had decidedly waited for him long enough, and went to go check to make sure he really was ok, but this was not what you were expecting to find. When you quietly opened the door, you were about to whisper his name when you noticed the wet slapping sound and choked-back moans coming from the first stall. You peered under the door and sure enough, your eyes were met with the sight of Gyutaro’s bottom half, shorts pooled around his ankles and legs shaking. You grinned. This was even better than you had hoped. Did that little trick you pulled really affect him this much?

“Gyuuu~ it’s just me! Open the door,” you said gently, hoping your sweet tone would lull him into a false sense of security. Suddenly, he went silent, freezing with his fist squeezing his cock. Panic seized him, and he was silent for a moment.

“Uh! Uhhh, h-how did you g-get in here?” he choked out, not knowing what else to say.

“Walked. C’mon, open up. Wanna see you,” you replied, now standing directly in front of his stall’s door. He hesitated for a moment, but soon made up his mind; he didn’t care anymore, he couldn’t stand it any longer and he wanted you to use him. He scrambled to quickly pull up his shorts and underwear, not even bothering to retie the drawstring, and opened the door hastily. His face was burning with shame, his eyes downcast, and his hair disheveled. To you, he had never looked more delicious.

“What are you doing?” you asked, taking a step towards him, forcing him to take a step back.

“Using the bathroom…” he lied, stuffing his hands back in his pockets again to try and hide his erection. Unfortunately for him, all it did was draw your attention downwards.

“You don’t have to hide it, Gyu. I already know. Why do you think I came tonight in the first place?” you asked, not even trying to hide the fact that you were eyeing his bulge hungrily.

“But-”

“Now keep going,” you ordered, and Gyutaro’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He didn’t move.

“I said,” you began, grabbing his chin between your thumb and index finger, “Keep. Going.”

He whimpered, biting his lip, but obediently dropped his pants and underwear back down to his ankles and released his dick, the tip of which was bright red and slathered with precum. You moved your hand from his chin to his shoulder and pressed down, forcing him to sit back on the toilet. Now, you were standing above him, looking down with a perfect view. You looked at him expectantly, and slowly, he brought a shaking hand down to his shaft, gingerly engulfing it in his hand and giving it a few weak pumps. You shook your head disapprovingly, frowning at him. His eyes widened.

“This won’t do. You need…extra encouragement. Open your mouth,” you instructed.

“Why?” he asked demurely, but did as you asked. You didn’t answer verbally, instead choosing to show him why.

You pressed your thumb past his lips and onto the middle of his tongue, and his reaction was almost immediate. He stuck his tongue out more to accommodate your finger, eyes half-lidded and gazing up at you with…love? Lust? It was impossible to distinguish between the two when it came to him. Without a second thought, he resumed stroking his dick at the same pace as before, his body seemingly acting with a mind of its own. You smiled, pressing down harder on his tongue. His brows furrowed and a string of saliva dripped out of the corner of his mouth, falling past his chin and onto the floor. He let out a pathetic, strangled sort of sound, breathy and high-pitched, and you giggled. He was even better than you had imagined.

“Wowww, what a good boy!” you praised.

“Do you think you can take another one of my fingers?”

“Uh-huh! Eea, I eeea!” he tried to say, coming across as incoherent, but you got the message loud and clear. You smiled down at him lovingly and swapped your thumb for your index and middle fingers, which were obviously longer and grazed the back of his throat. Immediately, he gagged, his eyes involuntarily screwing shut, tears pricking their corners, but you didn’t relent. He would adjust.

“Come on, you can take it,” you crooned, thrusting your digits even further back into his soft, wet throat. He gagged again and bit down, catching your knuckles between his jagged teeth. He hadn’t bitten you very hard, but still, the sting of your skin breaking slightly was enough.

Without warning, you slapped him across the face with the palm of your other hand, making him yelp and accidentally squeeze his cock a little tighter. The sound echoed throughout the bathroom, ringing in the silence. He was shocked, even a little scared, but for some reason, it was affecting him heavily. After hesitating only for a brief second, he started pumping himself desperately, even faster than before, feeling like all the blood in his entire body had rushed to his cock at once the second your palm made contact with his cheek. You grinned. You knew it, you just knew it. You had a feeling he would like that. It was a risky move, but one you were glad you made. He let out another moan, the first real unrestrained one you had heard from him. The vibrations made your fingers tingle.

“Mmm, good boy, you’re being such a good boy for me, Gyu. Bet you’re getting close now, aren’t you?” you asked, removing your fingers from his mouth and allowing him to answer properly.

“Y-yes!” he breathed, “‘m getting so close, ‘m gonna cum soon! Please, c’n I cum?” he begged, tear-filled eyes gazing up at you in absolute desperation. And how could you say no to that?

“In a second. Stick out your tongue.”

He did, closing his eyes, eagerly ready to accept whatever you would give him, but nothing could have prepared him.

You leaned down close and spit in his mouth.

Immediately, he came.

“Ngh- Ahh! Huh- ah- ah- mmh!” he whined, voice breaking as the thick, white liquid shot violently out of his aching dick, covering his hand, your shirt, and part of his own shirt in globs of it. He worked himself through it, a few more spurts bubbling out from his tip and leaking down the shaft. There was so much of it, you knew he was holding it in for so long because of you. His thighs shook from the aftershock, and his chest heaved, he was so fucked out. You wanted so badly to just take off your panties and sink down onto his glistening length, sheathing him inside your already soaking, tight pussy to hear him whine that it was too much, but that would have to wait for another time. Maybe a time when you weren’t in a public restroom.

“Clean yourself up and meet me back in your room. There’s something else I want to try.”

With that, you left him sitting there, cock in hand, covered in his own hot cum and wondering if it had all just been a dream.

(pt. 2)

———-

tag list: @sanemisstalker @vampcubus @flametrashira

ermmmmm idk how tagging ppl works but if I tagged u it’s cause I want u to read this shit but no pressure :-)

#idk what this is #there will be a part two #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro smut #demon slayer smut #demon slayer x reader #kinktober 2023 #dom!reader

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y-rhywbeth2 · 20 days

Text

Something I love about BG1+2 is how it simultaneously plays and subverts the demigod/chosen one narrative (which continues in BG3, except with only the subversion. (And Halsin is not joking when Durge tells him what they are: Do NOT advertise that you're a Bhaalspawn.))

I've always been fond of the set up in Saradush in ToB, where the surviving children of Bhaal are being corralled into the besieged city under promise of protection against the entire world - because basically literally the entire world is trying to kill the Bhaalspawn: Your more powerful siblings want you dead; your mortal neighbours, and likely your nation itself either thinks you're inherently evil and are ready to kill you, or you represent such a threat that they're ready to drive you out and/or kill you just in case. Case in point: the aforementioned siege outside the city walls with the army that wants you dead currently raining giant flaming rocks of death over your head.

Some of these guys have no idea what they are, or what's happening, until attempted murder happens.

Like this discussion with one of your random brothers, a guy called Alexander:

Alexander: "You don't look like one of the locals. Are you a child of Bhaal as well, lured here like the rest of us to face our inevitable end?" Charname: "As well? What do you mean?" Alexander: "I myself am one of Bhaal's progeny - or so I've been told. I guess Bhaal's blood runs thicker in some of his children than in others." Sarevok: "By your snivelling manners, I would say Bhaal's blood runs very thin indeed in your veins. Bah-why do I even waste my breath tormenting this cowering cur?" Alexander: "Uh... is there anything else I can help you with?" Charname: "How did you get here exactly?" Alexander: "I wasn't brought here by Melissan, like some of the others. My home village was burned to the ground by a dragon who claimed to be hunting me. My friends... my family... they threatened to give me to the dragon if I didn't leave. So I did. And I heard a lot of other Bhaalspawn were coming here. *sigh* Now I almost wish I hadn't come."

Spoiler alert: He dies. Every single Bhaalspawn in that city dies*, along with everybody except a handful of commoners (*except maybe Viekang, who was not particularly inclined to murder me, so Murder in Baldur's Gate is weird.)

You, a simple peasant from a farming village one day come of age and learn that your absent father was a god, and you are forced to flee forces that are trying to kill you (in this case, your much more powerful half-brother)... it sounds like the start to some kind of fantasy epic, but instead of any fancy destiny you end up in a war torn city surrounded by castoff divine bastards just like you, terrified and unwanted, and then you die, and are forgotten.

And that's what being a Bhaalspawn is!

Whatever grand lies Bhaal tells you in your dreams about how you're special and great power awaits you (if you behave and do his will), your job is: sow death, faith, fear and chaos wherever you roam, strengthen Bhaal's power, and then be a good child and die for Father. No exceptions, save perhaps one, who is explicitly a special prophecy child, and even then is supposed to be doomed by future FR canon because they're still Bhaal's "pawn". There's also Imoen, who might be spared simply by proximity to said prophecy child keeping her alive. Non-game "canon" screwed her over hard. (FR canon and I have a complicated relationship, it must be said. All copies of those books are to be ritualistically burned.)

idk where I'm going with this, I just love how bleak the situation in the city is. No grand destinies, only a discardable pawn to be used, abused and consumed.

...And also that part where Tethyr sends an army to kill you because obviously you are guilty of "crimes against [Tethyr] and, indeed, all of humanity!" by supposedly killing a whole city: They admit they can't prove it, but you're a child of murder, you were born guilty even if you didn't actively do anything.

No, really:

General Jamis Tombelthen: "You are guilty, [Charname]. Of this there is no doubt. And we will not risk your further endangerment of us all. You are a spawn of Bhaal and responsible for the destruction of the city of Saradush*. Your execution has been ordered, [Charname]. May the gods have mercy on your soul."

* I implore you to move with great urgency to intercept the Bhaalspawn before they can do any more damage. Whether or not they are responsible for what occurred in Saradush, we cannot allow them to continue and cannot afford the time for trial... - Tombelthen's orders, courtesy of the Queen of Tethyr

#No I am not done obsessing over the Children of Bhaal: I just love these poor fucks ok #(I have an hour or two's spare time will I use it on anything important? No I'll babble about a decades old game and then get back to work)#This has been Original Baldurs Gate Propaganda Hours #Also don't hire any sex workers in Saradush: they only want to eat your blood #bg2 spoilers #babbling #long post #/durge #/charname

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2737377474883 · 11 months

Note

Hi, can u do one about Jill Roord x reader, pls?

Where Jill and the reader are married for years, only Vivianne Miedema and Lynn Wilms know it.

While they're playing against each other w their respective countries in the world cup. The day before the game the lionesses were having a bonding time at the beach, while the reader was quietly listening to her teammates talking. Jackie Groenen and Lynn Wilms went over and started talking w the reader in Dutch, they decided to go and prank Jill. The lionesses are shocked by:

1-how quickly the reader's mood/character changed from shy and introverted w the lionesses to fully extrovert w the oranje girls

2-the fact that the reader can speak fluently Dutch and how she learned it

During the game Netherlands vs England, the reader got tackled badly by Danielle Van De Donk. Jill got worried because the reader wasn't getting up and then she got so angry at Daan. Then Jill tried to convince the Netherlands coach to sub her off so she could go to check on her wife.

So she decided to go for a yellow card because she knew that it was the only chance to get sub off by her coach.

Idk how both of the teams find out that they're married.

Can you do something fluff and cute pls?

Can you maybe change p.o.v. from the reader to Jill and the others and vice versa

The Lioness and the Leeuwin

Jill Roord x reader

First of all I would like to apologize for taking so long. I hope you like it and it meets your expectations.

English is not my native language. Sorry for incorrect grammar and spelling.

I can't speak or write Dutch, so these sentences are in italics.

POV Y/n:

It´s matchday minus one. Tomorrow the lionesses are going to play against the oranje leeuwinnen. Its still feels unreal that we are going to play against the Netherlands in the semi-final of the world cup in Australia in front of around 83,500 people. What makes me feel even more nervous is the fact that I´m going to play against my wife. I know that it might be a bit unusual for a lioness to marry a leeuwin but when I first met Jill it felt like I didn´t had much of a choice. I fell in love with her and nothing else mattered. You might think that a married couple playing against each other in a world cup semi-final would cause a lot of media interest, but it doesn´t, well only when the marriage is public. And that’s why there wasn´t much focus on Jill and me, we never made or marriage or even our relationship public. Jill and I are very fond of our privacy and as such have not even told our teammates about our relationship as we know how quickly they are to say more than they are allowed to. We haven´t told anyone except our closest family and Lynn Wilms and Vivianne Miedema as they were our maids of honour.

Currently the lionesses are having bonding time at the beach. We enjoy the sand under our feet and the sun shining on our faces. I´m juggling a ball and listening to the waves and the conversations of my teammates until I´m torn out of my thoughts by loud screams.

“Y/n get ready to lose tomorrow!” my maid of honour screams.

“Only in your dreams Lynn you might want to start packing your bags!” I counter.

“You should rather enjoy the sun a little longer, since it’s known to rain in the England all the time!” Jackie replies.

I don´t really know how to reply and just shake my head laughing. I look over at Sarina, who of course understood every word and couldn´t help but smile. She already knows what I want to ask and nods in agreement.

I start walking towards the two when I hear Georgia complaining: “What´s that supposed to mean, now she is going to form an alliance with our enemy.”

I just roll my eyes and shoot her with the ball I juggled with. I take the last few steps towards them and am pulled into a bone-crushing hug by both.

“Have you heard about our prank on Jill? Without exaggerating, this was one of our best pranks.” Jackie asks me excitedly.

“Yes, Jill called me right after and told me about it.” I answer.

“Yeah, but I think there is still room for improvement.” says Jackie self-critically.

“We just have to think about something bigger.” fantasizes Lynn.

“Yes, something to make previous generations of pranksters proud of you. But don´t overdo it, don´t try to hurt anyone else you´ll make my victory too easy for me tomorrow.” I warn them.

“Yeah, keep dreaming.” Lynn says.

“It was nice to meet you here, but I have to get back to the others now.” I say goodbye to them and hug them one last time before walking back to my teammates.

POV lionesses:

“Am I hallucinating or are you seeing that too?” Georgia asks the others while continuing to watch Y/n closely.

The others look at Georgia confused and try to understand what she means, but they don´t succeed.

“Come on guys, did you know that Y/n can speak Dutch?” asks Georgia who is a little pissed that she didn´t know before.

“I`ve never heard her speak Dutch before but it sounds like she knows what she´s saying.” says Lucy who is a little impressed by Y/N.

“Is her Dutch good?” Alessia would like to know from Sarina.

“Yes, her Dutch is very good if not fluent and she doesn´t even has an accent.” replies Sarina.

“Maybe she´s just been bored too much during lockdown” suspects Kira.

“Now for another thing, Y/n seems a lot more outgoing with the two dutchies.” remarks Beth, who is allowed to accompany the team despite her injury.

“Yes, you´re right, I have never seen Y/n so extroverted.” says Leah, who is with the team as well.

“Maybe it´s like with Viv, she´s also more confident when she speaks Dutch.” Says Beth comparing her girlfriend to Y/n.

POV Y/n:

When I return to the team, I am immediately looked at with prompting looks and asked for an explanation.

“I was bored during my injury and quarantine and had nothing better to do. Besides that, Dutch is an easy language to learn, and I did it so I can converse better with Viv or Sarina, for example.” I explain.

“It´s nice to hear that you like my native language.” Sarina says to me.

“Well, it always helped me to talk to someone in my mother tongue when I was playing in other countries, it often helped me with homesickness. And you once said that you sometimes miss the Netherlands a lot.” I reply.

POV Jill:

I`m in the dressing room changing into our match kit for the game. I`m afraid. I´m afraid to play against my wife. One of us will win, the ither one will lose. One will continue to fight for the world championship title, the others dream will be over. I want to make her proud and win but I don´t want her to lose, I want her to win and celebrate but I don´t want my team to lose. Just before I can get into my thoughts any further, I am pulled out of my them by the buzzing of my phone.

Wifey❤️: Hey my love, I can hear your thoughts from here even though Leah is playing music very loudly. Please don´t worry to much about me or us. No matter what happens I will be proud of you, and nothing will change between us. I´m always there for you, my darling. I love you x.

I must smile. I find It amazing how in love I still am with her after all these years together. Also, it´s unbelievable how well Y/n knows me. What would I do without her. Well probably not playing in a world cup semi-final against my wife.

I make my way through the tunnel to line up with the others. I look to the side only to find my wife coming out the lioness’s locker room. She gives me a smile and winks at me. She then quickly looks around and kisses my forehead while pulling me into a hug. We pull away from each other when we hear a soft cough from Lynn. Lynn gives Y/N a mock scowl and tells me to focus on the match.

POV Y/n:

In the tunnel I have the feeling that I´m going to throw up in the nearest corner. But as I hold my escort child’s hand, step onto the pitch, sing the national anthem an hear the kick-off whistle, all the nervousness is gone.

The first half is going well, we get into the game well and create several chances which we unfortunately haven´t managed to take advantage of yet. In the second half we can make good use of Sarina´s advice and see our fist success in the 62nd minute when Lessi manages to score. The pressure we put on the Dutch players is reflected in their attacks on us the tackles become more frequent and violent. Jill and I clash a lot too, but I have the most work with Danielle van de Donk. Off the pitch she´s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met but we don´t give in on the pitch.

