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aphroditesacolyte · 8 months

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Meryl and Diosia P14

Ch 14. // Your Saccharine Taste // Read on AO3

Masterpost

Summary: Both Meryl and Diosia encounter a feeling unlike all that came before it.

Content warnings: uh I'm not sure but awww they're finally hitting their puppy love phase, does Diosia not even knowing what a family is count as some sort of content warning? themes of fear and coinciding attraction, please read at your own discretion, thank you!

~Approx word count: 2,826 words

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The sky was bright and blue, a sort of hazy and light colour that made him feel sleepy. Yet, he stayed awake, pressed against the sand in quiet wait. He watched water’s edge, waiting, anticipating. Meryl said he’d be right back, but at this point such a statement felt misleading. A foot twitched impatiently, a reed brushed against his arm, and Meryl still wasn’t back. When he looked back up at the sky, the clouds had moved considerably.

Everything became repetitive, from the slow way his chest expanded and pressed back down, to the soft, almost silent movement of the water and its ripples.

It didn’t help that he had been here so long with little else to occupy him. It made him more impatient, made him want to pace and run and fly around, however Meryl always insisted he should stay still. As to why he bothered listening to the mer? He couldn’t even tell. It just… made sense. So, he waited.

At least he had always been good at playing the game of wait.

At some point however, he must’ve fallen asleep, as when he awoke the sky was a gracious midnight blue, scattered amongst it little speckling stars. In his mind, as this sleep had whisked him away, remnants of memories brushed by him, all faint stars flickering and chasing by akin to the ones he now gazed upon, and the ones that sparkled in his eye.

Now, after a moment of recollection—if not truthfully rumination—he decided it was time to get up; with a demeanor tentative and ginger, he lifted himself up as if Meryl would be watching him. When he heard no scrambling and rushed chatter requiring him to “take it easy” and lay back down, he began to search around, his mind groggy, but managing to center itself almost entirely on Meryl’s return. Though his mind passively chewed over memories that had their tendency to prick him with an aching, longing pain that which he could not comprehend (at least fully), his eyes took keen and sharp observation of the current environment.

It didn’t take him all that long to find Meryl.

His delicate form was shrouded by water, content and weightless beneath its murky blanket; his head poked out from the water, though the gills along each side of his neck were even so still submerged.

Diosia hesitated for a moment, taking in the tranquility of every feature at ease, before he began to further look over Meryl, standing above him with a narrowed, critical gaze. He stalked into the water, standing at Meryl’s side, before finally he threw one foot to the other and plucked Meryl right up from the water. The liquid spilled over him, dampening his sandy clothes as Meryl drowsily adjusted to the change, inadvertently snuggling into him.

Meryl finally woke up, still a little numb from sleep as he muttered, “Oh, Diosia!”

“Mhm?” He hummed back, setting the mer down onto the soft sand.

He sat down a little ways away, watching as Meryl, rather than answer, busily shuffled towards the thickets of reeds.

“S-sorry,” Meryl stammered out as he snatched up something hidden and turned back to him. “I saw you were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you.”

Diosia felt torn between appearances; Meryl was always so soft and gentle, it made him want to reciprocate in some strange way, but that didn’t make sense either. Meryl was a mer, he was a siren, he always felt much more… tough? Bold? Uncaring—yes, uncaring—towards them. They were prey. They were entertainment. He could maintain his own self easily, toy around and tear into them as he pleased, and yet Meryl melted him down entirely, to the point he almost felt poorly doing so.

Instead, he gave a gentle smile. For the past few weeks, day after day, (even though Diosia certainly hadn’t needed it, he would’ve been just fine on his own, he still appreciated it) the mer had taken care of him, and so deserved some kindness. Besides, being cordial would be advantageous, even if unnatural to him.

“Meryl, you could’ve woken me up. I certainly wouldn’t be bothered.”

Meryl gave a bright, bubbly smile back. “I didn’t mind waiting either. But I’m sorry I took so long, here—“ Meryl offered out the curious, closed shell he had been hiding.

Diosia took it up, and inside was an orb charming with an almost laminate like shimmer, its purity and peacefulness apparent in its white colour.

He shot Meryl a sly look. “Another gift, Meryl?”

Meryl nodded sweetly.

A hand reached out to toy with Meryl’s hair, his eyes narrow and sly as Meryl subtly leaned into the touch. “You’ve become quite fond of me then now haven’t you, little mer?”

Meryl stammered slightly. In Diosia’s eyes, this invited him to lean in, to which he did, anticipating Meryl to lean back. Instead, however, Meryl leaned in too.

He hesitated.

He wanted to look Meryl over, understand what he was feeling and what his intentions might be, but he was so close. The precious blue eyes spilled into him. The irony that he felt at being swallowed up by the gaze was almost amusing if he weren’t frozen and lost. There was no room for calculating or planning here, planning in this place he never planned for himself to be in. With little else to do, no plan to go by, he simply gazed back.

A feeling fluttered inside his chest, as if he had breathed in something odd, and a tender, soft hand pressed against his skin. All he could do was stare wonderingly.

Nothing he felt made sense to him, however, he’d have all the time in the world to worry about that—to plan for when it happened again. Now, though? He submitted, and began to float along with that strange feeling. Those warmhearted eyes came closer and closer to him, and as they did, seemed to cleanse him of every scar that memory had left.

Soft, soft lips pressed against his and he found himself taken aback.

What was happening now?

He didn’t care.

Everything in his mind became blurrier with confusion as he returned it—a ticking anxiety screamed at him for relinquishing his control, while the overwhelming comfort of it told him: don’t stop. It felt mesmerizing.

The moment was brief, tender, and gentle and swift, and with its passing left a lingering warmth.

A longing, lovable expression crossed Meryl’s face when they pulled away from one another, and his eyes flickered all over Diosia as if he was uncertain. Diosia, however, was certain now.

He rekindled their kiss, leaning down to do just as Meryl had done to him. It was just as delicate, almost cordial in its newness, but so, so wonderful all the same. Diosia wrapped his arms around Meryl’s body, and Meryl draped his arms over his shoulders and back. They cuddled into one another, brushing against the sand as they shared their soft affections.

He still couldn’t quite wrap himself around the feelings swirling inside him, but it didn’t matter when he felt comfortably entwined with Meryl. He pressed deeper, thoughtlessly resting against him. In his delight, his emotions became more and more foreign to him. The ones that carried familiarity drifted away to be replaced by… he didn’t know what the word for it was, he could only tell it was nothing like the prick of remembrance.

Perhaps it was gratifying, the trust Meryl had for him was so intoxicating he could almost taste it, or perhaps it was exciting. But he felt so calm, a calm unlike anything he had felt before. It wasn’t eager or excited, not gratified nor a hunger fulfilled like he felt when he usually won over his prey. It was foreign. Foreign and soothing, in its own odd way. He let himself be imbued by the feeling as if he could stay there forever.

And if the choice were up to him, maybe, he began to ponder, just maybe he would.

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The next day, Meryl returned.

By the edge of the sand, dipped almost completely in the water, Meryl sat in anxious—no, excited—wait. The sky above grasped at its blue colour, slowly being overtaken by the light of yellow and orange spilling over from the sun’s cross with the horizon. He had come a little early this evening, but that made no difference to Meryl. Either way his mind still buzzed with one person in particular and the kisses he stole between them, a feeling utterly ecstatic bound tight within him; there was no one he could talk to about how wonderful this was, how enrapturing it was, and so every emotion continued to stack itself over in its excitement.

He had kissed before, yes, he had, however no sweeter kiss than Diosia’s had ever graced his lips, as if Diosia himself was made-up of something addictive, something savory and sweet to Meryl’s tongue. He was undeniably, completely melted by memories-almost-turned-daydreams in their small time apart. All day and night he had spent swooning, for at this point how was he to sleep?

Though perhaps sleeping would be nice, to have his mind trick itself into believing he was really with Diosia for a moment.

But then, he was with Diosia right now, who laid himself out with peaceful closed eyes and majestic, perfect wings carefully displayed. To Meryl, the broken wing was almost prettier, for it held his mark, the length of the splint that unambiguously helped it to heal. He squinted, wondering how close Diosia was to being able to fly again.

Fly again.

The thought frightened him a little. His new love? Off to somewhere he couldn’t reach?

He had only shared a few moments of proper romance with him, and even now his heart ached at the thought and cried out yearningly for his embrace. He wanted more, craved more—more Diosia, more love, more gentle, intimate touch, and moments of fluttery doting between them. It was all he needed to breathe. And to think, all it had taken was a moment of bravery, being just emboldened enough to lean in, and Meryl was a sort of head-over-heels only Meryl could be.

He rolled over onto his back in his wistful, longing dream, watching the sky as the fluff of clouds moved across it. A temptation prodded inside him, an urge to wake the siren early—a betraying urge, at that. It would be a mistake to do so, and if not something that would stir mischief in Diosia, at the very least it would be something quite rude.

And as for rude?

He would act in no such way to Diosia. He’d only treat the siren kindly—yes, with the utmost kindness he had. Every little bit of it could go to Diosia as far as he was concerned; it would be a small price to pay for the blessing of his heaven.

A gentle splash of the water disturbed him from his daydreams.

“Hello, Meryl.” Diosia smiled in the same subtle, sly way he always did, a posture perfect and poised, a subtle tilt to his chin allowing him to gaze down.

He jolted up eagerly. “Hi Diosia. How are you?”

“I’m quite well.”—Diosia turned his gaze out towards the waters and the sky, whose fading orange colours were melting into dark blue—“And how might you be fairing?”

“Great. I’m feeling good today.”

Opposite of what Meryl had anticipated (which was for Diosia to lift him up), Diosia lowered himself and sat beside him in the shallow water. Meryl stared at the distant, tempting face for a moment, hardly able to speak.

Finally, Diosia turned back to him. “And what might you be doing in my absence as of late? Certainly, you’re awake when I’m not around, aren’t you?”

He shrugged slightly, almost entirely distracted by their proximity. I could lean up against him if I wanted…

“I haven’t been doing anything important lately.”

Diosia leaned in, teasingly, his voice soft and appealing, “Nothing at all?”

“I’ve…” He searched for words, a feeling as if he were caught in the sights of a whole crowd coursing through his whole body. He found his chipper demeanor once again and his shoulders lifted with confidence.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, actually—we’ve talked so much about me, and I know we’re still new to each other but… what about you? I’ve told you everything from childhood to family to friends to hobbies to stories it just—I’m curious about you, Diosia.”

Diosia set himself back with a thoughtful hum. “I see…”

After a moment, it seemed like Diosia wasn’t going to speak, so he popped in again. “What about your fami—friends?” Considering both the way Diosia…was…and his lack of will to talk of his past, family must’ve been a hurtful topic for him. “What are they like?”

Diosia dismissed it, “Oh. Well, Meryl, you’re my friend.”

“You don’t have anyone else?”

“I’ve lived alone for quite some time.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He murmured regretfully.

In return, Diosia chuckled, a smile still sly and unbothered upon his face. “And why’s that, little mer?”

Meryl stammered, “I-I thought—isn’t that lonely?”

“Well, I suppose I haven’t been alone my whole life. I’ve had companions and,” He added with a sort of dark tone Meryl couldn’t understand, “acquaintances, however, all come and leave in due time.”

Meryl nodded along in agreement, setting his gaze off somewhere, as if in the distance people he once knew well stood there. “They always do. It hurts though.”

“Well, one may call it a little painful, yes. Although, I’d rather call it satisfying.”

Meryl blinked a few times before meeting Diosia’s eyes. “…wh-what is satisfying?”

“Ah,” his smile sharpened. “I meant bittersweet.”

“Oh, okay…” Meryl gave an awkward laugh between sentences. “That makes more sense. I know, err well, knew some merfolk like that too.”

Diosia tilted his head. “What happened to them?”

“Oh, nothing really, they just… moved on.”

Did… when he said bittersweet did, he mean death was bittersweet?

“My, move on from you, little mer? I simply can’t imagine; I’d rather take you with me.”

Meryl’s heart fluttered as Diosia began to nestle in closer, said nestling accompanied by the mischievous look painted across his face. As much as he wished he could fight it, instead he quickly gave into the potential of touch, nestling himself further in until Diosia wrapped his arm around him. He reveled in the tender moment, a sweet taste of last night all wrapped up by his side.

Diosia’s voice broke the silence, softly; “I have to admit, little mer, I’m not so sure what you mean when you refer to your friends and family. I’m… unfamiliar with it.”

Meryl looked up, lips slightly parted in his questioning. Diosia was so… different from him. He was a person in which he held every disparity to, but he felt so closely knitted with him. After what—how many months had it been? Hardly half a year, five, near six months maybe.

It didn’t matter. Even if the way he felt was only a siren trick, the feeling was so potent that he had to succumb to it. If Diosia knew not family nor love, it was only because he still had to be taught.

He pondered the question a moment more.

“I would say,” Meryl inched on, “family and friends are the people you care about. The people who are close to you, who you love and trust.”

Diosia looked down at him, inquisitively. “Do you care about me, Meryl?”

“Of course, I do.” Meryl gushed, and then immediately became embarrassed by his adoration, hiding away his blushing face within Diosia’s clothing.

“Am I your family, then?”

He pulled away a little, revealing his face once more. His laugh was gentle and genuine when he spoke, “Not quite, you’re my… my partner,”—Meryl could’ve sworn he turned five shades redder—“but partners can become family. It just takes time.”

Diosia uttered thoughtfully, “We’ve taken quite a lot of time.”

“Yes, but family takes a lot of time.”

“So, we’re friends?”

“I umm—not really…”

Diosia frowned. “I had quite thought you liked me, Meryl.”

“I do, it’s just… there’s also lovers,”—his voice quivered, not out of fear, but out of a sort of enthrallment at the mere thought of romance—“I think we’re more like those.”

“Because we love each-other?” Diosia asked, an odd innocence in his tone and face.

Meryl nodded. “Y-yeah, that’s the gist of it. So, we’re each other’s lover because we’re with each other romantically—if that makes sense?”

A little bit of the slyness came back to Diosia as he reeled Meryl in so that Meryl’s hands pressed against his chest and made them perfectly close.

“So, you’re my lover?”

Meryl foolishly agreed.

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#original characters #original writing #acolyte's stories: meryl and diosia #fantasy writing #oc story #romance writing #oc: diosia #oc: meryl #original story #oc writing #siren oc #merfolk oc

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ethereal-blossom · 3 years

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Bit of a controversial ask but can I request a scenario where Dazai's S/O is a bit jealous of Chuuya because those two seemed closer and some commented how they act like a couple but she constantly she says she's fine and smiles. The same thing for Chuuya and his S/O is also a little jealous and she also smiles it off, turning to music to cope and it ends with them talking it out. Fluff.

Again so sorry for this controversial ask. Love your writing!

a/n: don't apologize! it's great, clear and i love it. if i would date any of these men, i would also be jealous on doubleblack.

🚨warning(s): only a little bit of cursing

masterlist

dazai's word count | 1.1 K

chuuya's word count | 1 K

"y/n, how long are you going to wait for your man?" yosano asked.

it was almost midnight and here you were, sitting behind the desk of your significant other, waiting for him to return from the mission with chuuya.

"just a little bit longer, but don't worry!" you smiled. "dazai already said it was going to take a while. so, when he and chuuya return, i have prepared some snacks."

yosano raised her eyebrows. "you're way too kind for those gentlemen. let's pray they haven't strangled each other yet. it would be kinky though."

then, yosano decided to place her focus on atsushi who was sitting behind his own desk. "and what are you doing here?"

"oh, dazai wanted for me to assist him after he comes back with the information chuuya and he collected."

"a hard-working dazai partnering up with a mafia executive? how i have lived long enough to see this day."

"well, it is a huge mission." atsushi scratched the back of his head and chuckled awkwardly. "although, he doesn't seem to mind it that much. he has been teasing chuuya for non-stop. strange, they remind me of a married couple."

you swallowed. the new mission had dazai more motivated than ever. your significant other was dedicated enough to ask his previous partner for help. although, there probably was some manipulation involved in the process. for the last week dazai and chuuya have been a one package deal. every time you saw your significant other, chuuya was there, too. a treacherous feeling interpenetrated your stomach once you had realized how strong their chemistry truly was. dazai's eyes sparkled with mischievous and life when he teased chuuya and even though chuuya acted indifferent and annoyed towards dazai, you could see how much trust he put into his previous partner.

and honestly? it made you doubt the chemistry you and dazai shared. did he also seem so alive when he was around you? it was out of character for dazai to work this much, to be this dedicated to something, someone. was there anything you had done wrong?

just then, a scream and the sound of breaking wood helped you out of the negative thought spiral. three pairs of eyes landed on the door opening. standing there was a red-haired man who had tried to kick dazai, but instead ended up kicking the door because his partner's fast reflexes.

"oh chuuya, you're too easy of a victim! can't you do anything without me?" dazai teased. his eyes then started to scan the room. "my, my, we have the audience here. belladonna, have you been waiting for me?"

you tried to smile through the pinch of jealousy that got to your heart. "of course! had you expected for me to not bring you your favorite snacks after all of your hard work?"

dazai clenched his hands together and his eyes began to sparkle. "you're amazing, belladonna! chuuya, take notes on this. y/n is clearly catching up on you."

in order to give the impression of you being fine, you tightened your smile. nevertheless, dazai slightly raised his eyebrows. there was no doubt that you were the only one who had noticed that slight change in his facial expression.

"you have snacks?" chuuya peaked from behind his partner. "that's really nice of you, y/n. unlike your man here."

"the insult! how can you be so tactless, chuuya?" dazai responded. chuuya only rolled his eyes and thanked you again for the snacks.

the upfollowing hour was a combination between order and chaos. dazai teasing chuuya, chuuya yelling at dazai, yosano making sexual jokes about double black and atsushi being confused by all of the fickle changes of atmosphere. however, in the moments of seriousness and break throughs, the mission was reported.

needless to say that you were exhausted but happy when dazai and you walked to your apartment. however, you still couldn't rest. dazai had looked so cheerful with chuuya, and now he was the silence itself.

"is there something on your mind, love?" dazai asked.

you responded in a cheerful tone: "not at all. i'm just tired, that's everything."

that didn't seem to satisfy your significant other though. dazai looked at you from the corner of his eye. "you could have left the snacks with atsushi and gone home."

"was that what you would have wanted?"

"of course not, but if you were tired-"

"then i know you don't need me-"

"then your health comes first to me."

now it was your turn to look at dazai from the corner of your eyes. the look on dazai's face said that he was serious. he didn't want for you to leave, he wanted for you to take care of yourself.

"besides, i had chuuya. i hate to admit it, but in a type of way he could be considered useful."

god, these feelings....

you knew dazai loved you and yet you couldn't help but feel insecure. should you say something?

"that thing on your mind... does it involve chuuya?" dazai casually asked.

your eyes widened. "no! no, it's fine. he's a really nice guy. i just- i didn't realize how close you were."

"pf, chuuya and i?" dazai stuck out his chin. "he's beneath me."

you couldn't help but chuckle at his immature behavior. "and i am not?" a question that was both meant as a joke and a genuine concern.

dazai abruptly stood still. "don't be absurd, y/n. you could never."

your skin started to feel heated. "i-" you groaned in frustration and hid your face in your hands. dazai looked at you expectantly, curious how you would continue your sentence.

"i'm sorry. i feel like an idiot. you were right. chuuya was on my mind."

a frown appeared on dazai's face. "should i punch him?"

"what?" the word came out a little bit too loud.

"y/n, i'm not appealed to the idea of chuuya being on your mind. it kind of creates the impulsion to punch him."

this time, you laughed. "dazai, seriously? atsushi had described you and chuuya as a married couple, yosano used the word kinky with chuuya's and your name in one sentence. i'm the one being jealous of chuuya."

dazai blinked at you. then he sighed. "that's a relief. for one second i thought i had to duel chuuya to win over your heart."

