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lepusrufus · 3 years ago

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Wrong victim

Pure comedic self indulgence because we all need a funny break before shit starts to really go down in To bargain for immortality. Set quite a few years after the game events, around 2025, and is pure ridiculousness so enjoy.

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Her response to being unceremoniously shoved in the back seat of a car that looked like it's seen far better days was merely an annoyed grunt. It turned into an eye roll when the man that climbed in after her pulled everything out of her pockets.

"Wouldn't want you calling anyone," he said with a toothy grin while waving her phone in front of her.

"Trust me, that won't be necessary," she replied in a deadpan voice. It's not like she would call the police, she wanted them involved even less than her kidnappers probably did. As for other people she could reach out to, a phone call would be redundant really. "Do be careful with it, I'd hate to lose the photos of Daniela sleeping upside down."

After maybe ten minutes of driving down the barely illuminated outskirts of the city, and having her pockets emptied, dagger included, the burly man driving pulled up inside a parking lot. It was large and overgrown with weeds and vines reclaiming spaces that had been left without human activity for who knows how long. The lamp posts were nothing more than useless concrete pillars as they provided no illumination, resulting in her pitiful captors having to use flashlights as they made their way into the dilapidated factory.

Nicole sneered at the sight of collapsed walls and rusty metal walkways, reminding her of the one particular Lord she couldn't stand the sight of. She decided a distraction was needed from unpleasant memories.

"Abandoned factory?" She whistled. "How many cliche movies have you guys watched?"

She let out a chuckle when the man that had previously taken her phone shoved her ahead. Hopefully they wouldn't tape her mouth shut, there was so much fun to be had by mockery alone.

It didn't take long before all three of them entered a dimly lit room, numerous candles placed all around, either on desks or candle supports nailed to the walls. The three more people inside were wearing long black robes and white masks covering their faces. Nicole had to laugh.

"Oh so you're that kinda crazy."

"Shut the fuck up and stay put," the man holding her hands behind her back said while pushing her into a chair.

He then moved to a table and Nicole couldn't help but scowl at how unceremoniously her beloved dagger had been thrown on the wooden surface. Afterwards, he put on a mask not unlike the others, except with red streaks going down from the eye holes, and started to prepare something in the middle of the room. The others joined in on the task, all but the one man that had been put in charge of making sure Nicole stayed put. Because of course she could easily escape five people much bigger than her at any given moment.

She decided to take a look around, at the various dusty books opened on pages she couldn't quite make out from where she was sitting. A few pages were laying around, either with diagrams or with scribbled notes. Had she really stumbled upon a cult? She couldn't wait to have a laugh about it with her family.

"So," she started, craning her neck a little so she could see her captor's face. "Who you gonna sacrifice me to huh? I wanna know before you slice up my throat or whatever you're planning on."

A confused and suspicious look was thrown her way, surely due to the complete nonchalance she spoke with about what would surely be her untimely death. "The… the devil," was his unsure reply.

Nicole let out a small laugh. "Oh trust me, you do not want to meet her. Though devil is not quite the word," she continued despite a few other pairs of eyes landing on her. "Maybe a pissy fungal overlord with an unhealthy obsession for crows. Yes that's more like it," she finished with another chuckle.

The man with a slightly different mask, who seemed to be their self appointed leader, got up from where he was nailing something to the floor and walked up to her in a few long strides. His eyes were barely visible, but anger was clearly distinguishable.

He pulled out a knife, old, rusty and with a black worn out handle so typical of a kitchen utensil, and so incredibly ugly compared to the beautifully ornate daggers that decorated her home. She had to laugh when the dull blade got pressed to her throat.

"Will you shut up for one minute?!" He raised his voice slightly, as much as someone who was doing something they didn't wish to be caught doing would dare to. It didn't deter her though.

"Oh sweetie this is just what foreplay looks to me," she started with a grin that made her wish she had fangs like the better part of her relatives. "But please do me a favor and stay quiet, there's no fun in hunting if my darling finds you within five seconds due to you screeching like a broken squeaky toy."

The man blinked for a few seconds, taken aback both by the words and by the apparent passivity towards having a knife at her throat. He stayed like that until one person that was working with some ropes behind interjected.

"Of all the people you could've taken, how did you find this unhinged bitch?!"

"I'll take that as a compliment," Nicole said, bending slightly to the side so the person that had spoken up would have a clear view of her sickly sweet smile.

After that exchange, her captors seemed happy to move things along quicker, working in silence and begrudgingly ignoring any remarks she would throw their way, including an observation on the downright dreadful quality of the rope they had. Quality that she regrettably got to experience when her wrist and ankles got tied to the nails in the floor, having her lay down in a starfish position. It kind of reminded her of sprawling on the bed she shared with Cassandra simply to annoy the brunette.

After loudly reciting something in latin, the leader bent down, same rusty knife in hand, and tipped her chin upwards to expose the neck. She did let out a wince when the blade sunk deep in her flesh and got dragged downward, towards her chest, leaving behind a choking sensation and the taste of copper in her mouth. The knife however only made it to the base of her neck, before the sound of metal crashing caught everyone's attention.

"What the fuck," the man whispered, thankfully pulling the blade out so her skin had the time to begin stitching itself back together. She still had to turn her head around and spit some blood that made its way into her mouth.

Before anyone else had a chance to speak up, the door was kicked open, one of the rusty hinges breaking completely, to reveal a rather angry Cassandra with her sickle in hand, ready for bloodshed.

There were a few seconds of stunned silence before the blade was unceremoniously thrown into the first person's skull, spinning through the air for only a few meters before getting embedded into the bone with a sloshing sound. Anyone else trying to escape through the one door was met with a similar fate. One person had their knees kicked inwards before a knife held at the same belt as the sickle came down to slash their throat. Another had their head smashed to bits against the nearest wall in the blink of an eye. And last, the burly man that had driven and kept an eye on Nicole, had his heart ripped through the bottom of his ribcage when Cassandra shoved him against one of the tables, scattering the books and papers that were by then stained crimson.

The remaining man, the leader, got grabbed by the shoulders and forcefully shoved into the same chair she had been sitting in not too long ago.

"Stay put and I'll let you live," Cassandra spoke, all the cruelty polished over decades upon decades of sporting the title of the family's most sadistic coming through those few words.

He gulped and nodded, eyes glossed over by the pure human terror now so unfamiliar to both of them.

She then turned around, expression softening like a switch had been turned behind golden eyes. "Nicole," she started, barely an edge of concern and irritation at the sight of her wife's bloody skin.

"Hi babe." The self satisfied grin almost had the brunette chuckling while she retrieved her sickle and Nicole's things.

The weapon was used to cut her free, a grimace pulling the corners of her black lips downward at the same quality observation her wife had priorly made, no doubt. A hand was offered to Nicole to pull herself up, while the other presented the familiar dagger that was gifted to her so many years ago.

"Will you do the honors love," Cassandra asked, with that beautifully sadistic smile.

"Of course," came Nicole's reply as her hand wrapped around the leather covered handle.

With some of the wretched ropes gathered from the ground, Cassandra made quick work of the man's hands and legs, securely tied to the chair and voice frantic.

"You said you would let me live!"

Cassandra laughed, a low ominous sound, while grabbing the mask and throwing it on the floor. She did love to see the terror in her victims' faces after all.

"Unfortunately my wife made no such promises," she finished with a forceful pull of hair that kept his head in one place as she moved to the back of the chair.

Nicole approached with the dagger already out of its holster and tapped the blade's point against her lips in thought for a few moments. She could simply slice his throat and be done with it, or stab him and leave him to bleed out, choking on his own blood. A hum made its way past her lips. No, no that would not do.

She grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt, pulling it up almost to the neck. After a few mental measurements and approximations were made, the tip of the blade finally found its way into muscle, drawing thin trails of blood and pained screams. It took a good five minutes to carve all the intricate details she wanted to, the swirling patterns cutting cleanly through skin, courtesy of her wife keeping the blade sharp and in top condition.

After she was content with the level of detail, and screams subsided to pathetic sobs, she took a step back and, with a hum, looked at Cassandra for a reaction.

"Oh dearest," the brunette said, looking over the man's shoulder and down at the bloody cuts on his abdomen and chest, forming a crude yet not unfitting replica of the Dimitrescu crest.

At the adoration that made its way past the cruelty in her wife's eyes, Nicole smiled and gingerly took a hold of her unoccupied hand, bringing it close to her lips and leaving a small kiss and a barely visible blood imprint on each knuckle.

"I take it that you approve of my… design choice," she asked with another glance down at the jagged lines that formed their family's symbol.

"It's wonderful," Cassandra replied, fangs shimmering slightly in the low light, exposed from the proud smile that tugged at her lips.

A gorgeous smile, really, that made something swell inside Nicole's chest no matter how many times she saw it. Truth be told, her rendition of the crest was quite lacking, never having had the artistic skills to quite capture the intricate details that formed it. Nevertheless, if it brought a smile to her wife's lips, she was more than content with it. How unfortunate that it had to be ruined.

She let out a sigh, still holding Cassandra's hand. "Too bad those pigs at the BSAA would quite disapprove of us leaving such things behind. Oh well," she shrugged, bringing the hand she was holding over to the man's abdomen. "Better it be ruined at your hands."

The next second, claws dug deep into flesh, slicing the muscle and everything underneath all the way up to the throat. It left five deep gashes over the fine cuts of her dagger, but the satisfaction did not dwindle. On the contrary, when the gurgling sounds finally stopped and the body went limp, her smile was still there, turning into light laughter when Cassandra licked her fingers only to visibly cringe.

"Say what you will about the dungeons, but at least we feed our livestock well," she spat, taking out a napkin from a pocket and wiping her fingers clean. "But with that disgusting thing out of the way, let me help you with that," she continued, grimace morphing into a sly smile when her eyes landed on Nicole's still bloody neck.

She gave her no time to disagree, not that she would, before she pushed her backwards slightly into the edge of a table. Nicole wasted no time in lifting herself up on the wooden surface, bringing their faces just a tad closer to being on the same level.

Cassandra dipped her head down, lips leaving teasing feather-like kisses on her jaw before lowering even further so she could drag her tongue up the length of her neck. It made a shiver run down Nicole's spine, that turned into an impatient tug of her wife's hair when the motion was repeated again and again, until no traces of blood could be seen on her neck, save for the crimson stains that made their way to the hem of her shirt.