Another tackle from Daan, but this one was more painful than all the others combined. Even as I fall, I have a bad feeling that it will be very painful. And my feeling is not wrong. I hit the ground wrong. I hear a cracking sound in my neck and a creaking sound from my shoulder.

POV Jill:

Y/n is lying on the ground, she is curled up and holding her shoulder. Lucy Bronze is right by her side, rubbing her back while my wife buries her pained face in the grass to hide her tears. I knew it had to be something serious. I knew before Lucy called for the medics to come on the pitch. Y/n always got right up after a tackle, she didn´t like to look hurt in front of the opponent. She never cried and just kept going like nothing has happened. But this time it was different. This time it was more serious and more painful to say the least. All I want is to be with my wife like we promised each other back then. In health and in sickness. Seeing her in pain almost pains myself.

Out of the blue I feel the urge to punch Daan right in the face. But I can not. I can´t do it, I´ve promised Y/n so many times before not to let me be provoked and not to get physical, because violence is not the answer, but in this moment if somehow feels like the right answer. I can barely resist hurting Daan, but I´ll make her very aware that the tackle was a mistake.

POV Daan:

I´ve never seen Jill so upset. I understood that it was a mistake and that I shouldn´t have overdone it, but now it´s too late and I can´t do anything but apologize. Even after getting a yellow card, Jill is still upset. She discusses with Andries. I can´t hear what they´re talking about, but Jonker just shakes his head and sends Jill away. I´m being substituted to avoid getting a red card.

POV Jill:

I watch my wife being carried off the field by paramedics while I must stay here. Lucy holds her hand until Leah takes over. Y/n covered her face with her Jersey but before that I could see her wearing a brace around her neck. I can´t concentrate on the game anymore. How, when I don´t know how my wife if doing. My passes are less accurate and my tackles more uncontrolled. But it wasn´t until the 73rd minute that I got my long-awaited and well-deserved yellow card and finally got subbed of.

POV Leah:

I´m sitting in front of the door to the treatment room, which I´m not allowed to enter. With me are Viv and Beth. Y/n is in the treatment room, her sister is with her, but no one else who is not a family member is allowed to enter the room because according to a medic, Y/n needs to rest, and the doctor does not have enough space to take care of her with more people in the room. Beth and I try again to get the medic to understand that we are family to Y/n. She once said that we are her family and that she will fight for us to the bitter end. Just as I was about to start arguing again, Jill ran into the corridor.

“What are you doing here? You must play!” I ask her, but she just ignores me.

“Where is she?” Jill asks worriedly.

Viv points to the door and Jill is about to open it when the medic gently pushes her back.

“You can only enter if you are a family member, so please sit down and wait until I can let you in.” he says with a stern voice.

Beth wraps her arms around Jill´s shoulders to pull her back a little. Jill´s beathing quickens, she clenches her fists and tears start to form in her eyes.

“I know it´s hard but we´ll have to wait.” Beth whispers to calm her down a bit.

Jill just shakes her head, takes a deep breath, and takes a few steps towards the medic.

“I advise you to let me be with my wife or you will get to know me from another side.” she threatens him with a frighteningly calm voice.

Wait what did she just say, “my wife”? Y/n doesn´t talk much but she would have told to us.

“Are you kidding? Do you really think you´re the first to try to get past me like that?” he asks her and shakes his head with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

Jill is getting more and more angry and tries to rip off the tape she has on her wrist but due to her anger it doesn´t work. She looks beggingly at Viv and a tear runs down her cheek. The way she is behaving she really could be married to Y/n, I must give her that, her acting skills are really good.

“Jill is telling the truth. She has been married to Y/n for several years now. If you go in there and look for Y/n´s insurance card you will find the name Y/n Roord on it. I was Jill´s maid of honour and Lynn Wilms was Y/n´s maid of honour” says Viv, pointing to the door.

Wow that was unexpected.

Jill finally manages to get the tape off with a lot of effort and reveals a ring, a brief overjoyed smile spreads across her face and she holds it up proudly. She shows it to the medic, and he finally agrees to letting her in.

POV Y/n:

I´m lying on a treatment lounger and my sister, who came to Australia just to watch my games, is holding my hand. I got a new neck brace which protects my neck better, an arms sling because I most likely sprained my collarbone and painkillers which are slowly starting to help.

The door opens and finally Jill comes in, I´ve been watching the game over the TV in the room and I´ve seen her substitution and only have been waiting for her to appear in the doorway. She approached me and the closer she got the better I could see that she had been crying. My sister let go of my hand and I lift my arm. Jill stopped in front of me, and I wipe a tear away from her cheek, which I then lay my hand on. She puts a hand on mine and holds it tight. She leans down and kisses me first on the forehead and then on my lips very carefully, afraid that she will hurt me.

The final whistle sounds on the TV and we both turn to the it to find out the result. England 2 goals. Netherlands 1 goal. England is in the final. The Netherlands is not. I won. My wife did not. We both take a deep breath and look at each other.

“I´m really sorry darling, you really deserve the win. I`m proud of you and I love you”. I tell her and look deep into her eyes to reinforce my statement.

“Thank you, my love, congratulations, you made it, I love you.” she says with a sad smile.

With the help of my sister and Jill, I am placed in a wheelchair. I am being pushed through the tunnel towards the pitch. We´re coming to a stop. Jill stands next to me and leans down towards me. I put my hand on her neck and pull her a little closer. We kiss and hear the fans cheering. We look around confused until my sister points to one of the screens and we see my wedding ring sparkling on the screen.

I hope you liked it. If you have any improvements, suggestions or requests, please feel free to contact me.

#woso x reader #engwnt x reader #nedwnt x reader #jill roord x reader

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createserenity · 3 months

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Master List of My Fics and WIPs

Been meaning to do this for ages, so here we go. All titles link through to the fics on AO3. All The Pieces of You (E, 66k - wip)

This is my main wip. Essentially it's a mad romp through history starting from 33AD and eventually working up to the present day (or at least up to the end of season 1). A mixture of smut, fluff and ridiculous historical adventures.

AO3 Summary:

Aziraphale had known he found Crowley attractive for a long time, but there was nothing wrong with that. The Almighty had done a very nice job when she’d made Crowley and surely appreciating the work of the Almighty was what angels were supposed to do? It was nothing more than that.

Except now Aziraphale knows what lust feels like and that might be a problem.

In The Beginning (E, 8.9k - complete)

In the beginning there was a garden and the Angel of the Eastern Gate and the Serpent of Eden decided that there are better things to do than stand around in the rain getting wet.

Shameless smut, in which Aziraphale and Crowley learn what all the fuss is about sex.

Better Than Today (E, 4k - complete)

Whenever they fucked Crowley said, “I love you.”

It would probably help if they talked about it, but somehow they just keep ending up having sex instead.

Smut with a fluffy ending.

Give In To Desire (E, 4.4k - complete)

Crawley hadn't actually meant for this to happen. He'd thought he'd tempt the angel into eating and the angel would maybe have a few bites and discover that it wasn't so bad after all. He hadn't expected to be setting himself up to be tempted into the sin of lust.

Just another fic speculating on what happened in the basement during the Job minisode, because you can never have too many of those, right?

A Day For Magic (T, 3.4k - complete)

In which there is a bench, a park and a coin, which leads to silliness and fluffiness all round.

Fic inspired by these kisses.

A Time of Wanting (T, <1k - complete)

Crowley wants.

He wants so badly and he's wanted for so long that it's a physical ache in his chest now. Short ficlet that's fluffy and happy, despite how the summary makes it seem. Also inspired by the kiss picture linked above.

Goodnight Angel (E, 14.4k - wip but also works as it is)

Post lockdown-phone-call fic.

Aziraphale had told him not to come over, but he was a demon and obviously he wasn't going to listen. Besides he was going out of his mind with boredom and going to see the angel was a much better idea than a long nap.

WIPs

Apart from my main wip All The Pieces of You I've also got a follow up to In The Beginning in the works and eventually I'll go back to Goodnight Angel as well. Apart from that I'm going to list my wips here and try to keep track of them with tags and get a bit better at posting about them. Some of these will probably never get written, especially since a few days ago there was only 12, then I scrapped one altogether taking it down to 11 and now somehow I'm up to 13. Too many ideas in my head and too many half writtten fics on my computer.

After The Swap

Blind date

Dance for Me

End Times

Entertain Me

Here's to the End Times (yep different to the above fic despite the similar working title)

It's You (This one is a one shot human AU and might be posted soon)

Run Away Together

Lockdown Lifted

So You Can Take It Off (Desperately want to finish this because it's different to anything else I've written)

South Downs

This Land of Ours (fits in the Pieces of You universe)

Waking Up With You (This is another one shot that is almost done)

Job (This is finished and posted as Give In To Desire - linked above - although technically there are more chapters in the works)

#my writing #all the pieces of you #goodnight angel #in the beginning #all the kisses in the world #good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #waking up with you #it's you #wips #give in to desire #fic list

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shiut · 2 months

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Waiting For Yuma Chapter 1 : Preview

Some english translation for the Rain Code novel, Waiting for Yuma. This is how many pages are provided in the trial reader preview, but it's still rather long, so I've put most of it under the cut.

I've also put it into an online document if you want to click here instead.

Chapter 01

The Silence of the Dolls

Morning arrives early for the trainee detective.

However, though belonging to the 【World Detective Organization】, he/she has not yet completed the training course. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. A piece of paper will never reach the moon unless it is folded forty-two times. There is much work to be done in order to become a 【Master Detective】.

Working hard to develop and refine special abilities. Acquiring basic detective skills. Sharpening a keen eye for detail. Not only that, but there are many other challenges to worry about too. I suppose you could say that the days have been filled with more hardship than joy. However, you can't call yourself a 【Master Detective】 if you can't overcome all of that. It might be a different story for people who have exceptional supernatural abilities. However, for those who don't, they must continue to keep improving in order to reach the stars.

For one such trainee, Yuka Kisaragi, this day ought to be a momentous milestone. Her efforts were recognized, and so she was allowed to accompany a real 【Master Detective】 to the crime scene. As soon as Yuka heard this, she hugged and danced with everyone she saw, which almost got her reported in the process. That’s to say, she was putting out more energy than usual for such an important day.

Or at least it should be...... no, could that be why?

Let's go over that one more time.

Morning arrives early for a trainee detective.

That should be the case, but Yuka was in fact remarkably late.

***

"Why, why, why, why, why!?"

Yuka asked herself repeatedly as she roared down the street. Under the clear blue sky, she trampled across the well-maintained cobblestone pavement. Though, she didn't have to bother questioning herself when she already knew the cause of the problem a while ago.

First of all, the toast was burnt.

Secondly, the hair iron went missing.

Third, she forgot to cut the tag off her new coat that was bought for today.

That sums up why she was late today.

It was entirely a bed of her own making. But still, Yuka thought, there must be a reason for all this bad luck. It could be the alignment of the stars, or like the flow of fate, or something.

Could it be the influence of the 【Master Detective】 that I'm about to meet?

It may be due to something like sound waves or telepathy caused by the person in question. Though, I'd rather those predictions to not be true. Yuka kept running, hoping at the very least that a kind person would be waiting for her.

Then when she rounded a sharp corner —— she burst into a stylish cafe that had a strikingly chic dark-toned exterior wall. The interior was also uniformly monochrome, with bright light streaming through the large glass windows. The clientele had a somewhat intellectual and relaxed atmosphere. Yuka immediately felt nervous. She looked around as she listened to the classical music that was playing. The meeting place was at the far end of the window. Right, she repeatedly mouthed these words to herself while she walked over... she was suddenly rendered speechless.

Therein, was a beautiful person.

A hard leather sofa, and white painted wooden table.

There sat a person dressed in gray. The way in which they tipped their coffee was picturesque. Their pale hair and glasses suited their sagacious profile and air of intelligence.

While admiring the sight, Yuka had to wonder. There's an ambiguity to the person before her. Their gender is indiscernible. No matter how you look at it, it's impossible to tell if it's a he or she. They could pass as a beautiful man, or even as a ruggedly dignified woman perhaps. Yuka stared intently in order to ascertain the truth the best she could.

"......Three million"

"Eh-?"

What did they say? Yuka let out a dumb sound as she thought. Caught off-guard, she simply blinked. The beautiful person took another sip of coffee before her.

Gracefully setting down the cup, the other person continued.

"It's one hundred thousand per minute. My time is not cheap...... More importantly, you wasted precious time before the investigation as a 【trainee detective】, of course you're prepared to pay that much, right?"

Smoothly —— he, no, maybe she —— the 【Master Detective】 spoke.

Confused, Yuka twisted her head like an owl. However, after a few seconds, she realized that what this 【Master Detective】 was referring to were 'late fees'. Yuka choked with a hissing noise. How ruthless. Is this person a demon? That's what her immediate thought was.

Flustered, Yuka tried to explain herself. He/she opened their mouth to interrupt.

"I'll have you know, burnt toast, a misplaced hair iron, and a coat tag are no excuse for being late."

"Huh-? How did you know?"

"Bread crumbs"

They pointed to Yuka's chest. If you look —— peeking out from a crimson coat ——was a cream-colored sweater dotted in black specks. Pointing at it, the 【Master Detective】 continued.

"It's a notably charred color. Also, although some of your hair is disheveled, only the ends are straightened out. A sign of a frantically used hair iron. Did you simply not spend enough time on it? No, it looks like you intended to use it properly, but were forced to use it in such an errant way. You could naturally assume that it's a result of stubbornly searching for the hair iron that consumed most of your time. Also, there are threads sticking out unnaturally from the collar of your coat. This could be the trace of a tag that was yanked out in a hurry. That's all."

He/she lifted their cup with a clink. And with that, they swallowed the pitch black liquid. The coolness of their profile showed no signs of even the faintest hint of bitterness.

Once again, Yuka looked down at herself. She was wearing a crimson coat that was bought specially for today, and paired with it was a cream sweater with a rounded collar plus a black skirt. On her feet, she wore leather shoes. Her shoulder-length amacha sweet tea colored hair was partially frizzy, though she still managed to take care of the ends.

And then there were the bread crumbs that were left sticking to her.

Yuka was taken aback by all the things they had pointed out.

But soon after, her face lit up.

As an aspiring detective, she's yearned for this kind of precise deduction skill.

"Tha-..... That's amazing! Just as expected of a 【Master Detective】!"

"Praising people so carelessly will result in brain rot."

"Ough-"

"Something like this is not even the ability of a 【Master Detective】. These are the most basic fundamentals that even an amateur should be able to do...... right from the start. To my knowledge, it's not standard for a detective to bring along bread crumbs to a crime scene now is it?"

"I-, I'm sorry."

Yuka patted off her sweater, and the black food particles were brushed from her cream-colored top. She moved her leather shoes to sweep the fallen crumbs to the edge of the wall.

She once again turned her attention to the person in front of her. They were still so young, but they certainly seem like a 【Master Detective】. Even though he/she says that even an amateur can do it, his/her observational skill is beyond that of an ordinary person.

Yuka was so excited. She bowed her head in greeting.

"Once again nice to meet you, I'm Yuka Kisaragi."

"Halara Nightmare"

Yuka acknowledged the name with a nod.

I was given very minimal information about the 【Master Detective】 I'd been scheduled to accompany today. The 'Jeweler Campanella Murder Case' that took place the other day at the only public casino in the area —— the genius who led to its solution was Halara. He/she was one of the shining stars in the sky. They're a detective for Yuka to look up to.

Yuka stared at Halara with admiration. Without a response, Halara got up from their seat. Then, in one fluid motion, they handed a slip to Yuka who accepted it without a thought.

Yuka’s head tilted as she found herself caught by a ruthless follow-up.

"Three million, plus the coffee bill. That is your payment."

"Huh-?"

"It'd be in your best interest to pay up before you forget."

"Wait, what, weren't you kidding before?"

"Does talking about a debt with someone you've just met sound like a joke according to your trite standards? That's quite nonsensical."

"Sure it's a strange joke to make but... even so, eh-?"

"Rest assured that you won't be charged any interest. Just make sure you've set up a payment plan."

Halara walked off, leaving a confused Yuka in their wake. Their back held a beautiful and dignified posture. However, it seemed like they had no intention of looking back. With the check in hand, Yuka felt her head spinning.

"Eh-...... Ehh-"

One thing is for certain.

Yuka has been haunted by bad luck ever since this morning.

But the worst part of all was, without a doubt, the presence of this detective.

As her head sank in disappointment, Yuka couldn't help but think.

Halara Nightmare must be some sort of demon.

***

"W-, Well then, let's change the mood shall we!"

"............"

"Halara-san please say something too!"

"Anything in particular?"

"...... I can't even think of anything I had in mind."

At any rate, the two arrived at the manor where the scene of the crime took place.

Diverting her attention from the debt of three million, Yuka looked up at the old-fashioned building.

The walls were constructed with dull red clay brick tiles and lines formed with white granite. Placed atop that was a massive black roof. The exterior was reminiscent of an antique dollhouse. Additionally, the property was encompassed by a magnificent rose garden. The vibrant dew-covered petals almost looked artificial. Everything was so breathtakingly beautiful that it looked like something straight out of a vintage masterpiece.

Yuka couldn't help but let out a sigh of awe.

"How atmospheric~. Ah-, hey, please don't leave me behind!"

Halara had begun to walk off while I was immersed in the building's peculiar and chilling atmosphere.