"for someone as observant as you, you are kind of dense when it comes to your own relationships." the frown on his face came back. cute. "and don't worry about dueling chuuya, i have already given you my heart."

dazai's frown was replaced by a smile that could be described the best as mischievous. "did you just confess you were jealous, my love?"

"it's just- you are always so distant to other people. except for me. and sometimes atsushi. i felt jealous seeing that your chemistry with chuuya goes back ages ago."

dazai stepped towards you till you stood face to face. "you should not worry, love. after all, i have given my heart to you, too."

the stars shined brightly tonight. watching the view from chuuya's office usually filled you with peace. today, it did not.

your gaze moved to the clock. chuuya's and dazai's mission was taking two hours longer than expected. another rush of anxiety rushed through your veins. you couldn't help but wonder if everybody was all right. what if something had happened?

like a message sent to the universe, the door opened. there your eyes were met with chuuya's. he looked tired, but content.

chuuya moved towards the chair you were sitting on behind his desk. he kissed your forehead tenderly and spoke softly into your ear. "i have missed you, babe."

once you stood up and placed your arms around him, you could feel chuuya's muscles ease. it only made you hug him tighter. he must have overused his ability for this mission, or was it stress? "you had me worried there for a moment. did anything happen?"

chuuya's growl filled the room. "dazai happened. it's his fault. he suddenly decided to change up the plan halfway and i followed him."

apparently, your significant other had trusted dazai enough to do so. "it's fine. i'm just glad you're okay!"

"me, too. god, if i can get my hands around dazai's neck-"

chuuya was again interrupted. however, this time it was by a subordinate you weren't familiar with. he looked quite young, but older than a teenager. was he new? nevertheless, his words left you speechless. "you would like that, wouldn't you?"

there was something about his sly tone and his mischievous grin that made you frown.

chuuya turned red, either from anger or embarrassment. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"well, you guys looked real touchy during the mission. are you sure you are not eager to-"

"i don't want to even hear you finish that sentence. dazai is an ass i can't stand."

"you know, there's a thin line between hate and love. just saying." that grin was started to look real punchable.

chuuya growled. "ugh, whatever." he turned back to you. you panicked for a moment, quickly exchanging your frown to a bright smile. "i have to report to the boss. i'll be back." and before the mafia executive left the room, he couldn't help himself but kiss your forehead once more.

the younger subordinate winked at you before he followed your lover. the second subordinate, someone who had been on chuuya's command for ages, sighed. "man, that new kid is a true pain in the ass."

"i noticed." you hesitated. should you-

you forced another smile. "dazai and chuuya were that close, huh?"

"sure were. the constant teasing, the silent respect between them, the trust. maybe the kid is right."

you swallowed. now that you thought about it, dazai and chuuya did spend a lot of time together because of this new threat towards the port mafia and the armed detective agency.

the subordinate saw your reaction and his eyes widened in guilt. "not that- i mean, you and him, that's-"

"it's totally fine. don't worry about it," you lied. "you should take some rest. after all, you probably had a hard day with double black commanding you."

"sure did. thank you, y/n. good night."

"good night." god, that tone sounded fake even in your ears.

the door behind the subordinate closed. there was nobody that could distract the anxiety from freezing your muscles. were chuuya and you truly that close?

you always understood that chuuya and dazai had history together, but you never truly thought about the relationship passed the guilt and the hate. you knew chuuya had felt betrayed once his partner left the organisation. and still, your significant other trusted dazai enough to follow him in the heat of the battle.

maybe their relationship did held more value than yours-

you looked at the clock again. it would take a while before chuuya had completely finished his report to mori. trying to shut out all of the negative thoughts running through your mind, you turned to music.

it helped, listening to words that understood your pain and words that could uplift your spirits. with your head placed on chuuya's desk and your eyes closed, you slowly drifted away till a hand was gently placed on your back.

"babe? should i bring you home?" chuuya asked. his eyes were soft and a tender smile decorated his face. for a second, you forgot what had made you that anxious. chuuya loved you and-

"you sure you wouldn't bring somebody else home?" you turned your gaze towards the new subordinate. what you needed right now was to see how much harm a sock filled with butter could truly cause.

chuuya growled. "okay, that's it! you're dismissed."

"thanks, boss. have fun with your trio tonight." and before chuuya could say anything, the subordinate left.

"damn it, he's new and still testing my boundaries. i'll deal with him tomorrow. for now-" chuuya turned to you again, his voice softening. "let's get out of here, shall we?"

you forced your smile again and hummed.

however, chuuya tilted his head to the side and frowned. "y/n, did something happen? your smile looks-"

"tired?"

"bitter. what happened?"

your mind, a little fogged by sleep, spoke without thinking. "do you like dazai?"

"what? of course not! i said it before, that man is an ass."

"but you care about him."

chuuya fell silent.

"should i be worried?"

chuuya sank to his knees. he looked into your eyes and he placed a hand on your cheeks. "sweetheart, how can you think that? not when you have always been there for me, cared for me, loved me- maybe i care about dazai in a fucked up kind of way, but he's a closed book to me."

chuuya's hand startled to move, caressing your skin. "but you, i can fully trust my heart to you. no games and no bargains. just you and your warm heart."

his words indeed made your heart lit on fire.

"and you never should hide something from me, okay? you're an open book for me, one i can't get enough of. can you promise me that?"

"i promise."

"good, because you are far more important to me than anybody else."

#dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #dazai x you #chuuya x you #dazai x y/n #chuuya x y/n #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd scenarios

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readyplayerhobi · 3 years

Text

Jung Hoseok and the Magic to Happiness | 04

; Hufflepuff Teacher!Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst, future smut

; Word Count: 5.2k

; Synopsis: An unexpected issue with your Ministry of Magic job leads to you taking the role of Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts. It’s here that you meet your best friend’s younger brother for the first time in years, the Hufflepuff Head of House, Jung Hoseok. While you contend with seeing him once again, Hoseok tries to show you that he’s very much a man and no longer the gangly teenager you once knew.

; A/N: I swear, it’s so hard getting back into writing because I’m permanently convinced that everything I write is bad lol. If you enjoy reading this, please let me know by leaving me an ask or writing a comment on a reblog! I appreciate all the comments I get and it helps to inspire me on <3

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The Winter Solstice Ball was a newer tradition at Hogwarts. Before the Battle of Hogwarts, there hadn’t been anything resembling the ball that would happen. The closest you knew of was the Yule Ball, but that only occurred whenever there was a Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Something that hadn’t occurred since the unfortunate events of 1994, when poor Cedric Diggory had been murdered by the dark wizard Voldemort. As expected, it had been mutually agreed that the tournament should no longer continue to ensure there could never be another event like Diggory’s death.

Admittedly, that had been a rather unique set of circumstances. The inclusion of the wizard, Harry Potter, in the Tournament had been arranged by dark wizards on the behest of Voldemort, meaning that Diggory’s death had been even more tragic as he wasn’t meant to be there.

In an attempt to bring more cheer to what should be a happy holiday, Hogwarts had started the Winter Solstice Ball tradition. Unlike the Yule Ball, all years were invited to attend and it also wasn’t on Christmas Day. Instead, it was held on the last day of term and was just a fun event for everyone to enjoy and let off some steam after their first semester back.

You’d always enjoyed it as a student; feeling like a grownup during the first few years and using it as a great way to flirt with boys when you were older. There hadn’t been a year that you hadn’t loved going to it.

It felt a little odd this time though as you were attending as a professor, which meant you had the job of chaperoning all the excited students for the evening. As such, you were excited for an entirely different reason as you would get to watch the First Year’s experience of the ball.

The House Elves had gone all out when decorating the Great Hall today, bringing the feeling of winter inside and taking your breath away. Standing by the open doors, you look around cavernous space with wide eyes and a bright smile. Chaeyoung was next to you, a dress of starlight gracing her body and highlighting just how beautiful she is.

You’d already complimented her as soon as you’d spotted her, admiring the elegant design of her dress and how the tiny crystals are sewn into the fabric reminded you so much of sunlight hitting frost on a winter’s day. Her long black hair was curled into soft waves with her fringe pinned away from her face with a delicate snowflake.

Where she was all light and ice, you were the sumptuous darkness of winter. Your dress was a sumptuous royal blue around your chest which slowly blended into deep midnight by your feet, a shawl of the lightest chiffon in a dark blue around your shoulders. Silver glinted occasionally, threads of it woven through the fabric of your dress and adding a little sparkle alongside the dainty silver necklace around your neck.

The two of you made a striking pair and the combination of a full face of beautiful makeup combined with the jaw-dropping dress made you feel like the prettiest girl in the room. Whether that was true or not, you didn’t care.

The hall itself matched the colour scheme of you both with long swathes of gauzy fabric in rich lavender, crisp white and shimmering silver decorating the tall windows and streaming from the ceiling. Tonight, the ceiling had been enchanted to show clouds backlit by a full moon and tiny flakes of snow fell. They didn’t reach the ground though, melting away a few metres away from the tallest person in the room.

Candles lit the room in all corners, hovering in the air and situated around the room and the tables. A large open space in the centre of the hall was reserved for dancing while a raised section before it hosted the musical entertainment for the night. Small tables surrounded the floor, each only big enough for six people and with white cloths embroidered with tiny snowflakes in silver.

Platters piled high with finger foods dotted the tables alongside empty goblets and jugs of pumpkin juice and butterbeer. A few of the ghosts that haunted Hogwarts floated through the tables, greeting the formally dressed students with cheer and getting into a few conversations with some of them.

Already the hall was filling nicely, students greeting you happily as they rushed inside to meet up with friends and a few of them had already begun to dance. Some of them danced together, trying to figure out how to ballroom dance with the typical awkwardness of teenagers discovering their hormones, and others danced in friend groups. The latter seemed to just be having fun, shaking their bodies wildly to the beat of the music.

“I remember doing that.” Gesturing towards a group of mixed house Fourth Years, you grin at Chaeyoung before chuckling at the memory of dancing like that with Jisoo, Robert and Candace. That had been your ‘group’ of loyal friends throughout your years at Hogwarts, though only Jisoo had remained a close friend once you’d all left.

“Merlin...me too. I had no rhythm back then. Still don’t. Dancing is not for me.” Chuckling, you lean into her and push until she staggers away from you a little before returning the gesture. Glancing around the hall, you note the more introverted people sitting at the tables and sipping at drinks. They don’t seem to be uncomfortable but you resolve to check up on them throughout the night to make sure they’re okay.

“One thing I do love about working with such handsome men here? They make the ball so much better to enjoy.” Chaeyoung hums over the top of her goblet of butterbeer, her refined brows rising in amusement as she looks across the hall. Following her gaze, you have to hide a smile as you take in the sight of some of Hogwarts most eligible bachelor professors and how well they smarten up.

Park Jimin is standing next to Kim Taehyung, his silver hair styled even more elegantly than normal while his dress robes look to have been perfectly tailored to his slim body. A white bow tie adorns his neck and he’s smiling at whatever Taehyung had told him. The Gryffindor Head has his usual boxy smile and you note that he scrubs up just as nicely. Together, they make a lethal pair in terms of looks.

“Now, now,” You muse lightly, looking over to Chaeyoung with mischief on your face. “We’re here to chaperone, not to swoon over good looking men like the teenagers we teach.”

A derisive snort is the only response she gives you, but you see that she’s not taken her eyes off the two younger men. Idly, you wonder which would make the perfect partner for her. You’d consider Taehyung to be a good candidate as their fun-loving natures would get on well, but there’s something about Jimin that makes you think he’d be an even better pick.

She wouldn’t even have to change her last name.

Any more thoughts you have on the subject vanish when the newest professor walks through the door. Black hair made darker from some kind of styling gel is swept up from his forehead, a strand or two falling stubbornly and giving him an almost charming appearance. Deep black robes sweep from his shoulders, covering up a suit that highlights his body in all the right ways.

Unlike Jimin and Taehyung, his outfit was completely black and you swallowed instinctively as you let your eyes run down his frame. Hoseok pauses at the doorway, pink lips moving as he talks to Nayeon, the divination professor. She looks pretty in a floaty dress of bubblegum pink and fizzing lilac, her smile genuine and eyes sparkling as she looks up at him.

Lips twisting, you turn away from the sight and don’t even notice the way Chaeyoung is watching you closely, her lips turning up in a smile she tries to hide. Looking away from you, she catches Seokjin’s questioning expression across the hall and nods at him subtly, enjoying the way the astronomy professor gets a determined look on his face.

“Speaking of men who are too beautiful to be real, Jung Hoseok always looks so good at these events. How is a man like that allowed to even exist?” There’s a breathy note to Chaeyoung’s voice, causing you to frown at her a little before looking back over in his direction.

Nayeon is still standing there, a forlorn expression gracing her face as she watches Hoseok move away from her. It’s only then that you realise he’s walking towards you, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. Confusingly, you’re a little unsure of what to do or how to act.

Not when he’s looking like that. This is not the shy and awkward Hoseok with his dress robes too big for him, the only memory you have of him at the Winter Solstice Ball. He couldn’t be any further from that teenager and you don’t know how to handle that.

Especially when he gives you that breathtaking smile, his cheeks rising and dimpling while his dark eyes shine in delight. You should’ve known the Jung genes would result in him growing into an attractive man; his sister was one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen.

“Y/N, Chaeyoung,” He bows his head to you both, that smile just as prominent and you nod back to him a little awkwardly. “You both look beautiful tonight. Winter is personified with your colours, it’s nice.”

For a moment, you’re a little lost for words on how to respond to him. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d been so casually complimented, especially from a man. A man as attractive as him. It causes you to swallow wrong and you cough loudly, pressing a hand to your throat.

“Thanks, you’re looking pretty fine yourself tonight,” Chaeyoung teases him, causing that smile to become a little more bashful. “Anyway, I’m going to leave you two alone for a moment, okay? I need to go talk to Seokjin about something.”

You watch her go with wide eyes, noting with suspicion that she’s moving a little faster than you’d expect and you wonder if she’s up to something. But then you realise that you’re being left alone with Hoseok, who’s casually looking you up and down while you’re attention is elsewhere.

It’s only when he catches your eye when you look back, a brow raised, that he realises you’ve caught him. Hoseok turns his head quickly, probably giving himself whiplash and you have to hide the snort at the soft blush on his cheeks.

He may be all grown up now, but he still reminded you of that shy boy who never quite knew how to talk to you.

Reaching out, you poke at his chest and grin at him.

“She’s right, you are looking good tonight. Cleaned up very well.” Hoseok gives you a droll stare and you laugh, feeling any awkwardness rushing away as you both fall into the easy-going nature of your friendship.

The rest of the evening goes by in much the same manner with the two of you separating on occasion to handle issues with students or just to do a walk around. Apart from that though, you both end up spending more time with each other than with anyone else. Conversation flows easily like a fast-moving river and you find yourself laughing more than you have in a while.

You only have to break up one fight between two young boys; the culmination of weeks of tension between the two finally bubbling over. It starts with raised voices before escalating to blows, resulting in you escorting the two to Madame Pomfrey to check for any injuries. After that, you leave them in the hands of Park Jimin to discipline them given their house.

When you get back, you look around for Hoseok or Chaeyoung. You can’t see either of them, causing you to take up a place at the back against the wall to observe for any fallout from the fight. Thankfully, the mood seems to have picked up and you wonder if that’s got anything to do with the more upbeat music that’s being played.

It was never nice watching your students get into fights with each other or lose friendships, but you knew that was part of growing up. The thing about teenagers, and kids, was that they were incredibly resilient. You did not doubt that they would both be back to being friends within a week or so.

“All sorted?” Comes a deep voice to the right, the sound closer than you expected and causing you to jump slightly. Turning to look, you note that Hoseok has turned up out of nowhere and you relax at the sight of his familiar face.

“Yeah, no injuries to each other apart from wounded pride and friendships.” That causes Hoseok to snort and roll his eyes, leaning back against the wall alongside you. Suddenly, you recall how many times Jisoo complained of having to comfort her brother when he’d had yet another fight during his tenure at Hogwarts.

“I’m sure you know all about that, Mr Jung. I remember Jisoo having to deal with you. You were shy but a firecracker.” He sighs deeply and you lean into him, giggling as you regale him with some of the tales she’d told you. Thankfully, he takes it all with his usual good nature and you end up segueing into other memories of your time at Hogwarts.

The exams and the studying, the professors back then and your favourite subjects. It’s something he already knows as you’ve both discussed it previously, but he indulges you and listens amiably while keeping an eye out.

You’re stopped though when he suddenly interrupts you, straightening slightly.

“Would you like to dance? There’s not as many people out there now and you haven’t danced once tonight.” His question is abrupt, causing you to falter in your conversation. Narrowing your eyes, you look him over closely and wonder if he’s being serious. And you conclude that he is.

Looking over at the dance floor, you contemplate for a moment and chew your lip before nodding. Now it’s your turn to feel shy, avoiding his gaze and trying not to catch the eye of anyone else in the hall as he leads you carefully to the floor.

There’s probably a few statues in the British Museum that are less stiff than you as you turn to him, feeling his hand as he settles it on your lower back. You’re hyper-aware of that hand; how hot it feels against you even with the fabric of the dress between you. But that pales in comparison to the feel of his hand against your own, the way he holds it almost tenderly.

Logically, you know that he’s doing that because that’s how you’re supposed to dance like this. A light touch, but it makes you feel a little strange. You’re not sure why it makes you feel like that and you find yourself staring at his long fingers, wondering if he kept up the piano he’d been taught when younger.

The music leads you both in the dance, each beat dictating where you move and you’re vaguely aware of the students dancing around you. None of them are staring or looking confused as there had been many professors who had danced together tonight. But you couldn’t help but feel like this dance was a little different.

This was the closest you’d ever been to Hoseok and his body is so close to your own that you can physically feel the heat coming from him. Every breath you take brings the smell of him into your nose, the familiar mix of rich wood and lemongrass that is so, undeniably Hoseok. And underlying all that is the smell that’s unique to him.

“Is this okay?” He asks quietly and you stare at the black button-up covering his chest, avoiding his gaze given how close the two of you are. It’s probably not the best thing to do when you realise that shirt is straining a little and you can see the outline of his torso from the light of the nearby candles.

Swallowing hard, you look over his shoulder and try to ignore the sudden knowledge that Hoseok is buff beneath his clothes. Which doesn’t help, because you find your eye trailing down his chest as you consider. It’s only when you reach his belt buckle that you suddenly look away, taking a deep breath and wondering what was wrong with you.

You’d had one too many butterbeers tonight or something, which was a terrible excuse as it had such little alcohol content that it didn’t even matter. This was Jisoo’s brother, her little brother. Not someone you should be thinking about half-naked.

Right?

Finally, though, you register his question and nod quickly in response. You’re not sure that you can talk to him without saying something inappropriate as your brain isn’t working very well right now. Not when you’re so confused about...well everything.

“Are you sure? You’ve gone a little weird. Quiet.” Hoseok murmurs, his voice low to avoid any of the students overhearing it. Sighing, you stand a little straighter before looking at him directly and giving him a firm smile. It takes a little more effort than you’d like to push away those errant thoughts but you do so.

“Fine, just worried about those students. I hate seeing their friendship ruined and them angry at each other, you know?” It’s not a lie as you are still concerned about them, but he doesn’t need to know everything going on in your head. Which is why you’re thankful when he nods slowly before spinning you around.

“They’ll be okay. I’ve been doing this job long enough to know that they’ll be back to being friends sooner rather than later. They’ve already got some of that testosterone out by punching each other, which I’d rather they didn’t do but Jimin will talk it out with them. Don’t worry too much, they’ll be fine.” It’s sweet how considerate he’s being and you can hear how genuine he is in his voice.

You don’t get to say anything else though as the tempo increases when the song switches over, causing Hoseok to twirl you away from him with a laugh. All around you the dances start to get a little more energetic and you can’t help but shriek with joy as he matches the student’s enthusiasm, listening to them as they cheer at two of their professors getting involved in the frivolities.