Their lips met in a hungry kiss, full of fangs and smeared lipstick and the taste of copper so familiar to the both of them, albeit for different reasons. When Nicole's hands went to the first buttons of Cassandra's blouse, their kiss was broken with a sly smirk.

"This is such a dreadful place for such things, don't you think," the brunette said, all too amused by her wife's exasperated sigh.

"You started it," Nicole complained, but before the words were fully out of her mouth, she was tugged off the table and on the way out, ready to get back home and have a laugh about the irony of her capture. They would have to pick up where they left off at a later time.

#cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #unhinged maiden™ my beloved #tw: gore #cassandra being cassantra and comin to save her wifey #don't take this as a clue to how the mutation sequel may turn out #fanfic

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bestiesenpai · 3 years ago

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Hocus Pocus - Sukuna

Boil toil and trouble, let's make this cauldron bubble lol gender neutral reader no content warnings! This is a...I guess medieval sort of au lol Sukuna is a knight and there’s kings and queens and blah blah

“(Y/N)!” Shrill voices rang throughout the empty stone walls, the pattering of little feet causing you to break your concentration from the glass vase you were holding over a smoking cauldron. Turning to the heavy wooden doors as they were thrown open, you held the vase in the air as two children scampered into the room and began to tug on your clothes.

“What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Laughing breathlessly, you looked down at the royal children that had decided to come spend time with you.

“We want to play!”

“Right now?” Taking a sweeping look over your messy workshop, you felt them begin to try and pull you from the room. “Alright, alright! Just a moment.” There was no stopping the children when they wanted something, especially from you.

Closing your spell books and setting down bubbling beakers, you pushed the kids out of the room, closing the door tightly behind you. Letting them guide you towards their playroom, you took a deep breath, pushing down the slight irritation growing from being pulled away from your work. There’s no way the King and Queen would appreciate you losing your temper or simply saying ‘no’, even if you did have studying to do to become a proper witch and not a simple apprentice.

Walking through the halls of the castle, you shared pleasant smiles with the more senior witches talking amongst themselves. Their robes were the rich and vibrant colors of the kingdom, a stark contrast to your plain black robe and a strong reminder of how far you still needed to go.

Coming upon the playroom, you winced as they threw open the door and made the metal knob bang against the stone wall and shocking the other occupant in the room.

“Sukuna! Sukuna! We got (Y/N) to play too!” They yelled, finally letting go of your robes as they ran to the intrepid knight who looked ridiculously out of place sitting on a tiny chair surrounded by stuffed animals in the light pastel room. He turned to you and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing at how annoyed he seemed with the whole thing. He was still in his armor, so you figured the children had pulled him away in the middle of his business as well.

“Oh how fun.” Sukuna said, clearly less than enthused about this whole thing. His pink hair was sticking out in all sorts of directions and he ran his hand through it once more, the clinking of his cold and shiny armor differing greatly with the softness that filled the room.

The children paid him no mind, rushing further into the room and grabbing toys and throwing them into the middle of the room. Talking animatedly amongst themselves, you used the opportunity to slowly walk over to Sukuna.

“So, what were you doing when they got you?” You whispered, taking a seat next to him in another tiny chair.

“Fucking training.” Nudging the sword at his side, Sukuna let out a gruff sound. “As you know, a war might be brewing in the East and-”

“There’s always a war brewing.”

“Exactly!” Throwing his hands in the air, Sukuna missed the way you chuckled softly. “I don’t have time to entertain these brats, I don’t even know why they had me join!”

“I don’t understand how your fellow knights let you get away from them.” Sukuna was one of the castle's best knights after all, having been praised countless times by the King himself and bestowed with many medals and honors.

“They thought it was a joke! Thought it was funny to see the brats pulling me away and I couldn’t say anything.” He scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

“Well, it is a little funny to think about. The Great Sukuna defeated and captured by two eight year olds.”

He rolled his eyes, but you could see the small upward curve of his lips even though he tried to hide it. You were pleased to notice him relaxing a bit, willing to converse with you as the kids ran around, completely forgetting the two of you were even there. Sukuna was usually so stiff around you, talking in short sentences and barely looking in your direction; always preoccupied with the thought of battle.

“(Y/N)! Caspian won’t let me play with this thing!”

“I had it first!” You turned to see them fighting over one of the vials from your room, recklessly pulling it back and forth and nudging the cork out of place. The shimmering purple liquid sloshed inside, threatening to drip out of the glass and splash all over the two of them. Jumping up, you ran over to the kids before they could open the bottle by mistake and cause a disaster.

“Caspian! Give that to me now!” You yelled after pulling them away from each other. The boy shook his head, holding it away from you. You groaned, taking a deep breath before kneeling to him, holding your hand out. “Caspain, please, it’s very important that I get that back.”

“Kid, just hand it over.” No longer having the patience to deal with this, Sukuna got up from his seat, taking long strides over to you. He grabbed the boy’s wrist as gently as he knew how, attempting to yank the vial out of his hand, but Caspain tightened his grip.

“No, it’s mine!” A small struggle ensued between the two with Caspian pushing and squirming to try and get away and Sukuna attempting to be as merciful as possible to try and get the vial.

“It’s not yours and you know it. Return it.” Sukuna was growing more annoyed by the second. He could easily overpower this kid and end this silly squabble but if he was too rough there were sure to be consequences.

“Be careful, don’t spill it!” Standing off to the side, your eyes were focused on the vial, anxiety rising every time it was yanked from one side to the other. Your cries went ignored, drowned out by them shouting at one another.

“Here!” Pulling the cork out, Caspian hurled the vial right at Sukuna’s face, coating him in the liquid. The glass clattered to the ground, quickly getting crushed into tiny shards as Sukuna stumbled in shock.

“What the-” Wiping furiously at his face, Sukuna could hardly open his eyes. The liquid evaporated on his skin, leaving behind a tingling burn.

“Caspian!” You exclaimed, glaring at the boy and running to Sukuna. The pungent odor of the potion burned your nostrils and forced tears to well in your eyes.

“What is this stuff?” Biting back the swear that desperately wanted to come out, Sukuna looked blindly around the room.

“It’s- well-”

“Out with it!” Sukuna barked, shoving you away. He felt like he was going to vomit, head swimming as he fell to his knees.

“Sukuna has kitty ears!” Caspian’s sister, Caroline, shouted in surprise.

“No I don’t!”

“Yes you do!” She pushed but it went unheard, overshadowed by the pained scream that ripped out of Sukuna’s chest. Writhing on the ground for what felt like ages, the pain slowly subsided and he was left breathing raggedly.

“Hello?” Opening his eyes, Sukuna was shrouded in darkness. Fabric covered his face and body; they were his clothes, he could smell that much, but he had no idea where he was.

“Sukuna? Are you okay?” Tiptoeing over to him, you nudged the armor now sitting on the ground in the shape of what used to be Sukuna’s body. Tiny claws tapped against the metal and a pink haired cat's head popped out of the top opening.

“(Y/N)?”

“Oh my god.” You placed a hand against your chest in shock, watching in horror as Sukuna wrestled himself out of his armor, angrily cursing his new height without really looking at himself.

“Kitty!” Caroline yelled, immediately crowding him and trying to pick him up. Keeping her at arm's length, you scooped up Sukuna’s new cat form into your arms and held him tightly to you.

“Kitty?!” Sukuna yelled, looking down at his body being cradled by you. “(Y/N), what the hell happened?!”

“Uhm, well it seems Caspian threw a metamorphosis potion at you...” Trailing off, you winced as Sukuna let out a growing hiss.

“Is that why I’m a fucking cat right now?” You nodded pitifully and he groaned. “Fucking brats.” Giving the two of them a look, Sukuna pushed himself up on shaky arms and crawled up onto your shoulder, digging his claws slightly into you as he settled around your neck. “The King and Queen will be furious to know what you’ve done.”

“(Y/N) can fix it!” Caroline shouted, trying to save them both from getting in trouble.

“Um, I guess I-”

“No, no they can’t.” Sukuna cut you off, sitting up a little straighter and letting a smug grin overtake his face. “You know (Y/N) is only an apprentice, do you really think they can fix this?” Letting a pause fall over the conversation, Sukuna tilted his head, his ears tickling your cheek. “You know how hard magic is to control, what if no one can turn me back to a human? Your parents will be enraged knowing they lost their best warrior to a pair of little brats.”

“Okay!” Slapping his hands over his ears, Caspian stomped his feet a few times. “We’ll fix it! What do we have to do?”

“There’s a list of ingredients I need to reverse this spell.” Pulling out the pen and pad of paper you were required to always have on hand, you scribbled down a few random items without thinking too hard about it. “Go get me these by the end of the day and we’ll have human Sukuna back in no time!”

“Let’s go!” Grabbing her brother's hand, Caroline ran from the room, ripping the paper from your grasp as she went. The door to the playroom banged against the wall again as they exited and left you and Sukuna alone.

“Well now that they’re occupied for a bit, go ahead and change me back, (Y/N).” Jumping onto the ground, Sukuna shook his head side to side and sat on the ground, his long tail swishing back and forth lazily.

“About that…” Wringing your hands together painfully tight, you could barely look at Sukuna.

“What?” His eyes narrowed, sensing your hesitation.

“I just, well I-”

“Out with it!” A loud hiss spurred you into speaking, along with Sukuna arching his back angrily.

“I can’t do it! That potion the kids took was a fluke to begin with, I’m surprised it even changed you into a cat and didn’t just burn your eyebrows off!” God it felt embarrassing admitting that Sukuna had essentially been right when he was calling the kids bluff. There wasn’t much more you could do on your own other than light a candle with your mind and make paperclips levitate.

“Okay, it’s not that bad. We can get one of your seniors to do it.” Starting toward the door, Sukuna let out a shriek when you scooped him up.

“No, we can’t do that! They’ll never let me live it down!” Holding him tightly, you felt his claws dig into your arms and hands. “L-let me figure it out, please!”

“You just said you couldn’t do it, why would I let you ‘figure it out’ when I can get changed back within a few minutes?”

“Please, just let me try! I have to prove myself!”