Yuka rushed to follow behind their slender back. It was as if they were swimming in a sea of roses as they made their way along the path.

Eventually, the two arrived in front of an arched doorway.

Waiting there was a gentleman dressed in a brand-name suit. His eyes were amber. His hair black. His physique appeared portly. Twisting his magnificent mustache, he raised his booming voice.

"Hey there, Halara-san! I haven't seen you since the 'Jeweler Campanella Murder Case'! I'm glad you could make it! It was worth the trouble of going through the Unified Government to make a request with the 【World Detective Organization】!"

"...... As I suspected, this was no mere coincidence, but rather a request on your behalf, wasn't it?"

"Eh-, do you know each other!? And what's more...... through the Unified Government no less...... Could it be that he's that big of a deal?"

"Hahaha, oh, you could say the Unified Government tends to be a bit involved when it comes to matters of international trade. I can't get into any details, as much as I'd love to talk about it. Anyways, when it comes to securing the food supply in this district it is I, Richard Thomson, who's your go-to guy! Also, what's there to hide between Halara-san and me? We've solved a case together after all!"

"H-...... He's a real talker."

Suddenly, Richard moved in closer. Feeling pushed by the pressure of his prattling words and moundish belly, Yuka took a step back. Meanwhile, Halara narrowed their eyes in displeasure.

Gracefully, he/she crossed their arms. Letting out a small breath, Halara continued.

"If you'd mind refraining from distorting the facts. We did not solve it together. The case had indeed been solved....... however, it was all by my ability alone of course."

"Eh-, if that's the case, then what about Richard-san?"

"He was merely the first person to discover the incident. Rather than finding a solution, he challenged my theory based on his own faulty recollection, and thanks to this I had to explain 【Postcognition】 at the request of the police."

"【Postcognition】?"

Yuka found herself tilting her head. She was unfamiliar with the term.

In order to prevent further questions for the time being, Halara spoke up.

"It's my ability as a 【Master Detective】 ..... we'll be needing it for this crime scene as well. I'll discuss it later. So then...... since you're aware of these abilities, you should already understand right?"

"Yes, of course! I am fully knowledgeable about all of it! Just as expected of me. All pro~per preparations have been made accordingly, of course!"

Richard puffed out his chest. From a pocket on the inside of his coat, he pulled out a photograph and presented it to Halara. Yuka took a peek at the picture from behind him/her.

Similar to a portrait, the upper half of a lady was shown. She was a slender and petite woman. However, she had a firm and straight posture, staring at the camera with a steely gaze—— Strangely, her eyes seemed somewhat out of focus—— Her hair was tied up in a golden bun, and her eyes were a deep blue. She was beautiful, yet had a somehow frighteningly icy air about her. It was a perilous sheet of ice over a deep lake that could crack at any moment.

Nervously, Yuka asked.

"...... Is this?"

"The victim in this case. It's my wife. She was quite a cold woman. To be honest, our whole relationship was cold, but I never expected something like this. Whether I'm sad or not, I'm still not sure. I'll worry about that a bit later. Incidentally, I had a business meeting that day, so I have a flawless alibi, ahem. If you ask me, my wife would complain to the chef about the taste of the soup. It seems pretty suspicious to me, so I hope you'll be able to help me out here."

"H- he really is a chatty guy."

Yet again, Richard moved forward. Yuka slowly backed away. Halara took a long thorough look at the picture that they had received before returning it. Nodding, Richard opened the door.

"Here, go right on ahead. We'll go over the details on the way to the crime scene. Why, I couldn't even tell you how glad I am that you came, Halara-san. Ever since the 'Jeweler Campanella Murder Case' I just haven't been able to contain myself from telling my family all about your story, Halara-san. Hahaha. Ah-, as for a full-scale police investigation, I have all the power and resources needed to keep them out of it, so feel free to......"

"Eh-, why would you want to hold back the police?" Yuka voiced her surprise.

Rumor has it—— now was it Kanata Ward, or Kanaya Ward—— that some places have been under lockdown and the police haven't exactly been operating properly. However, places such as that are the exception. The legal organization should be operating in proper accordance here. But even so, is there any sense to purposefully suppressing them? In response to Yuka's question, Richard softly curved the flesh bordering his mouth.

He spoke while displaying a clownish grin.

"Because, having a 【Master Detective】 solve it would be more fun, wouldn't it?"

There was a childishness in his eyes,

and a warped sense of delight began to surface.

***

"...... Is that guy alright?"

It seemed that Richard had the intention of sticking around the crime scene. However, it appeared that there was a problem with his cargo ship, so he left while grumbling something about just getting started. 'Please don't solve the case until I return' he added, but I'm not really concerned about something like that.

After making sure that he had gone down to the first floor, Yuka then went to inquire Halara.

Located on the second floor —— in front of his wife's bedroom, he/she answered with indifference.

"Probably not. However, as long as 【Master Detectives】 exist, so too will there be people who hold an excessive admiration for them, or even an addiction...... There’s no telling what type of bad precedent it could set if it were a person in power."

Yuka reflexively shifted her gaze downwards.

That admiration of 【Master Detectives】 is something she could understand. To some people, those who possess supernatural abilities and eliminate unsolved mysteries are like that of stars shining in the sky. There are some who may wish to bask in the radiance of that light up close. However, despite the murder of a family member, it was nothing short of abnormal to request a 【Master Detective】 while shutting down the possibility of a quick solution.

Yuka's skin crawled with disgust as she asked.

"Are you going to accept this request?"

"Five million."

"Eh?"

"It was mentioned to me a short while ago. This is the amount he said he had set as a reward for my success...... I have no obligation to help others, but I work sincerely according to the payment I receive...... That is my pride as a detective."

"So that’s the only reason."

"It's reason enough, among other things."

Yuka almost raised her voice. However, in response to this Halara spoke calmly.

He/she emotionlessly included more reasons.

"The police have had no involvement in this case. Hence, the situation where the more time passes, the more evidence is lost...... Given the circumstances, there is no detective better suited for this case than me. Still, even if I decline this request, he would probably just vet another 【Master Detective】 to appoint anyway. It's a waste of time."

"Surely......"

"The quickest and most rational decision would be for me to continue with the investigation."

Yuka gave a deep nod. To reject a request based on emotion would also be an unethical decision. Once she came to an understanding, Halara then placed their hand on the door.

Nevertheless, without pressing the matter further, she continued to ask questions.

"Then let's move on with the investigation. It'd be foolish for a 【Master Detective】 and trainee to continue to stand around talking to each other...... Before going any further, I'm sure you've already been properly briefed with a sufficient overview regarding the case thus far before arriving here, right? Mister Richard did speak rather quickly."

"If that's the case then please leave it to me! Uhh let's see now...."

Yuka twiddled her thumbs around in the air.

She then began to explain the overview of the murder case as told by Mister Richard.

***

To recap, the story goes like this.

Mister Richard has a family of five—— however, his second born daughter is staying in a dormitory—— Therefore, at the time of the incident, there were seven people in the mansion: him, his wife, his eldest daughter and his eldest son, a cook, a maid, and a gardener.

It was there that Mister Richard's wife, Beatrice Thompson, was murdered.

No one had seen her after she ate dinner and went to her room at 8 p.m.—— This has so far been confirmed by the initial police report —— The estimated time of death was between 9 and 10 o'clock p.m. The cause of death was stabbing. The murder weapon, a knife, was left lodged in her chest. There were no fingerprints. Also, a water pitcher—— which she loved to use when she went to bed —— was confirmed to have been laced with stolen sleeping pills.

Because of this, it's been concluded that the crime must have been premeditated by an insider.

The first to discover the scene were the gardener and the eldest daughter. The gardener would visit the victim every night at 10 o'clock to consult with her about remodeling the garden, and when she did not respond he then approached her eldest daughter —— Afterwards, both parties felt uneasy about there being no response, and so as a result of breaking down the door, the dead body was discovered —— This was at about half past 10 o'clock. Additionally, there were signs of intentional destruction within the room at the time. The eldest daughter then immediately called out to the eldest son, who was in the garden, and asked him to report the incident.

And then there's the key detail.

The room was a locked room.

"The crime scene was a closed room with both the windows and doors locked at the point which it was first discovered when the door was opened. Furthermore, the victim was leaning against the door, and there were no signs of it having been opened directly beforehand."

"Well done. Seems like nothing has been misremembered." Halara gave a brief nod, their pale hair swaying with the motion.

Naturally, Yuka puffed her chest proudly. She had also been honing her memory as a part of her training to become a 【Master Detective】. She also had a bit of a talent for picking up on fast-talkers, which was something she was prepared with at the very least.

Halara stared at the door with the knob still in hand.

Gazing at the floral reliefs carved across its surface, he/she continued.

"Wherever there's a locked room, there is an explanation behind it. It's the detective's job to uncover it."

Halara opened the door with a click.

Stepping through and, suddenly, looking to the side —— Yuka took a sharp breath.

***

It looked as though there were many girls standing there.

Dolls were lined up in front of a mainly yellow floral-patterned wallpaper.

The smallest one was a baby, while the largest figure looked to be around 10 years old. Everything looked to be things belonging to girls of various sizes. But oddly enough, there was also a strange sense of uniformity.

Lovely beings clad in a luxurious and solemn aura. Their eyes were made of deep blue glass, and their heads were covered in gold thread. Their shrewd features somehow had an uncanny resemblance to the victim's wife. Moreover, there were other bizarre details as well.

All of their heads had been torn off. Some were set up to be holding dolls, while others were lying on the floor. Many of them were grouped together and placed against the wall.

It was as though the dolls had also been murdered.

"Wh-, what is this--. How disturbing...... So it was the dolls that they were referring to when they said some of the rooms showed signs of intentional destruction. But still, why is it like this?"

"......On the other side of the doll...... there is a fireplace to the right hand side when you enter through the door."

Halara muttered under their breath as they covered their mouth. He/she stepped forward to approach the mantlepiece of the elegant fireplace. Halara crouched down to peer inside before looking up.

Yuka followed their lead and crouched down beside them, copying their actions. Before them was a grimy chimney that extended from their field of view. The distant opening was tightly sealed with a fine mesh. She nodded with a hum.

"It seems unlikely that the killer could have escaped by climbing up here."

"However, it doesn't seem irrelevant."

"Eh?"

"Look here, there are traces of soot on the floor."

Yuka lept back at the mention of it. That was a close one. She almost stepped on a piece of evidence.

Seeing her panic, Halara adjusted their glasses.

"I thought you were conscientiously avoiding it...... Seems I overestimated. Are you really so dense as to have not noticed?"

"Th-, that's not it! I noticed! Of course I noticed!"

Despite her insistence, she of course did not notice. Halara's gaze was truly cold.

Yuka was quick to redirect it by changing the subject.

"Uhmm, well...... Let's see, the victim was lying in front of the door, and the eldest daughter thought about the possibility that someone could have broken in, so she went to check the window...... but found that it was locked."

"So, she found the eldest son in the garden and called out to him...... I see, it is visible from here perhaps. There don't appear to be any contradictions evident in those facts themselves at the moment."

Halara and Yuka moved over to the window to look out over the garden.

The rose garden could clearly be seen from the wife's bedroom window. Though it was now daytime, we confirmed that there was a haze from floodlights scattered about for illumination. That meant that the eldest son could have been seen without any problem even at night.

Touching the golden crescent lock, Halara nodded with a hum.

"The locks on the windows are rather standard...... so I can't say for sure that there's no possibility of tampering. However, there are no scratches. I don't see any evidence of thread or any other such material being used."

Halara turned while muttering to themself.

Once again, he/she looked over to the door the victim was leaning against.

"...... There isn't much blood. In other words, the criminal did not pull out the knife after dealing the blow."

"That is true, isn't it."

The two discussed their thoughts about the bloodstains on the carpet, though the body has already been removed. The crime scene was not preserved exactly as it was in its original state. The family must've had some sort of hand in it. At this point, there may be some things that an investigation won't be able to uncover.

Yuka spoke up without thinking.

"Hmm, I guess there's nothing more to see here other than the information that's already been given so far. There's got to be things that we're missing. That's the problem with being a detective who's always asked to do things after the fact. Ahhh, if only we could see the crime scene right at the time of the body's discovery."

"You wish to see it?"

"Eh?"

"Who...... do you think I am?"

"Who?"

"I'm Halara Nightmare."

The phrase rolled off Halara's tongue in the most natural way. Yuka cocked her head.

Well, I've already gone through introductions. Regardless of if it's impossible to tell whether they’re a man or a woman, there was no doubt that the person standing before me was Halara Nightmare. Isn't that so?

But he/she continued on.

"The 【Postcognition Detective】, Halara Nightmare."

***

What exactly is this 【Postcognition】.

Halara began to explain.

"My 【Forensic Forte】 is 【Postcognition】 ...... It quite literally is the power to see a snapshot of the past. However, it can only be used at murder scenes. To be precise, it's the ability to see how a crime scene 【appeared at the time it was first discovered】 with one's own eyes. Another way to describe it would be 【crime scene-limited psychometry】, if that's easier to understand."

Yuka couldn't help but gawk in surprise.

She knew that the 【Master Detectives】 who work in the field had special abilities. Yuka herself had something that could be considered as such. Halara's was outstanding, however.

It's almost too convenient.

As far as a detective's supernatural ability goes, it could be considered among the best.

Halara continued in the wake of Yuka's astonishment.

"My power allows me to see the 【moment the first witness saw the crime scene】. In other words, not the culprit, not the victim, but how it appeared when a third party first entered. The memory or perception of the witness does not affect my 【Postcognition】. What I see is what actually was there. When it comes to my power, the witness is not a camera or a recording device, but rather a trigger...... Perhaps the best way to think of it is like a bookmark stuck between the pages of when the body was found. It's not a power that can be taken advantage of unconditionally, however.”

Perhaps it was something akin to envy and jealousy that swirled in Yuka's eyes like heated candy. Halara continued to explain the activation conditions and limitations of their power.

"First, I must be standing at the crime scene...... this condition is absolutely required. I must also know the victim's name and face. That's why prior research is crucial. Lastly, 【Postcognition】 is only effective in a 10-meter radius around the body. At the moment, I can only see the crime scene and the victim. I can't see any living things that were at the scene.”

Yuka's eyes flickered with a blink. So even if the culprit was hiding at the crime scene—— it wouldn't be possible to immediately identify them. Her face must've been brimming with the question as to why. Halara promptly gave an answer.

"...... I’m not so good at looking at people."

"B- but still, I think this is a more than capable ability! This is a 【Forensic Forte】! I'm so envious! I absolutely admire you!"

"Sorry, but I'm tired of hearing compliments."

"Actually, maybe I did go a little too far with the praise......"

"Time is of the essence. Let's take a look for now, shall we?"

With that said, Halara raised their left hand to cover their left eye.

That was the moment Yuka put down her favorite crimson bag she'd been carrying on her back—— which could be used in three different ways by adjusting the belt. She undid the metal clasps and opened the leather flap. She pulled out a sketchbook and a box of colored pencils. She readied the black one first.

Halara gave an expression as if to say 'what is that'.

Yuka turned to puff out her chest toward him/her.

"Ehehe, if that's what your ability can do, Halara-san, I think I could be of some help to you, even if just a little."

"...... What do you mean?"

"As a matter of fact, my 【Forensic Forte】 is 【Sketching】!"

Halara's eyebrow slightly twitched at such a cheerful declaration. Perhaps that ability would've been self-explanatory enough. Yuka continued regardless for the sake of explanation.

"Ah, I may be a trainee detective, but I have fully mastered my forte. If I can keep it up like this, I should be on track to receive my detective deed! Heeheehee-...... Well, uh so, with this ability, by just listening to what someone says, I can faithfully depict 【a person's description of a scene】 without error, completely unaffected by the influence of my subjectivity or imagination! Though, there's no way for me to be sure whether or not the 【person's description】 is an 【imaginary scene】 or a 【real scene】......"

"Does that mean that you can be influenced by the imagination of another person?"

"Yes. A lie is a lie and will be recorded exactly as it is. But in your case, Halara-san, if you describe the scene exactly as you see it, I think I'll be able to get a picture perfect replication of what it looks like!" Yuka explained.

Her power was the exceptional ability to discern the vague image within a witness's mind. Even if the image in itself is false, she wouldn't be able to disclose the nature of its authenticity. That's why Yuka was so envious of Halara's ability to remain unaffected by the subjectivity of another person's perspective. Still, her ability to take only a vague testimony from the witness themselves—— including the image of the culprit that they witnessed and the scene at the time of the crime—— and be able to properly materialize it, was very useful. It might also be useful in this circumstance as well.

Halara hummed with a brief nod.

"I see...... While it may be possible to reproduce an image as seen by an eyewitness that would otherwise be difficult to convey clearly, there is a possibility of being manipulated by a deliberately false testimony, or an ability perhaps."

"Exactly!"

"......It's quite half-baked for a detective."

"Ngh-"

"Honestly it could be quite convenient for this particular instance. It's exhausting to explain things only I can see."

"Really?"

"People do not believe what they cannot see. I have often been called a liar...... It was thanks to this that when I worked with Mister Richard on the 'Jeweler Campanella Murder Case'...... not only did I have to explain my forte, but I also had to go through the arduous task of proving it through drawing an explanation of the circumstances at the time and comparing them with the physical evidence."