Neither of you notices the way Seokjin and Chaeyoung watch you both closely before smirking at each other.

Glancing around the room, you note how most of the students had already left and gone to bed for the night. The clock had struck midnight a while ago and you had to press a hand to your mouth as you yawned, turning your head away to be polite. A few remaining students were still dancing on the floor but even as you watched, some of them started to walk towards the exit.

Looking over at Chaeyoung, you caught her eye with a wave and smiled with relief when she nodded and made a shooing gesture. Turning to Hoseok, you tried to hide another yawn and almost giggled when you saw that he’d caught one from you, his mouth wide as he didn’t even try to hide it.

“I think we can go now. Chaeyoung gestured that we can leave so I think they’re going to hustle the last students to bed. Something which I’m also very excited to do because I feel like I’ve been awake for two days right now.” Blinking and almost trying to stretch your eyelids by widening them as far as you could, you almost missed the way Hoseok laughed at your antics.

“Tired? It’s not even two in the morning, I expected better of you.” He teases, gently pushing his elbow into your arm before avoiding your hand as you try to swat him. You’d admit that he looked a lot more awake than you did, which you’d say wasn’t fair but you don’t think you’ve ever truly seen him look tired.

“Well, you’re still young and spry. You’ll learn when you get to my age.” Moving off towards the doors of the Great Hall, you grab a tiny triangular sandwich from one of the remaining platters on a table as you pass by.

Light pressure on the small of your back causes you to arch slightly, your chest moving forward and you tilt your head to look at your companion. There’s no expression on Hoseok’s face, nothing to indicate he’s affected by touching you and you frown slightly as you wonder why it’s affecting you.

“You’re not old, I don’t know why you keep thinking that.” He murmurs, voice deep and quiet.

Neither of you says anything more for a few minutes, instead just walking quietly through the hallways. It’s a comfortable silence and you muse for a moment on how much you’ve come to enjoy spending time with him. You would happily say that he was your closest friend here at Hogwarts; something you would’ve never thought would happen when you were studying here and he was just your best friend’s little brother.

That makes you think of how defensive he always gets whenever you, or anyone else, seems to imply that you’re old. Huffing out a laugh, you bite your lip as you contemplate that for a second. Maybe he doesn’t like the implication that you, and by extension, his sister, are considered ‘older’ by the students. Or that he’s also approaching thirty.

The student’s opinions have never bothered you as they think anyone over the age of twenty is old. Nor have you been concerned overall, given the extended lifespan that witches had compared to muggles. You were finally feeling content with your career and your life, something you attested partly to growing older and becoming more at ease with yourself.

But he always got so defensive of it, so maybe he was concerned about himself.

“You don’t have to keep defending my age, you know,” Apparently you were going to query this with him and you blamed the butterbeer for loosening up your tongue. “I’m okay with it, honestly. Which means I’m okay with joking about it.”

Hoseok stiffened slightly and you spotted his expression looking a little uneasy. Frowning, you placed a hand on his arm and pulled him to a stop. Your quarters were only a few corridors away now and the two of you were given a warm glow from the candles lit nearby.

“I’m not defending...I mean, okay maybe I am. I just...I don’t want you to feel like it’s an issue.” Now you’re giving him an amused look, lip quirked up on one side as you try to hold in a small giggle.

“It’s not an issue. Have I made it seem like it was?” Tilting your head, you watch as his eyes dart across your face in an almost shy manner.

“No...well, not in the way you might think,” He looks uncomfortable and you’re about to tell him it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to continue but he does so before you get the chance to speak. “I’m just made every aware of our age difference. You know, the whole ‘you’re her best friend’s little brother’ thing.”

“Hey, I don’t do that, do I?” Now you’re a little concerned.

“No, not really. Not for a while anyway. You did when you first got here but I understood that. We hadn’t met in a while and everyone was curious about how we knew each other. But now...I don’t even know what I’m talking about. Honestly, it’s not important. You’re right.” Hoseok’s babbling a bit but you decide to let him change the conversation. You’re not entirely sure why it truly bothers him, but you’re not going to press it anyway. He deserves to have his feelings and they don’t need to be analysed.

“Okay-” Before you can say anything else, you hear the quiet chiming of bells and frown in confusion. The sound echoes a little in the empty corridor, simultaneously creepy and also ethereal.

Hoseok looks around as well, his brow knitted in confusion before he suddenly spots something about you both. Following him, you note the odd plant that’s grown from the ceiling out of nowhere. The green branches are still growing and you note with interest the small white berries that seem to be forming and familiar leaf shapes appear at the end of each branch.

A red ribbon is delicately wrapped around the stems and you see the little golden bells that let out tiny chimes as they rock from side to side in a non-existent breeze. Now you’re the one frowning as you look around you both, trying to spot who’d set a mistletoe charm to grow when someone walked beneath it.

“Mistletoe?” Hosek whispers, reaching up with one hand in an attempt to touch it. He can’t reach it and you sigh, shaking your head and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Someone has thought it’d be funny to put mistletoe charms around the castle for the ball. Certainly adds to the Christmas spirit. I’ve seen these popping up all night above couples on the dance floor. I think it’s a seasonal Weasley thing, seems like something they’d sell to annoy people.”

The mistletoe is suddenly snowing, letting tiny snowflakes drift to the ground around you both and leaving fluffy snow to settle on Hoseok’s hair and dress robes. How very romantic, you muse to yourself.

“Does it just disappear on its own after a while?” He asks, running his fingers through his hair to try and get rid of some of the snow. Smiling at him, you gently brush at his shoulders only to decide it’s a losing battle as more snow lands.

“Nope. You gotta kiss, that’s the whole point of mistletoe, right? Otherwise, it follows you around.” Hoseok sighs deeply and rolls his eyes.

“Of course it does. Definitely a Weasley thing.”

Looking back up at the mistletoe, and having to blink to avoid getting snowflakes in your eyes, you purse your lips before looking back at Hoseok. You’d long since come to terms with the fact that you find him attractive; anyone with eyes can see that. But you hadn’t planned on doing anything about it, not given who he was and who his sister was to you.

His words from earlier play through your mind though, and you wonder if he hates having to constantly know he’s given the best friend’s little brother status. Even now, months after you’d arrived and you considered him a friend, you knew that there were still people who thought of that as the most defining characteristic of your friendship.

Letting out a little sigh, you straighten your shoulders before reaching out and taking hold of his dress robes. Fuck it, you’re not one to waste a perfect chance.

Pulling him closer, you watch as his eyes dart to yours and widen when he realises that you’re moving towards him as well. And then those same eyes flick to your lips, the movement so fast that you’d almost miss it if it wasn’t for the fact that he did again only seconds later.

Combined with the zero resistance he was giving, you came to the solid conclusion that he wasn’t going to reject you. Not when you were giving him plenty of time and reason to back out if he wanted to.

Tilting your head to him, you felt his warm breath as it caressed your face, the smell of butterbeer strong. And then your lips are pressed together, neither of you sure who made the final move and neither of you gives a damn at that exact moment.

The pressure of your lips against each other is gentle at first, almost hesitant as both of you try to figure out where to go from here. All that was required was a kiss, which was what you were both doing right now. But you didn’t quite want to let him go just yet, not when you knew he probably had so much more to offer.

Shifting, you manoeuvred your way into a position that made the kiss a little more personal and no longer like two teenagers who’d never kissed in their life. Letting go of his robes, your arms move to wrap around his neck and you run your fingers through his hair, enjoying how soft the black strands feel against your fingers.

A quiet noise leaves Hoseok, his arms sliding around your waist to pull you a little closer to him while he kisses you more forcefully than before. It feels...you can’t even find the words to describe how it feels, only knowing that you’re not entirely sure you want him to stop.

Any hesitation has disappeared between you both and you simply lose yourself to the delightful feeling of Jung Hoseok against your lips, against your body and how he feels under your fingertips. It’s only when he moves a little further, his tongue asking for entrance to fire up the kiss even more, that you suddenly come to your senses.

Pushing back from him, you stare with wide eyes and only just realise that the bells have stopped. A glance up shows the mistletoe is gone and you breathe a little heavily, not realising that you’d kissed him that forcefully until now. Hoseok looks just as out of breath with an odd look in his eyes that you can’t quite figure out.

Licking at your lips, and trying to ignore the knowledge that you could probably taste him right now, you run your hands down the front of your dress robes before giving him a slightly awkward smile. Coughing, you turn your eyes away from the strangely intense gaze he’s giving you.

“Erm, well it’s gone now. So...we’re not gonna be followed by mistletoe anymore,” Playing with your fingers, you wonder if you made a very bad decision tonight. “I, erm, I’m gonna go to bed now. It’s late and...well...yeah. Thank you, for walking me here and spending time with me, you know, dancing and all that. It was nice, I had a good time and thank you. Yeah, I already thanked you. Err...get to bed safely, okay? I mean, I…”

Hoseok reaches out and takes hold of your nervous hands. It makes you jump nervously, but he just gives a reassuring smile while rubbing the back of your hands with his thumbs.

“Y/N...it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. Go to sleep and have good dreams.” There’s no annoyance in his voice, no anger or outrage that you’ve gone from initiating that kiss to acting very strange in only seconds.

“Yeah...I...you too. You too.” Frowning as you walked away from him, you wondered what in Merlin’s beard you’d just done.

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longing-and-heartache-and-lust · 3 years

Text

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.I

[next] [Ao3]

This is the first chapter of my work for the @geraskierbigbang in colaboration with the incredible @gen-syz-art (also on Twitter) as my artist.

New chapters will be updated five days a week - aside from the weekends - until completion ✨

[When Geralt first comes across the mansion, he comes in because the nearest town is still hours away and he knows Roach is not going to make it that far without rest.

That is when he meets Julian - the only resident of the truly enormous estate that seems to have everything one might dream of within its walls.

When Geralt returns the second time, he tells himself that it’s only because he wants to thank Julian for his hospitality and help, and not because he wants to see him again, feel the warmth of his fingers against his skin.

And when he returns again after that, he learns that both the mansion and his own heart may not be as simple as they seem.]

See the first art piece by @gen-syz-art here

_______________________________

The first time he comes across the mansion, he's returning from a hunt.

It’s long past sunset, nearly midnight, and the pale light of the crescent moon is barely enough to illuminate the path that leads Geralt to the gates.

The town he came from is still no less than two hours away, and Roach is already starting to trip, tired after a long ride. If it wasn’t for that, Geralt would’ve probably ignored his own exhaustion, as well as the wounds on his shoulder, but the mare needs rest, and that's what makes him stop when he sees a flickering light behind one of the large windows of the mansion.

It's hard to tell in the darkness but even so, the building looks immense, as well as the garden around, part of which is separating the mansion from the gates.

Geralt doesn't want to risk it, doesn't want to wander into a stranger's home, especially at this hour, but he knows that Roach won't make it to the town they came from, and he doesn't know any other places they could stop at along the way.

So, against his better judgement, he tugs on the reins and stops the horse, jumping down from the saddle with a pained grunt.

He comes closer to the tall gates, adorned with some intricate design, and pushes on one of the arches, not really expecting for it to give. To his surprise, it does, making no sound as it opens, letting him into the garden.

"Stay here," he says, turning to Roach before slowly stepping inside, his every sense heightened.

The path leading up to the mansion is wide enough for a carriage and Geralt can't help but think who it is that's going to open the door if he gets to it.

Up close, the mansion is even bigger than it seemed from behind the gates, and Geralt isn't sure if he'd ever seen a building that big, even in Novigrad. The Oxenfurt Academy seems bigger when he thinks about it but then again, the Academy is made up out of multiple buildings while the mansion seems to only be one.

There doesn't seem to be any movement inside but the light behind the windows tells him that there is a fireplace burning, and since it's on the first floor, Geralt figures that it must be a living room or, perhaps, a library, so whoever it is that he's about to meet must still be awake.

He's almost half-way through the garden when there is a sound somewhere to his right and Geralt instinctively snaps his head towards it, ready for anything that might be hiding in the tall rose bushes but, to his relief, the creature that steps out of its hiding place is not a ghoul or a foglet but a large dog.

It steps out onto the path in front of the witcher, blocking the way, and growls at him, low and protective, teeth bared and dark eyes directed straight at Geralt. It doesn't seem aggressive and it makes no move towards the witcher but Geralt still knows that he won't be able to make it another step without the animal moving from simply warning him to protecting its owners.

The dog barks at him, high and loud - the way hunting dogs bark to attract their master's attention - and Geralt already raises his hand to cast an Axii, knowing that otherwise, the animal will not let him pass, when the front door of the mansion opens and a man steps outside, a lit candle in his hand.

"Asra?" he calls, and the dog's ears perk up. "What is it, girl?"

He comes closer, head tilted slightly to the side as he studies his late-night guest.

Geralt clears his throat, still making no move towards the mansion or the man in front of him, the dog separating them.

"I apologize for the intrusion," he says, words carefully measured. "My horse is tired and I am unfamiliar with these places, I don't know where it is that we could stop if not here."

The man stops a few steps away from him, and this close, Geralt can see the features of his face. The tentative eyes, sparkling dark-blue in the flickering candlelight, the sharp jawline, the long lashes.

He cannot be older than twenty-five, Geralt thinks to himself.

"If you'd be so kind as to let me feed and water my horse, I'll be on my way before long, and won't disturb you any further," he says, not knowing if he should lower his head or not. "I will pay, of course."

The man in front of him stays silent for a moment, then reaches his hand out and beckons the dog closer, sinking his finger into the long fur on its head.

"You're hurt," he says, indicating at Geralt's shoulder with a move of his head.

Geralt shrugs it off, even though the pain is getting stronger by what seems like every minute. Up in the saddle, it was easier to ignore it.

"I dare not disturb you with that," he says. "I only need to give my horse some rest."

The man hums, averting his eyes and biting on the inside of his lower lip. For a few moments, there's silence, and Geralt already wants to apologise and leave but before he gets the chance, the man stops him.

"I'll open the stables if you let me bandage up those wounds," he says, a glint in his eyes.

Geralt opens his mouth, then closes it. There are a thousand different ways that he can see this going wrong. He could get lured into the house and robbed - or killed - he could get captured and never make it out or there could simply be a price to pay for the intrusion but there doesn't seem to be a choice.

And, he admits halfheartedly, there is something about the host that feels welcoming.

"Alright," he finally says. "If you insist."

The man smiles at that - bright and open, and gestures for Geralt to follow him.

With a little hesitation, the witcher whistles for Roach and, once the mare catches up with them, follows the man deeper into the garden, towards the stables.

"And what shall I call you, wayfarer?" the man asks, holding his hand out for Roach to sniff.

It's something about his voice, Geralt decides.

"Geralt," he says. "Of Rivia."

"Of Rivia?" the man echoes, another smile tugging on the corners of his lips. "I have never been that far South. Heard that the summers there are an absolute wonder."

He stops to bring the burning candle up to the lanterns at either side of the stable doors and turns to face Geralt again.

"I'm Julian."

***

The stables are pleasantly warm after the cold night air. Not even summers in the North are warm enough.

It's dark inside but Geralt can hear horses breathing in their sleep. By the sound alone, he counts five.

"And what is this lovely creature?" Julian asks, extending his hand towards Roach and getting his fingers into her forelocks when she doesn't object.

Strange, Geralt thinks, She usually bites at people she doesn't know.

"Roach," he says, sneaking a look around when his eyes adjust to the darkness. "Like the fish."

Julian hums and opens the door to the nearest stable, gesturing for Geralt to lead the horse inside.

"I'm afraid my stableman is already asleep but there is more than enough food in the feeder and I will get her some water in a minute," he says, patting the mare on the neck and watching Geralt undo her bridle. "She will be at her best tomorrow, you can trust me on that."

Geralt turns to him, hands stilling on the buckles of the saddle.

"Tomorrow?" he echoes.

Julian nods, the corners of his lips curling up in a soft smile.

"Surely, I cannot allow for you to travel through the night if there is a place for you to stay? What a horrible host that would make me!"

Geralt wants to objects, wants to say that it's unnecessary and that they'll be on their way once Roach is fed but somewhere deep in his heart, he knows that they both need proper rest. The pain in his shoulder keeps getting worse and if he doesn't sleep or at least meditate, it will grow unbearable by morning.

"That's very kind," he says finally. "Thank you."

He's still waiting.

Waiting for Julian to take a closer look at him and finally realise that he's a witcher. Waiting for him to say to get out and never come near his estate again. Like everyone always does.

But Julian doesn't, even as he raises his head and meets Geralt's eyes that he knows are glowing in the darkness, reflecting what little light there is.

"Come on," he says when Geralt sets the ammunition aside. "Let's get her some water and head inside, those wounds of yours seem pretty bad."

Geralt wants to say that it's nothing, that his regeneration with deal with it on its own after he gets some sleep but he knows that he'd already agreed to this, so he bites his tongue.

Julian leads him out of the stables and back into the garden, towards a well, the dog following closely at his side. It doesn’t seem to be afraid of Geralt, unlike most other animals that he comes across in towns or on the Path and he would almost question that but then again, it seems like a hunting dog, so maybe it's just used to protecting its master against any danger.

"What led you to these regions?" Julian asks, moving the heavy lid of the well with surprising ease, considering his slender figure. "Especially at this time of night."

Geralt feels like he should offer help with getting the water for Roach but he's not sure if that might be overstepping. After all, he's only a late-night guest.

"Work," he grumbles, tensing when the dog leaves Julian's side to come closer and stiff at him, its long nose reaching all the way to his waist. "I'm a hunter."

Julian chuckles and turns to him, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"A hunter with two swords behind his back and a silver medallion?"

Fuck.

"A monster hunter," Geralt adds quickly, telling himself that now it's doesn't count as a lie.

"A monster hunter," Julian echoes, getting the laces of his off-white shirt out of the way and slapping Geralt's hand away lightly when he finally decides to reach for the bucket full of water. "And what was it that you were hunting? A wyvern I've seen a couple of times in the last months?"

Geralt has not had his hands slapped away from anything in such a long time that for a second, his words fail him and he just stands there, looking at his glove like he's waiting for an imprint of Julian's fingers to appear on the dark leather.

"Nekkers," he finally says when it doesn't. "Uh, got a contract in a town a couple of hours from here."

Julian sets the lid of the well back into place and clicks his tongue at the dog for it to stop sniffing at Geralt's armour.

"Sorry for that," he says, turning to walk back towards the stables, Geralt following him a few steps behind. "She's a little distrustful towards strangers, especially at night. But she won't do you any harm."

Geralt isn't particularly scared of the dog because even if it were to bite him, his armour would protect him from the teeth. And even if he wasn't wearing any armour at all, well, he'd had injuries much worse than a dog bite. But it does feel a little reassuring that he's on the dog's good side and doesn't have to think about that, to begin with.

"You got a contract a few hours away but the nekkers are all the way up in these lands?" Julian asks. "Seems a little far to me."

The witcher hums in agreement and, when the man remains silent, realises that that doesn't seem to be a sufficient answer.

"The baron that hired me has croplands here," he says, even though it's not true and he's got no idea why the people in town needed him to deal with a nekker nest so far away. With contracts like that, questions weren't really relevant, all that went into account was the coin. "Nekkers killed a couple of his workers and he wanted me to get rid of them."

He doesn't even know why he chooses to lie but Julian doesn't seem to doubt his words, pouring the water out into a basin in Roach's stable and running his hand through his mane before closing the door.

"She will be just fine here," he assures, noticing the concern in Geralt's eyes. "Come on, let me take you inside. I don't imagine a nekker wound should be left unattended."

***

Geralt follows Julian to the front door and when the man pushes it open, hesitates for a split second before stepping into the mansion.

The hallway is dark, only partially illuminated by the warm flickering light from one of the rooms to the right - the same light that Geralt saw through the windows.

The dog follows them into the house, brushing over Geralt's leg as it sneaks past him and disappears somewhere in the other end of the seemingly endless hallway. It's almost ominous, how it just gets lost in the darkness despite the winter-white fur.

