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soul-of-the-sanada · 1 year

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Memories of Christmas - Clavis LeLouch - Chapter 1

Clavis’s Christmas event story, in his POV

Chapter 1 Part 1

—

It was the time of year where the scenery of Rhodolite was dusted a beautiful, pure white.

It was Christmas Day—the day everyone had been waiting for with high spirits and cheerful faces.

The same festive spirit was in the air in the palace. In a well decorated room, a certain, rather handsome, prince was giving a Christmas present to his beloved, equally pretty, lady.

MC: This box is HUGE. What on earth did you get me?

Clavis: That’s for you to find out! You’re going to love it.

MC pulled on the ribbon wrapped around the box and cautiously removed the lid.

MC: Oh wow!

Clavis: It’s a life-size body pillow, designed to match my proportions perfectly!

Clavis: Now you’ll have something to keep the loneliness at bay while I’m away on official duties.

MC: Thank you, Clavis. I’m going to take really good care of it.

MC wrapped her arms around the pillow and hugged it tight. Her lips stretched in a broad grin.

MC: Hehe. It’s so huggable.

Clavis: That’s what I hoped you’d say. But right now, I’m still here. If you want to hug me, how about you try it out on the real thing?

I threw my arms wide open and she leapt into them with flushed cheeks.

MC: This is the best Christmas ever!

MC: I love you so much, Clavis!

Chapter 1 Part 2

—

Clavis: So… How does that sound?

MC cocked an eyebrow and gave me an exhausted look of disbelief.

Clavis: Haha! Are you so touched that you can barely find the words? Don’t worry—that’s understandable.

MC: Oh, sure, I can barely find the words… but not because I’m touched. Do you really think I want a body pillow of you?

Clavis: Hmm, alright… Then what about some bedsheets with my face painted on them?

MC: How is that any better?!

The settled snow in the garden seemed to glitter like a treasure trove of jewels, each snowflake reflecting the sunlight.

MC and I were eating breakfast together as usual, and that beautiful landscape was what greeted us that morning.

We were alone together under the wintry sky, surrounded by snow.

My mind wandered and I found myself imagining what face Yves would make once he saw the change in the landscape. He was extremely weak to the cold.

Clavis: Aren’t you cold? We could huddle a little closer together.

I leaned over towards her, close enough that we could share our body heat.

She gave me a small smile and patted my arms as they wrapped around her waist.

MC: I’m okay, actually. The soup you made warmed me right up.

Clavis: Ooh, well, if you’re so warm… I can leech some of it off you.

Clavis: Ahh… You always feel so cozy and nice.

(It may have just been a spu-of-the-moment decision, but it’s actually rather nice to have breakfast outside in winter.)

Feeling the way MC relaxed in my arms, my smile widened without me realizing.

MC: Just so we’re clear, I really don’t need a body pillow shaped like you.

Clavis: Why not? You could even sleep with me on either side of you. Doesn’t that sound thrilling?

MC: I’ve already got my arms full with just one of you! And, besides…

MC: Nothing could ever come close to being a substitute for you. I miss YOU, not just the feeling of you in my arms.

I went silent for a moment, taken aback.

MC: So could you please think up some better ideas for a present?

MC: The weird face bedsheets are also a big ‘no,’ by the way.

Clavis: Ah–I get it now. The thing you want most in the world… is me in the flesh.

Chapter 1 Part 3

—

Clavis: Ah–I get it now. The thing you want most in the world… is me in the flesh.

Clavis: How daring of you to ask for something so scandalous for Christmas!

MC: That’s not what I meant and you know it.

Clavis: But isn’t it what you meant?

In a lot of cases, MC didn’t have to say what she meant aloud. I was getting good at reading her.

That was why I decided to say outright what I thought she truly felt.

(I’ll be done for if she keeps piling on those sweet declarations of love for me, though. It’s still only the morning!)

I cleared my throat, trying to make myself seem more composed than I really was.

Clavis: In that case, maybe I should just ask exactly what you want.

MC: For Christmas, you mean?

I nodded, and she pursed her lips in deep thought.

Clavis: Any books you want to read? Something like that?

MC: I mean… Dure, there’s got to be some books I want. But since it’s Christmas, I feel like I should ask for something more special.

She stirred her soup around and around absentmindedly, thinking hard. Eventually, she gave an awkward laugh.

MC: Sorry. I rejected your body pillow and bedsheets idea so hard, but I can’t actually think of anything better.

Clavis: I’m a prince, remember? Even if it’s impossible, I might be able to make it happen.

MC: Haha. I guess I never really think of you as royalty, so I haven’t thought about asking for anything over-the-top before.

MC: Honestly, there’s nothing I want. Well—apart from…

Clavis: Apart from what?

Our gaze met as the air between us turned tense. She leaned forward and lowered her voice slightly.

MC: I want to spend Christmas with you—just like this. Nothing to do, nowhere to go… Just me and you.

(My heart is definitely going to give out before the day’s over.)

That was the second heartfelt declaration of love I’d received in the space of only a few minutes.

I began to sense that she was really looking forward to Christmas, which only magnified my enthusiasm.

Clavis: You’d better look forward to CHristmas Day. I’ll whisper all sorts of sweet nothings in your ear all day long…

MC: That’s a step too far! My heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

She chuckled and looked away for a second only to look right back at me, her eyes widening as if she’d just remembered something.

MC: Wait, I thought I heard that you’ll be out on official duty on Christmas Day.

MC: Are you sure you can be making plans with me?

Clavis: Ah. Didn’t I tell you?

Clavis: Don’t fret a thing. This year will be far less busy than last, so I’ll be able to spend every waking second with you. Isn’t that wonderful?

I was currently in the process of adjusting my schedule and completing my work ahead of time so that we would be able to spend time together.

MC, however, said nothing.

Clavis: Hm? Why are you staring at me like that?

She gazed into my eyes, searching for something within them before eventually parting her lips.

Chapter 1 Part 4

—

Clavis: Don’t fret a thing. This year will be far less busy than last, so I’ll be able to spend every waking second with you. Isn’t that wonderful?

I was currently in the process of adjusting my schedule and completing my work ahead of time so that we would be able to spend time together.

MC, however, said nothing.

Clavis: Hm? Why are you staring at me like that?

She gazed into my eyes, searching for something within them before eventually parting her lips.

MC: …You’re not working yourself too hard, are you?

Clavis: Is that what it seems like?

MC: No, but I know you. You push yourself a lot.

Indeed—she had seen me do it plenty of times before.

Part of me felt guilty that I’d caused her to worry, but in truth, I was happy that she cared about me.

Clavis: Are you truly worried? Aww. You must really love me. Feel free to get even more worried!

MC: Clavis, c’mon… I’m not kidding.

Clavis: Unfortunately, there’s no need for you to be concerned. I’m easily getting everything done without pushing myself.

Clavis: What about you?

MC: Me?

She blinked, confused. I referred back to what she’d told me a few days prior.

Clavis: Didn't the owner of the bookstore ask you to read to the children every day leading up to Christmas?

At this time of year, most shops trialed out all sorts of different activities in an effort to boost sales.

MC’s bookstore seemed to be aiming for parents—the logic being that if they took their children along to the story time session, they might also buy a book.

MC: Thanks for the concern, but I’m totally fine!

MC: In fact, I’m loving it. It’s been ages since I got to work at the store.

A soft smile graced her lips, perhaps thinking about the children she’d met.

Clavis: Sure, it’s always good to have a change of pace. But if it gets too stressful, don’t keep it to yourself. Okay?

Clavis: Making sure you relax is my job as your lover.

To prove my point, I hooked a finger under her chin…

Chapter 1 Part 5

—

MC: Mm…

…and planted a chaste kiss on her lips.

Her eyes widened, taken off guard. But when I drew back to gaze at her face, they shone with adoration.

(And how lovely she is. What she doesn’t say with her voice, I can clearly see in her expression.)

My desire to give her the Christmas she wanted was intensifying by the second.

(I’ll most definitely spend the day with her. Now, I just need to think of a present…)

First times were always the most memorable.

And this Christmas was the first time we’d be spending it together.

As I strolled down the corridor drafting up ways to make my beloved MC smile…

Yves: Oh, Clavis. It’s you.

My eyes widened.

Having bumped into Yves just as I rounded the corner, an ingenious idea came to me.

(Ah-ha. Spending Christmas with your lover is important, but there’s one thing that’s even more crucial.)

(Besides… This seems like the perfect opportunity to do it.)

Yves narrowed his eyes at me and shuffled his way past, suspicious that I might play a trick on him somehow.

I suddenly turned on my heel and walked the same direction with purpose.

Yves: Wh-Why’re you following me?!

Clavis: Haha! Well, you see, I’d appreciate some advice…

Clavis: Would you mind joining me for a spot of tea? It’ll be absolutely hilarious.

ˋ°•*⁀➷Masterlist

#luna.script #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince clavis #ikepri clavis #clavis lelouch #story event: memories of christmas

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missingkittyfan · 1 year

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(i loved the response and got too excited! so part two lets go! also no hate towards vegans or blondes)

“er…..hey pup!” i greeted with a nervous expression on my face and gave a small wave. Tension was in the air at least that’s how it felt to me, i adjusted my collar while clearing my throat and sighed. “I’m sorry you probably don’t want me to call you that anymore- anyway i’ll just place my order and get out of your face.” i said and started placing my order since i had been waiting in line for a while. Time had passed since our last encounter and the lingering feelings grew stronger the moment i faced him, guilt, sadness, greed and especially want but i resisted my urges since i didn’t deserve someone as good as him. “and um….finally i’ll get-“ I was cut off as a manicured pair of hands wrapped themselves around my arm causing me to pause and look at the blonde haired girl next to me, the reason why this whole break up happened and bewitched me with her good looks as she snuggled into my arm. “Actually could you, like. change all of that to a large cappuccino frappe, with two straws because we like to share things like the adorable couple we are! Two brownies and could you make sure that the milk isn’t cows or goats? i’m vegan.” She ordered as i stared at her in disbelief but decided against arguing as i took a deep breath. “We’ll have that to go-“ One again i was cut off as she gave me that usual pouty face. “But booboo! i’m so tired from walking all day can’t we eat here? these bags are so heavy and my feet hurt, pwetty please!” she batted those fake lashed eyes, as if the nickname didn’t make me physically winch, her whining made it worse so i just decided not to make a scene. “Alright, Alright we’ll be sitting over there at the usual spot.” I grumbled with annoyance as i pulled out my wallet as she giggled and bounced up on the balls of her feet to place a kiss on the corner of my lips. “oh oh before i forget! those brownies better not have any nuts in them and are gluten free! my booboo can’t handle any of that and i want caramel topping on the frappe with pink sprinkles! okay i’m done lets go.” she finished off with a flick of her hair and moved to the other side of me, tugging my sleeve to rush me causing me to scoff and swat her away. “I’m sorry about her, here a little extra for the trouble.” I placed the money on the counter and upon feeling his fingers brush mine i couldn’t help the instinct to grab his hand, feeling the warmth i had lost from my mistake, i suppose this is karma for losing something good that i should’ve treasured it more but a pair of eyes were glaring daggers at the action and quickly that warmth was lost as i was pulled away. This meeting all being made on purpose and being executed perfectly by beautiful blond who turned to look back at Aaron, poking her tongue out while possessively hugging my arm as a way of telling all but mostly him ‘mine now’

(MIEN GERD THIS WAS SO LONG!)

aaron had got done finished talking to a customer, listing their order on his notepad. he softly hummed to himself, about to make their drink until he was suddenly interrupted by a familiar voice.

he quickly turned his head to be met with you standing near the counter with a nervous expression on your face. he bit his lower lip, knowing this was awkward since you two had officially cut ties – he would have a few words- no a lot to say but he knew that you probably had plans so he kept it cool. aaron knew it wasn't a good idea to breathe another word to you after you got your stuff and left.

"ah, welcome! and- uhm.. no worries, we're putting that behind us right? no hard feelings of course."

the male got his pen ready awaiting for your order until he was met with another a young blonde woman standing beside you, placing her hands around your arms. immediately, he felt a wave of shock and hurt realizing this is the woman you're without his acknowledgement at the time. and now.. she's just standing right next to you, how convenient.

was this world giving him another harsh slap to the face? he was already not dealing with the break-up quite well, constantly crying himself to sleep and wondering what had he done wrong for you to seek someone else's affection and not his. wondering if you even loved him and now he has to deal with seeing someone that was a just downgrade — to his eyes. all he saw was a girl who only charmed you by her looks, he didn't know what else you saw in her.

he continued standing with a expression you couldn't read as the girl butted in placing rest of the order, nodding his head and acting unfazed by her sudden appearance. he had flipped another page at this point considering how unnecessarily long her order was but kept it professional as he's supposed to. he had already knew she was just trying to make his job more harder yet he wasn't going to lose his composure.

aaron wrote the order onto the notepad as she was finally done and had left, now waiting for you. he was about to just get it over with before you apologized on her behalf and placed extra cash onto the counter. he smiled at you, "it's okay. please don't take any offense to this but, i never expected this would be the person in question you're with." he said, barking with laughter although you could tell it was him nervous laughing. "i'm just messing with you, she seems to be a very nice and caring woman!" he grabbed the money from the counter before feeling your fingers brush his.

aaron felt his cheeks heating up, realizing your fingers were touching each other before a memory was reminded of him that you were a unfaithful significant other. that he shouldn't even be feeling this way, but he had missed you.. missed your voice, missed whenever you would comfort him during those awful days and nights.

he quietly sighed, narrowing his eyes — practically snatching the money away and putting it inside the cash register. he gave you another smile but this time was rather.. strained. and with that, no more words were spoken as you walked off to go sit with your girlfriend.

aaron put his pen away before he had began working on you, and the other customers' order. He couldn't wait until his shift was over, he was already tired of seeing that intolerable bitch's face.

and oh, was he hellbent on teaching her a lesson sooner or later.

#🌻 caiden's writing #☕ oc: aaron #oc #original character #yandere #male yandere #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere roleplay blog #yandere rp #yandere roleplay #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #♡ ANSWERED

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asherlockstudy · 3 years

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How to do perfect staging: a lesson from Italy

I mentioned at some point I might actually make a post drooling over Italy's Måneskin performance and staging. I was kinda bored to be honest and decided against it but then all those trashy rumours that try to bring the winners down seemed so disgraceful and embarrassing to me that I decided again to do it. Now, the truth is that their performance was a little better in the semi-final introduction act. Perhaps this was due to the anxiety of the Grand Final. This is why I am going to use photos and gifs from that act and perhaps this will show to some that the perfect package might need a little bit of everything, and not just slap your language on the audience's ears with the expectation that this alone is always enough. *Did I make this too personal?*

Anyway, I digress. And I don’t mean that the Grand Final performance wasn’t still the best of the night, I just mean it wasn’t at the same God Tier level as the semifinal one.

Here's why the Italians took advantage of the Dutch stage until its very last millimeter and way more cleverly than any other country.

This is the only act that starts from the back of the stage, where the singer Damiano David waits for us alone.

Even with the rest of the 25 competing countries, this intro makes you forget that you are watching a contest with 26 countries as guests. Unlike anyone else, Italy looks like the host, like this place belongs to them and the frontman waits for you to show you around and possibly drag you to the world of Måneskin. In fact, you almost forget it’s Eurovision - this now looks like a Måneskin concert or, even better, a more private space of theirs with an ominous industrial feel. One of the most impactful things now is the lighting. Take a look at it. Almost all contestants throw all the lights on themselves or on some important prop they have prepared. The Italians are the only ones who chose to just light the stage itself. The simple white lights on the black stage give the impression of depth and it is the only act which shows emphatically the size of the stage. Why this? Well, we already established that in the first seconds the viewers feel they are in a new space belonging exclusively to Måneskin - the lights make us feel that their area is vast and dark and we are about to be drawn to its depths.

Damiano indeed guides us to the front as he sings, where the rest of the band are on the top of a platform. The other members won’t come down and join Damiano until he sings the appropriate verse “Buona sera, signore e signori” (=Good evening, ladies and gentlemen) and accompany it with a theatrical flamboyant bow (that feels very Italian). That’s when, technically introduced to the audience after the official greeting, bassist Victoria de Angelis and guitarist Thomas Raggi come off the platform and join Damiano.

There’s nothing excessive about the visual effects. Only the use of white lights that give the perception of depth and in the background the big shadows of the group’s silhouettes. They are in the front and they cast their shadows in the back; they create to you a feeling of being trapped by them but do you really want to escape?

When the second verse starts, Victoria and Thomas take the paths left and right of the stage and leave Damiano alone. They take even more advantage of the stage and in a typical classic rock band way. These two play with the side cameras but the focus is more on Damiano, whose verse sounds more like a tongue-twister. Since the cameras are rightfully on Damiano, I must now address the elephant in the room. Damiano is particularly attractive. In fact, the whole band is almost mind-bogglingly attractive and they clearly take a lot of care about how exactly they are going to look but Damiano, as the frontman, does especially so. So let’s talk about the outfit. They all have essentially the same outfit, however it is cut differently for each based on the person’s looks and personality. Isn’t it fantastic?

Damiano, who oozes confidence and sex appeal, has accordingly the most “provocative” outfit of the four. His chest and arms are bare so that his many tattoos can be seen. I’ll talk about the other outfits later as they all have their place in the... uh... white lights.

During the second chorus Victoria and Thomas return at the center and after the chorus it is time for the first solo; Victoria’s. The cameras are now on her but the lighting remains modest to accentuate the dark beat of her bass.

Victoria is the only girl of the group and the most dressed of them all - how refreshing! Her outfit is more similar to Thomas but she is buttoned up in the front. How does she wish to underscore her uniqueness as the woman of the band? But of course, with long flamboyant girly sleeves that come to delicious contrast with her aggressive stomping and her wide strides. Both her hairstyle and her outfit is inspired or basically just outright 70′s classic rock look.

It’s time for the bridge of the song right after her solo and Damiano has his attention on her and also draws the viewer’s attention to her some more. This part of the song is lower and softer - in relative terms - that’s why Damiano “chooses” her to sing it to. The lights now turn red, the intensity rises but there’s light flirtatiousness between them, with many smiles to each other and the camera that turns around them as they launch at each other playfully.

Then the song gets darker, more intense, the guitar stronger than the bass and Damiano’s voice turns to a scream. For this part, he turns to his bro, guitarist Thomas and he now draws the attention to him.

He grabs Thomas by the neck in an intense, intimate way (that doesn’t mean sexual, just intimate. His interaction with Victoria wasn’t sexual either). It is clear that through different ways Måneskin want to stress how good and close their relations are and that their singer, who is apparently a show stealer by birth, wants to ensure that they all get equal amount of attention from their audience. I love this.

True enough, nobody is left behind! The last chorus starts with a drums solo and Damiano goes up to the platform to now meet and introduce to us Ethan Torchio. Ethan stands up and his giant shadow is on the now blue background: this is the moment for the - so I hear - somewhat shy drummer to shine in his own aesthetic. The Italians leave none of their assets to fall down and Ethan’s impressive hair rightfully steals the show.