Yuka nodded in response to Halara's words. His/her ability is nothing more than a 【vision】 of the past. Perhaps there will always be skeptics and those who continue to insist that it's flawed. As a trainee, she could only imagine the troubles that they deal with.

But there's no need to worry this time. Yuka spoke with conviction.

"It'll be alright! Because I believe in Halara-san's 【Postcognition】 and my 【Sketching】 from the bottom of my heart, without a doubt!"

"......Your own 【Sketching】 as well, huh?"

"Ah-, sorry."

"I don't mind. You should have confidence in your 【Forensic Forte】. The most important quality for a detective is the ability to suspect others...... but perhaps I've spoken too much. Let's continue."

With one eye closed, Halara began to concentrate.

Yuka was momentarily captivated by their serious and beautiful profile. But the instant his/her mouth began to move, she shook her head and picked her colored pencil back up to begin moving it with blinding speed.

A drawing etched into a sketchbook.

Along with Halara's words.

Through combining the two, the findings that were revealed are as follows.

***

The first witness of the scene had broken through the locked door. It was at this time that the victim's body, which had been leaning against the door, appeared to have moved. There were traces of bloody finger marks on the knife and the surrounding area of the clothes on the victim, who had fallen to the side—— though this was confirmed in the initial police investigation, no fingerprints were reported to be found—— and so it was theorized to have been caused not by the culprit, but by the victim.

In other words, the victim's death was not instant.

Furthermore, traces of water stains were found trailing from the victim's mouth to their throat.

Also the head of one of the dolls—— which had apparently not fallen off, yet seemed as if it had been placed with the rest of the heads in the real life scene —— was lying in a position where it could easily be seen from the open door.

And the biggest difference of all—— there were no traces of soot in front of the chimney.

After drawing the description above, Yuka put down her colored pencil with a sudden flick. The fresh corpse of the victim was vividly recreated on paper. The sight was brutal, although I hadn't given it much thought at the time my colored pencils were in motion. She closed her eyes to offer a moment of silence. She then asked Halara.

"I understand things for the most part...... but what could be the meaning behind these differences?"

"............"

"Halara-san?"

"I understand, but......if that's the case...... no...... It's far too simple...... namely, "

"Halara-saaan?"

"I've got a hypothesis in mind. All that's left is to substantiate the evidence."

With that said, Halara began walking to leave the room. Yuka hurriedly stowed her sketchbook and colored pencils into her bag. Brown, light orange, red—— disregarding the order that they were placed in—— they were tossed directly into the bottom of the box. She slammed the lid shut and ran after Halara.

"Please wait, Halara-san. Where are you going?"

"An investigation is built upon two fundamental factors. First of all, check the crime scene, next is?"

"Next, is it...... um, perhaps"

"Yes, I'm sure you know what I'm referring to."

Halara came to a halt in a corridor with beautiful stucco walls. He/she turned to Yuka and, with a quick motion, held up two fingers. He/she curled their fingers from two to one as they gave their answer.

"It's collecting testimony."

***

"You're the detective appointed by the Master, is that right?...... Haa, quite the beautiful person...... Ah-, no, what happened at the time of the Madam's death, was it?"

"To be more precise, it's about the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the body and how you were spending your time that night. I’d appreciate your cooperation."

The gardener narrowed his puffy eyes at Halara's statement.

He was at a loss for words within the garden that was filled with the suffocating fragrance of roses.

The gardener was a man in his fifties. He was dressed in a pair of trousers, shirt, and rubber apron suitable for tilling the soil, and the look on his face portrayed a gentle personality. At the same time, it seemed to reveal an innately timid nature. He carefully tucked the pruning shears he was using into his apron pocket. He then anxiously asked Halara.

"Does that mean, as in an alibi? Am I being accused of something?"

"We're going around and asking everyone! Thank you in advance for your cooperation!"

Perhaps it would be better to keep him calm by speaking to him herself.

Yuka spoke cheerfully so. Halara said nothing. The gardener nodded upon hearing this. He still seemed nervous, but he opened his mouth.

"Haa...... Well, I don't have anything to hide or be ashamed of, so I'll answer you. Please hurry and clear up any of the Madam's lingering regrets."

"Right! ...... oouugh, I'm moved to tears by those words. I guess your Madam must've surely held a great deal of care and compassion for her employees!"

"No, not at all."

"Eh-"

Yuka froze in her tracks at this.

Isn't the memory of the deceased something that everyone glorifies? Especially if they were killed. However, the gardener's deep wrinkles distorted, like scars chiseled into rock. With a firm voice, he continued.

"The only time the Madam was kind was when she dealt with her youngest daughter, who is now living in a dormitory...... She was strict with everyone else, and our nickname for her was the 'Empress of Ice'...... There was no such thing as kindness."

Halara narrowed their eyes at his words. He/she folded their arms thoughtfully.

Halara asked with a hardened voice.

"So everyone could have a motive?"

"......Well I never said that. I dread to think who in the house might have stabbed her. Even if I had found her 'murdered'...... Honestly, I didn't think about why."

"...... By the sounds of it, you were the first one to discover the body?"

"Oh, that's right." The gardener nodded simply.

Yuka reflexively held her breath.

This is important information. As you know, Halara's power recreates the crime scene found by the 'first witness'. Not the 'culprit', not the 'victim' —— but that of the 'first witness'.

In other words, the 'first witness' is excluded as the culprit.

It's imperative to determine whether or not the vision seen by Halara really belongs to the gardener. But the ability to rule out one person from being a potential culprit altogether is incredibly valuable.

"I see, in that case......"

Halara tried to ask the question, and Yuka immediately took out her sketchbook. This is where her 【Forte】 comes into play. Halara nodded upon seeing this.

"That's a good call."

"Halara-san praised my judgment!?"

"So, when you opened the door......"

"Ignored without a beat!?"

"Was the victim leaning against it?"

"Yes...... I had a bad feeling, so the young lady and I kicked down the upstairs door...... I thought it was strangely heavy, but soon after I was shocked when I caught a glimpse of the corpse."

According to the gardener's report—— the moment he opened the door, the impact had apparently caused the Madam's corpse to fall over. Since he was sure that he heard the sound of something hitting the floor, they believed that nobody had opened the door before then.

A doll's head had fallen on the other side of the corpse, so he went on to look at the Madam's bisque doll collection. Seeing such a disastrous scene was as horrifying ��— if not worse —— as when he found the Madam's body. The eldest daughter then went over to the window and checked the lock. As she did so, she noticed the eldest son in the yard, unlocked it —— which the gardener was certain that he saw that it had been closed until just before —— and called out to him.

Meanwhile the gardener had checked the Madam's pulse and was once again confronted by death.

"I don't have an alibi for the night. I spent the day organizing a plan for remodeling the garden in accommodation to the Madam's ever-increasing wishes. Goodness, it was a tremendous amount of diagrams to do...... But I didn't even go upstairs until 10 o'clock when we were scheduled to have a meeting."

"What is the proof of that?"

"Unfortunately, there is none."

"But, Halara-san. He doesn't seem like a culprit, does he?"

Yuka remarked and showed a sketch she drew based on the gardener's testimony.

Halara narrowed their eyes. Etched on the drawing paper was the scene that the gardener saw when he opened the door. There, a picture nearly identical to the one Halara saw with 【Postcognition】 was sprawled out. Judging by the angle at which the door was opened, there was no doubt that he was the person from the 【Postcognition】—— the 'first witness'.

Yuka's ability does not negate the possibility of false testimony, but it seemed like it would be impossible to match something like the angle of the door just by guessing. That much can almost certainly be said for sure.

Halara nodded. Facing the gardener, he/she said.

"That is all. Much appreciated."

"Yes...... Well then, I best be going. However, I wonder what's to become this rose garden after the the Madam's passing? After having come this far in making it so magnificent, it may simply be left to wither away. Ahh, it's a shame...... Truly, it's such a shame."

If that’s the case, might as well just light it on fire I suppose.

The gardener muttered under his breath.

Yuka felt all the hairs on her body stand on end in fear.

In the depths beneath the gardener's words lurked thick and murky darkness—— a profoundly dark glow —— swirling within. There was no limit to the depravity of these thoughts.

Yuka pulled at Halara's sleeves, wondering if he could be the culprit. Halara ignored her and began walking. She'll be left behind at this rate. Yuka rushed to follow the figure as it moved away from the rose garden. Yuka cast a slight glance over her shoulder as she made her way towards the mansion.

The gardener stood as if buried among the roses.

He opened and closed the gardening shears with a 'shing'.

***

In a luxurious study lined with glass bookshelves,

a sharp and rigid clacking sound rang out.

"The circumstances at the time of discovery, and alibi, right?"

The eldest daughter murmured while moving the chess pieces.

This woman...... is ok, right? Yuka couldn't help but worry.

The eldest daughter was a beautiful figure, with glossy black hair and becoming amber eyes. You could say that she probably resembled her father before he became obese, considering the matching colors of their features. She was a beauty dressed in men's attire with short, boyishly styled hair. Yet unlike Halara, whose gender was completely neutral, her ample breasts filled out the front of her white button-up shirt.

She continued to stroke the pawn pieces with her fingers as she sat in a multifunctional armchair.

"Do you really you suspect me, the Amnea Thompson?"

"......That board."

"Ahh, this? I was just doing a bit of solo play."

"It seems like you are not even aware of the proper way to move the chess pieces. Can you not play chess, by chance?"

"Don't go and call me an idiot already!"

"I didn't say that?"

Halara crossed their arms coldly.

The eldest daughter —— Amnea —— burst into tears in front of them. Apparently, Yuka thought, it seemed the only reason she was in front of the chessboard was simply to try and impress strangers.

Amnea smashed the chess board with force, the pieces making a rattling sound as they flew away.

Then, Amnea proclaimed in an exaggeratedly tearful voice.

"Damn it, you guys are trying to bully me too!"

"I-intense victim mentality."

"Whatever, I am an idiot anyway! I'm so empty-headed that there's not enough to go around! But I leave that kind of thing to the owner of this room, my brother Dalmatia. And yet, you say things like this and that...... Hmm, unforgivable! I'll beat you!"

"Stop it! I'll hit back!"

"I'mb sowwy!"

"So quick to repent!?"

Yuka's eyes widened. Amnea held her head and trembled at the threat, crying softly. Halara murmured out a hum in response to the child-like reaction.

"......Well, it would be ridiculous to try and go up against me with brute force."

"Did you say something, Halara-san?"

"Don't worry about it...... So, about our conversation."

At that, Halara's eyes opened wide before soon narrowing them down. Hm? Yuka tilted her head. What might it be? It felt like Halara's expression had an added childishness to it that I'd never seen before. Following their gaze, Yuka noticed.

"............ Ah-, a cat?"

Yuka quickly approached the fireplace, and Halara also came along without reproach.

Yuka craned her neck, and when she looked into a wicker basket she saw a kitten wriggling and cooing. It looked just like a white furball. The kitten rolled over without a hint of grumpiness. An adorable pink paw was pointed at Halara, but without touching it, his/her expression softened faintly.

Yuka absent-mindedly asked.

"Halara-san, do you like cats?"

"............ It's nothing we need to be talking about."

"No no no, I absolutely love it! After all, it is Halara-san you know? That sense of peacefulness that lights up in your eyes, isn't it?"

"What do you take me for?"

"What, that you're a cat lover? Why don't we talk about it!"

Amnea exclaimed, her footsteps were loud as she got next to Halara.

Amnea reached out her pale hand, to which the cat rubbed their face to be pampered. Amnea gave a sweet smile as her eyes narrowed with affection. She whispered through clenched teeth.

"Since she's finally dead, I took in an unfortunate cat thinking I could care for it."

"Eh...... Your mother died and it hasn't even been resolved yet."

"Is that bad? I've always dreamed of having a cat since foooorever. I wasn't even allowed to talk about it out loud, ya know. It'd be the last thing I'd say. It was really hard for me to even leave the house...... so regardless of whether or not it's out of line, just leave me alone."

Amnea whispered, her profile drooping like that of a wilted flower. Her eyes were moist with a profound sadness that was difficult to put into words. Yuka went silent, unsure of what to say.

Halara observed Amnea's expression before opening his/her mouth.

"...... So then, would you mind telling us your story again?"

"Ahh, sure thing man. I've got nothin to be guilty about. I'll tell ya anything you wanna know."

Amnea puffed out her chest as she spoke.

There was hardly any disparity between the story of the eldest daughter, Amnea, and the gardener's testimony. She only added more details about the situation when she called out to the eldest son. Yuka's sketchbook depicted a young man looking up toward the second floor from a rose garden. He's slender and quite handsome. His black hair and amber eyes resembled that of Amnea and their father. Yuka stared at it, pondering the possibility.

"Are you and your brother twins?"

"Yep, you nailed it. Technically, I'm supposed to be the older sister, but we are twins. I'm on good terms with Dalmatia...... who, unlike me, has the lion's share of smarts."

Amnea laughed frankly at saying that. The carefree expression on her face invokes a genuine feeling of familiarity. Yuka thought of how nice it would be to have a twin.

At that, Halara wordlessly raised an arm, and Amnea snapped to attention with her back straightened.

"Yii-!"

"Why"

"......I've got most of it. Let's get going."

Halara said and began walking. What the hellll, that guy was a bastard to the end, Amnea said to the kitten. The white furball responded with a mewmew. It had heart shaped ears. The pointed tip of its heart-shaped nose twitched with a snort. The sound made Halara stop in their tracks.

With his/her back to Amnea, they inquired.

"Just to be sure, I'd like to ask you something...... If something were to happen to you, do you have any guarantee of where the little one will go?"

"Don't be stupid! As a cat lover, of course I've decided on it! If something happens to me, my friend will take good care of it."

"......I see, alright then."

A sense of relief.

With that said, Halara exited the room. He/she also spoke to the chef and the maid. However, it resulted in nothing noteworthy there. Both men claimed to have been working at the time of the incident, had no alibis, and had not even seen the body. Mister Richard had spoken about his suspicion about the chef, but there did not seem to be any particular pieces of evidence to support this.

Hearing all they needed to, Halara nodded and returned to the crime scene. Inside the room, the headless dolls were silent like statues of death. At the center of their blue-eyed gaze, Halara said.

"I’ve figured out the method behind the creation of the locked room."

***

"Well, saying that I figured it out isn't quite accurate...... because we already had the answer as soon as we checked the crime scene."

"A-amazing! Is that even possible!?"

"Of course it is. The person before you is Halara Nightmare. Something such as this is not even a problem."

Halara answered smoothly. Their eyes held no hint of a bluff, but rather a sharp confidence that gleamed like a sword's edge. It was a star-like light, befitting of a detective.

Yuka clenched her fist. Sure enough, just as expected of Halara-san.

He/she tilted their head in turn.

"Or rather. I think we're in the foundational basics at this point. Did you really not even notice?"

"Ngh-, I- I'm a trainee detective, so"

"Even as a trainee, you need to realize that above all else you still wear the title of detective."

"U-oughh...... I didn't notice at all, so please explain it to me."

Yuka folded easily. She knew that she wouldn't get anywhere even if she wracked her brain about it. Halara let out a sigh and shook their head before he/she opened their mouth to speak.

"Haa...... First, let's discuss the matter of 'why were the dolls destroyed?'. There must be a reason for why the culprit would destroy them. There is also a reason behind the fact that the head of one of the dolls had rolled into a position that was immediately visible upon opening the door."

"Why is that?"

Yuka asked while looking at the heads that were now pressed against the wall. The reflections in their glass eyes gave the impression of being wet. That chilling glow seemed to evoke hatred for the murdered. Yuka wondered, why had the dolls' heads been ripped off and rolled away?

Halara offered an explanation.

"It's 'to draw attention to the dolls'."

"To the dolls."

"This will also answer the 'traces of soot marks on the floor after opening the locked room' question. The room was indeed a locked room at the time of the crime. If that's the case, then how did the killer escape?"

"Yeah, that's the issue......"

"They didn't escape. They were hiding halfway up the chimney leading from the fireplace."

Yuka's mouth suddenly opened.

So that's it. The far end of the chimney was blocked off with a net. The room cannot be entered or exited from there. However, it is possible to hide halfway up.

The rest is simple.

The eyewitnesses who found the doll's head were partly compelled to pay attention to the destruction caused to the bisque doll collection. While their attention was focused on that, the killer was able to slip out of the fireplace and escape. They would then nonchalantly join up later as if nothing happened.

In that case, Yuka declared.

"I- I see! That would mean that the eldest daughter Amnea-san, who was with the gardener during the initial discovery, and the eldest son Dalmatia-san, who was in the garden, can be ruled out from the list of possible suspects!"

"...... I'd hoped that you wouldn't say something so boring."

"Eh-!?"

"Behind the creation of every locked room is a purpose for its existence. It is those who are not deemed potential culprits that raise suspicion here. It's safe to say that the maid and the cook can be ruled out."

Halara explained calmly. Uughh, Yuka thought, feeling as if she wanted to cry.

At the same time, an image came to mind of the gardener murmuring ominously, his shears moving with a 'shing, shing'. Shifting in and out of view, treacherous thoughts were obscured by the parallax within his thicket of words.

Impulsively, Yuka raised her voice.

"Understood! It was the gardener then."

"Didn't you believe in my 【postcognition】 and your 【sketch】 from the bottom of your heart?"

"Oh- oh yeah...... so then, who?"