"Are you hungry?" Julian asks, leading Geralt into the room with the fireplace that turns out to be a library, just as he'd suspected.

Geralt is hungry, though it's only now that he realises that. The last time he ate was just after the break of dawn, when he'd just set out and all the tavern was able to offer him was a loaf of pumping bread because it was still too early and the breakfast wasn't yet ready.

"I'm not," he says, still.

This is already too much, he knows. All he needed was food and water for Roach but now he's staying in the mansion overnight and all of that is already more than he's comfortable with. Asking for anything else would be even worse.

"Stubborn, aren't you?" Julian says, narrowing his eyes at the witcher like he wants to see if he's going to break under that gaze.

When Geralt doesn't, the younger man just nods with a soft smile.

"If you change your mind, let me know."

In the warm light of the fireplace, he looks even younger than he did outside, and Geralt catches himself looking at Julian for a little too long as he moves the logs in the hearth to light the fire a little brighter. His eyes turn out to be bright-blue rather than dark, like cornflowers.

"I can wake my majordomo up for him to take a look at your shoulder," he says, indicating at an armchair for the witcher to sit in with a move of his wrist. "Or I can do that myself. If you don't mind."

Geralt really doesn't know why he even cares but if all he has to do is sit still and let the man bandage him up, it's not a big price to pay for the opportunity to sleep in the safe warmth of a home rather than outside, waking up from every little noise.

"It's your call," he says, finally.

Julian nods, resting his hands on his hips and giving Geralt a nearly evaluating look.

"Stay here for just a minute," he asks. "I will get a clean cloth and be right back."

The witcher hums an affirmative and Julian disappears in the hallway, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

It feels strange, being here. The expensive carpets on the floors, the paintings and tapestries on the walls, the endless rows of books on polished shelves that climb all the way up to the ceiling, not to mention the overall size of the mansion.

Geralt feels like he doesn't belong here, like as much as a touch from him, bloodied and dirty after a long hunt, is going to ruin the soft leather of the armchair he's been pointed to along with everything in close proximity.

There is a very big part of him that wants to leave, just meditate somewhere in the garden while he waits for Roach to have her rest but there is also a part of him - smaller but persistent - that wants to stay.

It's something about Julian, he decides. Something about the ease that he holds himself with, like he's not afraid of the witcher. Not something that Geralt sees very often. Especially after Blaviken.

He gets so lost in his thoughts that he almost fails to notice soft footsteps from somewhere behind him and when he turns, he's greeted with a wet press of a dog's nose against his palm. It sniffs at him thoroughly and with interest, and Geralt allows for it, keeping still as not to scare the animal away. It seems a little strange to him that the dog is inspecting him again but what does he know about dogs, really.

It also seems to be bigger, somehow, because back in the garden its nose could only reach his waist but now it's sniffing at the buckles that go over his ribcage. Or maybe it just seems like it and it did the same exact thing back in the garden.

"Ah, I see you're making new friends," Julian smiles, reappearing in the room, a towel in one hand and a deep dish filled with water - in the other.

"I suppose, she likes me more now that I'm not an intruder in your garden," Geralt chuckles and he's surprised to learn that he means it.

"Oh?" Julian breathes, gesturing for the witcher to sit down. "Oh, no, Asra is upstairs. This is Lucio, her brother. They look identical, I know, he's just a few inches taller."

Fuck, Geralt thinks, Of course, he's got two dogs and not one but fucking shapeshifting.

Reluctantly, he lowers himself into the chair, watching Julian place a stool beside it to sit down himself, all of his appliances laid out on the nightstand by the chair. Aside from the towel and the dish with water, there are also bandages and a curved needle for stitches along with some thread.

"You know how to stitch wounds?" Geralt asks before he can stop himself.

Julian hums an affirmative, waiting for the witcher to undo the buckles of his armour and set it aside. The left sleeve of his worn black shirt is torn where the nekker's claws had slashed against his arm and the fabric is soaked with blood.

Julian wrinkles his nose but remains otherwise unperturbed.

"I'm afraid you'll have to take the shirt off, too," he says softly when Geralt makes no move to do so for some time. "Promise I won't look."

To reaffirm his words, Julian puts a hand over his eyes and Geralt can finally feel some of the tension bleed away from his shoulders. He tugs the shirt off over his head, wincing when the fabric, trapped in the wounds with dried up blood, rips away from them, re-opening the cuts. Just before Julian opens his eyes again, Geralt casts a Quen over himself to partially stop the bleeding.

"Not as bad as I thought," the younger man says, examining his shoulder before gently pressing a towel, warm from the water, to the wounds.

Geralt watches the white fabric turn red and bites his tongue.

"I should have a shirt that will fit you," Julian adds, wringing the towel out over the bowl before bringing it back where it was.

"That won't be necessary," Geralt replies quickly, averting his eyes to look into the fire because if he doesn't, he feels like it's going to get overwhelming again. "I've put you through enough trouble."

The younger man sighs, amused rather than annoyed, his warm breath ghosting against Geralt's damp skin. The witcher expects to feel his eyes on him, lured in by the scars, just like it always is when someone sees him shirtless but Julian remains concentrated on his task, paying to mind to anything else. And it's somehow both worse and better at the same time. Geralt used to people staring - some with interest but most - with disgust - used to them nitpicking at every scar, every mark left on him by claws or fangs or swords, re-opening them again and again but Julian doesn't seem interested in them. His eyes don't flick over Geralt's chest and abdomen once.

"The guest rooms are in the West wing, on the third floor," Julian says, apparently having decided on letting the shirt go. "I will take you there once I'm done with your shoulder and leave you to rest, unless you've changed your mind about dinner. Would you prefer a room with the windows facing the garden or the forest?"

Geralt wants to say that he's going to be happy with anything he's given but Julian looks at him expectantly and that makes him feel like that answer will not be considered enough. Perhaps even impolite.

"The forest," he makes himself say.

And then, after a moment:

"Do you live here alone?"

It's not that he necessarily wants to talk but he doesn't want to sit in silence, either. It feels strange not to say anything. Rude, even.

Julian shrugs with one shoulder, flicking his eyes up for just a second to look at the witcher.

"Depends on how you look at it," he says, setting the blood-stained towel aside and reaching for the needle and thread. "My majordomo lives here, in the mansion, and a little further into the garden, there is a house where the gardeners, the housekeepers and everyone else that works for me resides. So technically, no, I don't live here alone. But if you mean family, then yes."

Geralt winces when the needle pierces his skin for the first time but the warmth of Julian's fingers almost makes up for it.

"Hm," he grunts, non-committal.

He almost wants to ask why, ask how does he even live in a place this big with only the servants and the dogs to keep him company but once again, he bites his tongue.

"It's not as lonely as it seems," Julian says after a moment, like he'd read his thoughts. "I have quite a lot of guests. Some of them are friends, some of them are just wayfarers, like you. You're the second witcher that I've had here."

Geralt perks up at that without even realising.

"It was a couple of years ago," Julian goes on, the interest on the witcher face clearly not hidden well enough. "He'd been hunting a griffin and, sadly, lost his horse in the process. As you know, the nearest town big enough to sell horses is hours away from here, and though he knew the general direction of it, making that way on foot wasn't something that could be done in one day, especially with a griffin head strapped to you. So when he stumbled across the mansion late at night - just like you - what could I do but let him in?"

Geralt chuckles, low in his throat.

"It's not very wise to let strangers into your home like this," he says because he cannot help himself. "Especially at night. And especially witchers."

The younger man just waves at him dismissively, a smile softening the features of his face.

"Yes, well-" he says, flicking his eyes up once more before going back to his stitches. "I'm still alive, am I not? And currently helping you stay that way, as well."

His warm fingers ghost over Geralt's skin as he tightens the last stitch and sets the needle aside, studying his work critically.

"Besides," he adds, bringing the towel to the witcher's shoulder once again to wipe off thin trails of blood before reaching for the bandages. "He was very nice. Named Aiden. He was the one who taught me to stitch wounds."

The name doesn't ring a bell, so Geralt takes a guess:

"A Griffin?"

Julian chuckles and shakes his head, wrapping the bandages around Geralt's shoulder with admirable precision. The voluminous sleeves of his chemise keep getting in the way but he doesn't roll them up. Geralt chooses not to mention it.

"A Cat," the younger man says. "I know, I know, I had the same reaction when I saw the medallion."

He tucks the ends of the bandage under one of the layers and pats Geralt on the arm, reaching for the towel to wipe the blood off his hands.

"There you go," he says, getting up. "Good as new."

Geralt rolls his shoulders and, to his delight, the bandages stay just as they are. He gets up, reaching for his shirt, ignoring the blood and the tears on the sleeve.

"Thank you."

Julian's eyes flick over him just once, from the waist of his trousers and all the way to his shoulders, and then he's averting his eyes with a warm smile.

"Of course."

It's getting very late, probably closer to dawn than it is to midnight and when Geralt think that he could've still been on the road at this time, there is a little shiver that runs up his spine.

"Are you sure I can't offer you something to eat?" Julian asks, blinking a little owlishly.

He's clearly only half-awake now that he's done with Geralt's shoulder and so is the witcher, so even though some food would've been nice, he still shakes his head.

"Alright," the younger man agrees, though he doesn't seem particularly thrilled about it. "In the morning, then."

***

Julian takes him through the long hallways of the mansion, illuminating the way with a flickering light of a candle, Lucio following him closely, his white fur brushing against Julian's thigh.

When they get to the wide staircase, Asra appears from behind it and joins them.

"Do they follow you everywhere?" Geralt asks, because in the silence, he feels like the mansion is never going to end.

"Oh?" the younger man breathes, turning to look at the witcher. "Oh, the dogs? Yeah, they're always somewhere close."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Geralt thinks that those dogs are probably worth hundreds of crowns each, maybe even thousands. When the cold moonlight touches their fur, they don't even look real.

In some strange way, the entire mansion feels that way.

But Geralt tells himself that he's just tired and in the morning, it's going to feel different. New places always seems strange the first night, he'd spent enough years on the Path to know that.

They make it up the stairs onto the third floor and turn into the West wing, walking down yet another endless hallway until they get to the very end of it, where Julian stops and opens a door to the right, inviting Geralt inside with a move of his hand.

"I do hope you find this room comfortable," he says, staying in the hallway and keeping the dogs at his side. "Join me for breakfast in the morning?"

Geralt knows that he should leave as soon as he can, knows that this is already so much more than he'd initially asked for but before he can stop himself, he already agrees.

"Would love to."

Julian shines with a smile and somehow, he almost looks relieved.

"Alright," he nods, handing Geralt the burning candle and turning to leave. "Goodnight then, Geralt."

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier big bang #geralt of rivia #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #the drug the dark the light the flame #my writing #calton writes

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deathwishy · 3 years

Text

×Childhood Friends×

Marinette never forgot the boy with steel eyes and silver tongue.

They met when she was ten. Her parents were hired to do the catering at a party, one to celebrate the opening of the Parisian branch of Wayne Enterprises. Of course the Drakes would be there. They too were planning to expand Drake Industries to Europe, and while it would have been best to be the first ones in Paris, it could still be beneficial.

Tim was twelve at the time, and already knew who Batman was. His parents left him alone most of the time so he had plenty of opportunities to analyze and admire the vigilantes at night. The days were filled with tutors coming and going, a nosy nanny and tons of homework to be done. Thankfully, Batman didn't usually come out in the light of day. He didn't actively try to figure out their identities most of the time, but when he saw the first Robin executing a complicated maneuver, that could be done by only a handful of people, the pieces fell into place. But he kept quiet. He erased every piece of evidence he collected, paper and online data, anything that could lead someone else to the same conclusion.

Marinette was sitting with her parents in the kitchen, sometimes helping her papa with arranging sweets on plates or bringing them to the guests. She liked helping her parents when she could.

Marinette met Tim in the garden of the hotel. He excused himself from his parents to go take photos of the Eiffel Tower, that was close to where the party was. Marinette got out to take a breath of fresh air, the kitchen was hot and her parents didn't need help at the moment.

She noticed him sitting on a bench, looking at his camera.

"<Good evening!>" She greeted him in French.

He was startled, almost dropping his camera.

"<I'm so sorry! I thought you heard me coming.>"

It took a few seconds for Tim to adjust his eyes from the light of the camera display to the darkness of the garden. There was a girl, of mixed descent, in a simple bubblegum pink dress. Her hair was as midnight black, long and tied in pigtails. He gave her a little smile.

"<Not a problem. I was just setting my camera, it needs to be adjusted to capture the lights of the tower better.>" He tried to hide his American accent, but he knew she still caught it.

"You're American, yes? If you'd like, I can speak English too. Mama said it's good to know something else other than French. I would like to practice as well."

Her English was good. Riddled with a thick French accent but still understandable. He nodded and patted the bench, signaling that she could stay too. She sat down with a bright smile. She extended her hand.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

"Timothy Drake. But you can call me Tim."

And so they met. They shared their art interests, his love for photography, her love for drawing. She mentioned her growing interest in fashion and he shared his love for IT. They were so different yet so alike. She was form a middle class family of bakers, that loved her with all they had, he was from a rich family, had all he could have ever wanted, except for the love of his parents. But he didn't mention that.

She was entranced by his fervor when talking about his local heroes, or vigilantes, as he called them, and found that she could listen to him all night. He found that he could talk to her just as long, easily, as he could never before. He was happy to bring that sparkle of interest in her eyes.

But the bubble of happiness was soon burst by one Janet Drake.

Tim knew he was in trouble. Others couldn't see the fire behind her gray eyes, only Tim could. He shot up from the bench, startling Marinette in the process.

"Timothy. We have to go." Marinette shivered under her cold gaze, even if it wasn't directed to her. But what mother could look at her own son like that?

"Good evening, Madame." Marinette tried, but soon stepped back, almost cowering under the woman's gaze. Even if it was only for a second.

"Now."

She made one motion with her head, turning on her heels, and heading back into the building. Tim only waved and soon disappeared with his mother. Marinette didn't even get the chance to say goodbye. But she felt like it wasn't the last time she would see Timothy Drake.

...

The next time they met, he was Robin. She was Ladybug. She was thirteen, he was fifteen. They didn't know who each other was. Being in Paris brought a longing in Tim's heart for a lost friend, but he knew he couldn't search for the pigtailed girl. Marinette felt her heart ache, missing the American boy she once befriended.

Batman came to Paris shortly after Stoneheart. After speaking to Diana, she granted her passage into Paris along with Robin and Batman to try assess the situation and develop a battle plan.

They set the meeting in the outskirts of Paris, in a abandoned building to try and hide the presence of the Justice League and keep their involvement a secret. They didn't need Hawkmoth on watch 24/7 after an angry superhero he could akumatize.

Ladybug swung through a broken window, Chat Noir jumping through moments after. They both landed at the same time, in front of the American heroes.

"Ladybug, Black Cat, it's an honor to meet the new wielders." Wonder Woman greeted with a slight bow. Robin followed suit, even if a little wobbly. Batman only bowed his head.

"There is no need for that," Ladybug blushed, bowing in return. "We haven't done any heroic feats worthy of such respect yet."

"Being chosen is always a reason to pride with, Ladybug. And the defeat of Stoneheart is quite remarkable for someone as young as yourself."

Batman frowned. Just how young were they?

"My lady is always modest. She doesn't believe me when I say she's incredible."

Ladybug rolls her eyes and punches Chat, making him giggle. Robin was eyeing him, scrutinizing every aspect. He had an extensible staff, like his, but obviously magic. His fighting style would match the Bats better, and Ladybug's yo-yo was very much like Wonder Woman's lasso. They already knew she would go to Themiscyra to train with Hippolyta but a bit of the Bats teachings would not hurt.

"As you know, miraculous magic protects our identities. It's the same thing for Hawkmoth. It will be hard to find and figure him out, unless we have irrefutable evidence." Ladybug began, opening her yo-yo.

"What we know so far is that he wants our miraculous, the Ladybug and the Black Cat. Our Kwami said that by merging the two, the wielder is granted a potentially reality altering wish. Unfortunately for now, that's all the information we have on him. It's going to take some time."

Through all her explanation, Batman was already thinking. They couldn't stay in Paris, even if the chance was small, they could be akumatized, that wasn't a viable option. Even an akumatized Robin would be a major problem. He had two years of training, the new heroes had almost none. He could see that Chat Noir had some, maybe fencing or swordplay by his posture and slight gestures. The girl maybe had some light self defense training. Maybe gymnastics recently.

"Ladybug shall come at times to Themiscyra to train with the Amazons, Chat Noir, you will go with the Bat."

Chat Noir began fidgeting.

"Um, my home life doesn't allow me to introduce intense training into my schedule. The best I can do is go out at night. My d... My parents don't know about this and with my obligations I can't just leave."

Robin, no, Tim knew as soon as Chat Noir opened his mouth. In that moment, he could see himself in the leather clad superhero. The controlling parents that had such high expectations of him, the suppressing nature that made him not even dare question their word. He was going to say that his dad doesn't know about it. So either his mother knows, which is unlikely, or he only has his father.

Tim was almost sure that Bruce came to the same conclusion. It would have been harder for someone that didn't personally know but he was the world's greatest detective for a reason. Batman nodded.

"Actually it is best if we do it at night. Maybe there will be less of a chance for someone to get akumatized. But not much, you still need sleep."

Chat Noir nodded vigorously, now smiling.

After going over some details regarding the training, the two teams went on their ways.

Chat Noir, happy that someone understood and actually made a compromise that worked for him too.

Ladybug, with a heavy heart, thinking about the battles ahead. And maybe about a certain boy.

Batman and Wonder Woman, both trying to not burn down every building in Paris in search of Hawkmoth.

Robin, with sorrow in his heart, for the boy that is like he once was, for the girl that was so close yet so far, for two kids that had to fight the battles of adults.

...

This time, they met as Robin and Marinette.

It was in the same year, only a few months later. Robin was perched on a rooftop, waiting for Batman to finish the training session with Chat Noir. They had to zeta tube back to Gotham that night to go on patrol with the rest. There was an unusual rise in criminal activity and they needed all hands on deck.

"Mister Robin, sir!" there was an almost whisper from a balcony on the building next to the one he was sitting in. One on top of a bakery. There was someone there. They looked around and then signaled with their hand to come over.

There was a girl there, one that he recognized almost immediately. She didn't have the same long hair, but it was still tied in pigtails. She was taller and her voice changed a bit but he knew it was her. The girl from the garden, Marinette. He leveled his breath and jumped the narrow gap between the buildings on her balcony, on a shadowed portion.

"Is there a problem?" He asked, checking out the surroundings at the same time.

"No, sir, I just wanted to give you something." She reached to the table and pulled up two boxes. They looked like pastry boxes.

"I don't think people are supposed to know about you being here but I saw you a few times already. I don't know if anyone else did, I didn't ask around and haven't heard anything, but I wanted to thank you for helping Ladybug and Chat Noir, assuming that's what you're doing, so I made some pastries as a 'Thank you'. And, ah, again, thank you. I know that maybe things in Gotham can get pretty hectic and you are coming here too so, ah, I thought these can help, even if a little bit."

Robin listened through her rambling. She got flustered and started fidgeting midway through so he took the boxes from her hands when she stopped to breathe.

"Thank you, that is very considerate. We prefer to not make our involvement in Paris known so it would be appreciated if you still kept quiet."

She nods, smiling, then adds. "I sometimes leave some out here for our heroes too. Feel free to pass by anytime."

He gives her a little smile, then cups his ear when his com comes to life.

'Robin, rendezvous point. I'll be there in 5.'

"I have to go now. It was nice meeting you."

She takes a step back, he pulls out his grappling gun, boxes secured at his chest, and with small waves, he leaves the balcony.

...

When they came across each other again, it was a year later. He was Timothy Drake. She was Ladybug.

He started working at Wayne Enterprises with his father. The parisian branch had some odd numbers so they came to Paris as Tim and Bruce to investigate, but didn't go out as Batman and Robin. Unlike Ladybug and Chat Noir, they didn't have magic to protect their identities. Unless there was an emergency, they would lay low.