Just like Victoria and Thomas look alike, so do Ethan and Damiano, that’s why their costumes are the most similar. Ethan has a vest that covers him more than Damiano but leaves his arms bare. Because whose else the arms do you need to see if not the drummer’s?

This song has something peculiar because it was not a song originally written for Eurovision; it slows down in the end and does not end on some impressive note from the singer as usual but with the last solo we expect, that of the guitarist, because everything is fair in Måneskin! The focus has to leave Damiano, so now it’s the time for the visual effects to finally catch fire, literally, because nobody is allowed to take their eyes off them! Måneskin use a huge amount of pyro that however feels appropriate for the intense chorus and the ending guitar solo.

Thomas steps up for his solo and I forget we are in 2021. This is the most 70s thing I would ever hope to see.

In a hell of pyro, Thomas looks like he was tranferred right from a 70s rock ‘n roll concert. His outfit would be gladly taken by Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones. The unbuttoned jacket with this boho tie, such a classic 70s fashion touch. His haircut and even his FACE are the epitome of the 70s - what an ending sequence!

But hey we reached the end and this is Eurovision, the song slows down dangerously. Like I said, the Italians forbid us to get distracted. The attention must return to Damiano ASAP. Damiano says one last line and takes the audience with him to the very end with a death drop.

There you have it. Måneskin had me holding my breath for the full three minutes and I did not want to take my eyes off my TV. There are countless shows that are awesome - in this very Eurovision as well - but I was impressed by how they seemed to have found the perfect balance for everything in every single moment. They found the perfect stage concept for the song, they relied on visual effects only when they needed them and they stressed every twist and turn of their sound with a perfectly fitting move or interaction. They also all effortlessly could hold your attention and they made sure that they all would, with members often helping bring out other members. This performance was beautiful and, above all, clever which is why it was undoubtedly the worthiest of the win.

#eurovision #eurovision 2021 #esc 2021 #eurovision song contest #italy #italy 2021 #maneskin #damiano david #victoria de angelis #ethan torchio #thomas raggi #music #songs #zitti e buoni #flashing tw #more

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8bitscarlet · 3 years

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Witchcraft

Summary: You've found yourself falling deeper into a certain witch's spell. But no matter how strong the magic is, it seems that the two of you just keep missing each other.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Angst/Fluff (minor cussing)

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: This is a fic for @marvelxreaderfanfictionfest writing exchange. This one is for @mrsromanoff and the prompt: "I can't keep kissing strangers and thinking they're you." Hope you like it!

*please do not repost or translate my material or claim as yours.*

________________

You never thought your three month assignment with the Avengers would've extended as long as it has. Missions went by with minimal injuries and maximum wins. You found yourself settling well into the chaos of the compound; the echoing boasts of Thor, the competitive edge of Danvers and the snark between Romanoff and Stark. When your three months were up, it wasn't a surprise to anyone that you immediately signed the contract from Stark, an official placement on the team.

Despite all of the alien blasters, Hydra experiments and Tony's benefit parties, nothing could've prepared you for a single person to rock your world. It started innocently enough; stolen glances at meals and ensuring you two were on the same mission team. As time continued, things turned less innocent; sneaking off during charity balls to suck face in the broom closet, you could recall a few times you were nearly caught in the back of the Quinjet. There was something about this woman. The way her fingers slithered through your hair, how those green eyes made your heart say yes, she stripped you bare.

You had convinced yourself it was witchcraft. It had to be.

Sitting with your cheek pressed against your fist, you find yourself doodling as Steve drones on in the background. Someone nudges you and as you turn, Wanda raises her brows when your eyes connect. With a groan, you raise the pen in your hand. Steve notices, stopping his spiel to look at you with a clenched jaw.

"With all due respect, Cap, we all got in at four this morning. Do we need a recap of the mission right now?"

Steve sighs, glancing at everyone and seeing them agreeing with you. You all had barely had time to unpack, let alone write your after action reports.

"Alright, Y/N. We'll go over how your pants tore mid-fight on Monday."

You point your pen at him, warning him as you watch his stupid smile fill his face. Bucky slaps your shoulders in gratitude, picking up Alpine onto his shoulders as he strides out to find Sam. Wanda's fingers gently brush yours as you walk side by side, sending an electric charge through your body.

"You know, when someone says 'with all due respect,' they really mean, 'kiss my ass'." Wanda glances at you with a sly smile.

Walking backwards towards the couch, you outstretch your arms with a grin, "Because that's what I meant, darling."

Chuckling, you roll over the back of the couch and plop down onto the cushions, your head landing perfectly on a pillow. Wanda lets out a scoff, knowing how many times it's taken you to actually land on the cushion and not the floor.

Flipping through the pages of her book, you watch her through half-closed eyes. A year ago you'd be asking what she was reading. A year ago, she'd curl up with you and explain it all. A year ago, you didn't have guilt eating at you.

Things a year ago were more than good between you. There might have even been a chance beyond friends with benefits. You knew you wanted that. Every time you looked at her, you couldn't stop your pounding heart or the warmth that grew in your stomach.

But you were stupid.

Chickening out every chance you had to ask her on an actual date rather than sneaking around to make her moan. You both had set ground rules, no strings attached. If it got too messy, you both had to call it quits. So, you convinced yourself it was better to quietly love her and keep her, than to tell the truth and lose her.

That was before the year long mission with Carol and Bucky. Before you realized how big of a mistake it was two months in. Before every day texts and video chats diminished to every other week, then every other month. Before you got back to the compound and saw her kissing up on some random benefactor at the Welcome Home Party. It was definitely before she started dating that walking toaster, Vision.

Luckily, he hadn't been around much the past month so watching them kiss and stare into each other's eyes was doable, mostly because you turned whenever you saw that stupid spark plug.

Four months since coming home, you've tried to fill the void the witch had created in your body, your soul. You went out with Carol and Bucky, prowling the town and the bar. Matching shot for shot some nights, waking up in random apartments other nights. Eventually Bucky did what you never did.

He asked Sam on a date and that left you and Carol. Until she started hooking up with Maria and dragged her along so you wouldn't be hitting the bars alone. You had made yourself a pity case.

"Do you need something?" Wanda cocks a brow at you, making a face at your prolonged staring.

You clear your throat, feeling the heat rush through your face, "You look a little sunburnt."

With a shrug and a chuckle, Wanda bookmarks her page as she places it down on the coffee table. Standing, she sits down on the couch, your body automatically scooting over to accommodate her. Holding out her red and glowing hand, you watch her pull off her rings, displaying the radiating tan lines running up and down her fingers. A laugh escapes you as you feel her hand slap against your chest.

"I didn't have anyone to put sunscreen on me!" She groans, "It burns!"

You guide your finger gently down her exposed arm, pressing in slightly to her warm skin. As you lift, you see the true color of her skin before it's bombarded with the glowing red of her burn. Glancing up, her green eyes watch you carefully, both of you not acknowledging the weight of her hand still on your chest.

"An aloe vera massage would do wonders," You whisper, "And I'm all out."

With a roll of her eyes, she leans back into your legs, "You really are a pain in my ass, y'know? When I tell people about you, that's the first thing I say."

Watching her float the remote to her awaiting hand, you grin, "Oho, so you're telling people about me, huh?"

"Please, check the ego there."

For the next moment, the two of you sit peacefully in each other's silence. Wanda was one who clung to those she trusted. When you came back, it was like she had superglued herself to you any time you walked into the room. It didn't help that you were still madly in love and she was taken.

Right now though, you watch her delicate fingers play with yours. Her eyes squinting with laughter as she watches her sitcoms, glancing to see if you're laughing as well.

A commercial echoes through the living room and Wanda lets out a sigh for attention, patting your thigh as she drops your hand. You don't move it as it lands atop her thigh, only gently stroke your thumb against the silky skin you wish could press against yours. Letting out a noise that you're both awake and paying attention to her, she glances over at you.

"Since you got Captain America to actually give us a free weekend, what's your plan tonight, casanova?"

You shrug, "I have early training with Bucky and-."

Wanda moves her whole body to face you, your hand slipping from her thigh as confusion spreads across her face. She lets out an unbelieving scoff,

"You're joking. You used to show up half drunk to training and still kick ass."

She's watching you carefully and you try to keep a neutral look on your face, she knows all of your quirks. Glancing up at her with a small grin, you pull your legs into you. Shifting yourself, you sit properly on the couch and run your hands through your hair.

"Just don't want to go out tonight. It's boring." You chuckle, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

Wanda rolls her eyes, "Why, no one catches your eye anymore?"

Another playful nudge and you sigh. All this playful teasing, these light touches. She has to know what she's doing.

Trying to keep a steady and nonchalant shrug, you shake your head,

"No one out there."

And you might've gotten away with it. Instead, you fell into the magnetic pull of those green eyes that cause you so much trouble. As your eyes land on hers, you can see the dilation within her pupils. Then the realization across her face. Her playful grin falls as she stares at you, blinking slowly.

"Y/N," She says slowly, "If you're doing what I think-."

You stand up quickly, your feet taking you to the other end of the coffee table. In two days you'll be gone and you'll be back in the place you hate being in right now. Placing your hands on your waist, you look up from your tapping foot.

"Wanda, I can't keep kissing strangers and thinking they're you."

Silence meets your face. You watch her as she slowly nods at you, "That's exactly what you're doing."

Groaning, she slides her fingers through her hair, pinning it from her face. Wanda lets out a careful breath before looking up at you, "What happened to no strings?"

Slapping your hands against your thighs in frustration, you let out a scornful chuckle, "Come on, Wanda. You know those rules were bullshit! No strings means not going on exclusive trips to museums and restaurants!" You watch her eyes flicker around the room, trying to find a way to disprove what you're saying. "It means not staying up all night when the other is sick!"

Wanda stands up quickly and you can see the look on her face, she knows what you're getting to. Waving her hand to get you to shut up, she tries to get to the stairs but your words blurt from your mouth,

"It means not falling in love!"

Her feet stop carrying her towards the stairs, her body frozen in the middle of the compound. Carefully, you step towards her, leaning ever so slightly to try and catch her eyes. They're glazed over from your confession, trying to understand the implications.

"I left. I..." You suck in a shaky breath, "I thought it would be easier if I wasn't here. You were so adamant about no strings, Wands. I broke the only rule, why would I stay?"

Her head jerks back at your words, her brows furrowing deeply down her face. Without another second to keep talking, Wanda's feet pivot as she shoots a finger into your face. You jerk away from her advance, seeing the growing mist within her eyes as she shouts,

"That's why you left?"

The crack in her voice sends one through your heart.

She turns quickly, her hands violently wiping at the tears that have broken free. You clench your brows. She's angry at you? You're the one who's had to watch her prance around with Vision, you just a memory of romance. Just before she can grab her bag and leave, you call out,

"Well, you seem to have fared better than me!"

As the words leave your lips, you bite down hard and shut your eyes. A surprised choke exits Wanda's throat as she throws her purse back onto the side table, knocking over the decorative bowl of rocks. They scatter across the ground but she doesn't notice, all of her rage is pointing at you. Her fingers run violently through her auburn hair, looking like she wants to rip it out.

"You are infuriating!" She jabs a fingers at you, "Why think that?! Because I'm dating Vision? He's filling a void, dumbass!"

Her words stab into you as her stomps draw nearer, you can feel the heat of her anger. She's not done, she's not letting you off easy.

"Every time he touches me, every time he kisses me. God, Y/N! All I can see is your dumb face."

Wanda's heavy breath washes over you as she finally stops her assault, so close you can see the blue in her green eyes. Her body radiates out to you and you have to force your hands into your pocket to not grab her and kiss her. Your eyes dip to her lips but you see sadness that has quickly replaced the facade of anger. Making a small fist, she slams it into your chest as her head bows. Her arm slides down your body, hanging limply at her side as she looks to you.

"Why didn't you talk to me?"

Wanda's fingers twitch forward, wanting to grab onto you. You sigh, taking your hands from your pockets and resting them on your waist. Your confession was supposed to be more romantic than this. Instead, you brought up issues you both were trying to ignore. You were angry now at yourself, taking it all out on the person you loved. You'd spent too long with all of this pent up emotion though, and it was all pouring out in waves.

"I have to finish my requisition forms. Get my gear ready."

You don't have to look up to know what face Wanda is making at you. It's the same face she had when you left the first time. The way her brows clenched together in disbelief, the pain behind her reddened eyes that threatened to spill more tears, how her chin trembled as she tried to breathe.

Her voice barely passes a whisper but standing so close, you hear every broken syllable, "You're leaving again."

You sigh, rubbing your throbbing temples as you feel your nose stuff up.

"You drop all of that on me and you're just going to turn around and leave?"

Shaking your head, you want this conversation to end. It's obvious where she is and it's not next to you.

"Don't you have a date or something?" You ask.

Wanda's been around you too long to not see exactly what you're doing. She lets out a chuckle, a lethal look in her eyes.

"No, you're right. And that date seems a hell of a lot better than this." Without another word, she snatches her purse from the table and starts to climb the stairs, leaving your feet frozen. Just as she reaches the middle of the staircase, she stops. You can feel her stare burning into you and as you look her way, you wish you hadn't.

"You're a coward."

Those words burn into your brain, rising through your ears and torture you for the rest of the day. The only thing you could think to do was slam your fists into the closest thing. The punching bags. People came and went, eyeing you try and punch away your frustrations to no avail. When the sun finally had sunk below the horizon, one Avenger had enough of your pity party.

"You know she's right." A voice comes from behind you.

You don't respond to them, just dodge the swaying bag. They walk into the room, stopping just inside of your peripheral.

"You're an idiot, you know."

With a chuckle, you sidestep the bag, "You need to be a little more specific."

"You're losing her again."

Another punch, "Uh huh."

Carol sighs next to you, "And you sent her away on her date."

"Yup."

She steps in front of the bag, stopping its movement and stares at you with determination in her eyes, "And you're not going after her?"

Avoiding her stare, you start to unwrap your hands, wiping at the sweat that pours down your face. Stopping, you can feel the cramp in your side and the throbbing of your knuckles. Chucking the wrap, you let out a shrug,

"Is there a point?"

Carol shoves the bag into you, grabbing your attention, "I am not going on another mission with you while you sulk. Do you know you talk in your sleep? Yeah. Guess what name I heard that whole year?"

You shake you head, licking your chapped lips as you search for water, "She didn't say it back."

You hear an exasperated chuckle from Carol, "Y'know Y/N, I'm going to go on a limb and say she wasn't expecting all of that to be thrown in her face."

Shooting her a glare, she keeps talking, "I'm saying this once. If you think this is going to be some cheesy Rom-Com where she bursts through those doors and confesses her love, you're more of an idiot than I thought." A finger jabs hard into your chest as you grimace, "You need to fix this."

Carol leaves you there with your head filled with more thoughts than before. Wanda was happy with Vision wasn't she? She hadn't talked about him much but you knew she had to be. Who were you to go and screw that up?

Night turned into morning and after staring up at your ceiling, you knew you weren't getting any sleep.

Sneaking down the stairs, you see everyone is still asleep. You take the opportunity to sit in more silence and wait for the coffee machine to finish steaming. The sun was just beginning to shine its red hues into the kitchen as you stood at the counter, twirling your empty mug. Lost in thought, you failed to hear the padding of feet coming down the stairs.

"I thought you had early training."

With a quiet chuckle, you lean into the counter, "You caught me."

In silence, you watch the witch pour in her coffee. The same amount of creamer and sugar every time, the same motions every morning since you've noticed her. Turning, she sees your mindless fingers twisting and turning your empty mug. Wanda raises her brows and holds out her hand,

"Refill?"

You hand over the mug and watch her work her magic on the black liquid, turning it into the caramel drink you love. Breathing in deeply, you watch the bubbles swirl around the liquid. You furrow your brows,

"I can never make mine taste-."

"We broke up."

Her words slam into you, your breath catching inside of your throat. Looking up, Wanda stands there in the middle of the kitchen, unsure if she had truly spoken or not. She looks up at you, her mouth closing as she realizes she doesn't know what she's doing.

"What? Wands, are you okay?" You start to stand to go and comfort her, you know they had a date yesterday. Did the son of a microwave hurt her?

Wanda's hand rises, stopping you in your tracks before she takes a quiet breath, "We broke up almost a month ago, Y/N."

Nodding at your obliviousness, you knock your knuckles against the counter as you press your lips into a thin line, "We're both liars then."

"Tell me you lied about the mission," She whispers, leaning into the counter. Her fingers laying gently across yours.

Your chest constricts as you sigh, "I didn't."

You watch her sullen nod, curling hair falling out of her messy bun as you gently graze your thumb across her knuckles. She quietly chuckles,

"We just missed each other."

Stopping your thumb, you clench your jaw. This isn't going to happen again.

"Wanda," You whisper, listening to the sad hum she gives you as she glances up with bloodshot eyes, "I'm sorry. I was scared and... I was an idiot."

Wanda pats your hand with a loud sniff, "I appreciate it, but-."

She doesn't continue. She doesn't want to believe that you're leaving. The love you feel wouldn't be strong enough to survive that time apart again. There's broken support beams and one thing will send it falling down. A far away mission isn't the nurturing this budding feeling needs.

Wanda tries her best to flash you a grin, "Let me teach you how to make coffee."

Before she can turn, you grab her hand quickly, "I'd prefer if you made it."

As you walk around the counter, you gently rest a hand on her waist, watching her carefully. Her handgrips your arm tightly, words stuttering from her lips as she tries to remind you that she's not going. You're leaving her again.

Without hesitation, you press your lips against hers, feeling her breath wash over you in a sigh. You pull her in tighter, leaning your head back to speak,

"Sam's going stir crazy. He can have it."

A smile tugs at your lips as you see her furrowed brows on her face, you place a kiss at the center of the wrinkles, pulling back to see the scrunching of her nose. A scrunch just for you.

"Wanda Maximoff. I love you. And I'm not losing you twice."

Without warning, her lips smash against your as she wraps her arms around your shoulders as you hoist her up. Wanda's legs wrap around you as both of you are smiling so wide that you can't kiss properly. Feeling her cold hands press gently against your face, you look into those green eyes that complete you life.

"I love you." Wanda whispers as her witchcraft wraps around you once more.

#marvelxreader #marvelxreader fanfic fest 2021 #wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda marvel #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda fluff #wanda angst #wanda mcu #WOM2021

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the-lonelybarricade · 3 years

Note

I totally stole this from one of those writing prompt blogs, but can you do Rhys and Feyre going to couples therapy together as a joke when they only just met?

Okay my love, I literally just finished writing this and haven't actually proofread it. It was meant to be silly and jokey but ended up being a bit more serious than I intended, but I'm a sucker for fake dating tropes so maybe I'll continue their story at some point. Anyway here's a modern Feyre and Rhys going to couples thereapy together (whilst not actually being a couple):

Feyre was absolutely determined to prove Nesta wrong. Usually her sister’s grating comments didn’t penetrate Feyre’s hardened demeanor at home, but something about their stint yesterday had thoroughly gotten under her skin. Nesta had a talent when it came to barbed words, so it was the casualness with which she’d said Feyre was boring and predictable that had kept the words ringing between Feyre’s ears. They lacked the usual bite and venom that was characteristic of Nesta, and somehow that made them impossibly worse.

