I Dream of Disney (Volume II)

13 - Court of the Rogue [Vlad Masters x Reader] Part I

Now if you're wondering where Vlad Masters comes from, he's the main antagonist from Danny Phantom. Please enjoy my narrative, written because villains are awesome.

Part I: Crown of Briars, King of Liars

"It's like you're not even trying."

There was hardly a microbe of dust on the counter when (Y/n) set down the papers but for some reason, a parched, chalky feeling grew on the tip of her tongue. There was a glass not far from her reach but it was empty and she didn't want to turn around to refill it. She didn't want to turn her back on the boy she was tutoring, who had just flunked his term-end tests. 

There was a stray piece of hair coming out of her bun, curling over her cheekbone errantly, but she didn't fix it. The only thing she did was frown and cross her arms over her chest. 

The dark-haired boy still didn't meet her eyes. His attention was fixed on the metallic countertop, scrubbed clean until it stank of antiseptic. The smell didn't seem to bother him as he curled his spine over more and thudded his head against the counter. His sigh rattled his chest. (Y/n) knew that they were both tired of having this conversation. 

"Did you try?" (Y/n) tried to get him to respond, softening her tone, "You can tell me if you didn't, you know. I won't be mad at you."

The boy retreated from his arm-fort and glanced at his tutor.

"You won't?" The boy said.

"Does that mean that you didn't try?" (Y/n) asked carefully.

The boy didn't answer immediately. He stared down into his palms while his leg bounced. A rubbery, high-pitched squeal came from where the tip of his sneaker grated against the floor. Beneath the cold white light of the kitchen halogen bulbs, the boy's pitch-dark hair was streaked with white. Almost as if there was a halo wreathed in his locks. After he mumbled something to himself, he raised his head and pierced her with his eyes. Those penetrating cornflower blue eyes. 

The boy mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"Oh, Danny," (Y/n) touched her forehead warily.

"It wasn't my fault! I wanted to study," Danny Fenton defended, "but. . ."

Danny never had a reason when he said things like this. When his tutor would try and question him to find at least an acceptable reason for why he never completed his homework, never wrote his book reports, never studied for his tests or researched for his papers - his lips would seal and nothing but 'I'm sorry' would come out of them until she changed the topic.

"I'm sorry."

"I know, Danny," (Y/n) sighed, "You're always sorry."

(Y/n) could smell sweat. In the bizarre chemical haze of the large, tiled kitchen that was one smell she wasn't expecting. The nostril irritation from the borax vapours, the blunt sting at the back of her throat from breathing in liquid bleach fumes, and the dirty-socks smell of the amyl nitrate that the Fentons kept in a transparent jar by the sink (to be used in a case of emergency when someone accidentally ingested cyanide), were all smells she'd grown accustomed to - but not sweat. She glanced over at him. 

It had been three hours since he came home from school. If he hadn't been doing his homework, why didn't he have time to take a shower?

"Are you going to tell my parents?" Danny hesitated.

"You know I have to, Danny," (Y/n) spoke evenly, "They deserve to know how you've performed in school."

"But don't they deserve to relax just as much?"