Then there was an akuma attack.

They were walking to the hotel when Dark Cupid attacked them. He only shot Bruce. Ladybug took him out of his way when he froze in place, shocked by his father's sudden hatred.

"Are you alright?" The heroine asked him when she saw that he didn't move. He was still thinking. "Don't listen what he said. Dark Cupid's power is to transform love into hate. There was nothing real about those words, trust me." She pulled him into a hug when she saw tears rolling on his cheeks. He embraced her back, for a few seconds, the pulled away.

"Go and kick his ass."

She grinned, made a salute, then threw her yo-yo, going full speed towards the akuma.

She swung with a new vigor, recognizing her old friend. She was happy to see him again, even if only for a little bit.

Even though he knows that Bruce didn't mean what he said, it still stung a bit. He didn't remember what he said or did after the cure was cast and Tim didn't want to tell him. But Bruce still knew that is hurt him.

...

When Hawkmoth was finally defeated she was 18. She decided to join Batman in Gotham. The balance had to be restored in the city that drowned in chaos and destruction. A year later, at the beginning of her first year of university, they met again.

It was in a nice coffee shop, not far away from the campus. She waited in line with Adrien, who was rambling about a blue eyed boy he met when he was in Metropolis with Chloe for an interview with Lois Lane.

The bell at the door rings and sort of by instinct she looks over. Two boys enter. Both black haired, one with blue eyes, one with green.

When they make eye contact, she knows that he recognized her too. She smiles and waves. He does too, now coming towards her. Adrien leans towards her, whispering. The other green eyed boy does the same to his brother.

"Who is he?"

"Who is she?"

They both smile, eyes locked on each other.

"A childhood friend."

Some fluff, some angst, a lil' bit of everything. I'm not good at writing outright romance but I'm a sucker for friends to lovers. And Adrien sugar is my jam. He is a smoll cinnamon roll that needs to be protected.

Do comment, constructive criticism is always welcome.

@timari-month-event

#maribat #timari january #timari #maribat january #mlb x dc

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herstroywritten · 3 years

Text

Darn Pigtails

Hello! I genuinely have no excuse for this monstrosity of a piece that I agonized over for the past few days instead of focusing on my uni work. I’ve spent the last month obsessing over Fate and Rivusa (the latter has been a life long obsession and Fate has only added fuel to the fire, with just one scene...). Yes, I am a part of that clown circus and honestly, I’m proud. I’ve always been a writer, but never posted anything but I figure here goes nothing. I was very inspired by some very talented writers in this tiny little club that’s been created on here for this ship (you all know them by now...). I couldn’t resist adding my own (not so) little addition to the collection. I don’t currently have an account on ao3 or anything, so this is just what’s happening. Be warned, it’s long and maybe excessive (8k words, oops). Other than that, enjoy and feel free to let me know your thoughts!

It started with pigtails.

He'd seen Dowling parading her around the square as students fought tooth and nail to kill the fake dummies that seemed to embody their realistic counterparts more than they should have. She's had a raincoat on at the time, not that he would have cared what she was wearing because… how could he notice anything but the pigtails? Fucking pigtails! Long enough to reach her waist, dark enough to have him thinking that the darkest of night skies must have been modeled after that same color, and pin-straight from root to tip. She walked by, lavender sweater and loose jeans, and that's the first thing he noticed. Her pigtails. He felt his tongue move, the tip pressed against the top of his mouth, ready to make a crude comment about how he'd love to tug on those pigtails in more than one scenario because honestly, was he not supposed to with the way that they swung about perfectly matching the sway of her hips? His eyes lit up as he just about let the words tumble out, and then she let her eyes lift to meet his as she made her way through the specialists' training grounds. Brown eyes lingered over his green ones for longer than any normal interaction accounts for, before dropping downward to the rest of his form. His mouth quirked into a smirk.

"Oh," he thought. "So this is how we're going to play this game."

Never let it be said that Riven ever backed down from a game or a challenge. And it just so happened that this particular game, the cat and mouse chase, was one of his favorites. So he figured, if she could stare at him like that, it would only be rude not to return the favor. He turned around, let his eyes fully graze over her whole figure the way he'd been too distracted to do before, and that's when he noted the stick she held. Whatever dumb comment he'd been so eager to make about her pigtails was quickly replaced by, "You like holding that big stick?"

He'd hoped for a reaction. And boy did he get one, a swift and lithe little trick she'd been hiding, seemingly waiting for the chance to pull it out. And even though he'd been training his whole life to defend himself, he just about let her jab his left eye out because he was so very much intrigued by the way her hair swayed to meet her movements and her brown eyes that bore into him with rage. Yeah, this was going to be all kinds of fun.

"I think I just threw up," she said, her face twisting into clear disdain. But her eyes sparkled and he thought maybe her hair is not the only thing the night sky was modeled after. He'd seen her before, somewhere in the background perhaps. Class? No. If she were a specialist and in his classes, there was no way in hell he wouldn't remember her. The cafeteria? Probably, there was only one place to get food in this godforsaken place and he doubted she hadn't made her way down there at least once. The Alfea hallways? Again, not unlikely. And that's when it clicked into place. She was one of the too many to remember (in his opinion) roommates of Sky's new obsession- Bloom. The four, sometimes five, of them were always together, huddled up beside one another in the cafeteria benches or on the way to classes. Honestly, now that he thought about it, was there ever a time when he'd seen those girls- besides Stella- alone? He definitely had never seen her alone. "Well, better take advantage of the chance," he thought. So, he dug into her, asked about her little run around the training grounds with the headmistress. He wanted to see how far he could push her rage, how willing she was to give him a good show. Between comments about dancing and fairies versus specialists, her eyes flashed purple and he soon realized that he'd bit off more than he could chew. As if her natural brown irises weren't alluring enough, the way they looked when he powers took over held a whole other sense of siren's lure within them. It took him a second to realize what was happening, that she was reading him. And he would have let her continue too, if it meant that he could hold her attention just a little while longer and feel whatever kind of electricity was rippling between the two of them for a few more minutes. Too bad she chose that moment to let him know exactly what she was doing, and exactly how he felt.

"You really hate being here, don't you?"

In this school, yes. Here, right now, with her eyes all over him and his hands twitching to edge upwards and brush his hands against those darn pigtails? No. No, he would have loved to stay right here just a little longer. But he was more scared of whatever hell she'd dig up from within him, so instead he told her to stay the fuck out of his head. He caught a glimpse of her prideful smirk, taunting him about this lost battle and her evident win, right before he whirled around and walked his way back to wherever his legs would lead him.

Passing by the guy he'd seen constantly following her around like a lost puppy dog, the one he assumed was her boyfriend, he murmured under his breath something along the lines of "Good luck with that one."

And then he was gone. But not before he remembered that he hadn't caught her name. No matter. As previously mentioned, never let it be said that Riven ever backed down from a challenge. She'd won this battle, but he was going to win the war.

_______________________________________________________________

The next time he found himself in her company only, the world had flipped on its axis.

Dowling and Silva were gone and Harvey had turned into a muted professor, almost never seen anywhere except in the greenhouse when he had classes to run. The new headmistress, Rosalind, ruled with a grip tougher than steel. Andreas was the male version of her, so not any better. Fairies were being forced into combat positions, whether they liked it or not, and upperclassmen specialists were forced into being their mentors, whether they liked it or not. Classes were stricter. You miss one lesson, you make up two class times in personal training with either Andreas or Rosalind herself. At first, everyone'd thought that was a stupid rule. Who doesn’t want a one-on-one with the professors? It took just one dumb third-year specialist missing his first lesson on the first day of the second term for everyone to realize that these training sessions were practically abuse covered with a prettier name.

But the thing that had changed the most, the thing that he couldn't even begin to name, was whatever the hell was happening to his mind. He no longer knew where his day started and where it ended. He knew he must have gotten up every morning and gone to classes and eaten to sustain his body for the brutal training session that followed and delt with whatever else needed dealing with. And yet, he remembered none of it. None of it except the moments spent chasing Sky around (which inevitably meant chasing the Winx suite around), the moments spent training his new fairy mentee- Musa, and the nightly runs to Dowling's- no, Rosalind's- office where he involuntarily spilled every little detail about his day. His mind had become an utter blur, his thoughts were no longer his own. He knew somewhere in his mind that he needed to stop, had tried endlessly to stop, but the more he held back from Rosalind's spell, the faster his words seem to come out. So, he'd stopped trying to fight it.

It was to his horror when he had been assigned Musa for training. He wasn't sure what he had expected. Of course they were going to pair him with a Winx suitemate, he just had expected it to be Bloom. Bloom was who they wanted details on after all. Even Stella would have made more sense, what with her mother being so very controlling. But no. Bloom went to Sky, Stella to some third year specialist, and he got Musa. If guilt wasn't already shredding him to pieces, it would be now.

He tried to console himself with the fact that he was better prepared to handle her this time. He'd spent enough time with Sky and the girls to have picked up the little details about her. She constantly listened to music to block out the world, she liked wearing shorts and miniskirts (a fact he quite enjoyed), she had an unhealthy obsession with bomber jackets (a fact he could do without when she was also wearing lacy silks under those same jackets), she liked pancakes for breakfast (but only when they were drenched with maple syrup), and the list goes on. His personal favorite fact, however, was that her hair was always immaculate and never the same two days in a row.

The point was, he could do this. All he had to do was train her. No talking necessary. She sure as hell was not about to strike up conversation with him if he didn't bother her. So, he'd keep his mouth shut and just teach her what he needed to teach her. Then he'd leave. That way, when his legs would inevitably carry him to Rosalind at midnight on the dot, he'd have nothing to give her but a good rundown of what moves they had practiced.

How wrong he had been.

He had clearly overestimated his ability to not falter in front of her, because the second she walked into the mat, he knew he'd have to say something.

This time, her hair was in tightly wound braids. Two of them, wrapping vertically down her scalp like fine rope. This time, he wants to undo her hair, to tug the black elastic ties out of place and run his fingers through each threaded piece until the strands lay about her shoulders in waves. He'd like to know what she looks like with her hair down, like fully down.

As if the hair wasn’t enough, she was also dressed in the tight female version of the specialist gear. It's all green woven material that crosses her chest, black mesh that lines her sides, and tight leggings that bring an ungodly amount of attention to her ass.

So, he slips up. "If I knew this is what you'd look like in a uniform-" he starts, but never finishes.

"Don't you dare finish that thought," she warns, voice dripping with a no-nonsense attitude.

"What's gotten into you?"

"It has not been my day. Hell, it has not been my week."

"It hasn't been anyone's week," he feels the need to remind her. And when she looks at him with those eyes, he wonders if she can read right through him without having to use her magic.

"Yeah, well. Let's just say I'm having a particularly more-so-than-average-shit day. So I'd appreciate it if you kept the comments to yourself." She's frustrated, he can see it. She's giving him the perfect out of a bad situation. She's begging him not to talk to her and that's exactly what he needs but goddamn it, he can't back away from a challenge even when his mind is in literal hell.

"What, can't handle me?" She scoffs at that.

"I can handle you just fine. I've been handling other's comments and thoughts since my powers started showing up. That's not the problem.

"What is the problem then?" He's digging, searching for something. For what, he's not sure. She's just finished lacing up her boots. She looks at him then, stares him down.

"The problem is I don’t want to handle you right now, Riven." And with that, she shoves past him to the center of the mat. But he's not done yet.

"You sure about that? I've never met a girl who doesn’t want to handle me before…" He wiggled his eyebrows at her, and she chuckles a little at his antics.

"Yeah, no. But even if I did want to, you'd really have to do better than that.

"What, the line wasn't up to your standards?"

"Was it up to yours?"

"Not my best, I'll admit. But I make do. And you can't tell me Harvey Jr. has done any better." Rage flushes through her features at that particular comment. He watches as her cheeks flush bright red and as the flush slowly spreads to her neck and below the rounded collar of her uniform, slowly cursing whoever created the damn thing for not making it a V-neck.

"Ooh, a reaction! Go on, then. Tell me what's going on in that pretty little head of yours."

"None of your fucking business."

"It never is, and yet I'd love to know."

"Seriously, Riven. Let's just not talk." She wound up, ready to burst. Her hands are balled into fists by her side and her back is arched towards him in anger. She's a spring ready to jump, and he wants to see how high she can reach.

He goes for the typical line, "Trouble in paradise, then?"

Turns out she can jump pretty damn high, something he expected. What he didn't expect was for her to jump him. She pushes him with so much force that he barely catches himself before he falls. Tears stream down her face as she punches at his chest (hopelessly, he notes… he's got a lot to teach her). He lets her continue the onslaught on his chest, is impressed by her force and strength and persistence even if the form is all wrong. When she finally stops, the tears do too. All that's left are her hiccups and his eyes following her every movement. He watches her dry her eyes vigorously, hears her curse him and the school and herself… and Sam? He's not sure what's happening right now, not sure why his arms suddenly want to wind around her frame and pull her in, or why his heart clenches at the sight of her tears. He chooses to ignore it all.

They continue the rest of the training session in silence, with him only speaking to direct her movements and point out a thing or two about her form. Later that night, after running through his nightly routine with Rosalind, he finds out from Sky that Bloom was especially distressed today because Musa was especially distressed today because Musa and Sam had decided to call it quits. Riven feels light-headed at that news, and he's still not exactly sure why his body is so adamant about reacting to news involving her.

He rolls into bed, thinking bitterly to himself that he won today. He won this battle. So why does it feel like he lost it?

______________________________________________________________

They continue their training sessions in silence for a while, until eventually a banter sparks between the two of them. He's not quite sure how it happens, just as he's not quite sure how anything happens anymore. He assumes he probably made some joke about how good her legs looked in those damn tights or about how she desperately needed help with her fighting stance. Maybe he just wore her down with his constant questions. He doesn't really care, to be honest. He knows he should care, in the same way that he knows he should actually avoid talking to her instead of showing up every day eager to see her. He just can’t bring himself to do it, not when she shows up in that uniform every day or when she looks at him with so much pride when she finally nails a move they've been working on for so long, and definitely not when she starts to initiate the playful conversations with the same smirk that he would maybe like to kiss off her face. There's so many things he should do at the end of the day, but he does none of them. He just lets whatever happens happen, and it kind of works out for a bit. They tease each other, teeter-tottering somewhere between playful and full on flirting. They fight in close combat corners, sometimes ending up on top of each other. Those days are a personal favorite of Riven's, especially when she's on top of him and he can feel her thighs straining against his waist as she pins his arms above his head. (He may have taught her that one move just for this moment. He felt it was a shame to not put those dance-trained legs of hers to use.)

The perfectly odd tightrope they walk snaps on a Wednesday afternoon, after they've finished training and are walking toward the benches that hold their water bottles. He takes a swing of his water, and then looks up from his seat to see her standing up and chugging her own bottle. A loose droplet slips past her lips and down her uniform's tank top. He follows it with his eyes, not even bothering to hide the very obvious motion even as she finishes her drink, looks at him with a raised eyebrow, and then chuckles at him while rolling her eyes.

"You could be a little less obvious, you know." She calls him out casually. He smirks at the comment before dragging his eyes back up to her brown orbs.

" Subtle isn't really my forte. Besides what fun would it be if you didn't know I was staring at you?"

She rolls her eyes, but her smile gives her away. "You're gonna give some poor girl a heart attack one day if you look at her like that." It's a teasing remark, but he feels his adrenaline hike up at her comment. The game is back on.

"Some poor girl, huh?" He leans into her on the bench, invades her personal space. She blushes, looks directly ahead, and he thinks he's winning another one of the many secret battles they seem to find themselves fighting. Then, she turns to him and looks him dead in the eyes.

"Can I ask you something?" He didn't expect that. Again, he knows he should just leave or say no. Anything to avoid a conversation that could lead to more than just a flirting banter, anything to avoid something that Rosalind may actually be interested in. But she's looking up at him with wide eyes and he's convinced he's become weak and that she's won this battle because he can't bring himself to say no.

"Uh… sure?"

She looks around nervously, as if deciding whether to ask what's on her mind or not. Finally, she leans close to him and asks in a slow and quiet voice, "Where do you sneak off to every night at midnight?" He pulls back from her faster than he thought he would ever be able to pull away from her, blinking down at her now shocked face.

"How-"

"How do I know? You have a roommate, Riven. He hears you leave every night and says nothing about it, but he's been worried about you. He says you've been acting different… For what it's worth, I think he's right. Especially when we're not in training sessions, you're completely out of it. I know this has been a rough mon-"

This is it. She's dug deep enough that she has hit rock bottom, she's found the dead-end at the bottom of his soul. He has to let this banter go now. He can't have her asking questions he'll then have to report back to Rosalind.

"You know nothing." He words are curt and sharp. She flinches at their edge, but doesn’t back down. It's one of his favorite things about her, her persistence.

"You can talk to me if something is wrong, you know? Or to Sky or the girls… you can talk to any of us…" He watches as her eyebrows furrow, traces the line they form down her nose to her lips and then back to her eyes. And that's when he notices that her eyes have changed color to purple. He grabbed her hand quickly and firmly, enough to break her concentration but not enough to hurt her (God, even in his rage, it would never be enough to hurt her).

"I've told you not to do that. Not to use your damn mind powers on me." His voice is strained, laced with anger and something resembling fear.

"I'm trying-"

"I don't care what you're trying. You shouldn’t be in there. You shouldn't be in my brain. There's nothing in there worth your time or energy and there never will be."

And with that he spins on his heel and marches into the forest behind the training grounds. He doesn’t turn around, but if he did, he would have seen Sky moving out of the shadows and heading toward Musa.

"Did you do it?"

It takes her a second to interpret his question. She still staring into the distance as Riven's figure fades out of view, her eyes finally returning to their normal brown color. She continues to stare at the dot in the distance, unwilling to look away as if she's daring him to turn around and spare her one last glance. He doesn't.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did." She finally turns to Sky. "He's completely blocked from my powers. Dowling was right, he's under some sort of mind control."

______________________________________________________________

It’s 2AM by the time Riven finally makes his way to the room he shares with Sky. He's once again not really sure where his day went or what he did after he flipped on Musa and marched his way into the woods after their little spat. He remembers anger, a lot of anger. He's angry at her for trying to dig into his brain when they had already established that he hated it. He was angry at Dowling for dying (at least, he assumes she's dead because where else would she be?) and leaving the school to the psychopath that is Rosalind. He's angry at Rosalind for manipulating him, controlling his mind. He's angry at Beatrix for getting him into this stupid mess. But mostly, he's angry with himself for letting it all happened, for somehow always making the wrong move at the wrong time, for managing to screw up his own life in such a grand manner that it constitutes an award (truly, he's outdone himself this time). He's mad at himself for not being able to control his own mind, for letting Rosalind take up residence in his brain and being able to do nothing about it. He's even angry at himself for not just standing there and letting Musa read his emotions, because maybe if she did then she'd know the hell he was in. His brain was constantly pulling in all different directions, trying desperately to get away from the constraints of Rosalind's spell. Headaches are nonending and thoughts leave as soon as they come. It's like there's two people waging war within him, but one of them brought swords to a gunfight and is losing horribly. But it’s a war he feels he should fight on his own, and maybe that's why he didn't let her read him. As much as he hates to admit it, the mind control and guilt was breaking him but he could handle that. What he couldn't handle, however, was getting her involved in this stupid mess by mistake, which would inevitably lead to Rosalind getting ahold of her as well. God knows there's only so much room left in hell or sins, and he'd be damned if he hadn't already filled all the available spots.

He was glad for the day to finally be over, glad to be heading to bed (not sleep though, sleep did not exist when his mind was in so much pain all the fucking time). It seemed the world had other plans for him, however, because upon opening the door to his dorm, he was met with a sight that he both dreaded and wanted to burn into his memory for the rest of however long he had to live before Rosalind finally took pity on him and bent his brain to death.