“Is this really the time for that? There’s a war-”

“Sukuna, there’s always a war! That’s all you ever talk about!” Yanking his claws out of the skin of your arm, you huffed and tried to calm the burning of your cheeks. “Just give me until the end of the day, please? I can fix you by the end of the day.”

Breathing heavily as well, Sukuna raked his eyes over you. There wasn’t much he knew about you other than you were another fledging witch scouted by the kingdom and that this was the most you’d ever spoken to each other directly and not in a group setting. It wasn’t just Sukuna who was stiff in conversations, it was you as well.

“Fine.” Worming his way out of your hold and back onto the ground, Sukuna swiped at his face a few times to fix the fur around his eyes. “If I’m not a human by nightfall, I’m going to your mentor.”

“Deal.” Nodding your head in agreement, you gestured toward the door. “Shall we go back to my study?”

“Lead the way.” Falling into step next to you, Sukuna walked down the halls to a part of the castle he never really visited. While he was marveling at some of the magic happening behind doorways, you were worrying your lip and praying with every step you took that you could actually find a way to turn him back.

“Nice little shop you got here.” Sukuna commented upon coming to your study. Truly it was nothing more than a glorified broom closet, just enough space for a bookshelf, cauldron, a few shelves and a tiny desk shoved in the corner piled high with a mountain of notes you’d scribbled down late at night.

“Thanks.” Your room looked like all the other beginner witch's rooms, but it felt nice for Sukuna to compliment it all the same. Clearing off a space on the small table beside your cauldron for Sukuna to sit on, you went to the bookshelf to try and find a spell to turn him back.

Taking sneaking glances at you, Sukuna went up to the edge of the cauldron, sniffing the vapors that rose from the bubbling liquid. Curling his lip in disgust at the pungent odor, he hopped off the table. Too engrossed in your books, you set down a few on the spot he’d previously been occupying.

“(Y/N), what’re these papers on your desk?” Glancing over, Sukuna had leapt onto the furniture, gently swiping his paw at some papers and making them slide from the messy stack they were in.

“Just some notes from my lessons, I have a test coming up in a potions class and I really can’t afford to fail.” Shaking your head bitterly at the upcoming deadline, you turned your attention back to the book in your hand.

Glancing over a few, Sukuna found that you were correct, there were scribbles on pages and in the margins of textbooks cramming all possible information into them.

“What’s this…?” Catching the first few letters of his name on a paper that was crinkled up and folded several times, Sukuna felt his curiosity grow greater and greater.

Struggling to open it with his new appendages, Sukuna eventually got it open. At first, he wasn’t sure where to look, there were love hearts dotting nearly every letter and a hundred exclamation points. As he read and deciphered the words on the page, he started to laugh to himself. The person who you’d been passing notes to was gushing about another knight named Okkotsu and his kind demeanor all while teasing you for liking none other than Sukuna.

“So (Y/N), you have a crush on me?” He asked loudly, just barely catching the slightest hesitation in your body at his question.

“What’re you talking about?” Fighting to keep your face neutral, you sprinkled a blue powder into the cauldron.

“This note here says you’ve had a crush on me since you arrived at the palace and I’m pretty confident this is your handwriting.” Sukuna could practically see your heart begin to race the longer he spoke and a grin overtook his face.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nervously clearing your throat, you shook your head and closed the book in your hand. Taking a glance at him, your face fell slightly at seeing his paw holding the note open.

“Really? No clue at all? Maybe I should read it out loud and jog your memory.” If Sukuna’s smile got any bigger it would rip his cheeks apart. “Now where should I begin? How about this line, ‘Sukuna is so sexy when he does training in the evening! I love that he never wears a shirt, you can see all his tattoos!’”

“Shut up!” Throwing the remaining objects in your hand onto the table, you lunged towards him and the note. Cackling with laughter, Sukuna snatched the paper into his mouth and leaped off the desk, running circles around you in the room.

“I’m so sexy, you want me to kiss you!” He teased you mercilessly as you chased after him, reciting every embarrassing word you wrote. “You love my morning voice when I pass by you at breakfast!”

“Sukuna! Stop it!” Your entire body was on fire the longer he went and frustrated tears welled in your eyes. It was bad enough you had a crush on the most popular knight in the kingdom but to have him know about it so deeply was another blow to your ego entirely. Grabbing your wand out of a robe pocket, you let out a small shout and pointed it at him, hoping that was enough to get him to stop.

And surprisingly it was; Sukuna suddenly froze all movement, hanging in the air above the cauldron that he was trying to leap over. Stomping over to him, you ripped the note out of his mouth and tore it to shreds, letting the pieces flutter to the ground at your feet. Glaring at Sukuna with glassy eyes, you mumbled a short incantation and released him from the spell, making him plop into the cauldron below.

Sukuna let out incomprehensible screams of terror as he splashed around in the cauldron, struggling to grab any sort of footing on the side and pull himself out.

“(Y/N)! G-get me out of here!” Coughing at the liquid entering his mouth, Sukuna hooked an arm around the edge of the cauldron and tried to pull himself up only to be burned by the hot metal.

“I’ll think about it!” Crossing your arms, you kept your back turned to him. His mocking words rang in your head over and over, nearly drowning out his frantic cries. Quickly growing tired of the noise, you grabbed him by the back of the neck and yanked him from the cauldron, letting him fall to the ground in a sopping wet mess of fur.

“Took you long enough!” Sukuna sputtered, shaking himself violently to try and dry off. Unable to fully look at him, you slammed open the book you’d had open before and leaned over it, blocking out the world around you and forcing the words on the page into your head.

“(Y/N), do you have a towel around here?” Your head nearly turned on instinct to answer Sukunas question, a small twitch in your neck almost giving way to a full turn. “Oh c’mon, don’t ignore me.” His paw swiped the back of your leg and you shook him off.

“(Y/N), stop being a baby.” Touching you again, Sukuna grunted and rolled his eyes when you fully stepped away from him. “(Y/N)! I’m freezing down here with this wet fur, quit fucking around.”

“Find one yourself.” You snapped at him, storming over to your desk and plopping down on the chair. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Sukuna weighing his options, looking between you and the door behind him. You could almost see the gears turning in his head as he debated on what to say.

“If I apologize, will that make you feel better?” He asked, earning a snort from you and making a smirk pass briefly on his face. “The Great Sukuna doesn’t apologize often, so listen closely, okay?”

“I won’t hold my breath.” Rolling your eyes, you relaxed the tight crease in your brow and let your back straighten up a little, no longer hunching over the desk. Clearing his throat dramatically, Sukuna padded over with wet paws and stopped before your chair.

“I’m sorry I teased you about having a crush on me, but in my defense who wouldn’t be hopelessly in love with me?”

“Is that really your apology?” Biting your lip to stop a burgeoning smile, you forced your eyes back on your paper.

“What do you want me to say? Oh (Y/N), please forgive me for learning about your everlasting love for me, I’ll conquer a hundred enemy fortresses if that’s what it’ll take!” Swaying side to side dramatically, Sukuna laughed as he made a chuckle force it’s way past your lips.

“Fine, I guess I’ll forgive you.” Rolling your eyes once more, you did a quick wave of your hand and a sharp gust of wind went over Sukuna, drying his fur in an instant.

“Just like new.” Walking in a few circles, Sukuna surveyed his body and without warning, jumped into your lap, making space for himself and looking over the book you were reading.

“Make yourself comfortable.” Adjusting in your chair, you had to move Sukunas bobbing head out of the way several times to continue to read. “Sukuna, do you even know how to read this?” The book was written in strange symbols only able to be read and understood by those imbued magical prowess.

“No, but it’s pretty interesting to look at.” Shrugging his shoulder, he let his chin rest on the edge of the pages. Quietly reading over the book, you had to shuffle Sukuna in your lap a few times, adjusting him over and over again until you were practically cradling him with one arm and turning pages with the other.

“I could get used to this.” Sukuna yawned loudly, a purr rumbling from his chest. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that his heavy, muscular feline form had made your arm fall asleep and become completely dead to the world.

A few minutes later and a soft snoring filtered out of Sukuna, a gentle sound to fill the room bathed in warm afternoon sun. The tiny window above your desk showed a sliver of the outside world, overgrown trees skirting the edge of the window pane and attempting to obstruct your view of distant mountain ranges.

Forcing deep breaths through your nose, you couldn’t stave off the drowsiness creeping into your body as well. Every blink made your eyelids heavier and the words on the page began to blur together until you couldn’t fight sleep anymore and let your head lean against the chair, joining Sukuna in a light afternoon nap.

It was you that woke up first, thirty minutes later and with a foggy mind. Surprisingly, Sukuna hadn’t woken up from the sound of a door slamming closed across the hall, still sleeping soundly as ever in your arms.

Looking over him, you noticed the markings across his face and body, tattoos that carried over from his human form. Tracing your finger along his face, you were enraptured by the soft fur that met your touch and continued along his body. Fully petting the length of Sukuna’s body, you prodded his soft, relaxed stomach and scratched gently with the tip of your nail.

“That feels nice.” He mumbled, barely awake and cuddling deeper into your side. Despite feeling embarrassed at being caught you kept going, expanding upwards and rubbing along his ribs and chest.

“Sukuna you’re so cute as a cat, are you sure you want to change back?”

“As much as I love being pet like this, I have a duty to my kingdom.” Stretching his legs out, Sukuna grunted like he was going to get up but gave up halfway, flopping back and letting out a soft sigh.

“You don’t seem to be in any rush to get back.” You chuckled, scratching behind his ears and smiling widely when he began to purr.

“Well…” Pushing his head against your hand, Sukuna shrugged. “They’ll be fine without me for a little bit.”

There was a pregnant pause before he spoke again, filled with his loud purring and soft breathing. “You know, I haven’t slept this well in ages. Always too busy with training or going to battle.” Blinking his eyes slowly, Sukuna peered up at you. “Maybe I should become a witch like you, (Y/N), then I could relax like this all the time.”

“You’re kidding; me, relax? I’m constantly on edge, there’s so much pressure to break my back for the kingdom and become the strongest sorcerer.” Slumping against the chair, your head lolled back and you stared at the dark stone ceiling. “I’d love to trade places with you Sukuna, I want to know what it’s like to be so strong and confident all the time.”

“It’s pretty great, I won’t lie.” He mumbled under his breath and you laughed, jostling him around as you straightened up your spine.