Yuka asked, on the verge of tears. Halara once again let out a sigh. However, they detached their sagacious gaze from Yuka to cast it into space. Halara muttered in contemplation.

"Since they were in the fireplace when the door was opened by the first witness, the culprit was excluded from being with the first person to discover it.... along with the eldest daughter Amnea."

"In that case then, the eldest son, Dalmatia-san? Huh...... but, Amnea-san saw Dalmatia-san in the garden......"

"It's only logical to assume that couldn't possibly be true. Given that Amnea is not the first witness...... it is plausible that she could be a perpetrator. In short, the murderer is Dalmatia, and Amnea is involved as an accomplice through giving false testimony."

I see, Yuka energetically bounced up and down in excitement.

Now the mystery was all but solved.

That should be it.

That is, until Halara opened their mouth to continue.

It was then that the door swung open. A low, beautiful voice began to flow through.

"Oh my, have I been noticed?"

"Y- you're......"

Yuka's voice couldn't help but tremble.

A slender human bowed gracefully before them, announcing their name with grandeur.

"Salutations, I am Dalmatia Thomson. My father's favorite 【Master Detective】 had finally arrived, and when I came to extend my greetings...... it seems I was exposed before the reconnaissance."

Murmured a man styled in a distinctive black and white suit. He had black hair and amber-colored eyes. A beautiful young man, just as Yuka depicted in her sketch. His sophisticated and intellectual impression was even stronger when I saw it in person. Shaking his head, the eldest son —— Dalmatia —— forced out in a strained voice.

"Nothing that can be done once it's been found out. Just as you've deduced......I am the one who killed my mother. It's too late to be making any excuses now, I......"

"Why"

"That's what I'll be trying to tell you right now." Dalmatia shrugged off Halara's question as if in inconvenience and shook his head in exasperation. Halara did not care for these theatrical gestures, however. Indifferent, he/she continued questioning.

"Why, are you telling such lies?"

***

"Eh?"

"Huh?"

The two voices overlapped.

The voices of Yuka and Dalmatia.

What are they talking about, Yuka wondered. Wasn't it none other than Halara themself who presented this deduction just a moment ago! Yet at the same time, Yuka began to realize.

It was clear that Halara was trying to go somewhere with this.

He/she spoke in a dry tone.

"As I just told you before. This stuff is way too basic. It's not even a question. That being the case, there must also be a purpose behind creating a 'locked room meant to be breached'."

"Is...... is it"

"In other words, the problem itself is a trick that assumes the presence of my 【postcognition】."

Halara asserted.

And so the mystery continues.

Yuka suddenly found herself in a daydream —— standing on a stage where the spotlights focused solely on Halara Nightmare —— only on the person whose beautifully pale complexion was brilliantly illuminated.

Halara continued to seize control of the scene with overwhelming charisma.

As the leading role (detective), he/she told the supporting cast.

"As told by the client. 'I used to tell my family all about Halara-san', in addition to his habit of running his mouth too fast and blurting everything out. The family had plenty of opportunities to learn the details about my 【postcognition】 if that's the case."

"Which, I'm sure probably happened......"

"Therefore, the task was carried out with the anticipation that the traces of soot would be revealed during the use of 【postcognition】...... There's a lot of strange things going on otherwise."

"Wh- what's so strange?"

Dalmatia asked with a trembling voice. He glared at Halara with a glint. However, the spotlight remained fixed, continuing to shine only above Halara's head.

He/she responded smoothly.

"First of all, there'd normally be no point in making the victim take sleeping pills. She was —— as one could surmise from the way she was staring at the camera and her lack of focus —— a petite woman with poor eyesight."

"Ah-"

"Anything could've been done to exploit her weaknesses. It would be much more sensible to kill her that way and make it look like the work of a burglar rather than going through the trouble of a locked room. And yet, it was by putting the sleeping pills in the pitcher that the culprit was quickly narrowed down to those involved."

I-indeed, Yuka nodded. That's certainly true.

Even the initial police investigation limited the culprit to those involved because of that water pitcher. There was no point in setting such a thing up since the victim was a delicate woman who could easily be killed.

Furthermore, Halara continued.

"Also, although I was promptly called in at the request of the victim's family in this case, police analysis should have originally confirmed that the soot on the floor was from the fireplace. Moreover, it's highly likely that subsequent investigations would reveal the false testimony. And the reason I took the time and effort was because I knew from the beginning that the client would let me solve the mystery —— thus."

Halara fixed their gaze on Dalmatia. He flinched and clutched his chest while being pierced by their sharp gaze. It was as if he'd been stabbed through the heart. It was there that Halara pushed their verbal blade even further in.

"To become officially identified as the culprit by a Master Detective certified by the World Detective Organization. That was precisely your goal. Once the Master Detective identifies the culprit, the investigation will be closed at that point."

In other words, there’s another culprit.

Halara asserted definitively. Yuka was speechless. What kind of criminal would try to use 【Master Detectives】 for such a purpose? Still, though, Yuka thought. Despite her worry, she opened her mouth.

"But, Halara-san...... isn't it strange?"

"What part?"

—————————————————————

Notes:

There's a part that's describing the gardener's words as 見え隠れ(miegakure), which is a gardening technique that keeps parts of a garden hidden depending on where you're standing, and only becomes visible as you walk through. Closest thing I could compare it to was parallax, but in order to fit the gardening pun I added 'thicket' as a descriptor to try to reflect that.

While I tried to add honorifics, Halara and Yuka sometimes use a -shi honorific for Richard. I don’t know if people are generally familiar with it, so I just replaced it with Mister

Amnea speaks in a very masculine manner, so when I put stuff like ‘man’ and ‘guy’, it’s in a non-gendered dudebro kind of way.

#rain code #raincode #rain code novel #master detective archives: rain code #waiting for yuma #ユーマを待ちながら #halara nightmare #yuka kisaragi #my translation

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thewillofdeez · 11 months

Text

Twenty Questions - A Goth Fam One-shot with just a smidge of OC romance

Summary: A few weeks after arriving on Kuraigana, Perona is desperate to get to know her mysterious host. After much pestering, she gets him to agree to twenty questions.

Lightweight one-shot goth fam fun. Notes can be found on my AO3 account under the same username.

Word count: 7k

The woman was like a fly. Or a mosquito. Something that was annoyingly persistent and had absolutely no survival sense to back off lest it be squashed. Her ability to fly only served to further the analogy. Mihawk had certainly considered squashing her before. He wondered if there was a place where he could buy a giant fly swatter, if for no other reason than to send a message.

It wouldn’t be so bad if her focus wasn’t on him all the damn time. Perona barraged him with questions about himself, his life, his past, constantly every damn day. But Mihawk liked to keep things close to his chest. He didn’t like giving out information about himself unless it was necessary, both for his own safety and because, frankly, it was no one else’s business. He would give opinions, insights, sure, but anything that was about him specifically, about his past, about what made him tick…that was for him and a very few, select set of people. Perona was not one of them. Neither was Zoro.

In the few weeks since Mihawk had returned from Marineford, Perona’s prying into his personal life had ramped up from the occasional probe to see how he’d respond, to becoming more and more insistent. He was beginning to regret letting her stay, but he also didn’t feel he could kick her out either. The man wasn’t a total monster - she and Zoro had filled him in on what happened at Thriller Bark. He knew she had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. That damned compassion that he tried constantly to suppress, he supposed, got the better of him. But she sure was pushing her luck.

Perona, for her part, didn’t get why Mihawk was so reluctant to talk about himself. She knew he wasn’t thrilled about his new houseguests, and he made that clear pretty much every day. But she felt like he was making it harder on himself by making no effort to get to know her and Zoro. She’d tried to tell him about herself, hoping that might get him to open up, but he’d frequently silence her with a raised hand and a firm “I don’t care.” She wanted to believe that he was just afraid of getting attached to them. Yeah, that was it. Totally.

And yet she also couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt. Why didn’t he like her? She was very likable! She was cute and funny and charming, goddammit! The cold shoulder was decidedly un-cute, and she was determined to put an end to it.

On a rainy evening at Kuraigana, Mihawk sat in his chair before the roaring fireplace, a book in his lap and the castle quiet except for the patter of rain against glass. It was too quiet, perhaps. Mihawk looked around the room. Zoro was on the couch flipping through a book of his own and munching on a rice ball. He didn’t seem to be reading it, just perusing. Typical, Mihawk thought.

Perona was nowhere to be found, and that meant trouble. He briefly wondered if he should go looking for her to make sure she wasn’t getting into anything she wasn’t supposed to, or if he should just enjoy the peace while it lasted. He chose the latter, positive it would end sooner or later.

“Mihawk,” Perona said, her face suddenly dangling upside down in front of him in a wave of pink hair. And there it is, he thought, huffing out a sigh.

“Mihawk, I have a proposition for you.” Perona flipped right side up and crossed her legs as though she was sitting on the floor, while floating in front of him at eye level.

“Hmmpf. Not interested,” Mihawk replied, lazily turning the page of his book and ignoring her.

Perona ignored him. “Twenty questions.” Mihawk looked up from his book with a raised eyebrow. “Twenty questions?”

Perona nodded. “I get to ask you twenty questions of my choice, and you answer them. If you can do that - just give me twenty - I’ll never bother you for more information about yourself ever again. Promise. Pirate’s honor.”

Mihawk scoffed. “First of all, the promise of ‘pirate’s honor’ is shaky, at best, as many pirates have no sense of honor, or at least a questionable one, and I don’t know if you’re one of them.”

Perona puffed her cheeks in anger. “Well you might know if you took the time to get to know me and–”

“And second of all,” Mihawk said, cutting her off, “I don’t believe you anyway. I don’t believe for a second that, if I did answer your twenty questions, you’d be satisfied. You’d keep nagging me for more information. I won’t give you an inch so you can take a mile.”

“Actually, I think you should do it,” Zoro cut in, his voice slightly muffled as he chewed on the rice ball. “She did the same thing to me when we got here. I gave her some answers and she backed off. And the things I didn’t want to answer she didn’t push me on. Throw her a bone and she’ll be satisfied.” Zoro didn’t mention that he also, somewhat selfishly, wanted to know more about their mysterious host, and fully supported the pink-haired pirate’s quest for information, even if he wasn’t interested in being involved in it himself.

“Thank you, Zoro,” she said. “See? I have self-control. I just also would like to know more about the person I’m spending an indefinite amount of time with. Come on, Mihawk…please?”

Mihawk looked at Perona, her eyes wide and lips in a pout in what he imagined was supposed to be a sad puppy dog face. He glanced at Zoro, who only shrugged. Mihawk sighed. “Fine. But here are my terms. Yes or no questions only. How much or how little I elaborate is up to me.”

“Fine,” Perona replied, thrilled at her own progress. “But then I get to ask follow up questions about ten of them that don’t count towards the twenty.”

“Absolutely not,” Mihawk replied. “I’ll allow you to ask for more information on three questions only.”

“Eight,” Perona replied.

“Two”.

“Six.”

“One.”

Perona narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t how negotiating works, ya know! You’re supposed to be trying to meet me in the middle!”

“Take it or leave it,” Mihawk said, not backing down.

“Fine!” Perona said, frustrated. “I’ll take the three, geeze.” Perona floated away for a moment and came back with a small notebook in hand, settling down on the couch next to Zoro. “Ready?” she asked.

“I suppose,” Mihawk replied. “But one more thing. Everything I tell you about myself, no matter how insignificant a detail is, does not leave this castle. Ever. I keep things to myself for a reason, and I’m only giving you what you want so I can live in my own house in peace. That goes for you too, Roronoa. None of this makes its way to your crewmates or anyone else. Are we clear?”

Perona nodded enthusiastically. “You got it! Promise!”

Zoro nodded as well. “Whatever secrets you have are safe with me.”

It seems Perona’s frustration had dissipated and now she was just happy to get what she wanted. Perona opened the notebook. “I wasn’t expecting the yes or no stipulation, so I’ll have to re-word some of these. Let’s get started!”

Mihawk sighed and sipped his wine. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

“Question #1,” she began, “Did you become the World’s Greatest Swordsman when you were…” she thought for a minute, rewording the question in her head, “Let’s say younger than Zoro?”

Mihawk turned to Zoro. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” he said, “Almost twenty.”

“Then yes,” Mihawk responded, “I was younger than Zoro is now.”

Perona jotted something down in her notebook. “Great. Question #2. Do you have a best friend?”

“Yes. Two, actually.” Perona and Zoro both raised their eyebrows in what Mihawk thought might have been surprise at the fact that two people liked him enough to be his best friend.

“Question #3” she continued, “Do you have any talents or hobbies, aside from what we know about?”

Mihawk thought for a moment. “I do, yes.”

Silence overtook the three. They stared at each other.

“If you want more information, you’ll have to ask for it. I’m not going to just give it to you.”

Perona sighed dramatically. “Fine! Request for more information.”

Mihawk smirked. “One down, two left. Well, you know I enjoy farming and cooking. I can play a few different instruments, some quite well and others not so much. I enjoy learning other languages and am fluent in several.”

“What instruments do you play best?” Zoro asked.

“Guitar and violin, probably,” he responded. “I’m fond of strings.”

“Do you collect anything?” Perona asked.

“Hmmm. Nothing I would formally consider a collection, no, at least not in the sense of collecting coins or old magazines or anything like that. But I do have quite a lot of knives of different styles and makes from all over the world. I enjoy buying and trading art. And I enjoy filling out the wine cellar, though I can’t really claim that collection as ‘mine’ since so much of it was here when I moved in.”

“Is there anything you’re really bad at,” asked Zoro, “Or that you really don’t like to do?”

“I’ve never been great at the visual arts,” Mihawk admitted, “Though not for lack of trying. I don’t particularly care for organized athletics, though I do admire the people who play them. And I hate golf. More than most things, I hate golf.”

“Have you ever played mini golf, though?” Zoro asked excitedly. “I agree about regular golf, but mini golf is fun.”

“Do I look like I’m twelve to you? No, I’ve never played mini golf, and have no intention to.”

Zoro shrugged. “Your loss.”

Perona giggled. “The image of you trying to putt a ball through a windmill is kind of hilarious.”

“I’m glad you find it amusing,” Mihawk deadpanned, cringing internally at how much he had just given away, even if the information was harmless. “Is that all?”

Zoro and Perona nodded at each other, then Perona spoke. “Yup. We can continue. Question #4. That cross you wear around your neck…”

“The stabby cross,” Zoro cut in, remembering the time he felt its point in his flesh.

“Yeah, the stabby cross. Do you wear it because you're religious?”

“Ha!” Mihawk laughed. “No, not at all. I’m not arrogant enough to say there is definitively no higher power that exists, but I do lean that way. Agnostic, perhaps, might be the right word. It doesn’t matter to me one way or another if there is a God.”

“Then why do you wear it?” Zoro cut in.

“Zoro! You used up one of my questions!” Perona huffed, fists on her hips. She then flipped through her notebook and made a number of angry scribbles.

“Sorry! I’m just curious.”

Mihawk lifted the cross that hung on his chest, turning it in his hands and examining it. “It was a gift, a long time ago. It also suits my personal style. And I do quite enjoy the look on peoples’ faces when they realize it’s actually a knife. That never gets old.” He looked pointedly at Zoro, smiling slyly. Zoro frowned angrily.

“Question number….six, I guess, thanks, Zoro” began Perona, ignoring the exchanged looks. “Is there anything you’re afraid of, like a phobia or something?”

“Hmmm,” Mihawk pondered, mulling over how to answer that one. “I’d say no, not in the sense that I believe you’re asking anyway. But there are certainly things that make me uncomfortable.”

“Are you gonna tell us what?” she pressed.

“Is that a request for more information?” Mihawk responded, eyebrow raised.

“Hmmph. No, I guess it’s not worth using another request for info this early in the game unless it’s really good. Anyway. Question #7. Have you ever been dangerously close to death? Like, actively dying close?”

“Yes, actually,” he said. “I was a rather frail child, and got sick quite frequently up until I was around 9 or 10 years old. I’ve been on the verge of death from things as boring as pneumonia several times. Since then, however, no, I haven’t knocked on death’s door to quite the same extent.”

More scribbles. Mihawk was desperately starting to wonder why she felt the need to take notes. He’d have to burn that notebook when he got the chance.

“Question #8,” Perona started, looking back up at him. “You don’t have a crew of your own right now, but have you ever worked on another pirate’s crew?”

Mihawk looked up in thought. “That’s a bit complicated. When I was much younger I did sail on someone else’s crew, yes. But I’ve purposely never aligned myself with anyone else from the moment where I had a choice. Does that make sense?”

Zoro nodded. “I get it. It was a situation you were in, not necessarily something done out of loyalty to a particular captain. Right?”

Mihawk nodded. “That’s a good way to put it, yes.”

“Question #9, then," Perona continued. "Related. Have you ever had your own crew, or do you want to?”

“Hmm,” Mihawk replied, “That sounds like questions nine and ten to me.”

“What?!” she huffed. “No, there’s two clauses, separated by a comma and followed by a single question mark. It’s one question with two parts. So nyeh.” Perona crossed her arms over her chest, proud of her retort.

Mihawk chuckled. “Fair point, I suppose I can’t argue with your grammar. No and no. I could very easily amass a crew of my own if I wanted, but I don’t care for the responsibility of being a captain, and have nothing to gain from doing so.”