Was Feyre a creature of habit? Sure. But she had always been content with her quiet, unassuming life. They’d grown up poor, with little luxury, and as a little girl Feyre had always believed all she’d need to be happy was paint supplies and enough time to get lost in a blank canvas. Feyre had that now, and she was happy. She spent almost every day in her studio, a paintbrush in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. And that was fine. She may not spend a lot of time with other people, but that was fine.

Routine is fine. Being focused on your career is fine. So why did the implication that her life is stagnant rile her up so much?

Feyre couldn’t articulate what, exactly, had bothered her so much, since she was perfectly happy with the current state of her life. Yet the next morning she’d woken up, vowing to take a day off and spend the whole day being entirely unpredictable.

She was going to pull a Jim Carrey in Yes Man. She was going to seize this damn day. And any voice in her mind that pleaded her to stick to her comfort zone was going to be diligently ignored.

When she set out to get her morning coffee, she ducked into the first cafe she came across without checking the reviews. And instead of ordering her usual chai latte, she asked the cashier to make her their favorite drink. She sat at a booth and sipped it experimentally. It was sweet and tasted of caramel; she decided she quite liked it. So far so good.

She sat wondering what brave venture she should do next, something that would be worthy of telling people about. Something so brash and crazy and unexpected Nesta would eat her stupid, truthful words.

“Mind if I take this seat?”

The voice was like smooth velvet. Feyre glanced up to meet a pair of eyes that were such a deep, peculiar shade of blue they almost looked violet. She was momentarily stunned speechless, which caused the impossibly handsome stranger to lift one of his perfectly groomed brows in question.

“Of course,” Feyre answered, her mouth feeling a bit dry. She quickly took a sip of her coffee to quell this strong reaction her body was having to this man.

She’d been expecting him to take the chair to sit elsewhere, but he slid into the chair at her table, directly across from her. Feyre spared a cursory glance around the cafe. Customers milled about, but there were plenty of empty seats strewn here and there. It was far from necessary to share a table with a stranger.

Her interest piqued, Feyre turned her attention back to this strange, alluring man.

“I’m Feyre,” she said, sounding much more confident than she felt. But today was about branching out of her comfort zone. Making the first move with an attractive man certainly qualified.

“Rhysand,” he answered with a charming grin, extending his hand into the space between them. Feyre accepted it with a mirrored smile, for a moment marvelling at the way his hand completely enveloped hers.

Feyre cleared her throat. “So tell me, Rhysand, what brings you to this table in particular?”

The way he wrinkled his nose was unfairly endearing. “Call me Rhys,” he said. “I only really use Rhysand in a business setting. And I chose this table in particular, because I saw a beautiful woman sitting here and was feeling especially forward.”

Feyre laughed in surprise. “Forward, indeed. Well, Rhys, I have spectacular news for you.”

“And what’s that, Feyre darling?” the suggestive tone to his voice sent shivers down her spine and instantly those warning bells in her mind were blaring. This man was too handsome and he was a complete stranger.

“I’ve decided to do something completely stupid and spontaneous today, and you’re officially invited to join me.”

Rhysand grinned, his eyes flickering with mischief at her proposal. She supposed that should be concerning, too, but she felt her pulse quicken. “And what stupid, spontaenous thing will we be doing, darling?”

Feyre leaned back, trying to regain composure by taking a too casual sip of her coffee. “I haven’t decided yet. I’m open to ideas.”

Across the cafe, a man stood up so quickly his chair tipped over with a loud thunk. Rhys and Feyre both whirled their heads at the commotion.

“This is why we need to go to therapy together!” the woman across from him screeched. “You can’t control your stupid temper!”

“I don’t have time for this shit,” he growled. “I’m not going to sit there for an hour so you can manipulate some dumb bitch into agreeing with you!”

“It’s not about sides,” she groaned. “I want to work through this with you!”

Feyre felt a tug of sympathy at the desperation in the woman’s voice. She could feel her pain and frustration second-hand, having been in similar shoes herself.

“Fuck this,” the man grumbled, storming for the door.

The woman followed after him. “Our appointment is in 10 minutes! Please, let’s just try it.”

The door swung shut behind them. Feyre watched the couple continue their walking argument down the city pavement, gesturing wildly with their hands.

Feyre sighed. “Man, that poor woman. It sounded like she really wanted to work things out.”

“That guy sounded like an absolute ass, maybe it’s for the best,” Rhys said. Then, his eyes lit up and he turned to Feyre with a slow, conspiring grin. “It does give me an idea, though.”

“What’s that?” Feyre felt a bit intimidated by the roguish expression on his face, even if it did make her feel breathless.

“Well, I do happen to know there’s a psychiatrist's office right above this cafe. If I had to guess, that’s where our friends were going to have their first session. And from the looks of it,” he nodded towards the couple, who were now striding in opposite directions through the city, faces flushed with anger, “they won’t be attending.”

“And your point is…?”

“Let’s go in their stead. Make a game of it. First person to break character loses.”

“And what does the winner get?”

“Well, if I win, then I get to take you to dinner.”

Feyre considered for a moment. Dinner with a handsome man certainly didn’t sound like losing to her. “If I win, then I get to use you as a model.”

“You’re a photographer?” His brows rose in interest and Feyre summoned all her will power not to blush. Since when was she bashful about her career?

“Painter.”

Rhysand grinned. “If you win, you can use my body anyway you wish, Feyre darling. Nude would be best.”

And that was how Feyre had ended up in Dr. Suriel’s office, Rhys by her side on the sofa. It was perhaps the most adventurous thing she’d ever agreed to.

“So, Mr and Mrs Mandray. Apologies, I didn’t get your names on the forms.”

“I’m Feyre, this is my husband Rhys,” Feyre answered, thinking it lucky they didn’t have to guess at the mysterious couple’s forenames.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Feyre and Rhys. What brings you to my office today?”

Rhys immediately slipped into his role of the concerned husband. He placed his arm around Feyre’s shoulders and tugged her close. Rhys opened his mouth, then shut it, glancing at Feyre hesitantly.

“My wife and I have been getting into a lot of… disagreement lately,” Rhys answered carefully, and already Feyre thought this was going much better than it would have if the actual Mr Mandray had turned up.

“My husband,” Feyre said flatly, channeling her inner Nesta to put venom into the word. “Is insisting on painting our house purple.”

“I see,” Dr. Suriel says, assessing the displeasure on Feyre’s face. “And I’m assuming you want to paint the house a different color.”

Feyre pressed her lips into a thin line. “See, that’s just the problem,” she said, crossing her arms. “That’s exactly the color I would want to paint our house.”

Dr. Suriel frowned. “So you do want the house to be painted purple, as does your husband. Am I understanding that correctly?”

“No,” Feyre sighed. “He wants to paint the house blue, but is insisting we paint it purple, because he knows it’s what I want. This bastard refuses to be anything but accommodating.”

“We’re going to try to refrain from name-calling in my office,” Dr Suriel said calmly. “So, Feyre, you are clearly unhappy that Rhys wants to paint the house purple. What color would you paint it?”

“Blue,” she answered. “I know it’s what he secretly wants to paint it.”

“She doesn’t see the hypocrisy in what she's saying!” Rhys complained. Then, he turned to Feyre, looking impossibly serious. “Darling, I know you want to paint the house purple, and I already told you I’m fine with it.”

Feyre groaned. “I don’t want to paint the house purple! I want to paint it blue.”

“You’re only saying that because you think I want to paint the house blue.”

“Do you?”

Rhys hesitated. “No.”

“Don’t lie in front of our therapist,” Feyre said with narrowed eyes. “We promised to tell the truth while we’re here.”

“Then you tell me the truth, Feyre. Do you genuinely want the house to be painted blue?”

Now it was Feyre’s turn to hesitate. She could see the corner of Rhysand’s mouth twitch as she did so. “No. I mean yes! I do!”

“It sounds like at the heart of this argument, you are both ultimately concerned in pleasing the other person, is that fair to say?”

Feyre and Rhys glanced at each other, then nodded in agreement.

“Do you think there’s a color you could both compromise on, so that you don’t feel as if your partner is the only one making a sacrifice in this decision?”

Feyre met Rhysand’s brilliant violet eyes. In truth, she’d blurted the color purple because she’d been thinking about the color of his eyes. She'd never seen eyes that color, and they were wonderfully vivid. Feyre was lost thinking of painting a world in a monocrhome of violet, like a city that lived within his gaze.

Feyre realized she’d been momentarily swept away, snapped out of it by the humor that washed behind those starry irises. She blinked back the haze and tried to think of an answer to the question.

“Mustard yellow?” she proposed.

Rhys pursed his lips in mock consideration. “Mustard yellow,” he agreed with an emphatic nod of approval.

Dr. Suriel blinked in surprise. “All right, well I’m pleased we could solve that issue. Is there anything else you’ve been arguing about?”

“Yeah, actually. My wife,” Rhys gave Feyre a pointed glance. Somehow, despite being strangers, hearing Rhys refer to her as his wife sent waves of pleasure jolting through her. She felt her stomach flip on itself. “Isn’t satisfied with our sex life.”

Feyre instantly flushed at such an accusation, however fabricated.

“Is this true, Feyre?” Dr. Suriel turned her eyes towards Feyre and she shifted uncomfortably at having to make up stories about her sex life with Rhys. Making Feyre imagine rolling in a bed with him was certainly his goal, and she’d lie to say it wasn’t affecting her. Rhysand looked absolutely delighted to have made her squirm. Fine. Two could play at his game.

“Y-yes, well,” Feyre stuttered, the burning in her cheeks condemning. “I keep telling Rhys that 16 orgasms in a session is excessive. He’s much too generous a lover and he never lets me give as good as I get.”

Feyre felt satisfied with the way Rhysand’s face went crimson.

Dr. Suriel’s brows rose. “This seems to be a common theme in your marriage. Rhysand, would you say that you’re often prioritising Feyre’s desires over your own?”

“I think Feyre sorely underestimates how much pleasure I take from satisfying her desires,” he answered, his eyes flicking to Feyre with enough of a sensual promise that her heartbeat turned staccato.

“Rhys, it sounds as though your generosity is part of the way you express your love, is that safe to say?” Rhys nodded. “And Feyre, it seems as if you have trouble accepting your husband's generosity, both in and outside the bedroom. Do you feel that’s a fair statement?”

“I-I suppose so.”

“Sometimes people have trouble accepting their loved one’s generosity when they feel like they aren’t giving something in exchange. It can be hard to accept that kind of love when we don’t feel like we deserve it. Do you feel like this could apply to your situation?”

Feyre blinked. This was meant to be a gag, something daring and experimental. She hadn’t expected to be psychoanalyzed by Dr. Suriel, or at least for her analysis to hit so close to home.

Rhysand shifted forward on the sofa. “Is this true, darling?” he asked, sounding concerned. He took Feyre’s hands in his own, brushing his thumb along her skin as he met her gaze. “I think you deserve the world.”

She would almost think he was being genuine if she hadn’t met him only an hour ago. Feyre marked the conviction on his face, those burning pools of earnesty in his eyes, and marveled at what an incredible actor he was.

Somehow she ended up blurting part of the truth. “My family life growing up was kind of tough and I’ve never really known what unconditional love was like. I think a part of me still believes it's something I have to earn.”

“That sounds like it must have been very hard, Feyre. But it sounds like Rhys loves you very much, and that this is an issue the two of you can overcome together. When you feel the instinct to reject his generosity, try to remember where that message is coming from. And Rhysand, try to keep in mind that this is something your wife is still working through, and be patient if she feels more comfortable giving you something in exchange. This is her way of expressing love, too. At the core of your issues is both of you thinking about the other person, try to remember this when a breakdown in communication occurs.”

Somehow they’d lost control of their therapy session and were receiving actual therapy, which wasn’t part of the plan at all. But somehow, despite not actually being married to Rhysand, what Dr. Suriel said was reassuring.

Feyre turned to Rhys and smiled. “I think I understand better, now. You’re free to give me as many orgasms as you want, honey.”

Rhys grinned fiendishly. “And I’ll let you reciprocate in whatever way you feel comfortable, darling.”

Dr. Suriel clasped her hands together in approval. “Excellent. I think so long as the two of you take measures to accurately communicate your needs, you’ll find these breakdowns will occur less frequently. And that’s it for our time today, but I am happy to have the two of you back any time.”

Feyre walked out of the session hand-in-hand with Rhys, feeling a bit dazed. It had certainly gotten more serious than she’d expected, but perhaps her judgement had been misplaced in thinking therapy could be anything other than serious, no matter how joking the complaints.

“Well, that was certainly stimulating,” Rhys quipped once they’d left the office.

“And it seems we’re at a draw, considering neither of us broke character.”

“You do play my wife convincingly well,” Rhys practically purred, “perhaps I’ll let you take up the real role, if you feel so inclined.”

Feyre laughed. “I’m expecting a few other offers to come through. Give me a few days to look over the applicants, then I’ll get back to you.”

“Okay, well how’s this. I’ll give you my number, you can wait until all those applicants come back to you, and once you’ve decided that I’m clearly the obvious choice, you can call me.”

Feyre smiled as she pulled out her phone and handed it to him to insert his number. “You do make a very convincing husband. Perhaps I can hire you for weddings and Thanksgiving dinners?”

“Real husband, fake husband, a partner to do spontaneous, outrageous things with. You call me, and I’ll be whatever you want me to be, Feyre.”

It was perhaps the strangest and most generous offer she’d ever been given. When they parted ways, Feyre thought that she’d certainly filled her quota for an interesting story to tell. And maybe, most likely, she’d be calling that number very soon.

#Feysand #prompt fill #pro Rhys #pro Feyre #fake dating kind of #Feysand fic #acotar #acotar fic #ask #not proofread sorry #fanfiction #acotar fanfiction

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angryinternetduck · 3 years

Text

yellow & blue

[not my pic] Hello and welcome to 2.7k words of pure angst! This doesn’t really have a purpose lol but it’s sad and angsty and features 2020 Brits Harry so why not!!! Have some depressed Harry, angelic reader, and yellow suits. Featuring Harry Styles x famous!reader. Inspired by Woman by Harry Styles, It Isn’t Right by the Platters, and When I Was Your Man by Bruno Mars (which should give you an idea of just how angsty this is lmao).

The first time he met you, Harry was wearing a yellow suit. The first thing you said to him was a compliment about it. That suit sparked a conversation, and that conversation sparked an interest, and that interest sparked the best two years of Harry’s life.

If Harry said he hadn’t thought about that suit while preparing for the 2020 Brits, he’d be lying.

The chatter of the table he’s at isn’t boring by any means, but it’s not anywhere near captivating enough to keep Harry’s attention on the conversation and off of you. He heard about your new boyfriend, of course - who hasn’t - but this is your first public appearance together and Harry is having just a little bit of trouble breathing.

It’s been four months. Four months since you broke up, three since the news went public.

As far as the public knew, the separation was mutual. As a brand new artist, you needed to take a second to find yourself as a person. As Harry Styles, the man the myth the legend, Harry needed to focus on his next album and possible future acting career. He also supported you in your decision, and knew that the two of you would, of course, remain the best of friends.

Most of that’s true. You only just released your second album - which is doing spectacularly, of course - and Harry really does need to get this next album done. But it wasn’t mutual. Harry doesn’t think any of his break ups have been truly mutual. You broke up with him. There isn’t really any getting around it. Not that the public has to know.

The problem is that Harry understands why you broke up with him. As heartbreaking as it is, he realizes what he did. He knows that he wasn’t a good boyfriend. He doesn’t really have an excuse, either; he can explain away his faults all he wants, but at the end of the day, you’re just too good for him.

Which makes it all the more depressing to watch you positively glow without him.

Part of him wants to go over and beg for your forgiveness. He wants to walk over and get on his knees and say, I love you with all my heart and I’ll never make another mistake again and I’ll love you forever and ever, please, please take me back, I’ll do anything.

Another part of him loves you too much to do that. Maybe you’re meant to be with this new guy. Maybe he’s your one, your only, the one worthy of all your love and attention. Maybe he’ll make you happy in ways Harry never did.

Because really, all Harry wants is for you to be happy. He wants you to glow like this all the time, to forget the feeling of sadness, to never cry a single tear again. He wants the only pain you ever feel to be an ache in your cheeks from all your smiling.

He just wishes he could be the one putting that smile on your face.

One thing he’s noticed is that your happiness seems to coincide directly with his. Whenever you’re happy, he’s happy. Not at the moment, actually, because you seem happy as a clam and Harry feels like his chest is caving in on itself, but whenever Harry thinks “happiness,” he thinks of moments with you. Of moments when you were happy. Moments when you were happy because of him, with him, for him.

He surprised you with a picnic one year for your birthday. He went all out, spreading a blanket down and everything, and the two of you drank wine, ate sandwiches and snacks out of a picnic basket, and talked in Harry’s back yard until after the sun came up.

Whenever Harry thinks “happiness,” that is the moment that pops into his head.

It wasn’t a loud sort of happiness, either. It wasn’t a bouncing on top of the world, adrenaline rushing through his blood, head pounding with excitement and joy and energy sort of happiness. He wasn’t breathless or wide eyed or buzzing with emotion.

No, this was a quiet happiness. It was the very definition of content. It was your head on his shoulder, your hand intertwined with his, your whispers of, “I love you,” the soft kisses exchanged as the sun set and the stars began to twinkle into the sky. It was your giggles at his jokes, your eyes brighter than the moon, softer than the wispy clouds suspended in air.

Harry’s getting a hollow ache in his chest just thinking about it. It hurts, really, because each of those memories, those days, those nights, carved a little hole in him and filled him with love and adoration and the purest happiness anyone’s ever experienced in the history of the world.

Now that you’re gone, that happiness has disappeared and all that’s left is a hollow, empty pit.

Since you’ve been gone, other memories have started creeping out of the shadows. These are different memories, memories of Harry’s failure and your disappointment and nights spent apart and tears sliding down your cheeks.

The problem with these memories is that it’s not a specific memory. It’s not one singular memory that Harry can turn over and over in his head and decide what went wrong. It’s not one thing that Harry can think about and solidify and apologize for.

It’s a whole bunch of things. It’s all the nights spent at the studio instead of with you. It’s all the last minute anniversary gifts and half hearted, distracted dinners, and all the forgetting of events and details. It’s the gradual falling away of random weeknight flowers, it’s the slow decline of hidden poems around the house he set out for you to find.

Well, maybe there is one thing. It might have been that one date night he cancelled. It was at the very end, during the knowing glances after frequent fights, after the slow, painful descent into acceptance but before the official conversation.

Dancing with the Stars had come on TV one night.

“Hey, I’m a star,” you murmured to him, curled up against him on the couch.

“Got that right,” Harry hummed, and you smiled up at him, and that smile made this night one of the good memories. “It should be just us two,” you told him, watching the pairs made up of one professional dancer and one celebrity dance on screen. “No professional.”

You giggled. “Yeah, we’re too good for them anyway.”

You took to dancing around the house after that night. Your dancing always brought a smile to Harry’s face. Funny how all you had to do was twirl, laugh, smile, breathe, and Harry would want to smother you in kisses and gift you his entire heart.