Perched on his bed, leaning forward ever so slightly, elbows meeting her knees, and head bend toward the floor was Musa. From his angle, he could only see her side profile, but apparently that's all his body needed to be automatically sent into a frenzy. The first thing he notices was, not to his surprise, the hair. She'd replaced her training braids with buns, big ones that hang precariously form her head as tendrils of her dark hair fell in loose waves and framed her face. He again found himself wondering what she would look like with all of her hair fully down. His fingers itched to burrow into those carefully constructed space buns and pull their pins out of place, just to see if she'd look half as beautiful with her hair down as she did with her hair up.

He stood like that for a while, taking her in and letting her continue to stare at the dark wooden floors with her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He's not sure when, but eventually she turned toward the door, eyebrows first shooting up when she noticed him staring at her, and then falling back into place as she shot him a shy mile from across the room.

"Hey," came her greeting in a small voice.

"What the hell are you doing here?" His question was harsh, but he knew himself well to know that if he even let just one layer of himself down with her, he may as well just lay down all his defenses. She had a way of getting him to speak and break down and he wasn't about to let himself get her mixed up in whatever evil plan he'd been helping construct against his will.

Too bad for him, because it seemed Musa had been expecting a fight and was ready to fire back his quips with some of her own. She simply rolled her eyes and casually stated, "Well, then, straight to it, are we?"

"If you're looking for Sky or Bloom, they're probably in a dark hallway somewhere snogging each other half to death," he answered. She grimaced at the image.

"Yeah, no. I'm not here for Bloom or Sky."

"Then you're not here for anyone." She gave him a pointed look at that phrase. He wisely chose to ignore it and instead made his way to the couch in the middle of the room, throwing his jacket somewhere on it.

"What, that's all you have today? I'm standing on your bed, we're alone in your bedroom, I'm in a miniskirt… and you're not going to make a comment about showing me a good time? You're losing your touch, Riv." She was teasing him, he could tell by the light tone of her voice. Maybe she liked to see his reactions the way he so enjoyed watching her react to his own snarky comments. Maybe she saw enough into his brain earlier to have dug up some of his fantasies. Damn her, he'd been avoiding looking anywhere but her face since he walked in, and now here she was basically challenging him to do more. Damn him and his inability to back down from a game he was so clearly not apt to win at the moment. He turned around and finally got a good look at her. She was indeed in a miniskirt, under which she had tucked a lacy white top that was very clearly meant to showcase the black bra she wore underneath the pitiful excuse of a shirt. Her signature red bomber jacket hung from her shoulders and the black boots she had on were laced all the way up to her kneecaps.

This must be it, he thought. This must be his punishment for spilling his guts to Rosalind every night. Or maybe, his guilt and the pain throbbing through his veins had finally won out and he was finally cracking under all that pressure. That's fine. He wasn't even surprised this is what his brain chose to tease him with at the brink of destruction. He figured she'd be the one to shatter him, it was only a matter of time.

"Hello? Are you even listening to me?" Her voice broke him out of his trance. Ok, maybe he wasn't imagining her.

He sighed, defeated and broken and just tired. "Why are you here, Musa?"

It’s a staring match now. He watches as her eyes soften and the sarcasm leaves her features.

"I couldn’t read you earlier today. In the training grounds-" No. Anything but this conversation.

"Maybe you should consider working on those powers of yours then. Seems to me like you're the one losing your touch."

"I'm serious, Riven-"

"I am too."

"Jesus, Riven, let me just finish!" Anger sparked in her features. "You're loud, Riven." He scoffed at that. "Your emotions, I mean. They're usually loud… but they're also lively and harmonious, in a weird way that I can't seem to figure out. Lately, however, they've been quiet… as if they don't exist at all. And at first I thought it was me, I thought I was getting better at controlling my powers. But when I tried to read you today, I felt nothing…" There is was, she had figured it out, and now she looked at him as if he was a science experiment she couldn’t quite figure out.

"… Maybe my hearts just finally turned to stone." He tried for a joke. She did not find it amusing.

"I know, Riven." He's not sure what that was supposed to mean. What did she know? That he was a horrible person? That he'd snitched on her and all their friends (were they his friends?) to the queen of evil? Or worse, that his body lit up whenever she was around?

"Cryptic, but ok. I guess between that line and the fact that you somehow snuck into my room, you could make the whole 'good girl turned bad, mysterious girl' vibe work. Honored I'm the first you're trying it out on. If you'd like to take it a step further, the bed's right behind you." She may have the upper hand in this game, but he's still a stubborn ass.

"Seriously, Riven. I'm not kidding." She took a step toward him. Wrong move, angel.

"I know you're not. That shirt doesn't exactly scream 'kidding'. Tell me, did you just choose the first thing you found in your closet to put on?" He took a step forward this time, one long stride before they stood chest to chest and he hooked his finger under her chin. "Or is that shirt part of this whole 'mystery girl' scheme? Because, I won't lie, it's working." He sees her shiver at his words and doesn't bother to hide the smirk that graces his face. Finally, things were getting interesting. "Wonder if it looks half as good on my bedroom floor…" He noticed her eyes flicker downward, to is lips, but they moved back up just as quickly. He stared right back at her, watching as she struggled to make up her mind about where to slap him for that last comment. He didn't have to wait too long for a response.

"I'm sure you do." Her words came as a whisper, and the smirk that followed was just as alluring. He barely had time to process the meaning behind it all, before she crashed her body onto him and her lips found his. Her hands gripped into the sides of his t-shirt, keeping him to her with such force that he vaguely wondered why in the world she felt the need to do that when he wouldn't dream of walking away from this, from her. It's frantic and it's rushed. One of his hands find her waist, pulls her impossibly closer to him. His other hand delves into the hair at the back of her head before sliding to the side and pulling at the pins that hold her right bun in place. It takes him pulling out just one pin and the structure falls apart, her hair tumbling around them and cocooning them in place. He hears her gasp, her hands finally unlatching from his shirt as she splays them apart over his muscles, moves them up to his shoulders.

He's moving backward, whether to ask her if this okay or make a comment about that noise she just made, he's not sure. He never gets the chance. She pulls his to her again, kisses him like she's been starved in a thirsting in wasteland for days and he's the first sign of water she's stumbled upon, bites his lip- fucking bites his lip and sucks on it and pulls it with her teeth… and he thinks that her being here could not have been his punishment. This, right here, her kissing him like this, this is his punishment. This is his pain finally taking over and shattering his soul.

Maybe Rosalind somehow found out about his little crush and is getting payback for the fact that he didn't show up for their nightly midnight story time. Maybe, he's already dead and in hell and some devil out there is playing a cruel, cruel trick on his brain. Maybe that's why his body is shaking, literally shaking, and his mind feels like its tearing apart. He feels Musa's hands on his scalp, her palms splayed out at his temples and fingers tightly wound into his hair. Again, he is surprised at the sheer force she seems to pour into her touch, anchoring him to her as though he could ever want to leave her embrace.

He's so wrapped up in his thoughts and in her touch that he barely hears the whimpers of pain coming from her or feels the tears streaming down her face as she hold him to her. When he finally feels the tears trickle between their lips, be pulls back (genuinely, pulls back because her fingers are still forcing him to her), opens his eyes to find her already looking back at him. But instead of the brown irises she wore when this rough little make out session started, her eyes are now purple. And her face is red. She looks exhausted. He feels exhausted.

He's about to ask her what's wrong, if she's ok, if her powers are going haywire. But he's so dizzy and so tired and suddenly he's leaning on her and she's pulling him onto the bed. She looks down at him, whispers "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" over and over in his ear and he finds himself wondering what she's sorry about and where the pain that haunted him for weeks has gone before he slowly sinks into oblivion.

________________________________________________________________

He wakes up and she's gone.

It's Sky who sits next to him the next day, Sky and Headmistress Dowling of all people. He mumbles something about being dead and hallucinating, but Sky just laughs and tells him he's happy to have him back.

It takes a good few hours to catch him up on all the shit he's missed while he was being controlled by Rosalind. Apparently, Dowling was stuck under a bunch of plants? The girls somehow managed to free her with some potion from a cousin of Terra's. Turns out they've been sneaking out every night, pretending to go to parties and instead heading outside the barrier trying to find clues on what the hell Rosalind is up to. That would explain Musa's choice of clothing the other night.

Sky tells him it was the girls' idea to keep him out of the loop at the beginning, worried that his weird obsession with Beatrix and her even weirder obsession with him would lead to Andreas and Rosalind finding out. Sky swears they were going to tell him eventually, and Riven has to tell him that he's glad they didn't. That's when Sky tells him what he'd already guessed. It was Musa who refused to tell him even after time has passed, sensing that something was wrong in his mind. Her being in their room the other night had been no mistake, but an orchestrated move. She'd practiced with Dowling for weeks, training to unlock his brain, pull it apart so that she could mentally remove Rosalind's control from his brain by sheer willpower and might, and then put it all back together as best she could.

He's instinctively proud of her, she did it. But, he also wishes she'd done it with less kissing and in some less distracting attire, but he probably deserves the type of torture that will surely follow as a result of last night. After they fill him in, Sky throws his gear at him and tells him to get dressed and ready.

"We leave tonight."

"What? Where are we going?"

"That's a bit complicated." It's Dowling who answers this time. "Silva and Professor Harvey will meet us in the woods beyond the barrier. We will lead you the rest of the way. We're going to collect forces. There will be a war, and Rosalind will know that something is wrong when you miss your nightly meeting with her for the second time in a row. The Winx suite is already with Silva and Ben. They're waiting for us."

They leave the dorms using Stella's ring, which she has given to Dowling as a backup to her magic, which Rosalind is be able to track within school grounds. When they arrive to the location in the woods, Riven is only slightly surprised to find Sam among the girls. He's leaning on a tree, talking to Silva and his father, both of which look like they haven't slept for days. The girls are gathered together by a fallen tree. Musa is in the middle of them, huddled into herself, as Terra and a new girl with brown skin and long honey-brown hair rub her back. Stella, Bloom, and Aisha stand back, watching Musa with worry evident in their eyes.

It's Stella who notices them first. She wipes the worry off her face with mastered ease that only comes with practice, straightens up her back, shoots Musa a look and calls loudly, "There you are! Took you guys long enough!"

From then on, it’s a quick fill-in on what the plan is, an awkward introduction to the Harvey cousin whose name he can't remember because his mind was too stuck on the girl whose hair is back in those buns he managed to loosen yesterday, and a small little "welcome back to the good side" before they're trekking their way through the woods.

He stands behind her the whole time. Watches as she follows the professors, but stands at the tail end of the line the girls have formed. She looks tired, the bags under her eyes tell him that the girls have probably been out here all night. He wonders how much of her energy it took to tear and mend his brain, if anyone bothered to let her rest after she did it. He wishes he was braver, wishes he could walk up to her and… what, thank her? Ask her why she did it? Why kiss him and then cure him? She could have just as easily done it while he was asleep. He bides his time, observes as one by one the girls take turns standing next to her, linking their arms with hers, smiling down at her, whispering who knows what in her ear and earning a laugh form her every now and then. He likes her laugh, it's cute.

He's currently watching as Bloom pull Musa to her and makes some joke about chickens, when he feels a punch land on his right arm.

"Are you as stupid as you look?" He turns to find that Stella has somehow walked backwards and is now next to him.

"Missed you too, princess," he mutters back.

"Oh, cut the bullcrap, Riven. You've been staring at her for the last two hours and I told her I wouldn't say anything but honestly, you two are hopeless. I've never met two people so oblivious in my life."

"I don’t know what you're talking about." he starts.

"Like shit you don't. If you don't know it yet, figure it out." And just like that she's running ahead and linking her right arm with Musa's as Bloom tries for another joke, this one about pigs that fly.

He tries to ignore Stella's stupid comment. Honestly, he figures it's probably safer to stare at her and look like a total creep than try to talk to her and make sense of his feeling about who the fuck knows what anymore. But Stella's words ring through his mind and he lets himself believe that maybe, just maybe…

In the end, he convinces himself that the reason he walks up to her once Bloom goes to hold Sky's hand and Stella moves in on the new girl to make conversation is because Stella offered him a challenge, and he likes to win at those. (He's heading straight for a loss, he's fully aware of that, but whatever.)

"Long time no see," he jokes when he reaches her side. She cranes her neck up at him, not surprised to see him.

"Thought I heard your loud-ass emotions coming closer."

"Yeah, I've been told they can be quite the riot." He shoots her a smirk and she smiles up at him.

"Who told you that?"

"Oh, you know. Just some girl."

"Some girl, huh?"

"Yeah. Then she gave me a good snogging before tearing my brain to pieces without my knowing it."

"Mmm. She seems like a handful."

"Tell me about it." Her eyes fall downward and he doesn't need to be an empath to see the gears turning in her head.

"I'm sorry," she starts, "About that. I didn't want to do it, I know you have me reading your emotions."

"Yeah, but I hated having them controlled by someone else even more…" There's a pause and he quickly moves to fill it, scared that whatever courage juice that's coursing through his veins will run out soon. "Thank you, by the way." And he means it. He hopes she can sense the sincerity coming from him because he only has so many words in his vocabulary when it comes to her and fears he's already run out of them when she turns to look at him once more.

They've fallen behind the group at this point. He figures he won't get the chance to do this again for a while, so he asks her the question that been running rampant through his mind. It's pathetic, really. They're headed to god knows where to do god knows what and instead of worrying about the fact that war is coming or even being slightly concerned that he's just had his mind abused and prodded around by an evil mastermind, his biggest worry is if this girl really wanted to kiss him or if she just did it for show.

"So, umm, just so we're clear… did you mean it?" If he felt dumb thinking it, he feels like a world-class idiot saying it out loud.

"Mean what?" She stares back at him intensely, and he thinks to himself in an amused manner that they seem to be making a habit of staring at each other for longer than average periods of time. "The part about you being loud? Cuz, yeah, I meant every word. You're a walking catastrophe." She's smirking at him. He rolls his eyes her words.

"Couldn't care less about that. In fact, I'm glad my emotions are as obnoxious as I am- means they've been driving you crazy for a while now." Her smile falters a bit at that line. "What I want to know," he continues. "Is if you kiss everyone whose mind you go digging into like that." He still has not taken his eyes off her, and he's not going to start now, when she blushes and ducks her head under the collar of her red bomber jacket.

"That was a… last minute choice."

"What for?"

"I had to get close enough to you to make contact. I've only been practicing with Dowling for a few weeks and I didn’t want to screw it up. I can't really do the whole mind thing without some sort of contact just yet…" Her words drift off.

"Hand holding didn't cut it? Had to go for a full make-out session, complete with lip biting and everything?" He watches as she shivers into her coat, arms wrapped around herself.

"You would've pushed me away."

"How did you know I wouldn't push you away while kissing me?" She mutters something under her breath. He doesn’t catch it, not between that stupid jacket that she's using to shield her face. He gently takes a step forward, catches her chin between his fingers just as he had done the night before, makes her meet his eyes. "Come again?"

She sucks in a breath, her eyes waver to something behind him when she finally lets it out, "We both know you weren't going to say no to me throwing myself at you."

"And if I did?" He doesn't know who he's kidding, but it’s still a game and he's still playing to… lose?

She's still staring behind him when she frowns and says, "Then we would have seen just how great this shirt would have looked on your bedroom floor, after all."

And goddamn it, her words send his blood boiling. He's about to kiss her senseless, but he refuses to do it if she's not staring at him when he asks one last question.

With his finger still hooked under her chin and them standing mere inches away, he whispered into the air between them, "Look at me, Musa."

Her eyes slowly move to meet his. He gives up his last question, which just so happens to be his first, "Did you mean it?" And when her small "Yes" makes its way through her lips as her steady brown eyes catch his green ones, that's all the confirmation he needs.

His finger leaves her chin and moves to her head and then he's pulling her in, closer and closer and closer until she's all he can feel and smell and see and breathe. And she responds with the same vigor she used last night, wasting no time to wrap her arms around his neck and lock him to her. It's a new kind of game, one where they battle for dominance until they both run out of breath and need to break free. It makes him stronger, it breaks him down, it makes him wonder why the hell he ever wanted to win against her when he could instead let her win and lose himself to her as he is right now. And when his hands pull the pins from both buns from her hair as he kisses down her neck, she groans in half pleasure and half annoyance.

"I'll have to fix them again now," she whines, pouting her bottom lip out, which he takes as an invitation to bite and pull on it.

"You'll manage. Let me just have this now. I've been waiting a while to see you with your hair fully down." She scoffs but lets him stare at her in awe once he finds it in him to pull back from her lips in order to get a view his handiwork.

And to think, it all started with some fucking pigtails.

#rivusa #fate the winx saga #fate the winx club #musa #musa fate #riven #riven fate

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deepflourishrosesstories · 3 years

Text

Crawling at Night: Valentine’s Day Edition

Male! Demon x GN! Reader

Warning: Valentine’s Day, Fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

Part 1 and Part 2 for those who would like to read it!

With your neighbourhood decorated in red and pink hearts, taking a walk outside your home in the morning was quite pleasant. Chocolates, sweets, and other special foods were displayed in every shop possible and you took your time viewing and choosing to pick the most memory-engraving one to eat for the day.

This was your routine when a special event rolled in; the only thing missing was a particular demon. Since you’ve met Fateh, everything you think about seemed to revolve around him. And when Valentine’s Day came, all you could think about was imagining your day with him, with his warm hands clasped with yours and his brilliant smile dazzling upon you.

Yet you had no idea if demons—particularly the ones that aren’t in the title of Christianity—celebrates Valentine’s Day. So you kept your mouth shut and didn’t bring the topic up when talking to him.

You peeked through the transparent glass window that showed the various sweets and foods. Glancing at the window area just above the display, you were met by five midnight-black eyes that sparkled with mysterious mischief.

Gasping quietly, you turned behind and smiled up at the person.

“Hi,” the demon said. Fateh had a shy smile on his face and he shuffled on his feet nervously. Occasionally, his eyes looked up to yours before flickering away and a deep colour of red appeared on his face.

“Fateh,” you said softly.

He was wearing a simple combination of white fitting T-shirt and black jeans, yet he looked so gorgeous and flawless he was almost too bright to look at.

Fateh wasted no time in scooping you up in a bone-crushing hug, placing kisses on your entire face. His rich laughter filled your ears when he saw your eyes shut tightly, and pressed his lips in a final kiss on your forehead.

Tentatively letting your vision return, Fateh’s grinning face instantly appeared. The sunlight scorched from behind him and reflected on his tanned skin graciously. You’ve only seen him out in the sunlight two times in the past, and his inhumanity seemed to grow the more as he stood in the bright day.

You stared at him with wide eyes. “What… What are you doing here?”

He slightly looked away bashfully, but didn’t lose his hold on you. “I-I, um…” He cleared his throat. “My boss usually gives us a day off on Valentine’s Day.”

Your brows furrowed. “And why’s that?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Demons don’t exactly like Valentine’s Day. We believe that we shouldn’t avoid evil and hatred just because of a celebration.”

“Then you must not like it here,” you said. “We can go back to my house, if you want.”

Fateh shook his head in alarm. He took a step back and released his hands around you. “N-No, no. I don’t want to ruin your time here just because of me. And besides, I didn’t say we hate Valentine’s Day—we just don’t get the point of it.”

You tilted your head to the side and looked at him unsurely. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He flashed you a reassuring smile and laid a chaste peck on your lips.

“Okay.” You interlocked your hands with his and returned a kiss on his cheek. “I’m really happy you’re here.”

He smiled softly. “Me too.”

———

Turns out, Fateh has a sweet tooth—like, a lot. Every shop you went to, he would take at least two kinds of sweets from that place and eat almost everything by himself. Your routine of contemplating buying was soon broken as the demon lays his hand on various boxes of sweets and the contents vanish in a blink of an eye. It took every part of your will to stop him from making googly-eyes at all the chocolates on display and buying everything at once.

“B-But…”

His lips turned into an adorable pout that almost melted your heart and loosened your grip on his toned arm. Almost.