“You’ll have to teach me sometime, okay?” Standing up and opening your arms, you haphazardly placed Sukuna on the desk and walked over to the cauldron, cracking the bones in your back and looking over the ingredients you’d put in so far. “Now, let’s turn you back into a human.”

“(Y/N).” Sukuna said your name slowly, hopping from the desk to the table by the cauldron and slinking past forgotten vials to settle close at your side. “Mind if I watch?”

“Why?” It wasn’t that you didn’t want him to but unless Sukuna was suddenly granted the gift of magic the recipe you were following would be of no use to him.

“I want to know what it’s like to be the smartest in the room.” Sukuna grinned at you, bumping his nose against your arm a few times.

“Shut up.” A light flush went over your face and warmed your cheeks, and a slightly impish smile pushed your cheeks up. The compliment warmed your heart just as much, making it beat faster in your chest.

“Shut up and take notes? Got it.” Nodding curtly, Sukuna squinted his eyes and stared intensely at your hands. Laughing wholeheartedly at how serious he looked, you did a dramatic wave of your hand and picked up a spellbook.

“Alright, watch and learn.”

Whether or not Sukuna was actually learning anything or truly paying attention was lost on you, but it was certainly fun having him so focused on you and your actions. Humming and nodding like he understood when you mumbled to yourself, Sukuna was acting just like you had when you first arrived at the palace with bright eyes and an eager mind.

“Try this.” Pouring a mixture into a jar, you tilted it back for Sukuna to drink from.

“Fucking disgusting!” Wrenching himself away, Sukuna spit the bright yellow liquid onto the ground and watched it sizzle. “Are you trying to poison me now?”

“Wha- but I was so sure that was the right one!” Scrapping the jar, you returned to the book. “Maybe I need spider legs after all…”

“You need me to go out into the garden and catch you some?” Still reeling from the rancid taste in his mouth, Sukuna glanced out the window. The light in the sky was beginning to wind down, it was almost dinner time and his stomach was starting to growl.

“No, I-”

“(Y/N)!” An all too familiar voice shouted your name and you got flashbacks to just a few hours before when your door was slammed open and two children ran inside.

“Oh great, the royal brats.” Snarling at the kids, Sukuna leapt up and onto your shoulder, curling himself around your neck and burrowing into the collar of your robes. Flinching away from him, Caroline and Caspian hesitantly showed you what was clenched tightly in their small hands.

“We got all the stuff on the list!” Caroline showed hers first, a handful of daisies and a small chunk of amethyst.

“Caroline was too much of a baby to get the other stuff.” Caspian huffed, extending his palm out and showcasing the dead spiders and newt eyeballs.

“I can’t believe it, you two actually listened for once.” You marveled at the ingredients, quickly snatching them up and sorting them out on the table.

“Took you long enough.” Sukuna huffed. “Now go get my clothes from that stupid playroom!”

“Okay!” And away the two of them went, rushing down the hall with echoing footsteps. Flipping pages in a book you’d cast aside, you read it over and put in all the ingredients they had brought.

“This spell really is the one to turn you back to a human. God, I feel like an idiot, the answer was right in front of me!” Kicking yourself internally, you looked at your stash of ingredients; you had all the things the kids had brought you already at your disposal.

Right as Sukuna was about to speak, his clattering armor and underclothes made an appearance in the room, clattering to the ground as the kids struggled to carry it all inside. Laying out his clothes for him, you poured the new potion into a glass.

“Turn around children, I don’t want you to see something you shouldn’t.” With a chorus of giggles behind you, you even covered your eyes as you held the glass to Sukuna’s lips. “Try and jump onto the ground after you drink it all, I don’t want you breaking the table.”

“Got it.” Sukuna was better prepared for the transformation this time, swallowing all of the potion and gritting his teeth at the discomfort coursing through him. When you felt the glass was empty, you turned around to give him privacy.

Holding your breath and crossing your fingers, every fiber of your being was hoping and praying that Sukuna returned to normal. You heard clothing rustle and armor clanking, but you didn’t open your eyes until a heavy human hand landed on your shoulder.

“I’m back!” Sukuna cheered, flexing the muscles in his body and tightening the various straps on his clothing. He’d forgon putting his armor back on, opting to wear just the loose green tunic and pants that he had on underneath.

“We did it!” The children cheered as well, clapping and smiling.

“You two were the whole cause of this mess! You should be cheering for (Y/N) for saving you from a punishment.”

“Thanks (Y/N)!”

“Yeah, you’re the best!” Giving you brief and crushing hugs, the two youths ran from the room, probably off to find other mischief to get into. Letting out a relieved sigh, you began to clean up the table.

“Nice work, (Y/N).” Patting you on the back, Sukuna attempted to help you by gathering all the empty vials.

“It would have been better if I’d just checked that book to begin with. I thought I wrote down those ingredients for them at random, but turns out the answer was so glaringly obvious that of course I missed it.” While it felt good to turn Sukuna back into a human, the knowledge that this could have been done a lot sooner weighed heavily on your mind.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Returning his hand to your back, Sukuna let it rest a bit heavier. “You’re still learning, you’re bound to mess up here and there. But hey, you turned me back in the end!” Smiling at you, Sukuna gave you a half hug, not caring if he crushed you against his chiseled physique.

“Sukuna, that was so nice of you to say, thank you.” Hugging him back, your heart felt like it was going to burst.

“You think so? I’ve been practicing ever since my commanders told me to be softer to the new recruits and give them words of encouragement.”

“Well it’s certainly paid off.” The heat from his body transferred onto yours, making it obvious when you pulled away from each other that your whole body was slowly being set on fire from the sweet words melting your brain.

Cleaning up was quick with Sukuna’s help and before you knew it your workspace was just as messy as before all of this had happened and there was the familiar chatter of other witches walking down the halls towards dinner.

“I guess I’ll see you around.” It was bittersweet knowing Sukuna was leaving to the same place you were but going to sit at completely different places, on opposite sides of the dining hall. You desperately wanted to ask to eat with him, to extend the moment you two were having, but your social rank prevented you from being the one to make the first move.

“What do you mean? Aren’t you going to eat dinner?” Grabbing the door, Sukuna slowly pulled it open, ignoring the shocked looks from passersby as he started to make his exit.

“I am but-”

“Then c’mon, let's go.” With half his body already out the door, Sukuna paused when he saw you weren’t making any move. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, go on without me.”

“I want to go with you.” Quirking a brow, Sukuna swayed on his feet for another moment before getting fed up with waiting and grabbing onto your sleeve, yanking you from your room and into the hall.

All eyes were on you and you knew there would be a lot of questions hurled your way sooner or later about what was going on with the two of you. Someone as high ranking as Sukuna wasn’t seen with new recruits, especially not coming out of their workspaces.

“Now let’s go, I’m fucking starving.” Sliding a hand up to the collar of your robes, Sukuna held a fistful in his hand and made you walk with him down the hall.

“Sukuna, you don’t have to be friendly with me anymore, I already held my end of the deal.”

“Why should I stop? I liked hanging out with you, (Y/N). Unless you don’t want to hang out with me anymore.” His grip softened a little and you grasped his wrist.

“No, I do! I-I really do! It’s just, you’re such a high rank and-”

“So what?”

“So, it’s not really heard of for us to mingle!”

“What’re you talking about, I mingle with witches all the time!”

“Yeah but they’re more senior than I am.” Letting out a sharp grunt, Sukuna stopped abruptly and turned you to face him.

“Fine. (Y/N), as your superior I order you to have dinner with me. Happy now?” Without waiting for an answer, Sukuna began to walk again. “And if you give me any more shit, I’ll make you run up a hundred mountains when I train you.”

“You want to train me?” Sure, witches received some physical training but a majority of your learning was focused on magic.

“I think it’s only fair since I learned a bit of magic today.” Getting into the line to enter the dining hall, Sukuna finally released your collar.

“I’d like to learn from you.” Giving him a bashful smile, you were mentally clearing your schedule in preparation for the day.

“You might fall even more in love with me, I can’t wait to read the notes you pass around about me afterwards.”

“God, you’ll never let me live that down will you?” Slapping your hands over your face, you felt the urge to bang your head against the wall.

“Never.” Laughing at your misfortune, Sukuna nudged you forward and into the dining hall. “Now go get some food, I’ll save my biggest fan a seat next to me at my usual table.” Leaving you all alone and dying of embarrassment, Sukuna walked to a group of other knights, his loud and boisterous voice easily carrying over the others in the room.

Gathering all the pieces of your dinner, you looked out at the massive dining hall, crammed with knights, witches and other civil servants just trying to make it. Scanning over the tables, you could see gaggles of knights but not the one you wanted to see.

“(Y/N)!” Just as you’d given up searching and turned away, Sukuna yelled your name, somehow cutting through all the noise. Looking over your shoulder you saw Sukuna standing on a table and waving at you once you made eye contact. The seat next to him was completely empty, a space big enough for you to sit and eat at.

“C-coming!” You yelled back, unsure if he even heard you until you received a big thumbs up and Sukuna jumped off the table. With scalding cheeks, you gripped your plate tighter and rushed over to the table, eager to spend more time with your new friend.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen au #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines

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milf-harrington · 3 years ago

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hello here is some random, mostly unedited, renga fluff <3

Rain pattered against the tin roof of the small garage and the paving outside, a quiet static in the background that slipped through the open rolling door along with the humid summer air. While Reki sat at his work bench, tinkering with a custom board for a client at DopeSketch, Langa had opted for the cool concrete flooring, his hair tied away from his neck, damp with a mix of sweat and rain.

The mid-afternoon peace was only broken when Reki gasped sharply and yanked his hand away from the board, hissing out a curse as he attempted to shake the pain away before bringing his finger close to inspect it.

“What happened?” Langa’s voice rose from where he was sitting, tracing over the kanji Cherry had left him to practice with when the older skater had finally grown tired of trying to decipher his handwriting. Reki knew without looking that Langa’s eyebrows were scrunched together with concern, still frustratingly beautiful even with his hair frizzing from the humidity and skin flushed and shiny with sweat.

“I got a splinter.” He grumbled, pinching the reddened skin with his newly painted nails - courtesy of his bored sisters - to try and push the offending sliver of wood out.