Sometimes you managed to rope him into it. Often you wouldn’t. Often, Harry would wake up to soft music playing in the kitchen, and he would walk in and see you dancing. He’d sip his coffee, and you would spin around and make up fancy footwork, and Harry would grin and blow you kisses and whisper, “I love you.”

He offered to take you dancing one night. He lay next to you in bed and traced his fingertips over your cheeks, lips, nose, and told you all about the night the two of you would have. He talked about live music and warm food and twinkling stars and dancing. You closed your eyes and smiled and hummed one of his songs, and Harry kissed you.

Then he got busy at the studio on the night you decided on. He stayed long. He called you. You didn’t pick up, because you were in the shower, getting ready for you big night. And you didn’t see the voicemail until after you were ready, until after you were sitting on the couch waiting for him, and when you saw the voicemail you jumped up because you didn’t look at the time it was sent, and you thought the voicemail was him calling because he was outside to pick you up.

You weren’t crying when he arrived at home. You just had a quiet sort of disappointment in your eyes, one that was almost more painful than tears, because this look told Harry that some part of you expected this. Harry didn’t look particularly guilty because he hadn’t realized how excited you were. He thought you probably didn’t even get ready. He thought you’d say, “Aw, well,” and move on.

He didn’t think he’d find you on the sofa, dressed in the most beautiful summer dress he’d ever seen, looking like an angel with a broken wing. He never dreamed you’d be so upset, never dreamed he’d be the reason for you being so upset.

That was the night he realized he was nothing but a mortal man in the presence of an angel.

An actual, real live angel.

An actual, real live angel who was losing her glow because of him.

Harry takes a miserable sip of his drink and tries to involve himself in the conversation happening around him. It doesn’t work. The noise level in the room is almost headache inducing, but somehow Harry can still pick out your laugh through the chatter.

He thinks, for a moment, that he’d like a shot of that laughter. He’d like to bathe in your happiness just once more. Maybe that’s all the closure he needs. A gasp of fresh air after what seems like eons of suffocating loneliness.

Then Harry thinks he sounds pathetic even in his own head and he excuses himself from his table. He walks almost blindly through the halls without even a semblance of an idea as to where he’s going. It’s quiet out here, at least, and he can clear his head, and take a breath, and maybe -

"Hey.”

Harry freezes.

For a moment, he thinks he’s imagining things. Then he turns around, and as it happens, he’s not.

There you are, in all your glory, a hesitant smile on your lips. You’re wearing a lavender dress. It fits you perfectly, makes you look like you’re floating off the ground, and Harry wants to cry because it matches his bow perfectly and that wasn’t even planned and goddammit, universe, that’s just salt in a gaping wound.

“Nice suit,” you say, and now your smile looks more sad than hesitant, and Harry feels the tears building in his throat because you remember too, of course you do, and Harry opens his mouth to reply but he can’t get his words out and now he’s on the verge of tears not only because he’s sad but also because he’s embarrassed.

“Thanks,” Harry finally chokes out.

“You’re welcome.”

The corridor suddenly feels long and empty and silent.

“Heard Feather on the radio the other day,” you say.

Feather. One word, a million memories shifting through Harry’s head faster than lightning.

A gifted necklace, filled notebooks, picked out notes, hummed melodies. Murmured lyrics in ears in early mornings. Night after night in the studio, together. Rubbish takeaway food, in the studio, together. Laughter over everything and nothing. Falling over each other in the booth, soft sighs and blissful gasps replacing giggles and shrieks of amusement. Late, late nights, together. Hearing it on the radio for the first time, together, almost driving off the road because of the excitement.

Hearing it on the radio last time, alone, almost driving off the road because of the stab of grief.

Harry’s not sure what to say to that. What do you expect him to? Oh, great, me too, fantastic song, innit? So he pauses for a moment and then replies, “We should make a sequel.” That gets a laugh out of you, and the thought strikes Harry to bottle it up and wear it in a little bottle around his neck.

“That would be something, huh?” you say.

“Call me,” Harry says. “I’ll book a studio.”

You smile. “Yeah, sure.”

“Don’t forget,” Harry tells you.

“I won’t,” you say, and there’s a beat of silence. Your smile fades as you look at him, as he looks at you, and Harry looks away because your smile’s about to disappear completely and Harry doesn’t think he could stand being the cause of your smile disappearing one more time.

You clear your throat. “Alright, well… Expect that call.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see you around, H,” you say.

“See ya.”

You turn around and walk away. Float away. Fly away.

Again.

Flight, Harry thinks, watching you go. That’s what the sequel would be called. Feather. Flight.

You wore a white dress the first time the two of you performed it live. It’s such a love song. It’s the sappiest shit ever written by anyone in the entire world. If anyone else had written it, Harry would’ve rolled his eyes and said, Bullshit.

But it wasn’t. The song wasn’t, the love wasn’t, nothing was. It was the complete opposite. As pure and true as love could possibly be. Which makes it all the more painful that Harry couldn’t keep his shit together enough for you.

That’s another one of the Happy Memories: that first time performing together. You in your white dress, Harry in a silver, shimmering suit. The two of you did a whole choreography; you messed up every other move and Harry tripped over his own feet quite a few times, but the effort was there. The combination of the overwhelming yet familiar excitement of being on stage and the otherworldly bliss of simply being in your presence is a feeling Harry will never forget.

The air in the hallway grows heavier and heavier with each passing second.

Harry should get back to his table.

He starts to walk. He peers up at the ceiling as he does, hands locked behind his back, deep in thought. People are cheering out in the main room. Harry listens to the noise and closes his eyes, trying to shut his brain off.

The fans, he remembers, were devastated upon hearing the news of your breakup. It was kept quiet long enough that the questions and concerns weren’t particularly invasive, but it still hurt. It hurt like hell. It was ripping off the bandaid of the first month and poking and prying at the wound until Harry cried onstage and ducked out of an interview and missed a show.

Feather was taken off the setlist.

Once, during a lull in a show, the audience began to sing it. That was kind of strange. Harry looked up at the bright lights and swaying figures and heard his song, your song, being sung back to him by hundreds of strangers. It occurred to him, then, that it was not, in reality, your song. By that point, it meant something to other people as well.

That was very strange.

Harry ended up strumming out the chords for them. He smiled when the audience grew louder.

He heard later that the exact same thing happened to you. It was a few nights later, maybe the next week, and there were some technical issues. In the quiet, the fans began to sing Feather. You joined in just a second later, adding in your bit of the choreography.

Harry tried his hardest not to watch the footage, he really did, but he couldn’t help it.

He cried a lot that night.

When he finally makes it back to the main room, you’re situated under your new boyfriend’s arm, smiling brilliantly. Harry looks away as he sits down and downs the last of his drink. He grins at whoever’s talking at his table and shuts off his brain.

At the end of the night, through an alcohol- and exhaustion-muddled haze, Harry spots you by the door. He sweeps you up and plants a big messy kiss on your cheek, which you return with giggles and a kiss of your own. Harry leaves the 2020 Brits with two lipstick prints on him.

Despite the pictures splattered everywhere the next morning, Harry feels an air of contentment.

It’s done, he thinks, taking a deep breath. It’s done, and that’s good.

Because really, nothing gold can stay.

Not even the gold of a yellow suit.

***

ummm... yeah lol. hope u liked it...? lskdjf anyway there's that.

thx for reading! a reblog and some feedback would be fantastique!!!!

masterlist | ask

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles

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a-libra-writes · 3 years

Note

Congratulations on 800!

24. “You’re my favourite.”

For Sandor Clegane from his s/o mayhaps? 🪐

Enjoy 👀

The hooves hit the ground so hard, she could swear the horse's legs would break. But the beasts stayed true to course, carrying the weight of the riders that were determined to run straight into each other.

Both knights missed their mark completely, and the men around them groaned in annoyance. The riders lined up to try the list again, and Y/N found her patience running thin. Only a man would think up the idea to mount a horse in full armor, carry a stick and think to knock someone off a horse with it.

Y/N sat restlessly, not able to use the excuse of her 'delicate constitution' disagreeing with the heat because the weather was perfectly agreeable. She glanced at Joffrey, a boy too small to sit in his seat properly, yet allowed to watch the practices. His seat had to be stacked with cushions, and he was yelling princely directions at the knights. In Y/N’s opinion, he was far too young for this, but her opinion was rarely considered by her queenly cousin.

Ignoring the boy’s shouting, she scanned the armored knights, looking for the only reason she was here. It was always worth enduring Cersei’s brat to see him.

Finally, he rode up, wearing that distinctive dog helm she found ridiculous but the boy insisted on. She hated how Sandor was in Joff’s service, even if that’s what brought them together. He hadn’t closed the snarling visor yet, so she could look at him, brief as it was. Of course, Sandor wouldn’t look back at her. He was careful about these things. Paranoid, and rightfully so. Still, it wouldn’t kill him to slightly glance in her direction…

Y/N was so focused on watching him, she hadn’t noticed how the other men were deciding who would ride next. No one wanted to risk broken limbs for a practice run. They whispered hastily amongst themselves, and then a mounted knight stepped forward dramatically, ending their conversations. Y/N only vaguely recognized his shield. He turned and bowed to the prince, and then bowed to her. That was surprising; she was used to being ignored when in the presence of the crown prince. The young knight’s helmet was off, giving her a proper view of his bright smile and a flourish he made with his hand.

She was sure if he had flowers, he’d be offering them to her. Y/N didn’t even know who this knight was, but he ought to keep the dramatics for the tourneys. A bold man, but a foolish one. She simply pursed her lips in a smile, then dropped it. An indication that she noticed the flattery, and no more.

The sound of metal hitting metal resounded through the field. The snarling dog helmet snapped shut with a swift motion. Y/N dismayed at losing sight of Sandor’s face. If that knight hadn’t distracted her, she may have had a few more moments, pathetic as that sounded. He was always busying guarding her cousin’s royal terror. Now that her focus was back on him, Y/N noted how tightly Sandor’s fingers curled around the lance. The other knight was not holding his near so tightly, and why should he? This was practice.

Little Joffrey stood on stop of his cushions and bellowed, “FIGHT!” There was no point in telling the boy it wasn’t a real fight, because gods knew he wanted blood.

Y/N hadn’t expected it to actually come, though. Stranger hit the ground running hard. He was a brutal mount, and Sandor had a strong, rigid poster. Y/N tensed, then gasped as Sandor knocked the knight straight off his horse with a single blow. The man went flying, hitting the ground with a cacophony of metal clanging. His horse bucked and ran off from the shock, causing several squires to shout and jump out of the way.

Joffrey laughed in delight. “Get him! Get him!” He said, though his cries were drowned out by the voices of men. They all stayed far away from Stranger, whose nostrils were still flaring, and a few squires ran for the dismounted knight. Y/N winced as they lifted his battered body. At least he was able to shamble to his feet.

That dog helmet turned sharply toward her, and Y/N realized she was holding her hand to her mouth. She lowered it, making sure the disapproval was clear on her face. Joffrey shouted and pointed some more, demanding someone else go against “his dog”, but Jaime stepped forward. His patience always ran thin with Joff.

“That’s enough, your highness,” The Kingsguard said airily. “It’s time you head back for your lessons.”

“I don’t want lessons! Uncle, go down there and fight the Hound!” The young prince jumped out of his seat in agitation. “You're the only one who will, and mother said he'll fight whoever I say!"

Jaime and Y/N shared expressions of exhaustion. She didn’t envy him in his duty. She put on her sweetest voice and said, “Dear prince, the more lessons you do, the more your mother will let you watch the knights. You don’t want to miss their melee training, do you?”

The boy considered this. For once, the storm in his green eyes lessened, though no doubt it would return when he was allowed to return. “Let’s hurry, uncle,” He ordered his Kingsguard. “I’ll do whatever stupid lesson mother and that old man want, then we can come back for the real fighting. I'll make sure they do it."

Charming. Y/N sighed. She watched Joffrey practically pull Jaime away, forgetting all about the bodyguard he was just shouting at. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the opportunity the brat gave her. Y/N waited a few minutes, watching the knights disperse and talk. Sandor was already gone, but she still took her time in making sure the servants were occupied before slipping away from the pavilion.

Lifting her crimson dress high above her ankles, Y/N walked through winding servant’s paths along the Red Keep’s gardens. She ducked behind a pillar or tall bush anytime someone passed. As she edged closer to the barracks and quartermaster’s keep, she watched squires and soldiers file in and out. As soon as backs were turned, she scampered down the wide hall.

Despite being an official bodyguard of the Prince, Sandor kept his own small quarters. He had little patience for any squires and servants attempting to enter, the only reason she was so bold to come here. That, and no one would ever assume the good-natured cousin of the Queen would ever associate with a scarred, angry dog. Y/N stepped close to the wooden door, pressed her ear to it, and smiled as she heard the movement of armor.

She didn’t knock as she came in, and closed the door quietly behind her. Sandor flinched as though she slammed it. As usual, he was more on edge when she entered his room than vice versa.

“What in the seven hells are you doing here?” He grimaced.

“Lovely to see you, too,” Y/N said. She dropped her skirts down, ignoring the dirty rushes that scattered the floor.

“I told you not to bloody come in here, didn’t I? You’ll be seen.”

“I won’t be. You’re determined to scare off any servant whose trying to do their job."

Sandor scoffed, but said nothing to that. He turned away from her, his shoulders tense, returning to cleaning his helmet. Y/N was familiar with this. She stepped forward slowly, reaching her hand out. Even with the armor on his shoulders, he flinched again when she touched him.

“You needn’t be so rough on the training grounds.” She said, leaning in. She wished he’d look at her. Sandor was lowering his face, the scarred side covered by some of his stringy black hair. “You could have killed that man.”

Instantly, he looked up. “What does that matter to you?” He sneered. “Do you know him?”

“An hour ago was our first meeting.” Y/N said. A smile tugged at her painted lips. “Were you jealous, Sandor? Are you still?”

He scoffed, the harsh noise coming hard from his throat, but he didn’t refute it.

“You needn’t be. You’re my favorite.”

The lady gasped at the feeling of cold, hard metal on her wrist. With little grace, Y/N was yanked onto the man’s large lap. She felt his other metal gauntlet wrap around her waist, digging into the silk and skin, keeping her in place. Finally, finally, they were close. There was no looking away or hiding now.

Sometimes she wondered if he wanted her to recoil and turn away. She never did. Y/N pressed herself closer, all armor and propriety be damned. That raspy voice rumbled through his chest as he said, “You won’t say sweet things when I stop being nice, Lady Lannister.”

He sneered that title as two large hands squeezed her even more, keeping her stuck in place. Y/N was fine with that. She glanced at the modest bed just a few feet from them, one of the few furnishings in this small room. She wanted those gloved hands to squeeze and rip whatever they pleased, wanting to surrender to all of it.

So, she challenged him. “I prefer when you aren’t nice, ser knight.”

She expected the usual retort — the gruff “I’m no knight” line that he was so fond of. A rough kiss was the response, and she gladly accepted it.

#breaking news: libra actually did something #this was fun tho :) horsies!#sandor clegane x reader #libra minis #i feel my sandor is rlly weak but hope u enjoy nontheless

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my-least-favorite-savior · 3 years

Text

Should we first talk about why no other Volstrucker has ever left?

First of all, a big part of Trent’s process is making sure that they have nowhere else to go. First, he isolates them from their peers at the Academy. (Caleb says that Trent was originally one of many teachers he had the Academy, and then Trent became his primary teacher. Bren had no friends aside from his fellow Volstrucker trainees.) He takes over their schedules so they’re spending all of their time with him and others who are under his thumb, and he tells them that it’s because they are special and better than their peers anyway. They’re fifteen at this time, so they believe him. Then, he makes them kill their family. It’s kind of brilliant, in a sadistic way. He subjects them to slowly escalating abuse for years, and then he hands them a match and tells them to burn their only bridge away from him.

Let’s assume that Astrid really does have an uncle, and wasn’t just playing along. Of course she hasn’t spoken to him in years. What could she possibly say to him after murdering his sister? Making them kill their immediate families is also a pretty good way of blowing up their relationships with their extended families.

It’s not like Trent stops controlling them when they reach adulthood, either. They live in houses on his estate and report to him daily for orders. Trent chooses them when they’re 14 years old, destroys everything else they have, and keeps them right under his thumb for the rest of their lives.

Then he calls them family He takes their original families from them, but he offers his own twisted mockery of a family in return. And they take it, because it hurts less than empty space where their parents used to be. Caleb called the Volstrucker locked up in Rosohna his sister without ever having met her. Trent invited Caleb over for a family dinner. What happened to their parents was an unfortunate necessity, but they don’t have to feel alone; the Volstruckers are their family now; Trent is their family now.

The second reason they don’t leave him or tell anyone is that Trent specifically chooses students who are unlikely to do that. Trent chooses his students partly for the fun of it, to see what he can sculpt out of their unique natural talents, but he’d be a fool not to consider their temperaments as well. It’s easy to imagine Bren, Eadwulf, and Astrid as teachers pets who were eager for Trent’s approval as teenagers. Even now that they’re adults, Trent is very intentional with when and how he praises them, and praise is his go-to way of love-bombing Caleb at the dinner.

Trent has access to all the students at the Soltryce Academy. This is already the pick of the litter in terms of the Empire’s magic-wielding teenagers. Anyone he chooses is going to be gifted. He has the luxury of looking at other factors, like how eager they are to please him, how susceptible they are to pro-Empire propaganda, and whether or not their families will be missed. (Is it really a coincidence that Bren, Astrid, and Eadwulf were all from the same rural town that is firmly under the capital’s thumb? Probably not.)

So, after he picks out kids are that going to respond well to his brainwashing, he brainwashes them. That’s the third reason none of them have ever left before.

He tells them they’re family. Not by blood, but by shared goals and shared suffering. I can’t prove that Trent ever actually said that, but it fits perfectly with the way the Blumendrei talk about each other and with Trent’s view of the world. The pain they endure together bonds them (and they’ve got matching tattoos to prove it).

Their pain protects the innocent of the Empire. They do their bloody work so others don’t have to. They endure this pain so others don’t have to. Someone has to hurt, because that’s how the world is, and if it’s not the Volstruckers, it will be the innocent children of the Empire.

Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made. Your innocence. Their lives. Someday, maybe your life. These sacrifices are what keep little Empire children safe and warm in their beds at night. It’s for the good of the Empire. It’s what any good Empire citizen would do. You should feel honored to have been given this opportunity.

Trent inflicts pain in on them because pain makes them stronger. Because they are smarter and stronger than their peers and they can save the Empire, if they just let him teach them. Trent hurts them because he sees the potential in them and wants to bring it out. Trent hurts them for the greater good. Trent hurts them out of love.

That’s what he tells them. That’s what he told them at dinner.

They’re spoon-fed a million excuses for their own abuse, and they have little choice but to swallow those excuses, because (reason #4) Trent made them complicit in their own abuse, and each other’s abuse, and the murders of their families. The alternative to accepting Trent’s apologism put Bren in an insane asylum. “All of that pain and suffering and death was absolutely unnecessary and you not only subjected yourself to it for no reason, you helped for no reason,” is not an easy thing to process.

Liam has done a really good job of showing how Caleb struggles with that and how it led to so much self-hatred. And Caleb had a loving support network. Most Volstruckers have one or two equally broken people from their class that they can mostly trust, if they are lucky. Most Volstruckers are only given one framework to process these feelings through, and it’s the abusive framework laid out in #3.