“This is your fifth box of chocolates, Fateh! Fifth! How many more are you planning on eating?!”

He blushed fiercely and the red on his cheeks started to glow the same way it usually did in his demon form. “U-Um, I’m sorry…” He stared down at his feet, almost like a guilty child. “B-But can I please get this one last box?” he said quietly. His voice was like a whispering prayer to the gods—so desperate and hopeful that it was ironic to think that an almighty demon was practically begging you for permission.

Your mind desperately wanted to say no, yet looking at his innocent eyes and his endearing pout, you found your mouth saying the exact opposite of what you were thinking.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “But this is your last one, all right?”

Fateh started to sparkle with excitement and eagerly nodded. He swiftly pulled you along to the shop with his feet carrying across the floor with a skip in his heels. As quick as you two entered, the demon bought the box of chocolates at an alarming pace and started to bite down on the sweet.

You watched him silently without a word nor sound. Sauntering, you led him to a park and sat on a shadowed bench.

His eyes slowly took away from the box and looked at you with wide, lustrous eyes. “Do you… do you want some?”

You raised a brow. “Would you slap my hand away if I did?”

A horrified expression fell on his handsome face, all the colour in his face draining drastically. “No! Of course not. I would never—”

Chuckling, you placed a hand on his arm. “I’m just joking, Fateh.”

His body relaxed ever so slightly, and he sighed softly. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize,” you said gently. Taking his hand, you rubbed circles on his smooth and warm skin.

A shiver rippled through him as he watched you with a gaze full of wonders and admiration. He brought your hand to his lips and pressed them feather-lightly on your knuckles. Giggles erupted from his chest bashfully, the sound fanning over your ears pleasantly like a faint wind on a spring day.

“Do you—do you think of me…” Fateh trailed off with an uncertain quiver in his last word.

You saw him swallow thickly and your brows furrowed at his frenzied self. You squeezed his hand in comfort. “Do I think of you as what?”

He looked away and said quietly under his breath, “Do you think that I-I would hurt you?”

Shock took over you. Fateh—someone so endearing and gentle—hurting you? Why would he think such a ridiculous thing? It was so unbelievable that you almost wanted to laugh at his question.

But you kept your calm and looked at him with cool eyes. Touching his cheek tenderly, you guided him so he faced you. “Why would you think that?”

Tears started to brim in the corner of his eyes and you instantly placed your other hand to wipe them away with your thumbs. As you did, his eyes turned pure black and his skin started to turn deep red, heating up warmer like sand under sunlight.

“Be-Because I’m a demon, a-and we’re feared b-by everyone—especially humans. Y-You even thought I was going to hurt you.”

An inaudible breath left your lips, you pulled your hands and looked down at your lap in shame. “I didn’t know it affected you like that. I’m so sorry, Fateh.”

“No, no, please don’t apologize,” he begged. “It’s my fault.”

When you looked up, you were surprised to see his appearance changed; his skin red as roses, his dark horns shining devilishly on either side of his head, the scales on his wings beautifully arranged, and his five black eyes gleamed wickedly and bore through your soul. He seemed to absorb all the light around him and he illuminated with a red mellow glow.

You couldn’t look away from him—his mysterious form brought you comfort unlike anything else and it brought you a shiver down your spine. Even in his demon body, he possessed a gentleness only he had and you melted when he held your hands tightly.

“I shouldn’t have doubted you,” he said. “You’ve been nothing but kind and caring towards me, and I shouldn’t have let these th-thoughts come over me.”

“It’s all right.”

You leaned towards him and kissed him sweetly. He responded slowly, his lips were soft, warm, and tasted like chocolates that sent sparkles to your body. With your bodies close together, you could feel him warming up and you hooked your fingers through his silky-black locks, bringing his face closer to you.

When you two pulled away reluctantly, Fateh rested his flushed forehead on yours and pecked your nose playfully. His five eyes blinked lazily at you, each of them staring at you with such love that your heart dissolved and turned into fuzzy mist.

“I love you so much,” he whispered.

You laughed softly. “Me too.”

“I kind of get why you humans like Valentine’s Day,” he said sheepishly.

“Really?”

He nodded once and caressed your cheeks with his thumb—it felt like soft feathers brushing against you. “It’s good to feel to be so loved by someone.”

Laughing once more, you pressed a chaste kiss on his lips and smiled widely. “Especially from you,” you said fondly.

A strong glow emerged from his cheeks. “Especially from you,” he repeated. He wrapped his arms around your torso in a tight hug and placed a smiling kiss on your temple.

I was only planning on writing this for Student From Afar but guess who wrote a Valentine’s Day edition for our shy demon? You guessed it.

Anyways, I hope you have a lovely Valentine’s Day!

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bookwormsid1015 · 3 years

Text

BNHA: This Time Around

[A Semi-CloudNight Oneshot]

“Aaahhh! It feels so good to unwind like this,” Fukukado Emi, best known as the Laughing Hero: Ms. Joke, laughs in relief as she leans forward against the bar countertop, a mug of whiskey in hand. She’s dressed in her civilian outfit, which consists of high waist blue skinny jeans and a light yellow crop top tee shirt with a bold white stripe stretching across her chest. Her mint green hair is held back in a low ponytail, and black slip-on sneakers adorn her feet; her outfit accented by a black choker around her neck and three beaded bracelets coating her right wrist.

Joining her at their favorite bar is Tatsuma Ryuko (Ryukyu), Takeyama Yuu (Mt. Lady), and Kayama Nemuri (Midnight). Nemuri’s rosy red lips tilt upwards into a sly smile, and she raises her glass of red wine to her lips. Unlike Fukukado, Nemuri is dressed to impress, with her beautiful dark blue dress fading to a vibrant pink as it travels down towards the helm of her dress, perfectly matching her light complexion. Black three inch heels adorn her feet, and her deep indigo hair is held over her head in a messy bun, staked into place by a black pin that distinctly resembles a fox tail.

Nemuri pushes up her crimson red glasses, still smiling. “Me too,” she agrees happily. “My agency has been so busy lately with all the League of Villain madness. It feels great to just be in the moment every now and again.”

Sitting on Fukukado’s other side, directly across from Nemuri, Takeyama stares down at her small glass of champagne, her eyebrows knitted together in exhaustion. The Giant Hero, like Ms. Joke, is dressed in casual clothing, wearing short blue jean shorts with a simple orange tank top and a single star-shaped golden necklace around her neck. Her long, wavy blond hair is tied back in a ponytail, which spirals down to her midback in beautiful platinum waves.

“I knew starting my own agency was going to be hard, but I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Takeyama confesses, exhaustion lacing her tone. “Like, I can’t effectively take down any villains because my size destroys so much property, and I hate that my fans only seem to like me because they want me to step on them! It’s so weird! People are weird and gross!” She drops her head onto the table and groans mutely into the polished wood. “And here I thought the big city would be different from home.”

Tatsuma places a gentle hand on Takeyama’s back and pats it reassuringly. Like Nemuri, Tatsuma is dressed for the occasion in a simple yet elegant violet dress with a chain of pearls around her neck and diamond earrings in her ear. It is no surprise Ryukyu would wear such beautiful jewelry, though given her status as a dragon, Nemuri wasn’t surprised. “Don’t worry, Takeyama. We all start off rough, but guaranteed your agency will become amazing,” the Dragon Hero encourages the blond heroine gently, and Takeyama’s shoulders only slightly relax.

Fukukado taps her chin, her dark green eyes thoughtful. “Come to think of it, aren’t you and Kamui Woods, like, a thing now? I heard his agency is successful, maybe you can talk to him about it,” she says, and Takeyama reaches across the table with frantic shushing gestures.

“Don’t say that outloud! We want to keep our relationship private! The last thing we need is the media crawling up our asses about it,” she snarls at the Laughing Hero, and Fukukado raises her hands in surrender.

“Oops! My bad!” Fukukado yelps and frantically checks around her in case anyone was listening in. Nemuri and Tatsuma make eye contact from across the table and snicker to themselves.

“Kamui Woods is a very dependable man, though,” Tatsuma adds. “I’m proud of you.”

Takeyama buries her face in her hands. “Can’t we talk about anything else?” she whines.

Fukukado’s smile returns full force, and a shit-eating grin splits across her face. “But why though? Everyone loves hearing about a good romance!” She cups her hands to her cheeks and swoons giddily. “Like, just the other day, I ran into Eraserhead at a coffee shop! It was so amazing, like something out of a romance novel!”

Nemuri’s cerulean eyes widen slightly. “Oh yeah, he told me about that. Didn’t he leave the second he saw you?” she asks.

Fukukado’s cheeks flush red, and she chuckles awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, he did. Something about not wanting to deal with my energy or whatever. But that just makes it so much more exciting! I mean, look at him, all dark and mysterious and broody~!”

“Not to mention a total hobo who forgets to shower half the time,” Nemuri adds. The other heroines at the table chuckle.

“AND he’s the only one who I haven’t gotten to laugh yet!” Fukukado goes on, ignoring Nemuri’s remark. “One of these days, I’ll get him to laugh! If not, at least smile! Yeah, that would be amazing.”

“Why not use your Quirk?” Tatsuma asks.

Fukukado shakes her head adamantly. “He erases Quirks, remember? Besides, I don’t just wanna make him laugh! I want to really make him laugh, you know? Something authentic. Using my Quirk would just be dishonest and mean.”

Nemuri shrugs her shoulders, though a part of her is secretly relieved. She’s known Eraserhead since high school, and knowing him, the main reason he wouldn’t want to try dating Fukukado would be because he doesn’t want to be influenced by her Quirk. Then again, this is Eraserhead they’re talking about. After what happened in high school, he probably wouldn’t give her a chance either way. He has trouble enough making friends, let alone dating. The cruel reality of hero work scarred him, and the mere thought of it hurts her heart. Fear guides him, and Nemuri desperately wishes she could do something to help.

“What about you, Midnight?” Nemuri perks up, and finds the eyes of the other heroines glued on her. Fukukado leans forward eagerly, her dark green eyes sparkling like diamonds. “Do you have anyone you’re with right now? With your gorgeous looks and bedazzling personality, I’ll bet yes!”

Tatsuma casts Fukukado a significant look. “Ms. Joke, your bi is showing,” she comments, startling a laugh out of Takeyama.

Nemuri glances down at her wine glass and slowly sways it around in her grasp, watching the dark red liquid roll within its transparent chamber. Her smile becomes wistful. “I’ve had flings, but serious relationships? Nope. I haven’t had any in years. Probably not since high school,” she replies honestly.

Takeyama lifts her head, blinking at the R-Rated Hero in surprise. “What? There’s no way. Your entire aesthetic is about intimacy! Especially the sexy kind,” she gapes, and Nemuri chuckles at her reaction.

“It’s true. I haven’t had a proper boyfriend since my third year in high school, and to be honest…” Nemuri’s smile becomes bitter, and she chuckles in spite of her hypocrisy. “I don’t think I’ll ever date again. Hurts too much.”

Fukukado grimaces slightly. “Oof, was he really that bad?” she asks, and Nemuri immediately shakes her head.

“No, no. In fact, he was amazing. He was the sweetest, funniest, most loyal person I’d ever met. He cared about everyone unconditionally, and he would always go out of his way to help people. Hell, this one time, he found a kitten stuck in the rain and brought it with him to school,” she reminisces, smiling at the memory of him. Even now she can clearly see his broad, glowing smile, and the image sparks an old pain in her heart. “He was my everything. Even though we wanted different things out of life-- with him wanting to start an agency with his other friends, and me wanting to start the Midnight Agency-- we still promised we’d be together. That we'd make it work.”

Fukukado’s brows are drawing together in concern, now, and acid rises in Nemuri’s chest at the realization in her eyes. “Wait, you’re talking about him in the past tense,” she says. “What… happened?”

Nemuri’s smile falls completely, and she utters a deep sigh. “The worst,” she responds. “About fifteen years ago, we were alerted to a villain attack in Tasomiya Ward, a giant monster with the ability to stockpile power.” Tatsuma and Fukukado’s eyes widen nearly simultaneously, no doubt recognizing the event, but Takeyama blinks at Nemuri in confusion; she’s too new to the career to know.

Her voice shudders, but still, Nemuri goes on, “All of us were there. Me, Eraserhead, Present Mic, and… him. We did everything in our power to stop the monster, but it was too big. We couldn’t do anything. I was evacuating everyone out of the area while he, Present Mic, and Eraserhead went to go stop the villain. Civilians got hurt; there’s no way to protect everyone. But he…”

The image washes over her, stealing away all her breath in an instant. She can smell the salty rain clouds, she can feel the slick pavement beneath her boots, the uncomfortable way debris clings to her sweaty skin. Above all else, she remembers rounding the corner just in time to see a cloud explode to life over a class of kindergarteners and their teacher, leaving them protected but him exposed. Their eyes made contact, and before Nemuri could do anything, before she could call out his name or take a step forward, a giant chunk of debris was upon him, and she was helpless to watch it swallow him whole.

The scene barely lasted for more than a few seconds, but she can still see it. The sickening crunch resonating through the air as his skull cracks open, the violent spray of blood from his head… She suddenly wants to throw up her wine and crumble into a ball. Old insecurities she thought she’d abandoned were suddenly creeping up the back of her mind, whispering terribly in her ears.

“Your quirk is useless. It couldn’t protect anyone, especially not your loved ones.”

“It’s because you’re so useless he’s dead.”

“Why are you even a hero?”

“Midnight?”

Nemuri snaps out of the memory and finds the other heroines looking at her in worry. She quickly realizes she’d dropped her wine glass to cover her face, and while thankfully the glass didn’t break, the wine was splattered all over the table top. It looks exactly like his blood.

“Midnight,” Tatsuma reaches out to her and gently takes her hands, leading them away from her face and gripping them tightly. Nemuri clings onto the contact, desperately wishing her hands were someone else’s. “Are you okay? Do you need a moment?”

Nemuri shakes her head slowly and slips her hands out of Tatsuma’s reach. She hates it when people look at her with those worried eyes. “It affected all of us,” Nemuri goes on. “Obviously, it hurt me. I lost my boyfriend and the guy I wanted to… but Present Mic and Eraserhead lost their best friend. Their brother.”

Fukukado shakes her head, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh, Midnight, I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to open an old wound,” she whispers in horror, and Nemuri shakes her head again, this time with more resolve.

“It’s fine, really. It gave me a horrible wake up call, that above all else, we are heroes. Whether we want to acknowledge it or not. Every day we go out there and put our lives on the line. We could live, we could die, but what matters most is protecting others.” She glances down at the wine spilled all over the table, and her own reflection stares back at her with wary acceptance. She sighs, long and tired. “Watching him die made me realize how easily life can be lost, how tragedy can strike in an instant. That’s why I want to embrace my youth for as long as I can, so I can live enough for both of us.” Her reflection’s lips quirk upward into a trying smile. “That way, when I die, when I can finally see him again, I can tell him about all my adventures with pride.”

Nemuri looks up and finds herself staring into the wet faces of the other heroes. Tatsuma, Fukukado, and Takeyama are all staring at their senior hero with wide, tearful eyes, and Nemuri likes to think in this moment, they felt more respect for the seasoned heroine.

Nemuri smiles back at them and wipes the tears from her eyes. “Remember that, you three,” she tells them. “Go forward knowing nothing-- not even love-- is certain, but don’t let it scare you. The world is scary, dangerous, and even cruel, but what’s most important is cherishing the people in our lives.” She raises her wine glass and what remains of the wine sloshes around in its glassy imprisonment. “To living.”

Fukukado, Tatsuma, and Takeyama look between themselves. One by one, they lift their drinks to the sky, each glass a different shape containing a different drink. “To living,” they echo, and tap their glasses together with Nemuri’s. The R-Rated Hero smiles truly, her heart swelling with pride.

Nemuri drives home alone that night.

Of course, the four heroines stayed at that bar for hours, laughing and drinking together once the shock of Nemuri’s lost-love bombshell faded away. As their senior, Nemuri only drank a few sips of her wine every now and again (although the gruesome memories made her want to get wasted out of her mind), and she allowed the other heroes to have their fun and get as wasted as they want. Takeyama and Fukukado were joking around, having a blast singing old pop culture songs together, occasionally getting Tatsuma to join in whenever the Dragon Hero got over her shyness.

Eventually, Nemuri dragged the three drunken heroines back into her car (thankful they all decided to take Nemuri’s car there and back), and she drove all the ladies home, making sure they had all their possessions with them before leaving. Once she dropped them all off at their houses and made small talk with any partners they had waiting for them, she decided to gather her wits and go home herself. Today was a long day, and she was surprised to find herself emotionally exhausted so soon.

The bar is a fifteen minute drive from her house, but as soon as she leaves her car and strides up the driveway, she pulls open the front door and steps inside her dark home. Despite it’s nice size, being a two story house with multiple bedrooms and bathrooms, only Nemuri lives in it, though she’s not completely alone.

“Meow!” Nemuri looks down, and her heart lifts slightly as her tabby orange cat comes bounding over to her, high in energy despite his age. Nemuri kneels down to collect him in her arms, and she cradles the cat like a baby.

“Hello, Sushi-baby,” she coos at him as she kicks the front door shut and locks it behind her. “How are you doing? Were you keeping the house safe from big bad strangers while I was gone?”

Sushi meows in response and nuzzles her bust.

The house is big and empty now, but one day, Nemuri hopes she’ll marry and settle down, maybe start a family all her own. It won’t be for a while, and honestly, Nemuri is scared to start dating out of fear of herself or her partner dying, but she decided a long time ago to live by her words so she bought the house regardless. She’s getting older now, and at thirty-two, she knows she doesn’t have much time left. At the very least, Oboro would want her to be happy, even if her happiness isn’t with him. She just hopes she can find someone accepting of her tastes and interests, like he did.

Nemuri enters her living room and sits back in her recliner, pulling out her phone to amuse herself. Sushi immediately adjusts himself in her lap and kneads her legs with his paws, turning around in a circle before plopping down into a comfortable loaf. Nemuri scratches him behind the ears with a faint smile.

“We’ll be okay,” she says, more so to herself than to the cat.

Sushi’s lazy purring is her only response.

Nemuri leans back into her chair and sighs. Tomorrow will be a new day.

#Kayama Nemuri #Bnha Midnight #Ms. Joke #Ryukyu #Mt. Lady #My Hero Academia #Boku no Hero Academia #Bnha spoilers #Bnha manga spoilers #Shirakumo Oboro x Kayama Nemuri #CloudNight #My Writing #Bnha Vigilantes Spoilers #Bnha Vigilantes

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fanfiction-inc · 3 years

Note

After that last Dutch request where his S/O pretends to be his wife, can you do one where he catches a female gang member skinny dipping and joins them? Maybe things get a bit steamy there (*wink wink*)?

But of course, darling! And check for the surprise at the end! 😉

((A.N: As always, the smut is under the cut 😘))

Silence.

All Dutch Van Der Linde requested was a bit of silence and a chance to work on his next big plan.

The camp needed more money.

They needed more time.

But each time Dutch attempted to slip away into his thoughts and found that eureka moment, the moment was ruined.

Heavy, drunken chatter outside of his tent as the gang passes by.

Music flooding in from the campfire that mingled terribly with Armas Järnefelt's "Ouverture Lyrique".

He stands with a huff, fingers rubbing at his temples as his eyes begin to strain on the map.

The sudden sing along to one of the many camp songs begins to grow irritating and soon he's going to the edge of the tent, about to call out and silence the flock.

But his hip bumps the gramophone playing the growing melody, the record scratching and creating a terrible noise that sends his fist to clench and hands to shake.

He exits in a hurry, needing to calm his growing anger.

It wouldn't help his plans a single bit if he let all this anger out on those who were just trying to enjoy their time while they can.

You never know when a Pinkerton will decide to come along and fuck everyone over.

His steps carry him out to the woods, sigh leaving his lips when silence finally takes over the area.

He leans against a nearby tree, cigar taken from his vest and match settled between his fingers.