A rustle of paper and the gentle tap of a pen against cement catalogued Langas movements as he stood up, a matching set of nails appearing in his vision when Langa leaned in over his shoulder.

“Let me see.” He ordered softly, gently wrapping his ridiculously soft hand around Reki’s wrist and pulling it closer, filling Reki's lungs with the dizzying smell of Langa Langa Langa when he leaned in to frown at the incredibly minor injury.

"I have tweezers in here somewhere..." Reki murmured, voice almost hidden under the sigh of the rain as he tried to remember where he kept them, skin steadily warming with a blush that was inevitable with having his boyfriend so close.

Langa hummed, brushing his thumb across Reki’s knuckles like it didn’t make his heart stutter in his chest, breath catching. “Where?”

Reki blinked, the sudden memory of chipped tweezers half-covered by something white and clattering against wood floating to the surface of his memory. “Oh, uh, second drawer, under some of the design sketches I did for the toe-clips in your board.”

Reki didn’t quite realise how warm Langa was, until he suddenly wasn’t there anymore, an uneven chill soaking into his shoulder and upper arm through the thin material of his shirt when Langa leaned down to open the drawer - apparently disregarding the fact that it was perfectly within Reki’s reach. The strands of hair that hadn’t been long enough to fit under the hair tie fell around his face when he bent to dig through the drawer, gently moving aside the notes Reki had scribbled, until he straightened up again, tweezers in hand.

He hesitated, and Reki raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not going to bleed is it?”

Laughing, Reiki turned so he was straddling his skateboard-turned-stool and tugged Langa closer by his shirt. “Dude, it’s a splinter, unless you’re planning to cut my finger off I don’t think it’ll bleed. Beside, I can just do it myself-”

“No.” Langa cut him off, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand and then dropping down onto the spare stool, inching it closer with a short scrape of wood against cement. “I can do it, let me take care of you.” He grumbled, reaching for Reki’s hand and pulling it into his lap.

Reki almost felt dizzy with the sudden rush of blood to his face, ducking his head and tugging at his headband to hide his blush. How did he just say things like that?!

Langa propped his foot up on one of the foot-bars on Reki’s stool, bringing his knee (and consequently Reki’s hand) closer as he gently curled his fingers around Reki’s palm, tweezers held delicately in his free hand where he pressed them against Reki’s skin.

His skin was so soft, grip loose so that when Reki involuntarily jerked his fingers into a rock-n-roll sign the movement wasn’t restricted, and Reki was glad they were already dating, because the way his insides twisted with butterflies and other lovey feelings might’ve had him blurting out something embarrassing.

He barely felt it when Langa pulled the splinter out in one swift movement, keeping Reki’s hand in his lap as he twisted and dropped the tweezers back in the drawer.

Turning back, he gently prodded along Reki’s finger with his thumb.

“Ow! It still hurts, dude.” Reki whined, flinching when Langa pressed right where the splinter had been.

Langa made an apologetic noise and lifted Reki’s hand to his face, pressing a soft kiss right where it was still red and pausing slightly before turning Reki’s hand and trailing kisses across his knuckles.

Reki’s insides turned to soup, his already suffering body slipping dangerously close to overheating as Langa continued, pressing kisses to old skateboarding injuries and small scars from working.

He placed another lingering kiss to the newer band-aid on Rekis thumb before holding his fingers together with both hands and kissing his fingertips. “Better?”

What Reki responded with was absolutely not words, and Langa’s eyes sparkled with fond amusement.

#renga #renga fluff #renga ficlet #kyan reki #hasegawa langa #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #sk8 the infinity ficlet #my writing

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stab-the-son-of-a · 3 years ago

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Whumptober No.1 - Barbed Wire

TW: Character death, choking, blood

Gladys doesn’t get paid nearly enough for what she deals with. Sometimes, the joy of helping a burgeoning new enthusiast wet their feet outweighs the irritation and frustrations. Other times it’s exactly the new whumpers that irritate her so much.

Idly drawing stylized S’s on her notepad, she listens to the woman on the other end list out the symptoms. At the start, Gladys had written her client’s name down but now, going on an hour later, she finds she can’t read her scribbled writing.

“So the symptoms you’re describing,” Gladys interrupts the woman, because waiting for an opening hasn’t worked for the past half an hour. “They’re a spot on match for lockjaw. Fever, muscle spasms, the whole breathing and swallowing thing.”

“Um, nooo,” the woman draws out her words in the most annoyingly condescending tone possible. Quite the feat considering she’s dead wrong, Gladys thinks. “Tetanus went away with the vaccines. Like polio.”

She absolutely does not get paid enough for this. In a display of superhuman self restraint, Gladys holds back from telling her just how ridiculous she sounds. She deadpans, “I’m sorry ma’am, herd immunity doesn’t protect from toxins.”

“Whatever! What do I do? How do I fix this?”

“There’s really no fix for tetanus—”

“Um, yes, there is! It’s like antibiotics, or medicine or an antiviral or something.”

A lack of proper planning and knowledge on the clients’ part nearly always necessitates in an emergency for the agents, and she's well accustomed to the golden rule of never underestimating how damn stupid people can be, but Gladys is also pretty sure that sharp throbbing pain behind her eye is her IQ draining away.

In the distance, she hears the poor whumpee groan, the sound tight and agonized. You and me both, pal, she thinks as she stares down at the now full page. With a sigh she rips it off and starts a fresh one.

“Are you going to fix it or not?” Karen — she’s going to call her Karen because it’s perfectly apropos — demands. “I’m not done with him yet!”

“No, I’m thinking you’re done with him.” As Gladys awaits Karen’s indignant squawking, she switches to drawing cubes rotated at various angles. “He’s done for, ma’am.”

On cue comes the tirade. How Gladys can’t possibly know this just from a list of symptoms and a short discussion and a picture. How Gladys isn’t a doctor (never claimed as such) and thus not qualified to give a diagnosis.

Honestly anyone with half a brain can see what happened. Karen dressed up her ex-lover in shibari made from barbed wire, and she didn’t even check if he was up to date on his shots. That’s on her.

That said, the picture sent to Gladys is just delicious, so she almost can’t blame Karen for this. The man in the photograph, stripped down to his jeans, kneels with his arms bent behind his back just so- elbows forced together by the wiring, hands and wrists cinched against his waist. The result pushes his chest out, opening it to expose the bloodied stripes and blooming bruises from previous sessions with a whip. (Gladys wouldn’t be surprised if Karen used one made of barbed wire.) The bindings continue down his hips and legs, the angle forcing them apart and curving his spine backwards due to the short length tying his wrists to his ankles and both to his neck.

But what really catches the eye is the blood. It wells up from countless small puncture wounds, trails and rivers flowing down, collecting in hollows and marking the trails and contours and planes of his body.

“Are you even listening to me?” Karen interrupts Gladys’s appreciation with an indignant shriek. Like a newborn needing attention, she raises her voice, and Gladys hastily pulls the receiver away from her ear before she can deafen her. “I called looking for help and you’ve done everything but help!”

She knows how she’s meant to react, technically, by the rule book, and all that PR, customer is always right, bullshit. Instead, Gladys says coolly, “Are you ready to listen to me?”

“I’m ready for someone to help me.”

“You see, ma’am, in my professional opinion, you’ve fucked this up beyond repair.”

Karen goes absolutely silent, but her whumpee whines and whimpers, the sounds all breathless and shallow, weak and raspy. Yeah, no, that man is dead or on his way there.

Emboldened by the success of getting a word in, Gladys continues, “Yep. Fucked it right up. Start over. Toss the whole man out.”

“You don’t understand. It has to be him! I chose him for a reason!”

“Then take a picture for memory’s sake but you can’t keep broken trash laying around. That doesn't spark joy.”

To that, Karen doesn’t respond, except to set down the phone on some hard surface. She doesn’t hang up, surprisingly.

“Baby…” the man croaks. He sounds absolutely parched, his voice raw and shattered from screaming. “Please… don’t…”

“Fuck you!” Karen finishes her cry by yanking on the wire that encircles her ex’s throat, if the choked gasps are any indication. “You ruin everything! You couldn’t do this one thing for me, Jason? You couldn’t let me have any bit of happiness?! You selfish pig! I should have done this years ago!”

The sounds of struggle and asphyxiation slow and then stop entirely. Her ex hits the ground with a boneless, wet noise, and doesn’t gasp or wheeze again.

“Thank you,” Karen says primly as she picks up the phone again. “That was unpleasant.”

Gladys taps against the paper and wonders for a moment if she should say something. Finally her conscience gets the better of her. “Ma’am, are you wearing gloves?”

“What does that have to do with it?”

… so no. Clearly Karen handled the very same tetanus infested wire without protection. Gladys glances down at the man in the picture, at those resigned, glistening eyes still so stupidly filled with hope and affection, and shrugs to herself. “No reason,” she says with a sharp smile. “Would you like to stay on the line for a brief survey?”

Click.

#whumptober2021 #no.1 #barbed wire #oc #fic #character death #choking #stress position #blood #tetanus #wcc gladys #wcc series #crack whump #konmari your whumpees

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tickly-trashcan · 3 years ago

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Bonsai {AkiRai}

A/N: using a gif cuz im lazy BUT i needed to get my emotions out because these two have been giving me the biggest brainrot lately and I cannot stress enough just how much i love them. I BEG if you havent watched the show yet you should definitely check it out, it’s only 12 episodes but it’ll get you in the feels. anyway i’ve talked long enough, hope you guys enjoy this one!

Summary: Akihito has been put in charge of taking care of Mirai’s bonsais. He fails to properly take care of them, ruining all of Mirai’s hard work. How will she get her revenge?

Word Count: 1.6k (under the cut)

“You’re so unpleasant!” Mirai wailed, storming out of the literary clubs room. Akihito ran after her, calling her name.

“Kuriyama, I’m sorry! You know I’m not good with plants!”

Mirai had been sick for the past week and away from school, so her bonsai in the literary clubs room had been left in the care of Akihito. Akihito had been left with minimal instruction due to Mirai being the one who normally takes care of the plants being sick, Mitsuki being absolutely no help, and Hiroomi being too interested in Akihito’s underarms to assist.

So, as a result, he had over groomed, over watered, and just overall ruined Mirai’s bonsai that she had spent months taking care of and making sure were in top condition. She had also spent most of her rent money on them in the first place, and she was more than upset knowing that she would have to buy more now.