We can’t go without mentioning that shared guilt is one of the oldest tricks in the book to get a victim to keep quiet. It’s the classic ‘You’ll be in trouble too.’ “Do you really want to go the king and confess to the murder of innocent Empire citizens? Your own family, no less?” It wasn’t like Trent put the poison in the food or threw the fireball.

Reason #5: Lots of people already know and simply do not care. While Astrid’s comments in e131 do imply that the king doesn’t know what Trent has been doing to the children of his kingdom, the Cerberus Assembly knows and has known for a while. Every time Caleb has brought up his abuse with a member of the Cerberus Assembly, he’s gotten empty sympathy and dismissal. He hasn’t even had to explain the abuse to them. Multiple people have heard that he was a student of Trent Ikithon’s and immediately responded with sympathy... but also in ways that made it clear that they didn’t plan to do anything about it. The Cerberus Assembly knows. Ludinus would be very bad at his job if he did not know, considering that Trent recruits from the Academy. The Volstruckers are used to Trent doing what he does out in the open, in front of other high-level officials.

It’s not like Trent is hiding his abuse of them, either. Trent takes kids home for the summer and they show up for Intermediate Transmutation the next fall with fucking experimental crystals in their arms. Ludinus knew. Even Vess knew. The Volstruckers know that Ludinus and Vess know. At best, they likely believe that there is no point in talking. At worst, it reinforces everything Trent is telling them and makes them believe that they are the problem if they can’t tough it out.

Last but not least: mortal terror is the sixth reason why no one has ever gotten away from Trent before. Trent broke Bren’s brain and then made him disappear for a decade. Trent made all of their families disappear. Do you think Astrid got investigated for murder after some poor neighbor found her family’s bodies? No. Trent made that disappear. How easily could Trent make one Volstrucker disappear? Volstruckers die all the time, after all. There wouldn’t be many questions asked about a Volstrucker’s death. There might not be any questions asked at all. Who would notice a Volstrucker was missing, except for other Volstruckers (who are loyal to Trent. And terrified of Trent. And may have helped with the murder.)

So that’s why Caleb is the first to ever leave. (1) Most Volstruckers have nowhere else to go. (2) Trent gets to hand-pick students to abuse, so obviously he’s going to pick ones that are likely to respond well (by his standards) to his abuse. (3) Volstruckers are brainwashed into accepting Trent’s abuse apologism. (4) Volstruckers are made to feel morally culpable for their own abuse and are not given space to process these feels outside of the brainwashing framework Trent provides them with in #3. (5) People with power don’t care; people who care lack power; people with both are out of reach. This is a pattern embedded in their psyches well before they kill their parents. (6) Trent could literally straight up kill them have a couple of teenagers dig a shallow grave in the woods. No one would ever ask questions.

#long post #critical role #caleb widogast #Astrid Beck #Trent Ikithon #Eadwulf Grieve #I’m not in love with the use of color here but honestly I just hate making long text posts without some color to break them up #abuse #death #critical role spoilers #Critical Role c2e131 #character death #child abuse #the answer to a question no one asked #Critical Role meta #blumendrei #the Blumenthal trio #the Blumenthal drei

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narrativelysignificantturtleduck · 3 years

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so a while ago @volkswagonblues left a reply on this post saying that jeong jeong was an example of "someone who is ideologically 'right' but whose character is absolutely not likeable, or at least not in the mainstream fandom-popular way". i started writing this response, but i totally forgot it was in my drafts until i wrote my iroh analysis. it doesn't seem right for me to have an iroh analysis post and not a jeong jeong one so here it is, the jeong jeong character analysis nobody asked for:

volkswagonblues's response hits on exactly why i find his character so fascinating - he's good, but he's absolutely not nice or well-adjusted about it. and he's definitely not mainstream-fandom "likable". it's rare that i see hate for one of my minor character faves (one of the benefits of having them), but i have actually seen people say they don't like jeong jeong. mostly, it centers around him being "wrong" about firebending, as opposed to the sun warriors. i can see where that comes from. jeong jeong has the noticable accent and proverb-y speeches of the ~mystical asian master~ trope, but his viewpoint comes off as pretty harsh and simplistic. this can confuse an audience expecting easy answers from a kids show - are you supposed to see him as wise or not? for me, i think asking "are jeong jeong's beliefs wrong?" is the wrong question. instead, you should ask: "why does jeong jeong have those beliefs?"

and the more you think about that, the more you see that he isn't actually wrong. firebending is the only type of bending where the bender produces the element from their own body rather than using their surroundings. it is someone imposing their will on the world, even more so than the other forms of bending. iroh sums this up nicely:

"Fire is the element of power. The people of the Fire Nation have desire and will, and the energy to drive and achieve what they want."

there's nothing wrong with that in theory, but in the show, this drive and power manifests as the fire nation's imperialist conquest, and the goal they're trying to achieve is world domination. as a former high-ranking military official, jeong jeong has seen firsthand the ways firebenders use their power to hurt people. the culmination of the fire nation's ideology is a plan to burn the entire earth kingdom to the ground - exactly the kind of wide-scale destruction he describes in his first cautionary speech:

"Without the bender, a rock will not throw itself! But fire will spread and destroy everything in its path if one does not have the will to control it!"

you could say that firebending is misused by the fire nation, but that feels like a No True Scotsman fallacy ("that's not true firebending!"). the fact is, firebending's unique qualities fall in line with the nation's imperialist ideology. jeong jeong hates his bending because it is inextricably tied to the war he hates.

like many, i once thought a trip to the sun warriors would be healing for jeong jeong, but i've since realized that's not what he needs. jeong jeong is perfectly aware that firebending isn't always destructive - he counsels restraint and control, not total suppression, and he even alludes to sun warrior beliefs:

"Feel the heat of the sun. It is the greatest source of fire. Yet, it is in complete balance with nature!"

going to see some dragons who tell him that firebending is about the sun and life won't change his mind. 'of course it's not inherently evil,' he'll say. 'but it has been used in terrible ways'. his feelings aren't about firebending in the abstract. they're about firebending as it is used. that it has the capacity to support an ideology of conquest, that he and others have given into its destructive side and committed such atrocities with it. he's right to hate that. (i also feel like he'd resent the sun warrior civilization for their isolationism. i mean, i would, if i'd put my life on the line to fight against my nation and it turned out there were a bunch of people who agreed with me but did nothing about it.)

so if jeong jeong and the sun warriors aren't philosophically opposed (except re: their involvement in the war), why does his view of firebending seem so much harsher? because - and here we come back to the original point - he's not likeable. he's a strict teacher and plenty of us (especially if we were kids when we watched the show) have a knee-jerk negative reaction to that. his speeches about the danger of fire are grandiose. but here's the thing: the speech where he says the most derogatory things about firebending is not one where he's teaching. it's one where he opens up to katara:

"I've always wished I were blessed like you - free from this burning curse."

this reveal that he wants to be a waterbender means that everything he says to her about his bending is less about what he believes about firebending in general and more about his own personal struggles. and in that context, it's heartbreaking:

"It forces those of us burdened with its care to walk a razor's edge between humanity and savagery. Eventually, we are torn apart."

this is the core of it all - jeong jeong doesn't just hate the fire nation and its war, he hates himself, hates that he holds that destructive power inside him. he doesn't seem to struggle with the act of bending (another reason why the sun warriors wouldn't necessarily be any help) but he clearly doesn't want to do it, probably because it reminds him of when he did terrible things with it. no wonder he calls it a curse.

and so here's what we're left with: jeong jeong leaves the fire nation military because he is right that the war is wrong, and he counsels control and restraint in opposition to the imperialist ideology of constant expansion and conquest. however, he is severely traumatized and full of guilt from his participation in said imperialist conquest, and that means he comes off as harsh and overly negative. right, but not likeable.

while i was writing this post, i was rewatching a lot of clips from the show, and i got curious about his voice actor, who i suspected was actually asian (unlike most of the voice actors). it turned out i was correct - his name is keone young, and he's had a very long career - but he's hawaiian and doesn't have the accent that probably made me guess that. he has this to say about how he portrays the one-dimensional accented characters he often plays:

“I want to portray that person with an accent who is real instead of a stereotyped version of it," he said. "I’ve always wanted to see myself as the one the story revolved around so that it was my story not your story. I always try to convey I have some kind of philosophy or point of view.”

(read the full interview here)

i bring this up because while i think jeong jeong's memorability can partially be attributed to the atla writers giving him a cool backstory and dramatic lines, what keone young says here about taking a character who's a bit of a stereotype and making them seem real, with their own philosophy and point of view...well, that's exactly jeong jeong. despite his limited screentime, we get a clear picture of who he is and what he believes. and who he is is someone who fully embodies his radically anti-imperialist politics, who has come to his beliefs from traumatic experience that's made him bitter. as the atla renaissance pushes us to reevaluate these children's cartoon characters with older eyes and modern-day politics, it's worth looking at a striking minor character like jeong jeong, who might not be fandom-likable but who has a lot of depth to offer and a perspective worth considering.

#atla #jeong jeong #nina's personal log

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rizubaby · 3 years

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Dinner and Dessert | Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu.

genre ; nsfw oneshot.

request ; nsfw Fuyuhiko x fem!reader oneshot.

summary ; After being away for a couple days for some important business deals, you return home to find your boyfriend Fuyuhiko in a state you certainly didn't expect.

tags ; fem!reader, boyfriend experience, oral sex, L-bombs, (slight) breeding, mentions of marriage, vulgar language.

wc ; 2,7k.

note ; I had a lot of creative freedom with this one, since there weren't any specific things I had to incorporate. I really wanted to explore the softer and more romantic side of him in this oneshot, so there you go lol. Don't worry though, if this is not your style, I got some NSFW headcanons for Fuyuhiko planned for later ;)

This is an 18+ post. Minors dni.

"Fuyuhiko? Where are you?"

Your voice echoed throughout your empty living room as you entered your shared appartment. You had been away for a business trip for a couple days, whilst your loving boyfriend Fuyuhiko stayed home. You were so excited to see him again, I mean, who wouldn't be? Being away from your significant other for only a couple days can often feel like weeks, and it most definitely felt that way for the two of you, too.

"Fuyuhikooo? honey?" you called out again, a hint of worry and confusion now present in your voice.

No response. Huh, that's weird. You had texted him that you'd be home in about fifteen minutes, and he replied saying that he'd be home to welcome you back. So why isn't he here?

You sighed and dropped your suitcase on the floor, taking your heels off as you were still wearing your formal work clothing. Your usual work clothing consisted of a nice formfitting black skirt, a silk white blouse and sleek black heels. It all accentuated your features and curves perfectly, yet you always felt like all your colleagues were staring at you.

You neatly set your shoes aside and walked a couple steps further into the living room, scratching the back of your head as you glanced around the empty room. Suddenly, you noticed something red laying on the floor.

An immediate rush of panic washed over you and your body froze, as you had experienced this sort of thing countless times. With Fuyuhiko being in his line of work, it was almost commonplace for him to come home injured every now and then. After all, he never really stops working. Some wounds were worse than others, and so you feared something might've happened in those fifteen minutes before you arrived home. You slowly peered over to take a closer look, and...

...Is that a rose petal?

Just then, you hear the front door open behind you and you turn around in shock. It's Fuyuhiko, standing in the doorway with a huge bouquet of flowers in one hand and a bag from the local grocery store in the other.

"W-...What..?" you stutter, the rush of panic from a second ago having not completely gone away.

"Ah, shit," Fuyuhiko mumbles, as if caught red handed. You stare at him for a second and you see a faint blush appear on his face.

"Um, welcome back baby! Shit, haha... I thought I had just a little more time before you came home, and I uh... I wanted to surprise you," he rambled, the blush on his cheeks only appearing redder with every second he kept talking. "S-So I went to the store to get some things..."

Dumbfounded by what your boyfriend who was awkwardly standing in the doorway had just said, you felt your cheeks burn up in an instant as well. You weren't used to him being this... Romantic. You know he loves it when you shower him with love and affection, but you never expected him to return the favor, so to speak. I mean sure, he's told you countless times that he loves you, but never to this extent. Those days apart must've really done something to him...

Fuyuhiko stepped inside and awkwardly closed the door behind him, carefully placing his bag of groceries and the flower bouquet on the floor before rushing over towards you and hugging you tightly. You embraced him back and dug your face into his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh as you could finally relax, knowing you had nothing to worry about.

God, you were so happy to see him again.

"I love you, and I missed you," he spoke, his hands slowly moving down your back to rest on your hips. He moved his head and looked deeply into your eyes before pulling you into a passionate kiss. You could tell by the way he kissed that he really missed you, as his kisses were intense and sloppy. He started planting wet kisses along your neck and shoulders while still holding you in a tight embrace, pressing your body against his.

"You look so fuckin' pretty in that..." he remarked, one of his hands gliding further down to squeeze your ass. You gasped softly, finally realising how in need you were for his touch. "Fuck, I missed you so much.."

Even though it felt like you two were being pulled together like magnets, you eventually managed to pull away for a second to look into your feisty boyfriend's eyes once more. "W-What, um... what did you have planned for us..?" you asked, curious to know what was in the bag of groceries Fuyuhiko had brought with him. "The flowers are beautiful, by the way... Thank you," you smiled.

Slightly caught off guard by your sudden question, Fuyuhiko's grin quickly grew. "I uh... I wanted to prepare a nice dinner for us. I bought some expensive wine, too. And then maybe afterwards we could, y'know..."

He stopped there, because both of you knew exactly what he meant. You could tell he was holding back by not finishing his sentence. In reality, he wanted nothing more than to press you against the nearest wall and fuck your brains out. Those days apart seemed to never end, and he missed every inch of you. Your beautiful hair, your soft skin, those wonderful moans and whimpers you'd let out every time he was fucking you...

You smiled and turned around to take a closer look at where you spotted that rose petal earlier.

The sly bastard had made a whole fucking trail of rose petals leading to your bedroom.

"Hm, not a bad idea... but I've got an even better one." You said as you looked into his eyes, a feeling of pure love and arousal awakening inside you as you slowly made your way towards him.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" Fuyuhiko asked, noticing the slight change in your demeanor. You gently grabbed his hands and placed them around your sides, stealing another kiss from his freckled lips. You brought your face closer to his ear and whispered something to him that immediately made him throw all his mental restrictions out the window.

"Let's skip dinner and go straight to dessert."

After saying that, you instantly felt Fuyuhiko's grip on you tighten, and you could've sworn you heard a soft growl escape his lips before he hungrily pressed his lips against yours once again. You stumbled backwards until you hit the wall next to your bedroom door with a loud thump, as his fingers quickly moved to unbutton your silk blouse. At that point, all you wanted was each other. No fancy dinner, no wine, no idle chit-chat... Just you and him, feeling each other's skin pressed against one another and never letting go again.

He wanted to feel every inch of you. He wanted to hear you moan out his name. He wanted you to leave scratches on his back and see your eyes roll back as you told him that you loved him. He wanted everything.

Being apart from you for only a couple days made him realise how much he actually cared for you. You had never really been apart for this long and it made him go crazy. Every day he would think about you and imagine all the things he'd do to you once you got back home. It almost physically hurt him, not being able to hold you in his arms as he laid awake in bed those nights. You always said you were his and that he was yours forever, but in that moment, he realised he wanted to make it official (in whatever way he saw fit).

In a matter of seconds, your white blouse and laced bra were thrown on the ground as you were both frantically trying to undress each other. Fuyuhiko wasted no time and hungrily started sucking on one breast, squeezing the other. You let out soft moans in response and wrapped one leg around his waist, trying to pull him even closer to you.

"M-Mmh... F-Fuyuhiko, please... I-I want to feel you," you mumbled, desperate for him to fuck you like he always did. He liked to tease, but you weren't in the mood for that this time. The need was high, and you couldn't wait for him to be inside you.

"Hold on baby, I want to taste you first..." he replied, letting go of the breast he was sucking on and kissing you everywhere whilst making his way down. He was on his knees and he carefully lifted up your formfitting skirt to expose your beautifully laced panties. He stared at them in awe for a second, the longing to taste you only growing more and more.

He gently but quickly pulled them down in one swift motion, exposing your wet pussy. You heard a soft grunt from between your legs and felt his warm hands hold a tight grip on your legs.

"Turn around for me, baby."

You did as he asked, now facing the wall with your hands supporting you as you leaned into it. His hands were exploring your backside and squeezing your ass, a feeling you didn't know you had missed this much until now. Feeling his breath against your inner thighs, you felt shivers going up your spine and a soft whimper escaped your lips.

As he couldn't possibly contain himself any longer, Fuyuhiko hungrily started lapping at your folds while stimulating your clit with his fingers. You let out a louder moan than you were expecting, but at this point neither of you cared. Fuck, he's so good at that. You felt your body start to tremble and your climax was already fast approaching, his tight grip on your thighs as he was eating you out making it even better.

"F-Fuyuhiko, fuck, I-I'm going to-" you said, feeling your mind blanking as you nearly tipped over. He heard you loud and clear and quickly started picking up his pace, hitting all the right spots with his skilled tongue. Before you knew it, you were shaking uncontrollably as your first orgasm of the day washed over you, incoherently babbling his name as you rode out your high.

"F-Fuck, Fuyuhi- Ah! F-Fu..."

As little beads of sweat started forming on your forehead and you panted heavily from your intense orgasm, Fuyuhiko quickly stood up and turned you around, immediately starting to kiss and plant hickeys on your neck.

"S/o, I fucking want you, right now," he whispered, his lustful tone giving you goosebumps all over. His profanity in the bedroom was so incredibly hot, you couldn't possibly begin to describe it.

As he got hold of you again, you quickly stumbled into your bedroom and fell onto your kingsized bed, never once breaking your passionate kiss. Once you were laying there, you looked around and noticed the flower petals scattered around the room and the lit candles on your bedside tables. A surprised giggle escaped you and Fuyuhiko grinned widely in response.

"You like it? I did this for you, baby..."

All you could do was nod, because no words could possibly describe this. You pulled him in for another kiss before he quickly got up and started undressing himself. The way he undid his tie was something that always turned you on for some reason. He just looked so manly, it made you crazy.

As he was busy undressing himself, you wasted no time in taking off the remainder of your clothing until you were both completely naked. He threw himself onto you and needily continued kissing you all over, leaving a trail of hickeys and faint bite marks all over your body. You couldn't wait any longer. You needed to feel him inside you.

"Fuyuhiko, please.. Please fuck me, I want you inside me," you pleaded, the desperation in your voice making him even harder than he already was.

Without another word, he pulled open your legs and positioned himself against your soaking entrance. God, that look he gave you made you melt instantly. You looked into each others eyes for a brief moment before he pushed himself into you, filling you up instantly. You let out a wanton moan in response to the feeling of finally having him inside you again, something you longed for ever since the first day you were apart. You grabbed hold of his arms and held on tight as he quickly started moving his hips, aroused moans and grunts filling the room.

"G-Goddammit, I missed you so fucking much... You feel so good baby, f-fuck..!"