Onto Question #10 then,” said Perona. “Do you have any living relatives?”

“I do, yes,” Mihawk replied.

Zoro and Perona looked at each other. “Think we should use another request for more information?” Zoro asked.

Perona thought for a second. “I think so. Okay, tell us about your family.”

Mihawk sipped his wine. “The only living family I have are my parents. You’ve met them, Zoro. In Sabaody.”

Zoro’s brow furrowed in thought for just a second, before the realization dawned on him. “You don’t mean…”

Mihawk only nodded. Zoro laughed. “No way!”

“What?” Perona inquired, looking between the two men. “What’s so funny? Tell me, come on!”

Still chuckling, Zoro answered. “Mihawk’s dad is Silvers Rayleigh.”

Perona’s jaw dropped. “THE Silvers Rayleigh? Dark King Rayleigh? Is your dad??”

Mihawk nodded. “Indeed.” He decided he didn’t need to provide any information about his mother’s past unless asked.

Perona was shocked. This was more dirt than she could have ever dreamed of.

“So that must mean you grew up on Gold Roger’s ship?” Zoro asked, doing the math in his head.

“I did,” Mihawk responded. “From the time I was born until I was thirteen and went off on my own, much to the distress of my mother.”

“Do you see them often?” Perona asked.

“Maybe once a year or so. My mother and I will call each other occasionally, but they have their own lives and I have mine. I don’t always get along very well with my father, so when I visit it’s generally for my mother’s sake. But we’re usually cordial to one another regardless.”

Perona decided not to push the topic, figuring that Mihawk had given her more than enough and probably wouldn’t appreciate her digging into his daddy issues. “Okay then! And we’re halfway done. Question #11. Do you like being a Warlord?”

Mihawk huffed. “‘Like’ is certainly not the word I would use, no. I appreciate the freedom the position grants me, but I also have no love or loyalty for the World Government. The other Warlords feel much the same way, it’s about the only thing we can all agree on. It’s a trade-off.”

“Question #12. Do you support the Revolutionary Army?”

“Hmmm, an interesting question,” Mihawk said. “In theory, in belief, yes, I do believe in what they’re doing. But…if you’re asking me whether or not I’m personally a member of the Revolutionary Army….do you really think I would tell you if I was?”

“So much for your theory, Zoro,” Perona grumbled, making notes. Yes, that notebook would definitely have to burn.

Zoro only shrugged. “It woulda made sense.” Mihawk hid his grin in his wine glass.

“Question #13. When Zoro is eventually ready to challenge you for your title, will you actually kill him?”

“I feel like I should be insulted,” Zoro said before Mihawk could speak. “Why are you assuming that I’m the one who’ll be dying?”

“No offense, Zoro,” Perona said, “But I mean…come on. Look at the guy. I’ve seen you out there training….you’re great, but you’re not him. Not yet, anyway.” Zoro huffed and crossed his arms in response.

Mihawk didn’t even try to hide his amused smirk. “Yes, I will kill Zoro eventually. Or perhaps he’ll kill me, but I doubt it. We’ll see how he’s doing when the time comes. But whether it’s two years from now or twenty, one of us will die, there’s no doubt about that.”

“And you’re both just…okay with that?” Perona replied.

Mihawk and Zoro nodded, at each other then her. “Of course,” Mihawk said, “It’s the nature of passing on the title of World’s Greatest Swordsman. I killed the man who held the title before me, and he did the same before him, going back hundreds of years. One day someone will do the same to me and claim the title. Whether it’s Zoro or someone else, I do not know. But it will, in all likelihood, happen one day.”

Perona looked back and forth between the two men. “How…how can you just sit here, together, knowing one of you will kill the other like it’s nothing? How are you both so….okay with this?!”

“It’s part of being a swordsman, Perona,” Zoro said. “Not all swordsmen want Mihawk’s title, but for those of us who do, we know how it goes. We know that it’s kill or be killed, and to fall to the World’s Greatest Swordsman…I mean it sucks, yeah, I never want to lose….but it’s a risk I have to take, and there are worse ways to go. I’d much rather die in an honorable battle by Mihawk’s sword than by anyone else’s.”

Perona turned to Mihawk. “And you’re just…fine with this too? You agreed to train Zoro, knowing what he wants to do? Like it’s no big deal?”

Mihawk nodded. “I did. And it is a big deal, to be sure. I would not have agreed to train him if I didn’t believe he had potential to be the next in line. I won’t deny this…arrangement is certainly unorthodox. But I also believe there’s a reason he’s here. And, I suppose, you as well.”

“Hmmm…okay, but what about this: Hypothetically, what if you and Zoro fight, and he just….defeats you without killing you? If you know you’re beaten, why not just surrender and save your own life?”

“An admirable desire,” Mihawk said gently, “But that just isn’t the way it works.”

But it could be, right?” she pressed. “I mean, there’s no rule saying it can’t. It’s only a bunch of dead guys telling you otherwise.”

“Perona,” added Zoro, trying to explain. “For people like me and Mihawk, defeat is a fate worse than death. It’s better to go out knowing you fought honorably than to live knowing you were defeated. Mihawk’s already beaten me once. I took him on before I was ready and I made a vow that day that no one, either him or anyone else, would ever defeat me again. I’d rather die than live with breaking that vow. He feels the same.”

Mihawk nodded in agreement. “It’s about honor, Perona. Honor and pride. These concepts are inextricably linked with swordsmanship, they’re things we value above all else. Do you understand now why, when the time comes, there can be no peaceful resolution?”

Perona huffed out a sigh and sunk into the sofa, her arms crossed. “Yeah…I get it. I still want to tell you that it’s stupid, and that your lives are more important than your pride, but…I get it. And I respect it, I guess. Whatever.” Mihawk and Zoro both chuckled. “I just hate knowing that I’m gonna end up going to one of your funerals one day and it’ll be the other person’s fault. And I love funerals! But I like you both, and this one is gonna suck.”

“Don’t dwell on it for now, ghost girl,” Mihawk said with an unusually soft smile. “It will be a very, very, very long time before Zoro is truly ready to face me in battle.”

“Ya got enough ‘verys’ in there, Mihawk?” Zoro said with a sour look. Mihawk only grinned smugly.

“Ugh dammit,” Perona whined, slapping her fists on the sofa. “And I guess I just used up a request for more information too.”

“No,” Mihawk said, “I think that was an important discussion to have. You still have one left. Now, onto the next question.”

“Perona, can I ask one?” Zoro said.

Perona checked her notebook. “Hmmm, yeah I think I can spare a question, but it better be good. What is it?” Zoro leaned over and whispered in her ear. Mihawk looked on curiously. “Ohhhhh! Yes, go ahead.”

Zoro grinned. “Great! Question #14. You told me once that you and Shanks used to be rivals. Even with one arm, knowing how strong of a pirate he is, do you think you could beat him in a fight today?”

Mihawk chuckled. “That is a good question, Zoro. But it’s the wrong question.”

Zoro’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the question isn’t could I defeat him or could he defeat me, it’s why would I bother fighting him in the first place?”

“I don’t understand,” said Perona.

“Well, look at it from my perspective,” Mihawk said. “Say Shanks and I do fight, which we wouldn’t because I don’t fight opponents who aren’t at their full strength. But…hypothetically. It’s a losing situation for me either way. If I win, well, I defeated a swordsman with one arm, big deal. But if I lose…if I lost to a one-armed swordsman…that would be devastating. Sure, I would go out honorably, knowing I lost to a superior opponent, but personally, given my history with the man….�� Mihawk shuddered at the thought. “It’s simply not worth the risk.”

“Okay, I get that,” Zoro said. “But all that aside. Do you think you could defeat him, yes or no?”

Mihawk pondered this. “I genuinely don’t know, as much as I hate to admit it. I don’t fear Shanks, he’s one of my closest friends, but if it came down to it, he’s also the most powerful Haki user in the world. I see no shame in admitting that as strong as mine is, his is miles stronger, even if I am the better swordsman. We’ve always been so evenly matched, and that’s part of what I enjoyed about battling him. When we were younger, our fights would rage on for days until we had no choice but to call a draw. Dozens of times we’ve fought with no victor. If he wanted my title, it's certainly possible that he could take it from me, or at least put up a good fight in the process.” Mihawk shrugged. “But I also know he’d never do that, so I don’t really think about it.”

“Question #15, then!” Perona said. “Have you ever considered eating a Devil Fruit?”

“Absolutely not,” Mihawk scoffed. “I don’t need some kind of magical power to become stronger or achieve my goals. My strength as a swordsman speaks for itself. I also have very little respect for Devil Fruit users as a whole. It feels like cheating in a way, like having power you haven’t done anything to earn.”

“What? Hey!” Perona cried. “That’s not fair! I could be strong even without my Devil Fruit power!” In her anger, Perona sent a flurry of hollows through Mihawk’s chest. Over the past few weeks, Mihawk had been building up an immunity to her ghosts. It still wasn’t pleasant, but he could handle them without letting her know he was affected. As the ghosts passed through him, his expression remained stoic, but inside he was dying a little. Mihawk shook it off as quickly as he could, and a thought occurred to him.

“How old were you when you ate the Hollow-Hollow Fruit, Perona?” he asked.

Perona’s jaw dropped a little. Did he…just ask her a question? About herself? Perona resisted the urge to get all starry eyed over her progress. “I was about nine,” she replied, as calmly as she could.

“Hmmf,” Mihawk replied. “I meant no offense, Perona. I do have more sympathy for people in your situation, and I don’t carry the same lack of respect. It’s surprisingly common for children to eat Devil Fruits without knowing what they are or at least fully grasping the consequences. I know Luffy is one of them,” Mihawk nodded to Zoro. “Buggy was too. But many more people make the active choice to curse themselves in the pursuit of power or wealth or whatever else. Those are the people I tend to look down upon. Though, I will admit, there are a few exceptions for whom I carry quite a lot of respect.”

Perona looked down, hiding her smile. She felt like she had finally cracked his tough exterior, just the tiniest bit, and she felt proud. “I can understand that. Let’s move on. Question #16. Do you have a girlfriend?” Mihawk was about to answer when Perona cut him off “OR…a boyfriend?” With so few questions remaining, she had to fit in as much as she could.

Mihawk narrowed his golden eyes. “No.”

“Hmmmm,” Perona pondered, looking at her notebook. He saw her scribble a few things, but he couldn’t tell what. Zoro looked over her shoulder with interest. “Question #17. Do you have anyone you’re romantically interested in, maybe someone you’d like to have as your girlfriend-slash-boyfriend?”

Mihawk huffed and looked towards the fire. “...Yes. There is someone.”

“Request for more info!!!” Perona cried excitedly. “Tell us more!”

“What would you like to know?” Mihawk asked begrudgingly, regretting giving her that freebie earlier.

Well, how did you meet? How long have you known each other?”

“We met about twelve years ago or so,” Mihawk began. “I had been caught by Marines. An Admiral. This was before I was a Warlord, so I was still considered fair game at the time. He was a powerful opponent, but given our earlier discussion on pride and defeat, I’m sure you can imagine how…humiliated I felt. I was in a cell in shackles waiting to be transported to Enies Lobby. And she was the other person in my cell. We knew we’d be on a ship to be judged for our crimes in the morning, and so the whole night we just…talked. About everything and nothing. She was clever and wise, and made me think of things I’d never once considered. And she was so easy to talk to….”

Mihawk looked down at the glass of wine in his hand. “Anyway, morning came, and I made some joke about how it had been fun, and maybe I’d see her in prison. And she looked straight at me and said ‘No, you won’t. We’re getting out of here.’ Turns out she had a Devil Fruit power, one the Marines didn’t know about at the time so they didn’t put her in sea prism stone cuffs. She slipped out of the cuffs, out of the cell, and set me free. I was….flabbergasted. Then I was angry. I asked her why the hell she had let me sit there for hours thinking we were caught when she could have always gotten us out and she said, ‘I’m sorry, I was just really enjoying talking to you.’ And…no one had ever said that to me before. So we escaped, and have been friends ever since. I consider her among my best friends, actually, and she considers me hers.”

“Ahhh, so she’s one of those exceptions to the no-respect-for-Devil Fruit-users rule you mentioned before?” Zoro asked.

Mihawk nodded. “She is.”

“And you want to be more than friends with her?” Perona pressed.

“Ideally, yes,” he replied.

“Does she feel the same?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you planning on telling her?”

“Absolutely not.”

“But why???” Perona whined. “If you have feelings for her, you should let her know!”

Mihawk sighed. “It’s not that simple. I’m…not good with people, if you haven’t been able to tell. Never have been. But she and I, we clicked. I value our friendship for what it is, not what it could be. If it ever didn’t work out between us, or if I told her how I felt and she didn’t feel the same….I won’t gamble what we do have in hopes of having something else. It’s not worth the risk to me. I have her in my life, maybe not in the capacity that I want, but I do have her. And that has to be enough for me.”

Perona was stunned. “Wow. Okay, but what if she told you she felt the same? Would that be different?”

Mihawk shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t say I wouldn’t be happy, but the fear of messing it up would always be there. I have a good thing…I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You don’t think you’re capable of being a good partner,” Zoro said. It wasn’t a question.

“No,” Mihawk replied, slightly taken aback by the younger swordsman’s rather perceptive statement. “I don’t. I’m far too selfish for that. She deserves a much better man than I.”

“What if she fell in love with someone else?" Perona asked. "Would you be more inclined to tell her then?”

“Perona,” Mihawk said, exasperated, “This isn’t a romance novel, it’s real life. I’m not going to…to break into her wedding and confess my love to her and beg her to choose me. She’s had a number of relationships over the years, as have I. Some more casual than others…or entirely casual for me, I suppose. I’m no stranger to seeing her have affections for someone else. And yes, it hurts…like hell sometimes, honestly. Sometimes…I wish she would notice the way I look at her. I wish she’d realize how much faster my heart beats when she’s around. I wish she’d realize how perfect we’d be together...” Mihawk trailed off, before snapping himself out of his thoughts. He’d said far, far too much, but he didn’t often get the opportunity to talk about this and it was all just coming out. Only Shanks knew the true extent of his feelings….and Zoro and Perona did now too, he supposed. “But I have no claim over her. I never will.”

“What do you like about her?” Zoro asked, trying to bring the topic back from the brink. “Like, what is it about her that draws you to her, over anyone else?”

Mihawk smiled. “Well, she’s certainly beautiful. But I’ve met a lot of beautiful women, that’s nothing. She’s smart, wickedly so. She loves philosophy, and can talk about it for hours. She and I have talked about the most minute details of what it means to be human, what it means to exist in this world…I can talk to her for hours on end. And she’s kind, that’s another thing I love about her. She’s so talented in so many different things, and she encourages me to try things I never would have done before. She….I feel like she brings out the best in me.”

“Do you get to see her often?” Perona asked, smiling softly, so happy to have brought this out of her host.

“It depends,” he replied. “We try to make time to see each other, but she’s a pirate as well. She has her own crew, her own obligations and goals. We do call each other somewhat regularly though.”

“Hmmm. You should call her. Invite her to come visit.”

“Ha!” Mihawk laughed. “What, so you can play matchmaker? Please. How stupid do you think I am?”

Perona huffed. “Well fine then! It was just an idea! But….I still think you should tell her.”

Mihawk remained silent for a few moments. “Perhaps one day. Perhaps you’re right. I suppose I’m not doing myself any favors…” Mihawk shook his head, removing the idea from his mind. “Now, have you done enough digging into my love life? Can we move on?”

“I guess,” Perona said. “Let’s move on. Question #18. Do you believe in fate? Or destiny, or anything like that?”

“I do, to an extent,” he replied thoughtfully. “I believe that there are certain key points in the world that are destined to happen, but how exactly we go about getting to them is not written in stone. Luffy, for example, may very well be destined to become King of the Pirates. I’m not ready to put all my money on him just yet, but I do believe it’s possible if not likely - as annoying as I, personally, find that to be. But on his way there, he’s going to break every rule and subvert every expectation along the way.” Zoro smiled, proud that his mentor saw such promise in his captain and his crew.

“Question #19,” Perona continued. “Have you ever done anything really, really stupid while drunk?”

Mihawk laughed. “Oh, yes, especially when I was younger and spent a lot of time with Shanks. I have so many stories I could tell you.”

“Request for more information!!” Perona cried.

“Nope,” said Mihawk with a grin.

“No?”

“You’ve used up your three,” he said, smirking. “That’s all you get for this question.”

Perona’s face turned red. Zoro held back a laugh. “But…I…. UGH!!! FINE! Last one then, I guess. Question #20. Do you….I mean, are you…UGH! Sorry, I’m having trouble figuring out how to word this as a yes or no.”

“Eh,” Mihawk said. “We’re almost done, and you’ve already taken a pickaxe to some of the most closely guarded details of my life. I’ll give you this last one, no yes or no required.” He didn’t say that he had actually been quite enjoying himself.

“Really? Thanks, Mihawk! Okay, what would you say is your biggest motivator in being a pirate?”

“Freedom,” he answered. “I don’t much care for money or power except as far as it serves my ability to live freely. Everything I do is more or less towards that purpose. Frankly, I don’t trust any pirate who believes otherwise.”

Mihawk watched as Perona scribbled something. “Okay then,” she said with a smile. “We’re done. See that wasn’t so bad, was it?” She batted her eyelashes at him.