As the match is struck, he hears it. The shift of water and the splash as someone swims about.

He searched with his gaze until meeting just who was intruding on his time.

You, rising from the water in all your glistening glory.

Hair flipped to be out of your face.

Breast highlighted by moonlight.

The cigar tucked between his lips nearly slips out, clinging to the dry skin and sticking there, mouth agape at the form he had yet to see before.

Perfection.

You were absolute perfection.

He catches the cigar before it hits the ground, a grin forming on his lips as he lights it and approaches the waters edge.

"So, seems someone isn't celebratin' with the rest and decided on a midnight swim." He takes a long drag of the cigar, smirk forming when he sees you whip around in shock at him.

The color rising to your cheeks as you duck your body under the water, hiding as much exposed skin as possible.

The way you tried to avoid his gaze as best as possible.

"How rude of ya to not extend an invitation m'way, Ms. (Last name)." He blows the smoke out, giving a light lick to his lips to prevent the cancer stick from sticking to them. "I would have loved a dip in them warm waters."

When your gaze finally comes back up to meet his own, he's not looking away from you.

A smug look rested on his features, cigar returned back between his lips and a twinkle to his gaze as he watched you.

"Well, Mr. Van Der Linde, I suppose an invitation is better late than never receivin' one." Your form relaxed a bit as you swam backwards, breast peeking almost teasingly above the waters. "Care t'join me?"

He pauses, taking a final drag before snuffing out the stick on the closest rock he could find and tossing it aside.

"I thought you'd never ask, sweetheart." He sends a grin your way, stealing a quick glance around the area before he begins undressing himself.

It's almost like a show put on for a one person audience.

His vest taken off with skilled fingers, the buttons of the crisp white shirt beneath following oh so slowly.

Inch after inch of skin revealed and hair begins to show on his chest.

He's grinning at your locked gaze, savoring the expression and color that begins to come as the shirt is thrown away and belt soon to follow.

Guns set aside, polished shoes toed off and soon enough he's down to just his drawers, or lack thereof.

Nude to the night and to the captivated gaze, he tossed his hat to the pile of clothing and finally entered the luke warm waters of the spring time.

"Now tell me, Ms. (Last name), just why are y'out here all by y'self? Just anyone can see your," He pauses, as if adding a dramatic effect when he sucks in a breath of an appreciative nature, "stunnin' physique."

His body shifted closer in the waters, nearly against your own as his brown eyes locked with your (eye color) eyes.

"Perhaps you're of the adventurous sort. Wantin' to be seen." He shifted so his nose nearly brushed yours. "Wantin' to be caught."

"Maybe I did want to b'caught."

Your reply both surprised and excited him.

You, the rough and tumble girl who can gun down a group of men or get them drunk enough to rob them blind, being the exhibitionist out of the gang.

It fascinated him, but it also left him aching at the idea of what else could happen tonight.

A shiver traveled up his spine when your body was fully against his, the breast he had seen before that nearly made him lose his cigar against his chest and breathing steadily.

Up, down, up, down. You were as calm as the waters that you both floated in.

You were the picture of beauty that captivated him like the best view money could buy.

He couldn't buy you. He couldn't own you.

There was no need to do so, nor did he seek the idea of a monetary possessiveness to you.

You were no working girl, you were simply one of the best goddamn members of the Van Der Linde gang.

Your lips just barely had a chance to brush his own before he was pulling away, body dunking under the water and leaving you to float and wait for him to resurface.

"Really, Dutch?" Your voice called softly, body shifting in the water as you attempt to look for the man in the darkened waters that only sparkled on the surface with moonlight. "I swear if y'pop up and try t'scare me."

Silence. You began to worry.

Then a set of arms wrapped around your middle and you're being dragged to the shore.

The noise of startle that comes into the air when he's pulling you has him reeling, chuckling as a slap to his chest is delivered when he can finally feel the lake's floor beneath his feet.

The way you glared at him in a weakened hatred and his own playful gaze in turn setting the mood.

He was in it to play now.

"Y'bastard!" Your voice came out shrill, contrasted by the deep rumble of his chuckle when you pushed away from his arms.

"I thought a woman like y'self doesn't scare easily." He teased, hair sticking to his face, the pomade washed away and leaving his longer locks to show their true length.

A low, almost feral growl, leaves his throat when your fingers take hold of the damp locks, gaze growing dark and hungry when your hushed tone arises from somewhere deep within you.

"I don't, Van Der Linde." There was a bite, as if reaffirming that you weren't some weak woman he could do as he pleased with.

In a way, he understood from your personality alone that you were a woman that should be reckoned with.

He's seen your skill, your talents as a thief and gunslinger.

If he didn't know you, and didn't know you were capable of a softer side, he'd be scared shitless.

He just wasn't a stranger to you.

"I don't believe you understand what you're startin' here, Ms. (Last name)." His rumble and tone alone had your core aching, needy for the man who threatened unlike anyone else.

It wasn't a threat of death, or of using your womanhood against you.

No, this was a threat to be far rougher than he had intended when moving into the waters with you.

He was going to play nice, be fair, but now as you give his hair a tug and press your form closer to his own, that control was lost.

"Oh, I know where this is gon'take me." Your lips press against his own when you tug his head to your own, firm hands coming to gather your hips and bring your legs to wrap around his waist.

He's quick, breaking from the grasp and alluring lips that pressed oh so hungrily to his own and replacing the absence with the flesh of your neck.

Rough nips and harsh suckles litter your flesh in growing shades of reds and browns.

His breath came out in harsh puffs when his lips got to your breast, a nipple taken between his lips and lavished with the same treatment your neck had been littered with.

A couple steps back and he's landing on the water's edge, rolling your bodies so his looms over your own.

His gaze met your own, the noises leaving your lips sending his body into a frenzy of heat and arousal.

Dutch wanted to hear your voice, even at the risk of someone coming out to see just what that noise in the distance was.

It excited him to no end.

His upper half stayed braced on his forearms as his lips did the talking, suckling at the perky bud that ached when his teeth ever so slowly dragged.

How your chest raised and fell with each quickening breath and the tremble of your form when his mustache grazed the sensitive skin with each lingering peck.

When your hands began to trace his form, moving from his hair down to his chest in a selfish drag, he couldn't help the appreciative noise that left his throat.

Nor the throb of his cock that rested oh so nicely against your inner thigh, able to be placed wherever it needed to go at a moment's notice.

He gets a firm grip on your hip with a single strong hand, bringing you flush against his member, the length slipping between your folds and getting slickened by the wetness growing there.

"That's it, sweetheart." He purred out into the air, groaning when your hips jut up in an attempt to get him inside.

His hand gives a swift smack to your rear from the side, a noise leaving your lips that earns a smirk.

"I told ya you're startin' somethin' ya don't wan'be startin'." He gave a hard trust, cock grazing your clit deliciously. "Keep pullin' stunts like that and I may just leave ya wantin', and I don't think y'want that now, do ya sweetheart?"

He watched as you glared at him.

As the color rises on your cheeks.

"No." You reply in a quick, almost frustrated quip.

"No what?" He wanted a rise out of you, a chuckle leaving his lips when your eyes roll and you bite at that delicious bottom lip of yours.

He would love to kiss on them for as long as possible if he could.

But sadly your time was limited together.

He just had to make it worth it, and he was gonna try his best.

"No," He watched your pause, how you worried your lip further in an internal fight of dominance and submission, "sir."

He smirked, a lick to wetten his lips following as he moved them to rest close against your ear.

"Good girl." His hips push forward finally, sinking down within your hot cavern.

He lets out a low groan when he bottoms out, hips flush against your own and teeth delivering a soft nip to the lobe of your ear.

He sets a steady pace, wasting no time with that slow shit.

Every second passing is another that someone from camp could come out and see the activities transpiring.

Every sound could be a cause for concern to drunken ears and demand investigation.

He needed to get his satisfaction, but also deliver your own.

He adjusted the legs around his hips so they're higher up on his body, the angle changing and causing your head to throw back with a steady moan.

Each noise had his breathing picking up and body heating further in the night.

With a hand abandoning your hip and now taking a breast in hand, he fucks into you not like a lover but as a man who had fucking in mind.

It was stress relief.

It was a moment of clarity.

He was like a great Greek artist venting his troubles into his latest muse and using it until the picture was finally put together.

Fucking you would help him leave the troubles of the night behind.

Fucking you may help blossom the inspriation for a new plan.

But above all, fucking you meant he gets to see that beauty of a face controting in pleasure because of him.

He needed you just as badly as your body needed him.

Dutch is surprised when your arms loop around his neck and nails dig into his scalp, bringing him into a bruising kiss as he fucks into you like a desperate man needing release.

He's quickening each time your walls tighten, that spot within you receiving every brush that goes by.

His whole body is going into it, abdomen flexing with each pump inside of your tightening core.

"S-Sir, I'm gonna-" You started, a kiss given to your lips to silence you before he's sitting up and returning his hands to your hips once more.

"Go ahead, sweetheart, let that wave hit ya." He purred, knuckles going into a white grip as he fucked into you.

Your orgasm hits you hard, walls tight around him and a string of curses falling between you two in increasing volume.

He pulls himself out, hand pumping his cock steadily until he's decorating you with his seed.

A groan leaves his lips when he leans back on his legs, taking a few breaths to steady himself.

Then the color drains from your collective features when a voice comes from the woods.

"Dutch? (First name)?"

A glance is shared between you both as you try to get out of the orgasmic bliss and scramble for the water.

Just because he gained excitement from the IDEA of being caught, didn't mean he wanted to test his luck.

He looks up as quickly as a deer hearing a gunshot when a branch is broken close by, meeting the concerned blue gaze of his son.

Arthur paused when he saw the scene, seeing the two nude bodies trying to get into the waters and stand there with widened gazes.

Then he laughs, a deep belly laugh that carried out among the woods.

"So that's where y'all slipped off ta!" His laughter is booming, making your cheeks heat and Dutch release a frustrated groan.

You two would never live this one down

RDR2 TAG LIST:

@lise-soontobemarried | @imtootiredforreddit | @morgans-cowbaby | @btsloversaregreat | @sokkasdarling

#dutch van der line x reader #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #ns/fw hc #ns/fw ask #lovely anon #thank you anon #anon ask

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moonlightreal · 3 years

Text

This is the “author’s note” I found on the amazon pages for the pretty hardcover Night World books. My memory is that it was just there, the book-blurb at the top by the cover picture, was this.

Like a bonehead I just copied the text without grabbing a screencap or noting the date. The amazon page now has the publication date is December 2016 so this bit of optimism was just before Ms. Smith vanished. Of course we don’t know when it was written or whose idea it was. Was Strange Fate really finished or was someone just feeling hopeful?

NIGHT WORLD Dear Readers, It’s hard to tell you how much the re-release of the Night World books means to me. It has allowed me to come full circle, to complete a cycle that began with Secret Vampire. It has allowed me to finish Strange Fate, which grew into an epic that included roles for almost every Night World character. And Strange Fate allowed me to show the origins of the Night World, the apocalypse that threatens to destroy it, and even a possible future in which the evil side of the Night World prevails. I am often asked how I conceived the idea for the Night World series. It began when I wanted to write stand-alone novels that would combine horror and romance. But I wanted more: I wanted to do a series in which this Night World—a vast, secret world that exists within the everyday world—would slowly reveal itself to readers. That’s why the first book is called Secret Vampire: the inhabitants of the Night World, composed of vampires, shapeshifters, witches, and other supernatural creatures I wanted to invent, are hidden from humans. A vampire is necessarily a secret vampire … because of the laws. I also wanted to write about a new kind of forbidden love. That’s not easy—most good forbidden love topics were old by Shakespeare’s time. But with this series, I could create the possibility of forbidden love simply by saying that the laws of the Night World prohibit a Night Person from falling in love with a human. But I still needed one more ingredient. I needed the rise of the soulmate principle to actively force Night People to fall in love with humans, no matter how hard they fought against it. Voilà! Then it was just a matter of making up interesting characters and setting them loose in my head to see what they would do. I often begin like that: sitting in a quiet room and searching for a sparkle in my mind that could become my new heroine. Sometimes it’s easy and a whole character shimmers before me. Sometimes I only get the faintest firefly glimmer of a new girl, and I have to hold my breath and see if that glimmer will materialize into a three-dimensional person. Heroes and anti-heroes are easier. It’s just a matter of picking one that will be a true soulmate for my heroine. I have a whole collection of these characters in my mind, all trying to crash the party. And they’re usually bad boys. The settings and in-depth plot development are another layer of work. But often the characters just run off and do what they want, and I have trouble keeping up with their antics on my keyboard. One thing I always do is look carefully at my characters and plot from all angles to make sure I’m not plagiarizing a book or series that I may have read before. That’s just normal procedure for ethical authors: we make sure our stories aren’t too much like another story we might have read. Of course, there are many ideas that have been around since the Babylonian myths, and many characters that are archetypal. But, really, it’s almost impossible to take many things from the body of another author’s work—say, someone else’s character(s) or plot or story device—without actually intending to do so. I can’t imagine wanting to do that. I wish I could say every author felt the same. Poppy North is a character I examined very carefully. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t too much like Bonnie McCullough, another petite character of mine from The Vampire Diaries. I didn’t even want to plagiarize myself ! But Poppy convinced me that she was a tough little squirt who by high school had already planned out her future, which is very unlike Bonnie. Poppy was going to marry her mysterious friend James—she just hadn’t informed him yet. Also, unlike Bonnie, she had a fatal flaw in her small body. In Secret Vampire, I knew I was dealing with a serious issue: terminal cancer in a high school girl. So I did a lot of research before deciding on a type of cancer that would be truly inoperable and give Poppy only a month or two to live. I went to several hospitals to talk to nurses in oncology wards. I always brought toys for the hospitalized children, but the whole subject was so heartbreaking I was almost afraid to tackle it. Once I did, though, I found that Poppy was even stronger than I had imagined. In the book, she makes the only choice she can to go on living, and she never looks back. Poppy is one of my favorite girls, and she ushers in Ash Redfern, who quickly became one of my favorite bad boys. Ash has a murky past of womanizing and … well, more womanizing. Ash returns in Daughters of Darkness because he has been ordered by the leader of all vampires, Hunter Redfern, to bring his three runaway sisters back to their cloistered vampire island. But when Ash locates his sisters, he runs straight into the human stargazer Mary-Lynnette, and the sparks begin flying—literally. Mary-Lynnette is a character I made up when I was a kid, and I’m always surprised by how many people like her and Ash together. Mary-Lynnette spends most of the time expressing her feelings for Ash by kicking him in the shins, but their dialogues are some of my favorite passages in the whole series. Ash, in turn, escorts Quinn into the series. And Quinn (who does have a first name, though he rarely uses it) is one really scary guy. A vampire since 1639 A.D., Quinn is sharp, cold, humorless, and heartless. Unlike Ash, who is mainly guilty of an incredibly long series of one-night stands, Quinn enters the series as a human slave trader. That is, he provides vampires with young girls, and he doesn’t ask questions about what happens to the girls afterward. This led to a problem: How on earth was I going to redeem this villain enough to make him someone’s soulmate in The Chosen? I really sweated over that. My first task was to make Quinn more sympathetic. The best way to do it seemed to be by telling a bit of Quinn’s own tragic story: how he falls in love with sweet Dove Redfern, and how her vampire father decides to make Quinn his heir. Dove’s father is Hunter Redfern, one of the most important vampire leaders in Night World history. This is the same Hunter Redfern who, nearly half a millennium later, sends Ash to drag his sisters back home. The same Hunter Redfern who sends his daughter, Lily, after Jez in Huntress. The same Hunter Redfern who tries to turn Delos into a merciless killer in Black Dawn. But, as a boy, Quinn doesn’t know anything about the Night World, and he is deeply in love with gentle Dove. When Hunter makes him a vampire by force and then when Quinn can’t save Dove from being killed, Quinn’s heart freezes over. For four hundred years it accumulates ice—until he meets Rashel. That’s another favorite scene of mine: when Rashel, a dedicated vampire hunter since (guess who?) Hunter Redfern killed her mother, encounters Quinn. A group of Rashel’s fellow vampire slayers have captured Quinn and plan to torture him, and Rashel is left alone to guard him. Quinn, feeling old and tired despite his youthful appearance and great power, gives himself up for dead—and is a little glad to do so. Rashel, however, can’t stomach the idea of torture. When Rashel talks to this most-hated vampire and hears his story, she deliberately sets him free. And that astonishes him. But it’s the soulmate principle working its magic. I loved making two such strong-willed enemies succumb to the silver cord that connects them. I especially loved hearing Quinn warning Rashel not to let him go—and then protecting her when her comrades arrive back in time to see that she’s let him loose. I really loved writing about Quinn and Rashel’s soulmate sequences. As Rashel enters Quinn’s mind, she sees “thorny scary parts” but also “rainbow places that were aching to grow” and “other parts that seemed to quiver with light, desperate to be awakened.” She begins to think that people ask so little of themselves. If the mind of a slave trader can look like this, an ordinary person must have the power to become a saint. It is with this revelation (and much penance on Quinn’s part) that Quinn is redeemed. That’s the thread that binds all the novels together: redemption. The possibility of a second chance. Everyone has choices to make, but even the most evil of vampires can choose to atone and be redeemed. It may not necessarily stave off punishment in this world or the next, but redemption is possible. I’ve been asked who my favorite characters are, and the answer always changes because it depends on the book I’m writing. Right now my favorites are three characters from Strange Fate. As for my favorite couples in the published books? Morgead and Jez—I suppose. Who would find themselves at greater odds than a vampire gang leader and his onetime superior, a vampire who finds out she is half human? I learned some cool martial arts moves as a bonus for writing about them. Then there is Keller, one of my all-time favorite heroines, and Iliana, the beautiful Witch Child, and Galen, ruler of the shapeshifters: the love triangle in Witchlight. Keller starts out seeming brusque and businesslike, but the love of Galen and of the unselfish Iliana help to heal her inner wounds. And I can’t forget Thierry and Hannah, and Circle Daybreak. I created Circle Daybreak because the Night World witches had only two clans: Circle Twilight and Circle Midnight. Those, like Thea in Spellbinder, who belong to Circle Twilight are not-so-wicked witches (that is, they don’t want to exterminate all humans like the darkest witches, those who belong to Circle Midnight), but they are still wicked enough. So what was to be done with all these new soulmates, when Night World law said that they must be put to death? Someone had to make a place for them where they would be safe, and I decided it was Thierry, one of the oldest vampires, and Hannah, his Old Soul soulmate, who has lived hundreds of lifetimes without ever reaching the age of seventeen. They are the ones who revive Circle Daybreak, where humans and Night People can forget about past tragedies and concentrate on a brighter future together. Although Thierry is an old vampire, he isn’t the oldest vampire. There is one older, the one who Changed him. She provides another thread that binds the series: the pitiless Maya. Maya is the first vampire, the witch who finds the secret of eternal life—and chooses to use it for evil. But there will be plenty more about her, including a look at the young Maya, her sister Hellewise, and their mother, Hecate Witch-Queen, in the upcoming Strange Fate. And so now I’ve come full circle, back to Strange Fate. But I can’t finish until I add the other joy that the re-release of Night World has brought me. It’s brought me into contact with you by e-mail. Night World fans write so many intelligent, articulate, courteous, exciting e-mails! I love to get messages from “old” fans, who say my works “got them through high school.” Thank you for them! And messages from new fans, who say they have just read all my reissued books—and are impatient for more. Thank you! And the messages that simply demand: “When is Strange Fate coming out?” Thank you, too! With a full heart, all I can say is thank you, thank you, and thank you again! I never thought I would have a chance to write an open letter to all Night World fans, and I can only wish that you knew how grateful I am … for this second chance. Sincerely, (LJ Smith signature image) P.S. I love to get e-mail, letters, and messages. Visit me at ljanesmith.net!

#nightworld #ljsmith strangefate #strange fate #LJ Smith

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