Heavy panting, loud moans and profanity echoed throughout your apartment. Fuyuhiko was pounding into you at a godly speed, yet still managed to make every thrust sensual and loving. He was fairly average in length, but this man knew what he was doing. His pace and all the other things he would do made for such an amazing fucking that you'd never want anyone else.

"S/o, I-I love you, I love you so fucking much," he mumbled, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he slowed his pace, putting more pressure behind every thrust which made you squirm and tremble from pleasure.

"I-I love you too baby."

He stopped gently nibbling on your neck and raised his head to look at you. A moment passed, his cheeks were bright red and his gaze felt like it was piercing right through you.

"S/o, W-Will you marry me?"

"W-What?!" you exclaimed, utterly perplexed by his sudden proposal. I mean, you were in the midst of having sex! But still... You felt like it seemed so right. In the time you had been apart it made everything fall into place. You were meant for each other. And somehow... This felt like the right time.

"Y-Yes, Yes! I will!" you smiled, pulling him into another loving kiss. He didn't need to say anything else, his reaction said everything you needed to know. He was ecstatic to have you as his bride. A huge smile appeared on his face, and that same smile quickly transformed into a lustful grin as he finally started bucking his hips again. A breathless moan escaped you, and pulled him into a tight embrace.

Fuyuhiko quickly picked up his pace again with his newfound excitement, and managed to throw your legs over his shoulders so he could pound into you even deeper than before. Your back arched and all you could bring out were incoherent moans and screams. You let your nails dig into his back and he let out a surprised yet aroused moan in response.

"S-S/o, I'm gonna cum soon... Fuck, p-please I want to cum inside you," he groaned, leaning forward to lustfully suck on your tits. "I want to make you mine."

For someone with such a babyface, he really knew what to say and what to do to push you over the edge. You felt the knot inside your stomach grow bigger with every thrust and you desperately nodded in agreement.

"Y-Yes baby, please, keep going- A-Ah!"

With his last few thrusts, you felt the knot inside you untangle and you moaned out his name in pure bliss, feeling his thick seed paint your walls. Your head shot back and your eyes closed as your mind drew blank, the high of your second orgasm almost being too much to handle.

His strained moans eventually died down as you felt the last drops of cum shoot out of him, collapsing on top of you and immediately planting kisses all over you again. He was so in love with you, it felt like he was on cloud nine. Hell, he even came inside you. He rarely does that, since he just loves the sight of you swallowing it or playing with it once he cums all over you. But not today. He wanted to make you his.

You laid there in silence for a moment to catch your breath, feeling the fog inside your mind slowly clear up. Once he pulled out, you could feel the mix of your juices slowly seep out of you, and it was such a satisfying feeling.

He plopped down next to you and you snuggled up against him, giving him a couple of small pecks on his cheek. Your fingers gently ran through his short blonde hair as you stared into each other's eyes. You were the happiest you could've ever been in that moment, and neither of you ever wanted it to end.

"So... how about that dinner I promised? I mean, we have something to celebrate after all."

#dangandonpa smut #Danganronpa 2 #sdr2 #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #fuyuhiko x reader #fuyuhiko kuzuryu x reader

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smuggsy · 3 years

Note

i would love to see #11 for the prompt thing (just want to say i adore ur current ed/oswald/omc series btw im excited for more! <3)

owww, thank you so much <3 it's nice to hear ppl are actually enjoying it bc i've got almost no feedback. another chapter is coming soon (;

but now onto the whump below the cut. #11 “Please, let me help you.”

Getting used to his impaired vision is no easy task, he'll admit. Now that the doctor's made a thorough job of cleaning the wound and administering antibiotics to prevent infection and prescribed him two different kinds of painkillers and now that the initial shock of it all has passed. Now it downs on Oswald that this is who he's going to be from now on, that watching his step carefully when he goes down the stairs and bumping into walls that are closer than they seem is something he's going to have to get used to.

As if walking around with a limp and a cane wasn't demeaning enough already. He lets out a grunt as he finally makes it to the kitchen, everything is sunk in darkness and he fails to turn on the lights two times before he finally finds the switch.

He sees the switch. He knows where it is. It's always been there, in that exact same spot, and he's walked into the kitchen in the middle of the night to fix himself some tea countless times before.

Now the switch has moved.

"Urrgh," he grunts one more time as he turns around and collides against the kitchen aisle. He nearly grabs one of the chairs and tosses it across the room, a sudden rush of adrenaline and fury coursing through his sleep-deprived mind.

There's a pang behind his eyepatch as if mocking his helplessness but he calms down soon enough, closing his good eye and taking a deep breath to brace himself against the counter. He manages to put the kettle on without any further incidents, but when he stands on his toes to reach the cabinet —how many times has he told Olga to keep that stupid tea-set at hand?!— he topples over and ends up sending two very nice cups to their deaths.

They crash on the floor with a piercing sound and Oswald startles and grits his teeth at the commotion.

Deep breaths, deeeeeep breaths.

Choosing to ignore the incident he turns around to switch off the gas with trembling hands and pour the water into the one cup he did manage to obtain.

Except, of course, his mind is still foggy from restless sleep and drugs so he misjudges the angle entirely and ends up pouring it all over his hand holding the teabag in place instead.

He lets out a yelp and drops the kettle instantly.

"Ow! Shit! Stupid little—!"

The water drips onto the floor unceremoniously as he tumbles over to reach the water tap and put his hand under it.

Ed barges into the place only half a minute later wielding a handgun, with hair sticking out and with his glasses askew. Oswald barely spares him a glance, blood boiling under his skin and dangerously close to the edge already.

"Oswald, what—"

"Nothing!" he blurts out almost immediately. Edward bearing witness to this mess is the last thing he needs right now, "just go away."

But, of course, he's Edward.

"What happened?" his friend asks, pistol forgotten on some nearby shelf and rushing over, words the slightest bit slurred by slumber and Oswald thinks lucky you, being able to get a wink of sleep, and takes another of those deep breaths that are doing a poor job of slowing down his heart rate.

"What does it look like it happened, Ed?!"

Edward stares at him numbly and then his eyes dart around the place like he's only now taking it all in, seeing the shattered china on the floor and the pool of water by their feet. Immediately he brings both hands to Oswald's under the cold water from the tap and tugs at it.

"Let me see."

Oswald jerks him away.

"No— I'm fine!" he bites out, "go back to sleep."

Despite his ill-mannered humour, Edward doesn't move. Oswald doesn't look at him while he stands next to him in silence, letting the waters cool, clearly giving him a moment to backtrack on his request. And then, ever so softly, Ed's hands return, to his elbow this time. A touch too gentle it almost makes Oswald let out a whine — because he's tired, and aching, and sleepy and nothing turns out for him as of late.

"Please, let me help you."

His words are a caress in Oswald's ear. Barely there. Ed keeps his warm fingers on his arm and slowly brings the hand to his chest for inspection. Oswald lets him, this time. All energy seems to leave him with that puff of breath and he lets Ed guide him to one of those chairs he was contemplating taking all of his frustrations out on just a minute ago.

There's a slight hiss of sympathy.

"Should be alright with a little cream and a bandage," is Edward's assessment.

Oswald rolls his eyes and fights down a sappy retort much like: yes, I know that, I'm not so incompetent that I need you here to issue an official diagnosis, just leave me to rage in peace. He nods tiredly instead, shoulders slumped and yawn unavoidable.

"I'll be right back," Ed says with a hoarse voice, moving around quickly despite his dishevelled appearance, looking perfectly awake now but sounding nothing like it.

Oswald doesn't try to stop him. Because he knows it'll be a lost cause and because he's afraid if he starts poking too much at the situation he'll end up embarrassing himself and crying out his frustrations on Ed's shoulder.

Not ideal.

So he keeps silent instead, watching Ed's expert hands apply that cold salve on his knuckles and wrap his aching red-looking skin in a white bandage, giving up on not looking miserable because what's the point.

He is miserable.

"There, all done."

Ed pats him twice on the thigh as if comforting a hurting animal and Oswald can only offer a small scoff in return. He can smell Ed's shampoo from where he's standing so close and he keeps his eyes fixed on that loose crumpled white shirt he wears to sleep, afraid to look up into the gentle eyes he knows he'll find behind those glasses.

Because he might start blurting out stuff that shouldn't be blurt out if he does, as helpless and exhausted as he's beginning to feel.

"Now let's get you that cup of tea."

Ed turns around to make himself busy and Oswald takes the opportunity to scatter away.

"Where—"

"Sofa," he crooks out deadpan.

That's where Ed finds him ten minutes later, staring at the unlit fireplace as if willing it to come to life on its own. Sitting on his usual spot with the lights off and a glassy look of resignation.

"Chamomile," Ed says as he offers the steaming cup. Oswald doesn't have the heart to tell him he's changed his mind and would rather down a glass or two of that aged Scotch instead. He takes a sip without muttering out a word. Ed sits down just beside, clearly not taking the hint, "you're uncharacteristically quiet."

Oswald shrugs.

"Just tired," he offers, and then, only to put Ed's mind at ease, gives him a practised look of reassurance and a smile, "I didn't mean to wake you up."

Edward turns the attention back to him, ignoring the clear dismissal implicit in the words.

"Did you go to sleep at all?"

"Yes."

"Is your eye bothering you?"

And then the Oswald from the kitchen returns without a warning and he lashes out.

"Goodnight, Ed."

Edward goes to speak again but stops himself when Oswald sends him a sharp menacing look. He looks nothing short of a kicked puppy as he gets on his feet and turns around to leave.

And then he doesn't leave.

"I could start a fir—"

"Goddamn it, Ed! Just leave me alone!"

And just like that the fourth and last cup of that lovely set ceases to exist, turned into another pile of shattered porcelain on the floor. Because Edward Nygma is a pain in his fucking ass, and he doesn't know how to read an indirect and back down and just disappear. He pokes and pokes and pokes—

—and when Oswald turns to look at him with that murderous glare, he sees no reaction from him. Clearly, this was his intention all along, from the very first moment he walked into that kitchen, to see just how much he could take, to push until he broke, to make him talk about it.

Oswald should have learnt to read Edward Nygma by now. Should’ve seen it coming.

As Ed strides back to him with purpose and swiftly sits back down on the sofa and leans in to wrap him into an embrace, Oswald understands he definitely still hasn't learnt to read Edward Nygma.

"What are you doing?" he pushes him away half-heartedly with his good hand. Edward doesn't let go, an unmovable brick wall that cannot be swayed.

"I'm hugging you."

"Let go—"

"No."

Oswald blinks. Then lets out a breathless laugh. He can't seem to fathom any other reaction to this — provided this is actually happening. Provided it isn't a secondary effect of being drugged up to his eyeballs for a whole week, now.

He stops trying to tug Edward away and instead slumps against him, head resting on a slim shoulder and cold and runny nose poking Ed's neck as he keeps giggling at the unprecedented gesture.

Edward's hug is implacable but awkward. He doesn't move, his broad hands against Oswald's back just pin him in place almost in a possessive fashion. He's clearly unskilled in the ways of physical reassurance.

Oswald realises those nervous giggles he's letting out are actually sobs.

#ta-da!#thank you really. i needed to get this out #whump nygmobblepot is the best nygmobblepot #nygmobblepot #edward nygma #ed nygma #the riddler #the penguin #oswald cobblepot #nygmobblepot fanfic #riddlebird #gotham tv #gotham fox #gotham #my writing #answered #i wrote this instead of studying

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lannister-slings-and-arrows · 3 years

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I and Love and You

The fifth in Rafael Barba/Reader/Frederick Chilton threesome verse written in collaboration with @pascalispretty . Mood board also by the lovely and talented @pascalispretty !! Yep. We did this. Was it necessary? No. Did we enjoy it? Sometimes. Are you going to read it? I sure hope you do and that you like it! Cross posted on ao3!

Part Five of the series So Much Easier than You Realize

Warnings: Total and complete tooth rotting fluff. Schedule an appointment with your dentists, ladies and germs. Rafael is, as always, a bit of a jackass. You will probably have an incurable craving for breakfast food. And the teeniest tiniest mention of daddy kink. Rating: E for everyone because there is nothing objectionable in this at all, I did not think we could actually write something this sweet lol. Word Count: 3725 Summary: Mornings are for cookies and contemplation.

When Rafa wakes up, he spares a moment to sympathize with his growling stomach. More than one moment, if he’s being honest with himself. He isn’t normally an early riser but his stomach wouldn’t be so empty if he’d been allowed to have his bedtime snack and not rudely distracted by his two partners and an ingenious application of his second favorite blue tie. The result is pleasantly sore abdominal muscles and the rare opportunity to wake up in time to see the both of them still peacefully asleep in bed next to him.

Fred’s back is pressed close to his chest and his legs brush against Rafa’s as he levers himself up onto his elbow to look at her on Fred’s other side. Her face is tucked against Fred’s neck and the doctor’s arms are wrapped tightly around her, and Rafa smiles at them both, still asleep in the soft grey early morning light.

Fred shifts, and an irritable frown passes over his face the longer Rafa uses him to balance himself to stare at the two of them, so Rafa quickly presses a kiss to his temple before settling back down with a sigh.

It’s too early to be up, really, but he’s starving and is not getting back to sleep without eating something. He grunts and sits up before pressing another kiss to Fred’s shoulder. He swings his legs out of bed and grabs a pair of grey sweatpants.

Rafa trudges down the hall to the kitchen. There were still Bugles hidden in the back of Fred’s Tupperware cabinet. Oh shit, had he eaten them all? He flicks on the light to the kitchen and huffs a quiet laugh when he finds a sticky note on the door of said cabinet in Fred’s small, precise handwriting.

Sorry, I ate the last of your chips two days ago. In my defense, counselor, you left them in my house and I was having a very stressful day. I made you cookies instead, they’re on top of the microwave. I figured you’d be up before the both of us this morning since you didn’t get your snack. --An Apologetic Psychiatrist who feels like he shouldn’t be apologizing for eating food in his own cupboards.

Rafa runs his fingers over the note a few times, smiling like an idiot, his heart feeling full and warm and about seven sizes larger than it was when he woke up. He turns his head and sees a plastic container (with a green lid because the green Tupperware was for storage of baked goods as Fred was constantly reminding him) right where Fred said it would be, and when he steps over to investigate it further he finds a batch of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. Another note is stuck to the lid.

I know these aren’t your favorite. I know that you don’t really enjoy white chocolate. Consider this my attempt to make sure you don’t eat all of these in one sitting. Please limit yourself to two; you aren’t in your 20’s anymore, Rafael, and it’s not even a normal time for breakfast yet, much less cookies. --A Not Apologetic Psychiatrist who doesn’t want your first heart attack to be in his apartment, thank you very much.

Rafa rolls his eyes and peels the lid off, smirking as he deliberately takes three out of the box. He doesn’t hate white chocolate, after all, and he does love macadamia nuts. And he has always had a problem following instructions.

Standing at the kitchen counter, Rafa eats his cookies with a pleased groan, once again thanking whatever saints or angels his mami appeals to for sending him a partner that bakes. Not that he thinks his mother would have prayed for someone at all like Fred. Fussy, officious, arrogant, snobby, and, well, a man. His mother would have had someone like their younger lover in mind however. Smart, pretty, and willing to stand up to his attitude. Most of the time anyways. Well, what did Lucia Barba always say? You can make as many requests of God as you want to but remember that He has a sense of humor too? She got him a little extra than what her original request probably specified.

Rafa snorts at the thought and brushes crumbs off his bare chest, leaning back against the counter and surveying the kitchen in the growing light. He’s still hungry but he knows he’ll hear about it if Fred wakes up and all of those cookies are gone. And today is supposed to be the one day this whole month the three of them can spend just being quiet together with no plans, no work, and no prior obligations. He’d rather not spend it all dodging Fred’s passive aggressive jabs and her pouting looks and quiet pleas to please just be the bigger man and apologize.

He stretches his arms out on the counter behind him and tips his head back, staring absently at Fred’s kitchen ceiling as he contemplates making his way back to bed and napping until Fred wakes up and decides to order in breakfast. He’s nearly settled on that plan when he catches sight out of the corner of his eye of the bright blue note on the cupboard. He doesn’t remember Fred spending any time in the kitchen before the two of them dragged Rafa into the bedroom to put his ties to a much more interesting use. He must have gotten out of bed after Rafa fell asleep to put this together, and Rafa can’t help the smile that spreads over his entire face.

Rafa slaps his palms on the counter and shoves himself off, making his way over to the fridge to see what Fred has in the way of actual food. He’s already awake; the least he can do is make breakfast.

He finds the ingredients for pancakes easily enough--Fred is a stickler for organization. Rafa tries not to make a mess as he moves around the perfectly arranged and spotless kitchen. He stirs the batter by hand rather than risk the noise of the KitchenAid but pauses over whether or not to put chocolate chips in.

She would be pleased, her sweet tooth nearly rivals his own, but Fred would almost definitely be annoyed. Especially because Rafa has already had chocolate earlier in the morning. With a fond sigh, Rafa puts the glass jar back in the cupboard, though not before tipping a few of the chocolate chips out into his hand.

It reminds him of cooking in Fred’s beautiful house in Baltimore, his sweet girl laughing and dancing around the kitchen in one of Fred’s shirts, barely being any help at all. All three of them adore the big, beautiful house that Fred had shyly shown them--as if they could have done anything else other than fall in love with it.

Fred relaxed slightly when it became clear that his guests found the house as beautiful as he did. Rafa tried to help her in slowing Fred down as he showed it to them, asking questions about particular objects or features and pointing out the things they especially admired. Every sincere compliment kept a gratified little smile plastered on Fred’s face--and there was plenty to compliment him on.

It’s clear that it holds a special place in Fred’s heart. It’s so him, every inch of it reflecting back the man who poured so much time and effort and money into making it a home. From the collection of antique medical texts carefully displayed on the shelves to the exact shade of teal velvet upholstery on some of the armchairs, Fred had lavished attention on the house to surround himself with things he loved and found beautiful. It amused Rafa to wonder if he’d taken that into account when he’d invited his partners over; whether they’d laud the elegant aesthetic he’d established in his home.

Shifting the spoon briefly to give his right hand a break from mixing, he smiles at the memory. He’s never actually admitted to Fred how much he likes playing house with his two partners there. Rafa is fairly certain that the kitchen in the Baltimore house is larger than the apartment that he grew up in and he knows that a wine cellar is an absurd luxury. But it’s a place where the three of them are free to be themselves, without worrying about nosy neighbors and doormen.

Rafa snorts quietly, folding the batter briskly to get out all the little flour bubbles. That pretty well explains how he feels about Fred too. Fred is too high maintenance, too abrasive in all the ways Rafa normally hates, too… prep school, but Rafa can’t help but smile indulgently every time he turns his nose up at a meal that costs less than fifty dollars, or every time he gets that prissy stubborn look on his face, or juts his chin out and point blank refuses to admit that he’s wrong (even though Rafa can tell that he knows that he is).

He never apologizes either. Ever. He’ll be proven wrong, he’ll hurt both their feelings, and the closest to any sort of acknowledgment of wrongdoing that the both of them will get will be a cup of coffee in bed the next morning, one of Fred’s most handsome smiles, and the complete and sudden cessation of all hostilities like the fight never happened. Rafa knows that with anyone else that kind of behavior would be a relationship killer.