“Hmph,” Mihawk replied. “I suppose not. What have you been writing in there, by the way? Remember, everything I’ve told you is confidential. That cannot fall into the wrong hands.”

“Don’t worry, Mihawk. I didn’t write down anything sensitive. I just like knowing about people, and writing it down helps me figure them out.”

“You promised that twenty questions was all you’d get and you wouldn’t ask me anything else about myself for as long as you’re here,” he responded. “Do you feel like you’ve gotten enough information to figure me out, then?”

Perona thought for a moment. “I think I’m on my way. But I intend to keep my promise. Any other pieces of the Mihawk puzzle I get will either be picked up through observation or openly volunteered by you. Promise.”

That was satisfactory enough of a response, Mihawk supposed, especially for as late as the evening had gotten. “Good enough. Goodnight then, Perona. Zoro. See you in the morning.”

“Night, Mihawk,” they responded.

“And Mihawk?” Perona called after him. Mihawk turned wordlessly. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” He then nodded and exited the living room.

Mihawk opened the massive door to his bedroom and made his way towards the sitting area where a number of transponder snails sat sleepily on a table. He kicked off his boots and picked up a particular snail. Then, settling down in a comfortable armchair, he lifted up the receiver. The familiar badabadabada repeated several times, then cuh-lick.

“Well hello there, Mihawk” a feminine voice said, her sly smile apparent on the snail.

“Hello there,” he said, unable to suppress his own grin at hearing her voice. “How are you?”

“Oh you know, same old same old," she replied. "The crew and I just left Alabasta, we’ve been there for a few weeks aiding the rebuilding efforts.”

“You know, most pirates aren’t so overt with their good deeds. No wonder the World Government doesn’t know what the hell to do with you.”

She giggled. “I am nothing if not an enigma. So how’re things with the kids?”

Mihawk rolled his eyes. “Ugh, please don’t call them that.” The woman laughed even harder. “It’s fine, but it’s frustrating. They’re the most obnoxious people I’ve ever met, especially that ghost girl. She’s been trying to get me to tell her about myself ever since she got here, and she finally needled me enough that I gave in.”

“You know,” she said, “I seem to recall a time when I was the most obnoxious person you’d ever met, also for being particularly insistent about asking you questions about yourself.”

“That’s different,” Mihawk replied.

“How?”

“Well, because I like you.”

“You didn’t when we first met. But nothing like a few hours in a jail cell together to endear two people to each other, right?” she said with a grin.

Mihawk huffed out a laugh. “That’s certainly true. I suppose I am a few weeks into a two year sentence for a crime I didn’t commit.”

“Give it time, Mihawk,” she said gently. “I admire you for doing as much as you are given how bizarre the situation is. It’ll get easier, just…show them the side of you that you show me.”

Mihawk blushed a little. He hoped the transponder snail didn’t pick it up. “Thank you. I’ll…try.” Mihawk stopped and took a deep breath. “Listen…since you’re in Paradise, I was wondering if you’d perhaps…like to meet up sometime soon? If you don’t have anywhere in particular to be, I mean.”

The snail smiled. “I’d love that. It’s certainly been too long, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” he agreed. “And…if you’re willing – and if you’re not, that’s totally expected and I won’t take any offense, I just, I really enjoy the time we get together and I–”

“Mihawk!” she cut him off. She’d known him for long enough to know that when the otherwise unflappable Dracule Mihawk started rambling, he had something on his mind.

Mihawk sighed. “Would you like to go out with me?” he said. “On a date?” He held his breath.

The snail beamed. “I’d love to. Took you long enough to ask.”

Mihawk smiled widely. Only she could bring that out of him. “I’ll set out tomorrow. Perhaps we could meet somewhere in between where we both are now? Water 7, maybe?”

“We do always have fun in Water 7,” she said, smiling fondly at the memories. “That would be perfect. I…I’m really, really looking forward to seeing you, Mihawk.”

Still smiling, Mihawk replied. “I’m looking forward to seeing you as well. Goodnight. I’ll see you soon.”

“Goodnight, Mihawk. Sleep well.” That night, he absolutely did.

The next morning, Zoro and Perona were surprised when Mihawk marched into the kitchen proudly, wearing the open black coat and red shirt he usually wore at sea, his feathered hat already on his head and a travel bag over his shoulder, which he dropped as he approached the two younger residents.

“Heading out?” Zoro asked, handing the older swordsman a full mug of coffee.

“Warlord meeting?” added Perona.

“No,” replied Mihawk, “No Warlord meeting. I called her last night. I asked her out.” Mihawk took a sip of his coffee to hide his grin, and for dramatic effect. “She said yes.”

Perona squealed and did loops in the air before embracing Mihawk in a bone-crushing hug, pinning his arms to his sides and knocking the wind out of him. For a ghost, she was surprisingly strong. “I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU!”

“Ghost girl,” he said lowly. “Off.”

Perona backed away, hands in the air. “Sorry!”

Zoro chuckled, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m happy for you, Mihawk. I hope it works out. How long will you be gone?”

Mihawk downed the last of his coffee and placed the mug in the sink.

“I suppose that depends on how it goes. Probably around two weeks with travel time. Zoro, I’m sorry to put our training on hold, but –”

Zoro laughed and patted the older man affectionately on the back, much to Mihawk’s surprise. “No need to apologize! The Humandrills should be all healed up, I’ll fight them while you're gone to keep my skills sharp.”

Mihawk nodded in approval. “Both of you, behave while I’m gone. Try not to burn the place down, will you?” With that, he grabbed his travel bag and began walking out of the room. Then, he stopped, turning only partly to face the two younger residents of the castle. “And by the way….thank you. Both of you. For encouraging me to talk to her.” Without waiting for a response, he exited the kitchen, then the castle, leaving Zoro and Perona with broad smiles behind him.

#dracule mihawk #perona #roronoa zoro #goth family #one piece goth fam #one piece fanfiction #dracule mihawk x oc #dracule mihawk x reader #very slight romance #mostly getting to know you headcanons

134 notes · View notes

lykaios2 · 9 months

Note

If you’re still taking requests, if not you can ignore this, but what if Y/N wanted to do an experiment with Mikey, what comfort food is better on rainy nights, and Donnie gets really jealous cus FEELINGS!

Y/N: I didn’t ask you Don cus you’re more into science stuff.

Please and thank you

oml this took so long and I am sorry

it was due to a multitude of reasons, one of them being I really couldn't figure out how to write my ideas

btw this might suck but I worked too long on it and it would be rude of me to leave this request on read

also I add these titles as if these aren't the most basic pieces of writing ever but anyway

This Feeling We Call Jealousy

rise donnie x reader

cw: nothing because I lack the ability to put emotions into my writing

word count: 2522

Looking at your phone, your weather app showed that it was going to rain. How unfortunate. You had made plans earlier that day to hang out with friends at the park, but now they had to be canceled. Your excitement turned to disappointment as you started to head home, not having anything to do for the rest of the evening. You held out your hand, only to feel a few raindrops. As the rain started to fall, you started to walk faster. When you finally got home, you flopped onto your bed and sighed. Eventually, you pulled out your phone, looking for something to do. Instagram, Youtube, TikTok…nothing seemed to catch your attention. Finally, you decided to text the turtles. If nothing else, you could at least talk to them for a little while to cure your boredom. But who? Texting all of them was a little too much, and it might be annoying for one of them if they just kept getting texts over and over again. You decided to text Mikey, because he was probably not doing anything either.

-yo, what’s up? you doing anything right now?

-Eh, not really, just a little bit of drawing. How about you?

-well, I had plans to go to the park with some friends earlier, but then it started to rain so we had to cancel

-Aw man, that sucks, I’m sorry. What are you doing now?

-nothing except moping on my bed because I’m bored

-Why don’t you come over to our place? There’s plenty to do over here

-that’s a great idea! I’ll be over in like 20 minutes

You got up from your bed and started to get ready again. It was quick, just grabbing all the stuff you had packed for your trip earlier plus a few things. As you were leaving, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You picked it up to see another text, this time from Donnie.

-Hey, I heard you were coming over. Is this true?

-yeah, why do you ask?

-Well, I was just thinking that if you are coming over, you should stop by my lab. We could hang out. If you want, you’re not required to.

-that sounds good! I don’t really have a plan for when I get there, so I’ll definitely stop by for a little bit

-I would enjoy it very much.

You left your house and started the walk over to the entrance to their lair. You had to walk quickly because it was still raining, but all the better, it meant you got there faster. Coming up to the alleyway, you struggled to open the manhole that led down to your destination. Slowly descending into the sewers, you started to make your way down the long and winding yet familiar hallways. Eventually, you saw the light, telling you that you were almost there.

“Hello?! I’m here!”

“Down here!”

You were greeted by Leo from the bottom area. Not who you expected, you figured it would have been Mikey or Donnie, but you headed down anyway to talk to him.

“Hey Leo, how are you?”

“Doing alright. What brings you here?”

“I had some plans with friends, but we had to cancel because of the rain so Mikey invited me over because otherwise I was going to spend my evening completely bored.”

“Well, that was quite kind of him. Did you have any plans with him?”

“Not really, but Donnie wanted to hang out with me in his lab, so I suppose I should head there.”

“Good luck with that, who knows what he could do.”

“Oh shut up, I bet I’ll have a great time with him.”

You started to walk to Donnie’s lab, as just as you were about to say hello, you heard another voice call out to you.

“y/n! Over here!”

Donnie looked up from his work, only now noticing that you had arrived.

“Oh y/n, come in-”

“Hi Mikey! How’s it going?”

“y/n?”

“Not bad, I’ve been waiting for you!”

Donnie walked to the door and looked around for you.

“So, now that I’m here, what do you want to do?”

“You know, I actually have a few new recipes I wanted to try…” Mikey said while Donnie was walking up behind you. “Oh, hi Donnie. What’cha doin?”

“Well, I hadn’t yet noticed that y/n had arrived, so I was coming out to greet them. What might you two be doing?”

“Well, me and Mikey were just about to head to the kitchen. I hadn’t realized you were here, so I kinda already made plans with Mikey.”

“What about our plans? I thought I asked you to come to my lab.”

“Oh, I kinda got distracted when I was talking with Mikey. And I would have invited you, but I figured you probably wouldn’t want to just eat food with us. You know, because you like science stuff more. But I promise when I’m done, I’ll come hang out with you.”

“O-oh, okay, I’ll be waiting then.”

You and Mikey headed to the kitchen. He had plenty of new recipes to show to you, and you had been assigned as his personal taste tester. While he was preparing his first meal, you sat in the kitchen, patiently waiting, sometimes looking over at him to check on his progress.

“You know, it’s too bad we can’t take advantage of this rain. It would make a nice atmosphere.”

“Hmm, that’s not a bad idea. Although, I’m not quite sure how it could work. If you wanted, we could just sit up on the rooftops after we’re done down here.”

“That sounds good to me. But I don’t want to keep Donnie waiting too long, I do feel a little bad for making him wait.”

“If you want to, you can go spend time with him, I don’t mind.”

“No, it’s okay, we’re already here, and plus I promised to spend time with him, and I’m not going to back on my word.”

“If it’s really okay with you.”

Mikey finished up his first dish, and you got to try it. It was quite delicious, just like almost everything he ever made. The second dish wasn’t as good, but it didn’t taste terrible. You ate a few more before you couldn’t eat anything else.

“Man, I’m full. Those were pretty good, Mikey.”

“Thank you, y/n. You know, if we go fast enough, we might be able to catch the sunset from the rooftops. And anyway, a little walk might help with digesting all that food.”

You followed Mikey as he showed you the way all the way from the sewers to the tops of the buildings. You were able to find one that had a good view of the sunset. You sat down, letting your body take a well deserved rest.

“Ah man, I’m beat. The sunset is amazing, though.”

“I know, right? This is my favorite place to watch it.”

“And with the rain, too…”

As you watched the rain fall and the sun go down, you and Mikey sat in silence. That was, until a notification came from your phone. It was Donnie who had texted.

-I hate to be a bother, but I was just wondering if you two are done yet?

-oh, you’re fine. yeah, I can be down there in a second

“Who was it?”

“It was just Donnie. I told him I’d be heading down to his lab.”

“Ah, okay. Well, you two have fun, I’m gonna stay here for a bit. You know the way back?”

You nodded as you started to head back to the lair.

Retracing your footsteps, you made your way back to the lair, and into Donnie’s lab.

“Hi y/n. How was your time with Mikey?”

“Oh, it was fun! Mikey made me so much delicious food, and then we went and watched the sunset. It was really nice.”

“Oh, yeah, totally. Must have been fun.”

“What were you doing while I was gone?”

“Uhm, you know, that’s not important…”

Donnie turned slightly away from you. He didn’t want to share what had actually happened.

After you left with Mikey, Donnie went back to his lab, a bit disappointed. He had wanted to spend time with you, but now you were just off with his brother. It was okay, though, because you had promised to come back and spend time with him, right? You wouldn’t break a promise to him. That’s why he loved you so much. You were so trusting, and he felt he could be so open around you. It was something he struggled with, but around you it just all went away. So when he saw that you had chosen to go with Mikey instead of him, he couldn’t help but feel a bit pained. He didn’t have anything to do now, so he just laid on his bed in silence. What could he do now? He had planned out an entire evening with you, but now it was all messed up. He didn’t know what to do now, except wait for you to come back. You were all he could think about.

“Hey, where’s y/n?”

Raph’s question startled Donnie. He wasn’t expecting to be bothered.

“Oh, they’re hanging out with Mikey.”

“But I thought you had plans with them?”

“Well…I did. Then Mikey got to them before I did. And now they’re somewhere with Mikey.”

“And you wanted to hang out with them?”

“Yeah…”

“I see. Did you have anything you wanted to do with them?”

“Well, I had something I was gonna give to them. But other than that, I just kinda wanted to spend time with them.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, idk…I like how they make me feel.”

Raph came in and sat on the bed, next to Donnie.

“How do they make you feel?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, but it almost feels like…I can be myself around them, and they don’t care. They’re…yeah.”

“Sounds to me like you have a little crush~”

“No I don’t. That’s absurd. You’re crazy.”

“Are you sure? This is a judgment free zone, you can tell me anything.”

“…”

“So?”

“Maybe…”

“I’m gonna take that as a yes. You know, I think it’s cute that you have a crush on them.”

“I guess, but…it’s weird. I want them to be happy, whether they like me or not, but whenever I see them having a good time with someone else, I can’t help but feel a bit angry.”

“Hm, I think I understand. You’re probably feeling a little jealous, no? But I think it's just your feelings expressing themselves.”

“I don’t know, I’m not good with feelings, even my own.”

“Well, I think you could solve all of this by just telling them how you feel. Get all of your feelings out, and things will work themselves out from there. All your pent up feelings are starting to cause problems.”

“What? No, I could never. They probably wouldn’t like me back anyway.”

“You never know until you try. Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“Raph, I don’t want to right now…”

“I could help you if you want-”

“I said NO, Raph! I don’t want to! Leave me alone!”

Raph was taken aback, only now realizing what he had done.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone for now, you can do what you want. I’m not going to force you.”

At this point, Donnie was so overwhelmed that he simply began to cry. The emotions had become too much to handle, and letting himself cry was the only way he could calm down. Thankfully for him, no one bothered him before he was able to compose himself, and return to waiting.

“Was it really that boring that you don’t want to tell me?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’d really want to hear about it.”

“I mean, whatever. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to. I’m not going to make you.”

“Thanks. Uhm, I did have something I wanted to show you though…”

Donnie pulled out one of his new inventions. That was how it usually went whenever you two were together, he showed off his cool inventions and you admired them. This time, though, he had one to give you. It was a small device, and you weren’t quite sure what to do with it.

“Push in the little button on the bottom.”

You did as he instructed, and the device popped open to reveal what looked like a flower.

“It’s a little lily. I know they’re your favorite flower, so I, uh…made one for you. It's not alive, but that just means it will last for a long time. I even put in a scent emitter, so it smells like a lily, too. And it’s small enough to put in your pocket. Do you like it?”

You smiled.

“I love it, it’s so small and adorable. I almost can’t even tell it’s fake. I appreciate it, Donnie.”

Donnie smiled back. As you continued to admire the little machine, though, Donnie’s thoughts drifted elsewhere. Back to what had happened with Raph. He didn’t want to think about it, but this often happened when he had nothing else to do. As the thoughts flooded his head, his expression slowly turned from happiness to that of melancholy. as you turned back to thank him again for his gift, you noticed the solemn look on his face.

“Hey, what’s the matter? You okay?”

“Hm?”

“You look like something’s wrong. Is there something on your mind?”

Donnie knew the answer was yes. He wanted to be honest with you, to tell you what he was truly feeling in this moment, but he didn’t know if he could. But you had been honest with him as long as you had known him. It would be wrong of him to not return the favor.

“Well, yes, there is.”

“Do you wanna share?”

“As much as I want to say no, I would feel bad for keeping you in the dark about this any longer.”

“…about what?”

“y/n, I…I like you. And before you say anything, let me finish. I just…y/n, you’ve always made me feel happy. I’m not going to deny that fact. You’re so kind to me, I always feel that I can truly be myself around you. It’s nice, I enjoy that feeling. And so, that’s why…I have a crush on you.”

He had his legs up on his chair now, curled up in a ball, and he was avoiding eye contact. You walked over next to him.