“I don’t want to talk to you, Kanbara!” She whined, tears burning in her eyes as she ran up to the rooftop, the place where she had first met Akihito…

It seemed like so long ago, when Akihito had first seen Mirai standing on the rooftop. He had predicted wrong what she was planning, but still he ran up to the bespectacled beauty to try and talk her out of it.

“Someone who looks as good in glasses as you simply must not die!” He had yelled, fists clenched in determination as he watched the strawberry-blonde turn her head.

“How unpleasant,” She had muttered dryly, jumping towards Akihito. Before he could even react, he felt something pierce his chest, and when he looked down there was a sword made of blood stabbing him.

He felt pain searing through his chest, but he still managed to will himself to speak, clenching the sword with one hand.

“Can you do something about this sword, please?” He asked, a small grin on his face.

Mirai had looked at him with a mixture of shock and horror as the immortal boy only chuckled to try and off-set the pain. Yes, that had been how they met, and slowly they had managed to become friends, and now they were something even more.

Mirai shoved open the door to the rooftop, holding it shut behind her as Akihito tried to force it open.

“Please, Kuriyama, I’m really sorry! I won’t do it again, I promise!”

“You won’t do it again because I’m never speaking to you again! Never ever ever!”

Akihito managed to push the door open and squeezed through onto the rooftop, Mirai already running away from him again. Akihito grabbed her wrist and held on as she tugged, trying to escape him as he begged for her forgiveness.

“I’ll get you new bonsai, then we can raise them together!”

“I don’t want to raise anything with you, Plant-Killer! You murdered Risa and Kenichiro!”

“You named your bonsai?!”

Mirai finally shook her wrist free of Akihito and pushed him, knocking him over. As he fell backwards he grabbed onto her again, pulling her down with him.

They fell down, Mirai on top of Akihito as she immediately sat up, staring at him angrily.

“How unpleasant!” She wailed again, her signature catchphrase having been stated many times in the literary club already. Akihito sighed, rubbing his now sore head as he was about to speak another apology to her, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was a surprised yelp.

Mirai angrily dug her fingers into Akihito’s sides, scribbling around as he threw his head back, laughing loudly as she attacked him.

“K-Kuriyahahahahama! Dohohon’t! I said I was sorrehehehehe!”

“Save your apologies, Plant-Killer! They mean nothing to me!” She yelled over Akihito’s growing laughter as she now dug into his ribs, rubbing her knuckles in them in the way she knew drove him absolutely crazy.

He squirmed beneath her, squeezing his arms against his sides in an attempt to squash the sensations, but only ended up trapping Mirai’s hands in one of his more sensitive spots. He was smiling widely as laughter poured from his lips, panicked and loud.

Mirai continued to pout as she tickled poor Akihito, her anger far from vanished as Akihito cackled beneath her, squirming to try and get out of her grip. He threw his head back and shook it around, kicking his legs and digging his heels into the ground as she continued to messily scribble along his ribs, creeping up closer to his upper ribs as Akihito squeaked.

“Kuriyama! Not thehehehere!”

“You deserve it and you know it!” Mirai exclaimed indignantly, digging her hands under Akihito’s arms, making him screech unflatteringly as he squeezed his arms tighter to his sides, trying to block out the sensations but only managing to trap Mirai’s hands in his worst spot.

“StahahaHAHAHAP! Not thehehehehere, plehehehease!!”

“You’re so unpleasant!” Mirai blubbered, her voice breaking. Akihito was too busy laughing his head off to try and comfort her, but he desperately wanted to. He knew how upset she was, all he wanted to do was to tell her that he was going to make it up to her, but with her currently tickling the living hell out of him, he wasn’t able to do much.

It wasn’t like tickling was new in their relationship. Ever since Mirai had found out the other part of the reason why Hiroomi always stuck his hands under Akihito’s arms, she had always used it when she wanted to mess with Akihito.

That said, Akihito had recently discovered that Mirai was just as ticklish as he was, and it had helped him get out of certain situations with just a few pokes and an exclamation of “How unpleasant!”

With a ridiculous amount of willpower, Akihito managed to move his arms from his sides, flinching a few times as they desperately wanted to clamp back every time Mirai scribbled harder or delicately pinched the sensitive flesh. He reached up and grabbed onto Mirai’s sides, making her squeak. Still laughing, Akihito squeezed his hands, successfully making giggles pour from Mirai’s lips.

She retracted her hands from his body and used them to try and pull his hands off of her own, squealing as she turned from side to side, Akihito sitting up after catching his breath.

“Kaha - Kanbara! You’re beheheing-”

“What? Unpleasant? Well, I’m gonna keep being unpleasant until you forgive me,” He said, a small smirk on his face. He rubbed his thumbs into her hipbone, making her squeak and double over with high-pitched, girlish laughter.

“Hehehehe! Plahahahant-Killer!” She repeated, and Akihito only chuckled, making her whine.

“Dohohon’t laugh at me!” She howled, throwing her head back when Akihito started to scribble his fingers over her tummy, spidering over the sensitive torso.

“Forgive me, Kuriyama~?” He said in a whiny tone, only making Mirai giggle more at his antics. She laughed and shot her hands back at Akihito, tickling under his arms again as he choked on a laugh, crumpling forward slightly and squirming as laughter started to spill once more from his own lips.

“I’ll nehehehever forgive youuuu!” She declared, laughing brightly like a small child as Akihito laughed with her, creeping his fingers up to her lower ribs where he knew he would get a good reaction. Mirai jerked, more bubbly laughter filling the air around them as her own tickling on Akihito weakened, her upper arms now clamped to her sides, which made it difficult to tickle Akihito.

“Juhuhust say it!” Akihito laughed, and Mirai shook her head. Akihito began to knead her lower rib cage, making her positively squeal as she fell forward, leaning against Akihito as she squirmed madly, pulling her hands away from Akihito again to try and keep him from tickling her.

Akihito panted as he continued to knead her ribcage, rubbing his thumb in circles as her laughter grew in volume and pitch. She wasn’t expecting the tables to have turned as they did, but she probably shouldn’t have expected any less of the half-youmu who was currently tickling her to pieces.

“Alrihihihight! I f-forgive yohohohou!” She finally exclaimed, having had enough of the tickles on her ribs. Akihito stopped, smiling softly at her.

“H-How unpleasant,” She said quietly, and squeaked when she felt another poke at her side.

“Let’s not look at it in a negative way, now you can get some new bonsai and we can raise them together,” Akihito offered, and Mirai blushed, turning her head as she took off her glasses to clean them, a nervous habit of hers.

“It’s easy for you to look at it in a positive light, Plant-Killer,” She huffed, and Akihito sighed, though he couldn’t fight back the amused grin on his face.

“Is that my new name now?”

“Yes.”

Akihito chuckled softly, watching as Mirai put her glasses back on and adjusted them with her thumb. Akihito shyly pecked her cheek when she finished adjusting her glasses, making her face heat up as she sputtered.

“Y-Y-You! Don’t do that, meanie!” She whined, pounding her fists against Akihito’s chest as he laughed.

“Alright, I won’t,” He said, a lilt in his tone that made Mirai suspicious of him even more. “Can you get off of me though? We can go get more bonsai now if you want.”

Mirai quickly got off of Akihito, brushing herself off as he helped himself up, rubbing the back of his head again that was still somewhat sore from the previous fall. He reached his hand out to Mirai, who looked at him hesitantly. He smiled gently at her, the smile that he knew she would never be able to refuse, and she took his hand.

“Do I get to name one of the bonsai since we’re gonna be raising them together?”

“S-Stop making it sound like we’re parents! And no, they’re my bonsai so I get to name them,” Mirai huffed, and Akihito snickered.

“Our bonsai.”

#akirai #akihito #mirai #beyond the boundary #tickle fic

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turquoise-skyyyy · 4 years ago

Text

The Solution To Everything(Is Hair Dye)

Note: Human AU! First time posting writing on tumblr lmao, and I wanted to try a bit of a different writing style... so there’s that.

Just a little writing practice paired with Marellinh fluff n kinda angst ig :)

Word count: uhhh i went overboard

Blurb: Linh is lonely, with no one in the world left by her side, hurt, by all that she’s lost, and possibly has an ever-so-slight crush on her elusive blonde neighbor. Marella needs someone to dye her hair within the day, and Linh happens to have exactly what she needs, in more ways than one.

When Linh wakes late in the night, startled from her dozing state on the couch in her dimly lit living room to the sound of persistent knocking, she certainly doesn’t expect to find the blonde neighbor she’s been inconspicuously watching— she’s still trying to convince herself that casually watching the girl enter her house anytime she got the chance wasn’t stalking— for the past three weeks since she moved in next door to be on the other side. And when the panting girl in front of her sucks in a breath, Linh definitely doesn’t expect the words that spill from her lips—

“Can you dye my hair?”

Linh blinks with bewilderment, still trying to process that the girl is here, on her doorstep. Not to mention really, really pretty. Annoyingly so, to the point where Linh’s tired brain has to avert her eyes to focus on forcing her mouth to form words.

“What?”

The girl smiles apologetically, and suddenly Linh’s throat feels dry. The girl’s beauty is much more manageable from a distance, through subtle glances out of the corner of her eye across the hall.

“My roomates— screw them— dared me to dye my hair bright green by tomorrow. I lost a bet.” She looks away. “And you have green hair dye, so...”

Linh stares dumbly, trying to puzzle out how to respond to such a random, odd request. Though she moved into the apartment complex almost a month ago and her maybe sort of possible little crush lives just next door, her mind is still trying to register the fact that they have finally crossed paths. And the girl has come to her, no less.

“How do you know I have hair dye?” The hair dye is something she’s gotten to send to Tam. The silver in his hair is something he kept in long after she cut it off and cut off their parents. He still hangs on, and Linh wants to change that, even if they haven’t spoken in a year. She isn’t going to send it though, she knows. She always chickens out. Her brother’s silence for the past year isn’t easy to face. Still, she buys brightly-colored dyes frequently on the off chance that a lightning strike of confidence will hit her. It hasn’t happened yet, but it’s a comforting routine anyway.