Rafa looks over the batter and nods to himself, satisfied with the consistency, and balances the spoon against the side of the bowl. He stares at the oven and frowns. Just pancakes hardly make breakfast. Going over to the fridge, he grabs bacon out of its particular place, rolling his eyes as he does so, and tosses it on the counter next to the pancake batter, reaching under the silverware drawer for a frying pan.

Maybe it’s the way Fred ‘apologizes’ with the perfect cup of coffee instead of actual words. Maybe it’s that same perfect cup of coffee that somehow manages to find its way onto his desk at work when he’s too swamped to go out and get one--just because Fred knows he needs it. Or a sandwich from his favorite deli and a quick flash of that handsome smile on Fred’s lunch break.

Rafa gets started on actually cooking said breakfast, hissing and swearing quietly when he gets a first-hand demonstration of why you shouldn’t fry things without a shirt on. Fred would have more than a few words to say to him about the relative intelligence of what he’s doing right now. He grins. Maybe that’s it--the way he cares while trying desperately to make it seem like every time it’s an inconvenience of the highest order.

Maybe Rafa loves Fred because every once in a while, when he’s very drunk, very tired, or the perfect combination of both, Fred slips a little and calls the both of them by those cute, ridiculous southern pet names that before now Rafa would have put money on being more myth than fact. And how embarrassed he is when it is pointed out to him that he just called a forty-something year old man ‘pickle’.

Fred is arrogant, prickly, particular, and both overindulgent and overly judgmental of vices depending on if he himself shares in them. He is a pain to get along with most of the time and sometimes treats the two of them like they’re made of spun gold--things to be cherished and well looked after and shown off to the best of his ability. He’s a contradictory monster and Rafa loves him.

He has a feeling that the smile on his face is sappy and ridiculous, but as he turns the bacon and settles to wait a few more minutes, he shrugs. There isn’t anyone else around this early to see him; his reputation as a son of a bitch and a jackass won’t be ruined. He loves Fred. He loves her. He loves both of them--sometimes so much it’s hard for him to keep it to himself and wait for them to come to the same conclusion. Their individual faults, foibles, and perfections and the way they mesh with each other and fit so surprisingly well in his own life.

Like getting new book recommendations from her--whenever he has the time to actually read something for fun. She leaves them on his home desk with a brief explanation why she thinks he’ll like them. That almost always makes up for the numerous occasions he has gone looking for one of his own books and found it had mysteriously jumped off its shelf and walked itself three rooms over, or managed to find itself completely out of order.

He drains the bacon onto a paper towel covered plate and gives the pan a quick rinse. He loves finding packets of M&M’s in his briefcase or in his suit coat pockets, loves knowing they’re from her and that she braved Fred’s ire to indulge his habit of constant snacking. A habit Fred particularly despises. He loves--most of the time--being a couple minutes late to work some mornings because she got into a nearly incoherent argument with him about what color tie he should wear. He loves that she loves his wardrobe as much as he does.

Rafa loves ganging up with her to tease Fred and loves that she can take some teasing herself. He loves that she just rolls her eyes and plays along when his puckish side emerges and he can’t help but be an asshole even though he can tell she would rather he didn’t.

Rafa starts pouring pancake batter, chuckling to himself when he recalls the mood she’d gotten into the last time his sense of humor had gotten the better of him. While waiting for a table in a restaurant, a strange woman had made a snide comment about ‘men dating women young enough to be their daughters’ and Rafa had been unable to resist feigning outrage and asking what was so terrible about a man taking his daughter out for a nice birthday dinner.

The woman had been mortified, and Rafa had enjoyed the look on her face so much that he’d only hammered the point home further, telling her it was hardly his fault he was a widower and a single parent. He hoped it had taught her a valuable lesson in boundaries. His sweet girl had been so embarrassed but it had been so worth it.

Flipping the first pancake, he thinks about the flaws that come with her youth. She’s always the first one to joke about having daddy issues and Rafa can hardly deny how much he enjoys hearing her call him papi--and Fred daddy--in bed. He just has to try not to think too deeply about it. Not that Rafa really has a leg to stand on where difficult paternal relationships are concerned. But her jokes mask an insecurity and a clinginess that Fred has a habit of overindulging. More than once when he’s been trying to work she’s tried to distract him or cuddle up to him and then gotten sulky when he had to gently but firmly rebuff her.

When he finally finishes work on those evenings, he usually finds her wrapped around Fred instead, giving him a wounded look when he finally emerges from behind his case files. Those looks are wordless guilt trips every time he’s on the receiving end of one--no matter how right he feels in his decision to work instead of play.

And yet somehow she’s worked the same magic on him that Fred has. A flaw that in anyone else would have stopped any idea of a relationship in its tracks is something that he’s come to love about her. Her clinginess comes from a place of emotional fragility and it must be hard to let her partners see that. The fact that she trusts them enough to be so vulnerable around them makes Rafa’s heart swell. He can’t help but love her, even when he’s dealing with her pouting and huffing.

Fred talks about it like Rafa is somehow being ungrateful, that he should drop everything to spend time with his beautiful, smart, young lover, and it drives Rafa crazy. He knows that Fred generally means well when he tries to appeal against his more workaholic tendencies, but he also knows that Fred could retire now and live off his trust fund if he wanted. It rubs him the wrong way when Fred tries to discourage him from working hard because he’s never needed to understand why Rafa works as hard as he does.

He starts stacking the cooked pancakes on a plate on the stove and furrows his brow in concentration. Fred gleefully indulges her in her clinginess, dropping everything to scoop her into his arms or take her to bed. They’ve even taken to napping together with his cock still tucked inside her, as if they can’t bear to be anything other than as close as physically possible. He’s stubbornly blind to the fact that Rafa can’t just drop what he’s doing. If Fred misses a deadline for submitting a journal article the worst that happens is it gets pushed back an issue. If Rafa misses something in his case files or submits something late or fails to prepare as fully as he should, it can ruin lives. Dangerous predators can be let out on the street to offend again. People don’t get the justice they deserve. And even in this day and age, a poor boy with a Spanish name is granted a lot less leeway with employers than a rich boy with a nice American name and family money.

They come from very different worlds, even if Rafa has carefully and thoroughly infiltrated Fred’s, and Rafa loves and hates it a little that Fred forgets that most of the time. Rafa has to always be ‘on’ and can’t afford the same kind of laxness that Fred can.

Sometimes he even has to be ‘on’ at home when he’d rather put his fist through a wall or wrap himself in every blanket in the apartment with a bottle of scotch and pass out. Like when he walks into whichever apartment they’re spending the night at to find Fred in a screaming match with her that he has to moderate. She likes to complain that he and Fred can really get into it like a pair of children, and he isn’t saying she’s wrong—they definitely can—but she and Fred are just as bad. Frankly, the three of them are cut from the same cloth when it comes to being pig headed and it makes for some rather loud and spirited fights.

Like the frequent battles she has with Fred over her occasional smoking habit. They always start out with Fred gently chiding and somehow end up with Fred snidely pulling out his “I went to medical school, therefore everyone else is a moron” voice and her reminding him that he couldn’t cut it as a real doctor and she’ll “smoke a goddamn fucking cigarette every once in a while if she fucking feels like it.” Rafa tries to interfere before it descends to “as much as you like to act like it sometimes, Frederick, you aren’t my father” and “maybe if you knew how to make better choices you wouldn’t be constantly seeking validation from older men,” but he doesn’t always get home in time and instead walks in to the both of them glaring icily at each other or shouting as many deliberately hurtful things as they can.

He likes to leave his courtroom face at work, but it’s generally the only thing that will defuse those battles, or at least calm them down into cold wars. Rafa doesn’t particularly enjoy playing mediator on the best of days, especially not when one wrong word from him will have one or both of them turning on him as another enemy combatant. He likes his occasional cigarette too, and he snacks constantly, and eats terribly; all things that Fred will use to drag him into a fight.

But while he hates trying to calm them down enough to at least stop yelling, he has to admit he loves having people around to yell in the first place. Yes, these fights mean he has to put on his lawyer face when he’d rather get drunk and pass out. But he has people in his life to break up fights between. He can come “home” to people who care about him. People who, when they aren’t screaming, see him come through the door and smile. People who would, and have on occasion, drop what they are doing to bring him something he left at home and needs now. People who drop a sandwich on his desk when he’s working and quietly--most of the time-- leave him to it.

People who care and appreciate him.

Rafa finishes setting plates and cutlery out on the island and starts the coffee maker. He loves having them a few rooms away. He loves knowing that they like him enough to put up with his “shoebox sized apartment”, with him being an incurable workaholic, with the fact that when he gets stressed or angry he lashes out at anyone around him. With the fact that when he does he can be more than a little cruel.

Rafa makes his way back into Fred’s bedroom, wincing as always at how bright it gets when the morning sun fully hits it. He smiles when he sees them still tucked against each other just like he had left them. He loves this view the most.

Rafa grins mischievously. They put up with his innate tendency to be a complete and utter jackass, and that is one more thing he loves about them.

“I just rearranged every single cupboard, bookshelf, and drawer in your entire apartment, Frederick!” Rafa informs the room in general. Loudly.

Fred’s eyes snap open and he sits up, dislodging his sleeping companion without a second glance. His gaze lands on Rafa, who is smirking next to him, and his eyes go comically wide in horror.

“Rafael Barba, you didn’t.”

Tag List: @sassyada, @dreamlover31, @prurientpuddlejumper, @storiesofsvu

#rafael barba x frederick chilton x reader #rafael barba x frederick chilton #frederick chilton x reader #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba #frederick chilton #law and order svu #hannibal #fanfiction #fanfic

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awhitehead17 · 3 years

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Batfam Alphabet: I - Injuries

Summary: When an offhand comment gets made about who receives the most injuries a big debate takes place to discuss this. Unable to agree on anything, the Bats decide to keep score of who gets the most injuries over the next 12 months. The results may surprise you.

Enjoy! :D

The blissful silence within his apartment is rudely interrupted by the shrill of his phone suddenly ringing inside his pocket. Jason groans. Five minutes. Why couldn’t he just get five minutes of peace? Was that so much to ask for?

Cursing every god imaginable, Jason digs through his pocket until he finds and receives the device before scowling upon seeing the caller ID. Answering the call, he brings it up to his ear and doesn’t hesitate to snap a greeting, making it clear he isn’t pleased about being disturbed. “What do you want?”

“So there’s been a situation…” a hesitant voice speaks up on the other side of the phone.

Jason reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose. That sentence alone is enough to start giving him a headache.

“How the fuck is there a situation? I left you guys not even fifteen minutes ago! I thought you were heading back to the cave?”

“Yeah, we were, but on the way back we heard gun shots and we found a gang fight happening. We intervened but while fighting Nightwing unfortunately got stabbed.”

Being told his brother has been stabbed makes Jason pause. There’s a remark on the end of his tongue that desperately wants to slip out but he doesn’t know if this is the right time for it. The tone of voice on the other side of the line makes it difficult to determine how serious the situation is.

“How bad is it?”

“Oh not that bad!” Tim chirps, Jason could now hear the amusement lacing his tone. “It’s just a stab wound on the thigh, more of a scratch than anything. Won’t need stitches or nothing. I figured I’d ring you to let you know because this now changes the board.”

Jason breathes out a long sigh and feels the tension leave his body. At least it’s not life threatening. This fucking family, he swears to God, if he hadn’t already been sent to an early grave he certainly would be now.

“So it’s enough to warrant a mark on the board?” Jason questions eagerly, already knowing what impact the answer will have. Now he knows it’s not serious he can think about other things.

“Oh yeah definitely.” Tim claims and Jason could easily hear the smile in his voice. “Even when it happened he muttered a curse and mentioned how it’s unfair because that now puts you ahead of him.”

At that Jason cackles. He bids his brother a goodbye before hanging up. Still laughing Jason moves through his apartment to his kitchen, digging through one of the draws he pulls out a large whiteboard and makes the needed changes to it.

This is something they all came up with at the start of the year from an offhand comment about who gets the most/least injuries out of their family. The comment triggered off a big debate and the result of it was to keep score of who gets the most injuries in the next 12 months.

They do not count life threatening injuries, because believe it or not they are not assholes and it wouldn’t be fair or even funny. Any minor injury can count (or at least minor for them). Any injuries done outside of the costume also count.

There are only a couple months left of the year but it’s currently pretty tight between most of them. Surprisingly Steph is winning with the least number of injuries so far. Following her, again surprisingly, is Damian. After him is Harper, Duke, Tim and then Jason. With his new injury today that puts Dick in last place, officially making Jason second to last. They hadn’t included Cass because firstly she didn’t want to be involved and secondly anytime she does get injured, which is extremely rare, it’s usually serious, so they collectively decided to not have Cass participate. Babs wasn’t interested and made it very clear on what her opinions of the competition was.

Before the new injury, Jason and Dick were in joint last place. His older brother now sustaining a new non-life-threatening injury changes the board. Jason couldn’t be happier, now he just has to make sure to not get injured at all in the next couple of months.

That in itself will be a challenge, but one not to be beaten easily Jason is up for it. He doesn’t care where he comes on the board, just as long as he beats Dick that’s all that matters.

---------

Like most of the year, the last few months fly by and before Jason knows it, it’s New Year’s Eve and he’s attending a party with all of his friends and family.

While the party is being hosted at Wayne Manor, so somewhere familiar, there’s tension in the air which can be felt no matter where you go. To most it’s probably the anticipation of midnight approaching, that excitement that comes along with the clock striking twelve and the supposedly start of something new.

To Jason, however, it’s a count down until the results are revealed.

Jason has a vague idea of what the final results are going to be, after all he kept track of everything himself. Then again, it’s vague because he’s been away on a mission for the last three weeks only having gotten back two days ago. He hasn’t yet had a chance to catch up with everything that may have happened in those weeks he had been gone. For all he knows the board may have changed significantly and he wouldn’t have a clue.

Not long before midnight, Jason soon finds himself in the library with his siblings and friends. They’re scattered around the room sitting on the sofas and the floor with the news on in the background.

Cass stands front and center with a white board in hand ready to announce the results of who has sustained the least and the greatest number of injuries in the past year. They asked Cass to announce it as she hadn’t taken part, that way it’s fair and not biased.

Looking around the room Jason could see a variety of facial expression on his siblings faces. Some wearing smirks, like they know exactly what the results are, while other’s wear an expression of anticipation, clearly unsure on where they’ve come on the board.

Cass announces the names in ascending order, starting with last place first. To Jason’s absolute delight, Dick is in last place. He’s so happy to hear that he had beaten his brother in getting less injuries than him in a year. Dick simply sends Cass a tight smile and nod, obviously knowing he had lost before anything was declared.

After Dick is Jason. If he’s being honest, Jason is actually happier about that than the principle of being second to last, he beat Dick and that’s all that mattered. He certainly made sure Dick was aware of his delight.

After Jason is Duke, followed by Steph which was a surprise considering she had been in first for a really long time. Apparently she had a bad couple of months, reckless behaviour and stupid mistakes eventually added to her total therefore dropping her down the leader board.

Taking third place is Damian. Jason looks over at where he’s sat and he finds the kid fuming, clearly unhappy with his final position. In second place is Tim, which seems to surprise almost everyone, including Tim himself. The teenager sits on the sofa looking completely baffled but thrilled at the news. That finally leaves Harper taking first place as the person to have the least number of injuries in the past year. She jumps up to her feet yelling with joy and dancing around the room excitedly.

After the scores are announced Cass gives out little awards just as something extra which makes it all the more entertaining.

The most out-of-costume injuries award goes to Tim, who instantly claims that most of his injuries are because his best friends are meta’s and because he skateboards. No one believes the excuses however they don’t call him out on it.

The most ridiculous injury goes to Dick, who then explains how he got said injury. Apparently he miscalculated a jump when chasing someone and ended up scraping his side on a metal bin. Everyone stares at him after that story, wondering how such an experienced vigilante and acrobat even does that.

The most badass injury goes to Steph. She had gotten into a fist fight in the middle of the mall after some guys started shouting out vulgar language. Not taking any of their shit Steph beat them all to a pulp but not without taking some collateral damage herself. That award felt well deserved though it could have gone to someone else.

After wrapping up their competition they all decide to stay in the library and chill. They cheer for the new year when the clock strikes twelve and all exchange “happy new year’s.” They don’t go adventuring out to the party again which inevitably leads to Bruce hunting for them, out of worry or suspicion Jason’s not sure but when his adoptive father eventually walks into the library he’s met with a loud chorus of greetings

Bruce studies the group with narrowed eyes in suspicion. He meets each of their gazes before straightening up and leveling them all a glare.

“What’s going on? I haven’t seen any of you in a few hours only to find you all gathered in here, not fighting may I add. What have you done?”

Dick’s the first to respond. Being the oldest of the group he probably feels inclined to, especially when no one else offers up an explanation. “Wow Bruce, give us a benefit of the doubt would you, we’re simply enjoying being with one another for a change. New year and all that. Who knows, this may the start of something new.”

Bruce’s disbelieving expression conveys perfectly what he thinks of that explanation.

The room falls silent as they all stare at one another. Gestures and nods are shared between them as they try to get someone else to speak up but everyone stays silent, no one saying a peep. They never told Bruce about the competition; they really don’t know how the man would take the news but they’re all certain it wouldn’t be taken well. He definitely wouldn’t see the funny side of the whole thing, even if they explain the rules to it and how they’re not actually assholes and wouldn’t include life threatening wounds to the count.

In the end it doesn’t matter because eventually Bruce puts his hands up and shakes his head. “You know what, I don’t want to know. Whatever it is just keep it to yourselves and if you make a mess, clean it up. The less I know the better.”

With no more words Bruce turns around and leaves the room. For several moments after the man’s sudden departure they each exchange baffled looks, silently questioning what just happened. It stays like that for a while until several members of the family simultaneously shrug. The action causes an eruption of laughter and all of them end up cackling until they couldn’t breathe and had tears running down their faces.

#batfam alphabet #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #dick grayson #Damian Wayne #cassandra cain #Stephanie Brown #bruce wayne #injuries #sibling relationship #batfamily #batfam #injury competition #competitive siblings #sorry for the terrible ending #this turned out to be more crack than anything else #fanfiction

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starshine583 · 3 years

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New Girl on the Block (10)

(New update coming in and things are getting heated!!! I wonder how our lovely little group’s gonna handle it??)

Ch.1 / Ch.9 / Ch. 11

Chapter 10: Adrenaline Rush

Possible Schools:

Rosemary High

Skyline Academy

Angelwood Institute

Liberty High

Summerfield Academy

Clearwater Institute

A sigh passed through Adrien’s lips as he crossed out the last name on his list, matching it with the other failed attempts. He just didn’t understand. Why was it so hard to find Marinette’s school? All he needed to do was search for high schools in the area and ask the students at each school whether she attended or not. It seemed simple enough at the time, but now another week and a half has gone by, and he’s no closer to finding her than he was two weeks ago when he asked for her school name as Chat Noir.

Adrien set his pencil down and rubbed a hand over his face. He could have sworn she said ‘Rosemary’ last time they talked, but that blonde guy insisted that there weren’t any new students there. Maybe he just hadn’t met her yet? No, that didn’t make any sense. School had already started by then. Adrien assumed the guy would notice if he suddenly had a new classmate.