“Donnie…that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Do you mind…if I give you a hug?”

Donnie shook his head.

“Thank you. You know, I’ve always enjoyed our time together, I hope you know that. You’re a good friend to me, and I care about you. So, if you want to…date me…then I wouldn't be opposed.”

Donnie looked up at you now.

“You really wouldn’t?”

“I really wouldn’t.”

Donnie hugged you so fast you were startled. He was happy now.

#lykaios writes #tmnt 2018 #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #donnie rottmnt #donnie x reader #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt x y/n

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ellephlox · 2 years

Text

audiometry

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Summary: You want to test Matt’s hearing and it becomes something of a game between the two of you.

Warnings: none, purely fluff

A/N: ahh so I’ve posted on ao3 but never on tumblr... so hello tumblr world! I’m also uploading this on my ao3 so if you’d prefer to read it there, click this link here. Thanks for reading! (trying to post this again bc the first time it didn’t show up under the tags?? idk let’s hope this works)

Testing Matt’s hearing had become something of a game.

It began unintentionally, on a gray Sunday morning. Rain hammered its tirade on the windows in Matt’s apartment, dripping downward with the neon tint supplied by the billboard beyond. Shortly after breakfast you curled up on the sofa with your book, and Matt followed suit, settling down and tucking your legs over his lap as you stretched out comfortably. His own book was new; it was a braille copy of A Game of Thrones, which you had bought for him on his birthday after insisting for a year that he read the series.

These were the kinds of days you liked best. Quiet, just you and Matt — with the important factor of him being intact, and not bleeding from a patrol — and with no errands to do.

“Where’re you going?” you asked, without glancing up from your book, as Matt suddenly stood and entered the bedroom. He didn’t answer, but wordlessly came out with a blanket. It was an expensive one, but that was to be expected of all the fabrics Matt owned; cheap blankets, he had admitted to you, felt like sandpaper on his skin.

He unfolded the blanket and gently spread it over both of your laps as he sat back down, this time closer to you. “You’re cold.”

“How’d you know? Are you sure you’re not just secretly a psychic?”

He laughed. “I could hear your goosebumps rising.”

“Seriously? What do they sound like?”

He considered your question, smiling slightly as his eyes fell on a spot somewhere a few inches from your face. “You know those disposable foam ear plugs — the sound they make when they expand in your ears? Sort of like that. Except hundreds of them at once, and at a smaller magnitude.”

“Okay. I’m imagining it. Uh, sorry you have to constantly hear my body,” you said, suddenly feeling abashed at all the times that you played with your hair, or picked at a scab, or ground your teeth. “That can’t be very enjoyable.”

Matt’s hand traced your leg under the blanket. “I like it. I like your presence.”

“Can you hear my eyeballs moving?”

“If I concentrate.”

“How about my cells? Can you hear them doing mitosis or whatever?” you said, sitting up and putting your book down. “Or, I don’t know, the mitochondria doing its powerhouse of the cell sort of thing?”

“I have no idea what that’s supposed to sound like,” Matt said, his own smile stretched out into a grin now. “If I knew what I was listening for, then maybe.”

“I refuse to believe that you can hear at a cellular level,” you said, playfully pushing him. “You’re kidding now.” You looked at him doubtfully. “Right?”

“I might be exaggerating just a little to impress a really attractive girl sitting across from me.”

“Ha. Right. Says the man who can’t actually see if I’m attractive or not.” You crawled on top of his lap and leaned into his chest, wrapping the blanket more tightly around the two of you. “On the other hand, I can inform you quite confidently that you are very handsome. And you know I’m not lying, so you have to accept that as an undeniable fact.”

“Unless you’re just a bad judge of physical features.”

You lay there for a minute, your head pressed against his chest. “Also, sorry for being loud with my heartbeat. Doesn’t it ever get annoying?”

His chest moved under you as he laughed. “Why are you apologizing for my ears?”

You tilted your head back to look at him again. It was far too easy to get lost in his eyes, and he had absolutely no idea how beautiful they were. Life just wasn’t fair. “You know what’s embarrassing?” you asked.

“I thought we established that I’m not a psychic.”

“The jury is still out on that one, Murdock.” Lawyer puns had become your new sense of humor. “But anyway. It’s embarrassing that I’m sitting here, my ear literally pressed against your chest, and yet I can’t hear your heartbeat. But you could probably hear mine banging away while I’m showering, or cooking, or—”

“And I love it.”

“That’s not the point! I’m loud, all the time! And this is my formal apology for my heartbeat.”

Matt leaned down and kissed your forehead. “You’re insane.”

And that was how it began — the conversation. Later that day, while fixing yourself a lunch made of leftover pasta and vegetables from the evening before, the sudden desire to test Matt’s hearing was too tempting to ignore. He was in the bathroom, washing blood out of the Daredevil suit, with the faucet running.

You put in your earbuds and turned the volume down so that it was hardly above silence. While the microwaving was heating up your plate, you typed in the first song that came to your head and pressed play.

Even music on the lowest volume setting of earbuds was apparently not immune to Matt’s ears. Which didn’t surprise you, really; the way his head cocked immediately was to be expected.

“You’re listening to... that song from Titanic?” he said, bewildered, emerging from the bathroom with hands stained red.

You pulled your earbuds out. “You have passed level one, Murdock,” you told him gravely.

His expression, if anything, was more baffled. “Level one of what? Recognizing bad music?”

“Celine Dion is not bad music. This song is iconic.”

“It’s campy.”

“If you dare to insult Titanic, I will not hesitate to launch an offensive against you,” you warned him. “And don’t think that your Daredevillish ways will protect you against my wrath.”

You never explained to him what exactly he had passed. Instead, you waited for an opportunity to initiate level two, which you took the time to plan out rather than thinking of something spontaneously.

This stage involved Foggy. When Matt was out doing his... well, his side job, you had taken the opportunity to fill Foggy in on your plan — which was quite simply nothing more than increasing distance every time until Matt didn’t catch the sound of “My Heart Will Go On” playing in your earbuds — and he was, as to be expected, profoundly amused by it.

Which was why, with his suggestion, you were now currently sitting on the sofa that clients sat on in the office of Nelson and Murdock. Karen was sitting at her desk, acting completely nonchalant as though you weren’t there, as per your request over the phone the night before. Foggy had texted you once Matt was safely in his office with the door closed. You could see him through the glass windows, his fingers running over the braille display and his forehead tense with focus.

So long as Matt’s door stayed shut (“because otherwise he’ll smell you,” Foggy had helpfully reminded you), and if you walked with a gait different than usual, there was no reason that he should think you were anyone other than a client waiting. That was why it was important to not draw attention to yourself as you entered; any anxious feelings would make bring Matt’s attention to your heartbeat and likely give away your identity.

Matt’s reaction was instantaneous the moment you hit play on your phone and the first few notes of the song began. His head tilted and confusion crossed his face before he stood up and exited his office.

“Level two is now passed,” you told him, standing and wrapping your arms around him. His fingers danced at your back, where your dress left a bit of skin exposed by your shoulder blades.

“Why aren’t you at work?” he asked.

“It’s good to see you too, Matt,” you said sarcastically, straightening his tie. “I’m on lunch break. I almost got hit by a car sprinting here to put you through level two.”

“Not funny. So you’re just going to keep testing me with Titanic music? That’s what this is about?”

“Perhaps. And now I have to go before my lunch break turns into precious PTO.” You gave him a peck on the cheek. “Go save the world, one legal document at a time.”

And thus the planning for level three started. This time, you wanted it to be significantly harder. The ideal setting for that was Josie’s, where the loud music, clinking of drinks, and drunken chatter of the patrons would surely drown out any tiny sounds that Celine Dion could make through the low volume of your earbuds.

You excused yourself from the table once Matt and Foggy were a few drinks into the evening, smiling to yourself as you slipped your purse over your shoulder and made your way out into the brisk night air.

The whole lie detector part of Matt Murdock made tasks like this more difficult than you would have liked. You had finally settled on telling him you had to make a quick run to the convenience store because you’d forgotten you ran out of deodorant that morning and needed to buy more — which was a truth, and though you had the chance to buy more earlier in the day, you’d held off specifically to use it as an excuse.

Matt had accepted it without question, only smiling and squeezing your hand. No doubt he’d be listening to your footsteps the whole way to ensure you were safe, despite the fact that the store was only across the street. But footsteps were a lot louder than your earbuds.

You only clicked play once you were in the back of the convenience store, standing by the slushie machine as it churned slowly. Now all you had to do was wait about a minute; if Matt didn’t show up by then, you’d assume he couldn’t hear the music.

A teen working the register was lethargically twirling a pen in the air. He glanced at you briefly, then went back to rolling the pen between his fingers. You waited patiently, growing more surprised with each moment that Matt didn’t walk through the door. The song was nearing the chorus now. Can he not hear it?

Perhaps he was too distracted by the drinks and Foggy. He’d have to be focusing specifically on you to hear the music, and even then, you weren’t sure if he could hear it from across the street with all of the noise at Josie’s drowning out everything. The chorus of the song droned on in your ears. Ten more seconds and then level three would be a bust.

But then the bell of the door rang, and in walked Matt, his shirt unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled upwards. His face was flushed slightly and his hair was askew as he turned towards you, tapping his cane rhythmically in front of him. He knocked it into the edge of a shelf full of candy, then corrected his path, sending an apologetic glance towards the teen as though to say, Sorry about that. Seriously, Matt Murdock could have been destined for the stage, you thought to yourself, watching the performance interestedly.

“Hey. I’m over here,” you finally said, covering for him before the teen could grow suspicious about the way Matt was now making a beeline towards where you were.

“You called?” he said, smirking and taking the earbuds out of your ears.

“You heard it,” you said, delighted. “I wasn’t sure about this one. Thought you weren’t going to pass.”

“I don’t think anything could block out those awful high notes.”

“That sounds like a challenge. Next level is going to be near impossible. I’m warning you now.”

He took your elbow as you exited the aisle. “Didn’t you need deodorant?”

“Oh, yeah.” You doubled back to the cosmetics section and grabbed the first stick in the brand that you like. “See? I knew not to lie to you, even about deodorant.”

“Mm. I love that deodorant,” he added, this time in a low voice so that the teen wouldn’t hear. “Smells so good on you.”

“I haven’t even taken the cap off!” You approached the counter and paid for it; only once you were back out in the cool night air did you continue. “You know what’s happening after this hearing test, then. A smelling test is in your future.”

“I can hardly wait,” he said dryly.

But first was the matter of level four. You waited at least two weeks — better to catch him off guard, now that he was just waiting for the opening notes of “My Heart Will Go On”. Now he was onto you even when you unfolded your earbuds for harmless reasons.

“I hear you,” he had said suddenly from the bathroom one day as you took out a cookbook to make a loaf of bread, untangling your earbuds at the same time to listen to a podcast as you baked.

“Good try,” you said, shaking the earbuds. “But I’m not going to be listening to music.”

The same thing had happened when you had left to go to work. Matt was shaving, foam still on his face as he leaned in to kiss you, leaving shaving cream on your face. You laughed and wiped it off as you wrapped your coat around you and headed out of his apartment. Once on the street you took out your earbuds, and before you had even gotten the left earbud in, your phone rang.

Matt’s name was on the screen. “Did I forget something?” you said anxiously, already digging through your purse to make sure you had grabbed your keys and wallet.

“No. But I hear your earbuds.” He paused. “Was this level four? Did I pass?”

“You passed a nonexistent test. Because this isn’t level four. Only Celine Dion will indicate level four,” you informed him. “And I want you to start calling me Pavlov, by the way.”

“I’m assuming that makes me one of Pavlov’s dogs?”

“You got it,” you said, grinning.

And so another week passed, now with you purposely taking out your earbuds to give him false alarms, and relishing the way he cocked his head every time, listening for the opening notes.

Level four, you had decided, was going to take place while he was out being Daredevil. The tricky part would be identifying where he actually was — seeing as the man was like a flying squirrel, moving across the rooftops with far too much alacrity. Finally, almost a month after level three, you got your chance.

“You heading out?” you asked Matt that evening.

He was already climbing into the suit, his eyes fixed somewhere on the floor. “I shouldn’t be out too late. It’s been quiet lately, with the cooler weather.”

“I’ll stay up for you.”

“You don’t need to do that, sweetheart. You have work tomorrow.”

��I want to,” you insisted. But not for the reason you’re thinking, Matt. “Besides, I’ve got my book to finish. And you need someone awake back here in case you need to be stitched up again.” You got up from your spot on the couch and padded over to him. His arms pulled you in tightly, and you stood for a moment, soaking up the moment.

“Call me if you need anything,” you whispered, and then he was up the stairs, leaving through the rooftop access.

Giving him at least thirty minutes to get far away was necessary. You forced yourself to stay cool and collected, in case Matt was still able to hear your heartbeat, and settled back onto the sofa with your book.

Originally you had thought of calling him, using an excuse of just wanting to know how his evening was going in order to find out where he was. But calling Matt on his burner, which was meant for emergencies, felt like a big no-no in your mind. You had no intentions of being the girl who cried wolf, so you had discarded that idea as soon as it came into your head. The only remaining option to find Matt while he was patrolling was accidentally — by the means of a live camera positioned exactly in the direction of a street in Hell’s Kitchen.

It was a lucky find. While browsing online, you had stumbled across a website of webcams set up around the world. Bless whoever created EarthCam.com. And, fortunately, there was a camera conveniently set up at 9th and 34th, which was the very edge of Hell’s Kitchen. That meant a couple hours each night of sitting idly by your laptop, reading while keeping an eye on the rooftops for any movement.

Each night had passed by without luck until tonight. A sudden flash of movement made you look up, expecting it to be just another bird or car going by, but sure enough, there was a small figure on the roof of the building to the right, and he was standing in the way that only the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen stood, listening for the sounds of the city. You were on your feet immediately, book falling onto the floor as you dashed towards the door and slipped your shoes on.

Of course it was tonight, when you had already showered and gotten into pajamas, you thought, grumbling to yourself as you hurried down the hallway. If anyone saw you, they’d think you were out of your mind; your hair was tousled and you were borrowing a large coat of Matt’s because yours was back in the closet. It hung low and you had never felt more frumpy.

Earbuds in your pocket, you made it to the sidewalk and hailed the first cab you found to head south towards 37th.

A distance of three blocks would be the fourth level, you had decided, after consulting Foggy on what an appropriate difficulty would be. The cab driver was hesitant to let you out on the street, which was deserted and dark, but you just thanked him and paid.

Besides, you had no fears of getting jumped. The Devil was near, and if anyone approached you, a shout would be all you needed to alert Matt to your location. Although that would be less than ideal because it would butcher your plan, you reflected, settling yourself in front of the open gates to a Poland Springs delivery zone. Packages of water bottles sat in crates behind you, and across the street was a tailor and parking garage.

Your fingers were cold in the night air. Fumbling for your phone, you opened Spotify, plugging in your earbuds with anticipation. You didn’t dare waste any more time checking the Earth Cam to see if Matt was still on that rooftop, because each second was one second more that he could be getting out of earshot of your earbuds — or worse, getting close enough to ruin the experiment.

Finally you typed in the song, and your thumb was a millimeter away from hitting play when strong hands grabbed you from behind, pulling you back by your shoulders. You yelped and whirled around, heart hammering in your chest, only to find yourself face-to-face with the devil.

“You scared me!” you whispered, yanking out your earbuds. “I thought you were—”

“It’s not a good idea to be out here alone at night. Someone pretty like you might get some unwanted attention,” he said, his voice coarse and even. It struck you then that this wasn’t Matt Murdock. This was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen standing in front of you.

“I didn’t get to even start level four,” you said in a small voice. “How’d you find me here?”

“You should breathe a little quieter if you want to go incognito, love.”

“I was hardly making a sound!”

“That hitch in your breath you always make when you climb out of a vehicle is hard to miss. After that it was too easy to recognize your heartbeat.”

You sighed. “Alright. Fine. I suppose that can count as beating level four, if you were able to hear me exhaling or whatev—”

You were cut off by Matt pulling you forward and ramming his lips against yours. His breath was warm in the night air and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks.

“I win,” he said softly. “Consider level four over.”

“Done,” you said, nearly choking on the word. “Um, you’ve passed the hearing test with flying colors, Mr. Daredevil.”

His response was a cocky grin as he leaned in and kissed you again. You closed your eyes and pressed into him. The suit wasn’t exactly snuggly to hug, but it was all strength and power, and somehow that was almost more enjoyable.

But the moment had to end, and he broke away from you, far sooner than you would have liked. “Someone’s in trouble. I can hear screaming,” he said. “I have to go. There’s a cab about a hundred meters away you can take. Are you all good to get home by yourself?”

“Yeah, of course.” You stepped away. “Please be careful?”

“Always am,” he said, and if you could hear heartbeats, you were certain that his would’ve skipped right there with what was doubtlessly a lie, but as it was, you simply frowned at him.

“And I’ll listen to make sure you get into the cab safely,” he added. “I’ll see you soon.”

You watched him scale the nearby fire escape with dexterity, admiring the way he swung himself up with ease. Smiling to yourself, you hurried to the approaching cab, casting one last look at the rooftop. Matt was already gone, and all that remained of the empty street were the twinkling, dim lights of the street lamps below.

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #reader insert #marvel

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