The girl blushes, scratching the back of her neck bashfully and shifting from foot to foot. The movement draws Linh’s eyes to her shoes. They’re ratty sneakers, and upon closer inspection, it looks like there are messy, multi-colored words scribbled all over the sides. The weird shoes match the long, tacky rainbow socks that go up to her knees and the bright, tie-dye, too big sweater draped over her surprisingly small frame, with black leggings to top off the outfit underneath.

“Well, I saw you coming back in from the supermarket yesterday and there was a box of green hair dye poking out of the bags...” she trails off. “Oh my god. I sound like a stalker, don’t I? I swear I’m not.”

Linh can’t help the delirious, sleep-deprived giggle that escapes at the words. It’s ridiculous to her, that the girl she’s been following and observing as subtly as humanly possible because she’s just so pretty and Linh wants to know everything is the one worrying about being a creep.

The girl grins at her laughter, the question still burning in her eyes, which are an even brighter shade of blue than Linh realized up close.

She clicks her phone on, checking the time discreetly. It’s late, nearly midnight. The hair dye takes at least an hour, most likely more, to finish. She has an exam at nine the next day that she still hasn’t studied for and she hasn’t yet messaged Tam for her daily one-sided check-in that he never responds to, or even reads.

She looks back up at the girl with thin braids threaded through thick, golden locks, framing beautiful ice blue eyes set in a still blushing face, waiting for her at her doorstep with an open gaze and just maybe, an open mind.

Her stupid, fluttering heart makes a decision before her rational mind can catch up.

“Come on in.”

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

The girl, who introduces herself as Marella, asks her if she’s always so quiet.

Linh snorts, resisting the urge to point out that Marella is the one invading the house of a relative stranger in the middle of the night. Of course, there’s also the fact that she let her, and that isn’t even considering how flustered the blonde makes her. Especially in such close proximity, where she can smell the faint lavender wafting off her hair. Linh never would have pegged her for a lavender girl.

And when she leans closer to touch up the roots again, she realizes that Marella smells of something spicy. It’s good, comforting, like the home-cooked meals made with love that Linh only ever got to experience in other people’s houses because hers never truly felt like home, or the smell of wood when it was burned in a desperate attempt to keep the warmth in the winter because woolen hats and group hugs were never quite enough to warm everyone’s toes.

Linh has to remind herself to keep working her fingers through the hair.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Linh is thankful when the summer sun finally leaks away and is replaced by autumn wind. There’s something calming about the crisp air blowing through the hair that escapes from tightly-zipped thin hoodies and the leaves bleeding red and gold. She much prefers it to the heat of the summer, or the harshness of winter, the temperatures of which she can never quite escape from completely.

When she pulls open the doors to a nearby cafe and lets the smell of warmth and caffeine wash over her face, and falls into line to order, she isn’t expecting to be behind a girl with a mane of blonde hair that’s streaked through with bright green that hurt the eyes and small braids that sway when she shifts. And Linh’s weeks of watching from a distance pay off— and the hard-to-ignore green certainly helps— because she recognizes the girl immediately.

It’s Marella, sporting the new, significantly greener look that she gained by Linh’s own hands. Linh blushes at the reminder of the night weeks ago. She’s surprised to find that it was the first time she’s seen the girl since their unintentional night together. She’s been so occupied with settling in, getting organized, figuring out independence, and attempting to reach out to her absentee brother, that she hasn’t even noticed the girl’s absence. It seems her creeper skills have gotten rusty, which should make her happy but instead causes the barest amounts of disappointment to creep up. Even from afar, Marella is lively and brightens, or at least eases, the monotonous days that all seem to bleed into each other in one eternal, never-ending passage of pain.

“Hey!” Marella’s voice jolts Linh from her thoughts. “Nice to see you here!”

“H-Hi!” Linh stutters. She thinks the girl’s impossibly blue, intent gaze will always catch her off guard.

Her gaze shifts to the green in Marella’s hair, the harsh coloring softened by the sunlight streaming in through the windows of the cafe and bouncing off the bright strands.

“Your hair looks nice.”

Marella touches a hand to her neon green-streaked look and smirks. “All thanks to you.”

Linh’s cheeks warm at the praise. By the time they reach the orders taken down, Marella has somehow convinced Linh to sit and drink with her. She takes Linh’s wrist lightly and guides her to a table, an action that makes Linh’s face heat again. She looks down at the thin fingers encircling her arm to make sure she isn’t dreaming, and is elated to find that she isn’t.

And sitting in that booth, sipping their warm coffees and exchanging even warmer smiles, Linh’s romantic fantasies from afar suddenly seem a lot closer than she ever thought possible.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Linh isn’t sure exactly how she’s gone from watching her neighbor from a(very far) distance to being dragged into her unfamiliar apartment to be introduced to her roommates, but she can’t say she’s complaining.

As nerve-wracking as it is to be inside Marella’s house, she has to admit that the chance of pace from routine is something she would have been too scared to do herself. Had Marella not knocked on her door and practically shoved her out of her own with an evil grin on her face and into the girl’s shared one just minutes before, she might have stayed holed up in her own apartment forever, seldom leaving and only ever for basic necessities.

Patterns are nice, reliable, and most of all, consistent, something that Linh has never had before, and up until a year ago, had given up on attaining, but there’s something undeniably exciting about throwing caution to the wind and launching herself into a new situation.

However, there is the slight problem of said new situation happening to be making a good impression on her crush’s roommates, who are all staring down at her stoically in a solid line of four with their arms crossed and their gazes narrowed. It reminds Linh of the stereotypical movie tropes in which the overprotective dad interrogates the unnecessarily perfect Mary Sue’s new boyfriend when she brings him home for the first time, and she has to force herself not to laugh in the faces of the people glaring down at her. They’re all at least half a head taller than her, excluding the brunette girl, who has the most terrifying expression of them all on her face.

Three hours later, Linh is laughing tears of joy and drinking hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon with the scary roommates in their warmly lit, cozy living room, who’s first impression couldn’t have been more wrong.

The scary-looking brunette girl isn’t actually one of Marella’s roommates, instead living with the other brunette, her brother, at home with their parents. Her name is Biana, she has an attachment to the color purple that everyone else seems to make fun of her for, and an affinity for randomly throwing out the others’ clothes and replacing them with ones she deems good enough to be seen out with.

Her brother, who’s name is Fitzroy— everyone teases him about this— is better known as Fitz. He is smart, put-together, and as Marella refers to him, their group’s resident “tired dad”. He’s dating Dex, the nerdy but sarcastic actual roommate of Marella.

Then there is Sophie, who was in the kitchen when Linh first came in, and Keefe, the former being Dex’s cousin and Marella’s second roommate who is constantly done with everyone’s shenanigans; Marella claims that Fitz, the actually responsible one, can never be bothered to do anything about their spontaneous endeavors most of the time. The latter, on the other hand, is the most mischievous of the bunch who Linh also knows the least about. His smiles and grins are the most abundant, but also the most weighted. Linh suspects there is a lot more to him than she’ll ever be able to fully grasp.

Linh’s surprised with how well she fits in with these people. They seem so much lighter and freer than her, a girl still tainted and chained down by the past and the experiences that came with it. They welcome her with open arms, and hours later, when dusk falls and it’s time for her to leave, the wrap her up in a hug and make her swear she’ll come back .She sinks into the hug, thinking that after knowing their light, she can’t possibly stay away.

Linh will forever owe all this new warmth in her life to Marella, who is perhaps the warmest of them all.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Fluffy blankets are good. Warm, cozy, comfortable, the kind of little thing in life that makes most people feel fuzzy feelings of nostalgia as they think back to the times they wrapped themselves up in warm blankets on the days they were feeling overwhelmed by the world, when they sat in messily-built blanket forts with their best friends and told scary stories during the devil’s hour with only a flashlight illuminating their evil grins, or the fights with their siblings to get the bigger portion of the blanket when they were forced to share a bed.

Unless that person is Linh, in which case all chances of that were stripped away by a pressured childhood where no room felt safe when her parents were near, friends were disapproved of, and anything that could knock the Song family from the top was discarded before either of the children could protest.

But whether it’s a childhood like Linh’s, or one where everything went perfectly, the fact can generally be agreed on: fluffy blankets are a good, good thing.

But Linh doesn’t think she was ever aware just how perfect fluffy blankets can be until they came piled in the arms of a blonde girl with tiny braids and green threaded through her waves at the door.

“Movie night?” Marella asks, wiggling a laptop in her other hand. “I noticed that you don’t have a TV yet.”

Linh lets her in, eager to spend more time with just her and especially eager to share another night with just the two of them. The idea of being in a dimly lit room wrapped in blankets with their bodies pressed together and only the light of a screen illuminating their faces doesn’t hurt either.

They curl up together on the couch without a second thought, as if they’ve been doing so all their lives. Linh adores the way Marella’s head fits in the crook of her neck like the last missing piece of a puzzle, and holds her breath as the blonde reaches across her and presses play on Netflix once they’ve settled.

When the girl falls asleep on Linh’s shoulder an hour later, she cuddles closer to the warmth of the fluffy blanket and her— crush, or love, maybe, she doesn’t know— pressing to her side.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

As nice of a distraction as Marella and her strange roommates can be in the months that pass, Linh has to come crashing back down to reality at some point. And crash she does, when the banging on her door at nine o’clock at night opens to the face she knows as well as her own.

Her brother, approaching her for the first time in years, bringing nothing but news of their father’s death.

Linh knows she should be feeling something. That she should be falling to her knees and sobbing dramatically, like a protagonist in a drama novel, or maybe grabbing his hands and begging him to tell her that it isn’t true. Instead, when Tam bears the news, all she can do is match his emotionless expression. After all, what is there to feel?

And why is she in such desperate need of comfort when, truth be told, she feels no suffering?

She can’t explain her mind’s twisted way of thinking, but she does know that it’s what leads her next door, and what pushes her to throw her arms around Marella’s neck when she comes to the door decked in pajamas and those long, irritating rainbow-striped socks that she loves so much.

Linh likes to believe that it’s her petty grudge against the annoying socks that makes her cry on Marella’s shoulder that night, but hiding from the truth isn’t as easy as she likes to believe.

And when Marella wraps her in a fuzzy blanket that rains tufts of fine fluff on their heads and pulls her in close, Linh has a hard time believing fluffy blankets aren’t the answer to all the world’s problems.