Ugh. If only he could visit her again.. Between patrol with his lady, akuma attacks, homework, and photoshoots, going out as Chat Noir to see Marinette was nearly impossible. He really needed to have a talk with Nathalie about getting more free time.

“Alya, Marinette is killing me!”

Adrien glanced up from his paper- That’s right, he’s supposed to be working on his own school right now -just in time to see Lila wiping fake tears from her eyes as she walked into the classroom. Although they still had a good five or ten minutes before class started, she was the only who wasn’t currently seated at her desk, and judging by her greeting, Adrien was going to assume that she entered last on purpose.

“What!” Alya gasped, standing up from her desk to meet Lila halfway. “What did she do now?”

Lila sniffed and accepted the comforting hug that Alya offered. “She’s been sending me awful messages all week! Telling me she hates me and insulting me and that I should’ve just stayed in Italy where I belonged.”

Adrien shifted in his seat to hear the conversation better, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. Another scheme to slander Marinette’s good name.. Why did Lila still feel the need to lie about her? The ravenette was gone, completely transferred to another school, too far to even breath about Lila’s fabrications. There was no reason to turn their classmates further against her. (if that was even possible at this point)

“She told you what?!” Alya blanched, pulling back to grab Lila’s shoulders. “I can’t believe her! wasn’t sabotaging the forms you needed to be class president enough? Why can’t she leave you alone!”

Adrien resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Now that lie had a reason to it. He knew first hand how thick those stacks of forms can be since he’s helped Marinette carry them a few times, and Lila was obviously too lazy or too unqualified (or both) to sift through all of that mess by herself. What Adrien didn’t understand about the lie, though, was why she had to drag Marinette into it. Again. Why not lie about feeling unwell? Or simply ask for time to adjust to the role that had practically been dumped onto her? Any of those excuses would not only have been easier to say, as they didn’t involve anyone but herself, but they probably would have been accepted just as wholly. So why? It was as though Marinette became a crutch for Lila, which he supposed made sense. Building onto a widely accepted lie would be much simpler than creating a million small lies, but it certainly came with a risk. For example, if Adrien were to, say, kick that crutch right out from under her, she would probably flounder around on the floor with no way to get back up again.

This left Adrien with another important question: How was he going to do it? So far, his friends have been sticking to her like glue and taking in her words like they were given directly from the Bible. On top of that, Alya seems to have become Lila’s official guard dog. How was he supposed to work around that? Adrien couldn’t confront the brunette publicly, because Marinette was proof that that never ended well, and confronting Lila privately didn’t help either, because she would only blow him off again. No, he needed to focus on outing her to his classmates directly, but he also needed to be subtle about it. Which meant..

Which meant he’d have to beat her at her own game.

“That’s crazy!” Adrien piped up, plastering on a surprised and disgusted expression. “Can I see the texts?”

Lila and Alya turned to him, both equally shocked by his comment. He normally kept to himself during conversations about Marinette.

“Oh..” Lila blinked, gathering her thoughts. “I mean, of course! It’s just that.. they’re quite personal, you know.. She said some things that were close to home..”

“We completely understand.” Alya assured.

“Completely,” Adrien agreed, “which is why I want to see how bad it is. Those texts can be considered harassment if you don’t feel safe.”

Alya frowned at him, but a spark arose in Lila’s eyes, one that was no doubt fueled by the thought of getting Marinette into trouble with the law. Adrien would never understand the hatred that Lila harbored for the ravenette, but he definitely knew how to use it to his advantage.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want her to get in trouble!” The brunette said with feigned concern. “But.. if you think it will help..”

She made a show of tentatively pulling out her phone and handing it to Adrien. He wasted no time snatching it from her hands and pulling up the texting app. If she was giving him the phone, she most likely had a series of fake texts to back up her story. (and they would be fake. Marinette was too nice to outwardly insult or bully others. Besides, she wouldn’t have the time even if she wanted to, what with her new school, homework, and fashion designs that she needed to tend to.)

Sure enough, he found messages upon messages of insults under the contact name “Marinette”. Things like “You’re only a model because of Gabriel’s pity and charity programs”, “You made our school’s reputation so pathetic that I had to leave”, and “They’ll find out soon that you’re too stupid to be a decent class rep.” were only the tip of the iceberg. Adrien noted the fact that there weren’t any comments about Lila’s looks specifically- she probably couldn’t think of any insults like that herself, since she was obviously so fashionable -but other than, the texts appeared to be authentic.

That is, except for the phone number.

Adrien slid further into his desk and pulled out his own phone to unlock it. A swift comparison between the two contacts proved not only that they had different phone numbers for Marinette, but that the phone number used for the harassing texts was actually the phone number that Adrien had for Lila. She must have texted herself, then deleted the doubles to make it look like a regular conversation between two people. Adrien had to hand it to her, it was a clever set-up.

But not clever enough.

“Wow, this is awful.” Adrien declared, ensuring that both girls along with a few of their other classmates could hear him. “I’m going to text Marinette about this right now. Do you mind if I copy the number from your phone to text her, though? Some of my contacts got deleted a while back.”

Lila’s eyes widened, and panic briefly flickered across her features.

“O-Oh, um- you really don’t have to do that-” She tried to say as she reached for her phone.

Adrien pulled it back up with a smile. “Oh, but I want to! We can’t let Marinette get away with things like this.”

“Yeah, he’s right!” Alya eagerly agreed. “Let him talk to her. That should really pack a punch for Marinette.”

Although the comment was a bit odd, Adrien nodded along, because as long as Alya was on his side, this plan should work perfectly.

“I’m typing in the number to call right now.” He announced, quickly punching in each digit. His only regret in that moment was that he couldn’t see Lila’s expression as he got closer to ‘accidentally’ outing her. However, the sheer panic in her voice was still enough to make his smile widen to a grin.

“No, you can’t!” She nearly shrieked, lunging over Adrien for her phone. If the class’ eyes weren’t on them before, they definitely were now.

“Don’t worry, Lila.” Adrien said innocently as he pressed ‘call’ on the number. “I won’t tell her that you gave me her number.”

As expected, Lila’s phone immediately began to ring. He watched as the blood drained from her features, and she scrambled to turn off the device before it could finish the first ring. It was a decent move, in his opinion, but that didn’t stop the class from staring at her with a mix of surprise, suspicion, and curiosity.

“What was that?” Alya asked, leaning forward to help Lila get off of Adrien, “Was your phone ringing?”

“No, no! It was- uhm -” Lila let out a nervous, little laugh. It’d been so long since she had to fight for her lies to stick that she must have forgotten how to lie on the spot. What a shame.

“That was just a small sound my phone makes when it turns off.” She blurted out. “I must have forgotten to charge it last night.”

Adrien pressed “end” on his call- because obviously he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Lila’s phone off -and glanced around the classroom to gauge their reactions. Those closest to the conversation were warily watching the scene unfold with furrowed eyebrows, doubt clear on their expressions. The farther ones, however, nodded along with what Lila was saying. They probably hadn’t heard most of the conversation beforehand and therefore had no reason to question her.

“Oh,” Alya said, accepting the bullcrap answer as always, “that’s not good. Do you want to use my charger in case you need your phone later?”

Lila offered a sweet smile, stray bits of her confidence floating back to her due to Alya’s reassurance. “Ah, I’m fine. I wouldn��t want to trouble you or anythi-”

A soft rumbling shook the ground, causing the Italian girl to trail off. Adrien turned to the window, his breath catching in his throat as his thumb instinctively brushed over his ring. Was now really the best time?

In the distance, a cloud of dust was rising into the air. He’d seen enough- and done enough -to know that only the mass destruction of buildings could create such a cloud, and the mayor hadn’t informed them of any pre-planned constructions.

“Yes!” Alya cheered, leaping down the classroom steps. Leave it to her to be the only one excited about another akuma attack. “Finally! It feels like we haven’t had an akuma in weeks!”

“Alya, wait!” Nino called after her. He always hated her little escapades.

“Don’t worry,” Adrien said as he stood up, “I’ll take care of her.”

Right after I take care of the akuma.

~~~~~~~~

The little hands of Felix’s black wrist watch ticked away well past 12:30, reminding him of his frustrating failure to set a timer for their lunch period. How could he have forgotten? The notion had to be ingrained into his muscle memory by now. Get up, go to school, burn through the first few classes, set a timer to not waste time, and go to lunch. How did it slip his mind?

“I can’t believe I didn’t ask this sooner,” Allegra remarked as they exited the café, “but what happened to your guys’ faces? I’m pretty sure they weren’t that red before.”

Felix glanced towards Claude and Marinette, the excuse to his forgetfulness finally returning. He’d been in the middle of setting the alarm when he saw their tomato-colored faces in front of the Chemistry lab. The sight must have been enough to throw away all thoughts of setting his alarm as he asked what happened. Nevertheless, Felix still had time to copy down some notes before his next class, and that would suit him just fine for today.

“Oh, man, how have I not told you yet?” Claude snorted. “It was hilarious!”

Marinette let out a light, yet playful scoff next to him. “Define ‘hilarious’.”

The group shared a small chuckle, and Claude jumped into the story of how they- well, how he spilled their chemicals in class. It surely couldn’t have been as interesting as the brunette let on, but Claude always loved to be dramatic. He made voices for Marinette’s comments- which she jokingly took offence towards due to the unrealistically high pitch -and flailed his arms about while explaining how he poured the chemicals into a bag and mixed them. Claude even made a point to throw out his arms while mimicking the sound of an explosion when he got to the part of the story where the chemicals overflowed.

One of those arms happened to smack Felix in the shoulder, which easily brought a glare out of the blonde. If Claude was this energetic now, there was no telling how bad he was going to be during Allegra’s sleepover. In fact, the whole group was probably going to go overboard. Something about sleepovers tended to bring out the most outgoing side of a person, which was why Felix loathed them. He had to sit there and listen to everyone snort and laugh and be loud the entire evening without the comfort that he might be able to leave within an hour or two. It was torture, simply put.

And yet, he decided to go. All for the ludicrous thought that he might be able to ask Marinette more questions about her relations to Agreste and her old school once- or if -the night provided them a moment of privacy. The motivation itself was outright foolish if he were honest with himself. Even if he did acquire a “decent moment” to bring up the subject, she would most likely be uncomfortable talking about it, and dragging a person through the past that they’re deliberately trying to run from isn’t pleasant for anyone involved. That’s why he’s refrained from asking about it again so far.

Felix needed to find some other way to sedate his curiosity towards her. He did.. But how else was he going to find out why an aspiring fashion designer would run from the supposed affections of a top designer’s son? Felix guessed that it might be something like sexual harassment or another, equally disgusting treachery, but then what about the chest of gifts? Where her affections for the model had been clear? What type of fallout must one have with another person to risk their entire dream career just to escape them?

Felix shook his head slightly to push the thoughts out of his mind. He wasn’t going to barrage Marinette with question after question just to stop his mind from constantly turning when it probably wouldn’t stop anyway. Marinette was Marinette. A classmate of his that was kind, clumsy yet capable, overly-generous, determined, weirdly strong for someone of her stature, and a mystery in more ways than one when it came to the life she lived. That was going to have to be enough for him.

“You should have seen it, Allegra.” Claude said with a grin, pulling Felix back to the present. He’d somewhat forgotten that the brunette was even talking.

“It was like the whole bag of Phenol Red just went-”

A large crash erupted to the left of them, followed by a strong gust of wind that pushed them all off of their feet. Felix hit the pavement with a grunt, and Marinette landed on top of him a second later, sucking the rest of the air from his lungs. Screams pierced the air, disorienting him further- why were they screaming? What made the crash? How did it create enough wind to knock them over? -but Marinette sat up immediately. She turned to the source of the crash, tense and ready, as though she already knew what they were dealing with, and Felix couldn’t be more confused. Why did she look like she was about to fight something? (And why did he feel like she would win?)

“Do not be afraid!” A voice yelled over the crowds, drawing Felix’s gaze to a woman standing a few yards away from them. She was dressed in dark and light blues, save for her white elbow-length cloak and her white skirt that appeared to be split into several different pieces of cloth. “I’ve come to help! Not just you, but the world!”

Felix’s eyes widened, an entirely new form of terror taking hold of his body. This wasn’t.. This couldn’t be an akuma, right? She looked different than the ones he’d seen on the news, more human. If it weren’t for her white and dark blue mask and the large fan in her hands that seemed to be controlling the wind, he would have thought that she was a normal civilian merely passing by.

“Our planets have been spoiled by the bigger companies for too long!” The woman continued, even though people ran as she spoke. “It’s time we take matters into our own hands!”

His mind screamed at him to run, to hide, to move, but he couldn’t. His entire being was cemented to the spot in fear of what might happen next. What if this akuma was dangerous? What if her powers possessed people like that Pharaoh themed villain? Or completely killed them like Stoneheart or TimeTagger? Were they going to be her first victims? What if it-

A harsh tug interrupted his reeling thoughts, and suddenly, Felix was back on his feet and running. Running behind Marinette who was pulling them to safety.

“Hurry up, we don’t have much time!” She quietly called over her shoulder. “Let’s hide behind the wooden fence while she’s distracted.”

Felix had enough sense to look ahead of them, where a small, wooden fence that held the cafe’s menu was placed. It wasn’t hard to notice under normal circumstances, but how did Marinette think of hiding there while the akuma was right behind them? How was she not paralyzed by the very idea of being caught?

“I’m going to destroy some stores around here, but only to get the heroes’ attention!” The akuma explained as the group scrambled passed the fence and pressed their backs against the wood. “Once I have the miraculous, I will restore everything to its rightful place, I promise!”

Felix tried to slow his rapid, shallow breaths as he sank further against the fence. She was going to destroy buildings? How many? Were they going to get hit with the debris? Where were the heroes that he’d heard so much about? Shouldn’t they be doing something about all of this?

“What do we do?” Claude whispered, panic clear in his tone as well. None of them had ever seen an akuma attack before. Well, none of them except Allan, but he’d been watching through a store window a safe distance away.

“Should we call the police?” Allegra nearly squeaked, tentatively reaching for her bag to pull out her phone. “They help with stuff like this too, right?”

“No need.” Marinette said. She was on the left side of Felix now, staying close to the edge of the fence and carefully peeking around it. “The police have akuma alerts on their phones to tell them when attacks happen. They're already on their way, I’m sure.”

Felix stared down at her with furrowed eyebrows, completely baffled by the lack of panic in her demeanor. This was the same girl who stumbled and stuttered to ask him for a pencil during class! Yet here she was, taking charge and giving orders and speaking perfectly. It was like she was a completely different person! How was that even possible?

“Alright,” The ravenette spoke, turning back to them with a deathly serious gaze, “I’m going to run out and get her attention. While I’m doing that, you guys need to run as far away from here as you can and find a good basement to hide in until this is over.”

“What?” The group practically gasped in unison. She wanted to face the akuma alone?!

“Marinette, you’re not going anywhere!” Allegra insisted. “It’s not safe out there!”

“It’s less safe if we stay here.” She replied, moving to step out into the open.

Felix grabbed her wrist to yank her back. What was happening right now?

“Are you insane?” He hissed unintentionally. “You can’t go out there! You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“Yeah, she’s not after us.” Allan agreed. “Only the buildings. Let’s just all run out of here together.”

Marinette glanced back at the group. “But there are still people in those buildings. I need to lure her to an empty street or at least stall until the heroes get here. If I don’t, people are definitely going to get hurt or worse.”

Felix’s grip on Marinette’s wrist tightened. He hadn’t thought about the crowds of people who were running inside for cover, but even so, what would she be able to do alone? The akuma was a powerful being, and they were merely civilians in the crossfire. What’s stopping it from crushing Marinette beneath its boot at the slightest whim? Who’s to say the akuma would even listen to Marinette if she did get its attention?

“We’re not letting you sacrifice yourself for an extra second of time.” He told her. “Like you said, the police are on their way, which means the heroes will be here soon too. Let them handle it.”

A strange mix of urgency and frustration flickered across her features, and she tugged against his grip. “Felix, please, we don’t have time to argue-”

“I think I’ll start with this darling café.” The akuma crooned. “That should get some attention.”

The café walls crumbling apart was Felix’s only warning before the gust of wind made it to their little hide-out. It splintered the wood within seconds, and the group went flying, once again, into the pavement.

Felix groaned as he pushed himself to his knees. How many times were they going to get thrown around? At least Marinette didn’t land on him this time.

Marinette.

The realization that Marinette was no longer with him washed over Felix like a bucket of ice cold water, and his gaze snapped upwards. He started to yell for her, but it was too late. Marinette was already on her feet, somehow recovering faster than all of them, and running towards the akuma head on. He could only watch in abject horror as she called out to it.

“Hey, airhead!” She yelled. “Do you really think this is the smartest plan?”

The akuma rounded on Marinette in an instant, and Felix sucked in a breath. No, no, no, no, what was she doing?

“My name is ‘Whirlwind’, thank you very much,” The woman snapped, “and I think it’s a brilliant plan. Do you think you can do something better?”

“Of course.” Marinette replied, crossing her arms. “If you’re already destroying buildings, why not go and destroy the big companies that you’re after in the first place? It’d be much more productive, don’t you think?”

Felix furrowed his eyebrows. Didn’t she say that she wanted to avoid public places?

Whirlwind hummed. “Well, yes, but with all of the major hotels and tourist spots, it’s hard to tell which buildings to destroy, and I don’t have time to look.”

“I’ll show you where they are.” Marinette offered. “Think about it, destroying a big, company building is sure to attract more attention than taking down a little café, right?”

Whirlwind narrowed her eyes as she thought it over, and a part of Felix desperately hoped that she would decline Marinette’s suggestion. A bigger part of him prayed that the police or the heroes or somebody showed up to stop this before Marinette went too far.

“Alright.” Whirlwind smiled. “I’ll take you up on that. It’s nice to see someone else interested in saving the environment.”

With a flick of her fan, Whirlwind gathered a gust of wind around Marinette, causing the ravenette to rise into the air. She then gave herself a gust of wind, which caused her white skirt to start spinning around her. If Felix wasn’t going pale with dread over what might happen to his classmate, he would have found the unique fashion choice to be humorous, as it almost reminded him of a box fan.

Allegra let out a horrified shriek, one that rattled Felix to his bones. This was really happening. Marinette was really being carried off by some maniac in a costume. What were they going to do? What could they do? Gosh, where were the heroes?

Felix grit his teeth and forced himself to his feet. He couldn’t just stand there and watch her be kidnapped or he’d never be able to look her in the eyes afterwards.

That’s right, he told himself. The heroes were going to win, and she was going to be just fine.

Those thoughts didn’t stop him from sprinting after the akuma, though, even as the trio called after him to stop, even as the akuma rose higher into the air, out of his reach. Marinette couldn’t do this by herself, and although Felix’s presence probably wouldn’t make much of a difference either, he’d be darned if he didn’t try to help.

“Don’t worry,” He huffed, comforting himself more than her as he darted through alleyways to keep up with them, “I’m right behind you.”

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#felinette #Rosemary AU #Quantic Kids #Marinette #Felix Culpa #New Girl on the Block

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