Confidence has finally come to her, and she’s able to give Tam a box of hair dye before he leaves. She doesn’t know if he’ll use it, or when she’ll see him again, but the smallest spark of light in his eyes when he takes the dye and turns it over in his hand is enough hope for her.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

When Marella appears at her door in the middle of the night this time, weeks since Linh’s father died and they last saw each other, Linh is surprised that she isn’t surprised. After all, surely there’s something seriously wrong if the only thing she says when someone comes knocking at her door at exactly three minutes past midnight is, “Did you bring the hair dye?”

She pulls the blonde inside softly, takes the fuzzy blanket still draped on her couch from their movie night, and wraps it around the girl’s shivering frame. Marella starts to sob on her shoulder. Her fingers wrap around Linh’s neck and latch onto her, bringing them both down to the carpet when her knees give. Linh immediately wraps an arm around her and holds her close.

Linh doesn’t know what’s wrong, but she does know that Marella is leaning on her for support, and she does know that she will always be here, for as long as the blonde might need.

When she finally stops crying and lets Linh reach gentle fingers to wipe her cheeks, and pulls out electric blue hair dye that brings a smile to both of their faces, Linh has a hard time believing that hair dye isn’t the cure for everyone’s sorrows.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Linh finds it funny that one can promise themselves one thing-- that they are going to try as hard as they can not to connect with others as a means of protecting themselves, for example-- but still end up breaking the promise if the right temptation crosses their path.

And her temptation? A certain blue-eyed blonde with now bright blue highlights who’s devious smirks and snarky words can snap Linh’s resolve in a second. She knows she should hate her for it, but surrounded by mischievous roommates with twinkling eyes and light smiles filled to the brim with warmth, she can’t help but snuggle closer to her weakness.

Her weakness, who is currently failing to dominate the board in a (not-so)friendly game of Christmas Monopoly. Marella informed her that it’s a holiday classic when she dragged her inside the house just an hour before, but judging by the rabid way the players are screaming at each other, Linh can’t say she agrees.

“What do you mean, the empire kind is the wrong kind?” Keefe screeches. “Duh, it’s easier!”

“For you, maybe! But it’s not the original!” Dex retorts.

Keefe jabs a finger at the board. “Then why are you still playing and why are you in second place?” He throws his hands up. “If you’re so mad about it, then stop playing and let the rest of us noncomplainers win.”

“Noncomplainers isn’t a word, Keefe,” Fitz says, idly shuffling the assortment of multi-colored money laid out in front of him. As banker, he’s the calmest and least angry of the bunch, though there’s something oddly menacing about the way he rearranges his money with careful, poised fingers.

Keefe, Dex, and Fitz are circled around the board, all nursing mugs of hot cocoa(which Linh has realized is a sort of trademark for them) in between bouts of shrieking, while Sophie left a little while ago to buy original Monopoly just in case Keefe and Dex destroy the board. Linh laughed when the exasperated blonde said it, but now she can see why it’s a legitimate concern.

Linh curls her cold feet in from her position on the long couch, and Marella automatically shifts the fluffy blanket they’re sharing to fully cover her toes again. Linh smiles up at her gratefully, and Marella offers a small smirk back. Then she goes right back to screaming. Linh debates calling Sophie and asking her to bring back ear plugs too.

“Whatever,” Biana scoffs. “You’re all sore losers.”

She is currently winning, as she has been for the entire game, and she glares down at the boys huddling around the game board from her perch in one of the armchairs.

And on it goes. At the end of the night, when Monopoly money is scattered on the floor and a smoking dinner that’s just a bit too salty is shared and hastily wrapped presents tied with glittery bows are exchanged(Marella is too impatient to wait for Christmas morning), Linh finds herself full of more love and joy than she thinks she ever has been in her entire life. There’s something oddly comforting about being with people who care for and accept her, even if it’s by default or association. Having someone who cares is a rare light in her life that most people take for granted.

Especially when there’s the smallest chance that the person who truly holds her heart returns her feelings.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

It’s the night before Christmas and Linh can’t sleep.

It’s the tossing and turning type of ‘can’t sleep’, the kind where Linh lies awake long after dark waiting for her mind and conscience to stop running around in circles around her head, the kind where her insecurities grow claws and fangs and sink them in skin-deep, where there is no light slipping through the cracks to keep them at bay.

And Linh hates that kind of ‘can’t sleep’.

It makes her antsy, on edge, and the urge to pace itches at her feet. The unfamiliar surface of the floor of Marella’s bedroom only makes matters worse, and as softly as she tries to twist under the thin covers, it doesn’t take long for the rustling on the floor to alert the blonde girl dozing off above her.

Marella slides to the floor sleepily before Linh can whisper a protest and lands next to her on the mattress with a grunt. Linh rolls over to face her, and is startled by how close their faces are. She can count the light freckles on Marella’s nose and cheeks when she’s this close. Moonlight is streaming into the room through the cracks in the shutters of the window, painting streaks of glowing white on the blonde’s face. She always looks beautiful, but Linh finds there’s something especially intimate about her in this moment. The air is suddenly buzzing with palpable tension, making her palms go slick with sweat and her mind hyper-aware of every movement. She can’t take her eyes off Marella.

Then, girl of Linh’s dreams breaks the stillness, leaning forward and pressing soft, sleepy lips to her own.

She’s asleep by the time she draws away, but Linh is shaking with adrenaline. It’s the moment she’s waited for so long she can hardly think of a time where she didn’t want the blonde.

And yet.

Linh’s the kind of girl with baggage, with the kind of ‘skeletons in the closet’ that people run away screaming from, not because it’s scary, but because it’s messy. Complicated. It bogs everyone who knows down, making every action in her presence laborious and painful with the knowledge of her past. Even her brother, who once promised to be by her side forever, wouldn’t stay.

She knows it’s irrational, but suddenly she can’t imagine how to face Marella.

She slips out of the apartment in the early hours of the morning so Marella’s blue gaze can’t stop her from running away. But despite her misgivings, the insecurities that still haven’t retracted their claws, and the voice in the back of her head whispering that she has to have imagined it, Linh can’t stop touching a finger to her lips, long after she’s left the buzzing moonlit atmosphere that allows slips of self control under the cover of night.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

It’s been weeks. Three weeks and five days, to be exact, and Linh still can’t figure out how to face her.

With every day that passes, she can feel the strong bonds they formed weakening. That’s one thing about relationships. They need an equal amount of effort. If Linh doesn’t put in enough, the object of her affection slips between her fingers before she can blink. That’s how she lost her brother, her friends, and any last semblance she might have had of “family”.

That is, until Marella.

She was persistent, even in the beginning, fighting to spend more and more time with a mildly resistant Linh, until she found it impossible to stay away. Her light is unlike any Linh has ever known, wild and fluid like an eternal flame that can’t be doused. That flame kept Linh alive for all these months, and yet here she is, ignoring it. Maybe even putting it through pain.

It takes a month, but it finally comes to her.

She realizes now that love isn’t something that affects only her, and that she isn’t the only one to win or lose in it. She isn’t the only person in love.

Love is two people, three people, ten people, a hundred people. Love is everyone who forces themselves into her life with the intent of staying no matter how dark it gets. Love is the flickers of light in the night and the bold streaks of sun in the morning. Love is the twinkling stars splattered across a purple painted sky.

Love is illumination. Love is clarity. Love is a path paved special, with different twists and turns for everyone.

Love is...

Marella.

Love is Marella.

-ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ-

Weeks of radio silence after months of talking nonstop is hard to bounce back from, and they both know this well.

But Linh comes back anyway. She comes knocking on Marella’s door exactly a month after they last talked, this time she being the one to approach at random in the middle of the night. When the door opens and she smiles apologetically, pressing a butterfly kiss to Marella’s forehead and pushing a big blanket and a bright, eye-melting color of hair dye into her arms in a silent apology, all Marella does is smile and pull her back in for a real, proper kiss.

Yeah, neon green and fluffy blankets are the solution to everything.

#i did a thing #well this was fun #kotlc #kotlc au #marella redek #linh song #marellinh #the amount of times i wrote 'marellinh' instead of marella is ridiculous #i refuse to go through and edit this again #skyyyy'swriting

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kpophours · 4 years ago

Text

The Shape of You

➵ The Boyz: Sunwoo x fem. reader / one shot, soulmate AU, college AU / fluff

➵ warnings: slight cursing

➵ word count: 2.8k

You curse under your breath, dragging the pencil over the paper in front of you, adding two more lines to your drawing. Your fingers begin to cramp, but you try to push through the slight pain, desperate to finish this today. Suddenly, your door bursts open, making you jump and squeal, pencil falling from your hand. You quickly scan your drawing and sigh in relief when you see you didn’t mess it up. You swivel in your chair to glare at your roommate and best friend, the person responsible for giving you a miniature heart attack, but her bright smile makes you soften immediately. “I made dinner!”, she says, wiping her hands on the pink apron she’s wearing, the bold red lettering reading ‘don’t judge, I’m not a professional cook’ - you gave it to her last Christmas, and it makes you smile every time you see it, the quote an inside joke between you two, “I already called you a few times but I guess you’ve been too absorbed in your work.” You return her smile and nod. “Yeah, sorry. I really want to finish this tonight.”, you explain, and she crosses the room to peer over your shoulder, her eyes taking in the soft lines and dark shadows of your drawing, “What- no, who is that? Is that… Is that him?”, Hannah asks, and tilts her head to one side. You shrug, cheeks heating up. “Yeah, that’s the face I’ve been seeing in my dreams. It has been less blurry these last few nights, and I can finally remember more details.”, you murmur, fingers gently tracing the outlines of the face you’ve been trying to draw.

A sharp jawline, dark hair falling into incredibly big, deep eyes. You’ve been seeing small glimpses of this face in your dreams for years now - not every night, but more often than not. During most of those nights nights, his face has been turned away from you, sometimes you had been able to see glimpses of his profile, or just his smile - but most mornings, the details had quickly faded from your memory again. The boy of your dreams - and you don’t mean this in a sappy, corny way, but quite literally - has been haunting you in blurred lines and vague shapes for half your life now. But this morning, it’s finally been different, this morning you were able to recall his beautiful big eyes, deep with warmth and mischief. The rest of the face is still blurry, but you have the feeling you’ll soon be able to recall more and more details.

“I’m still glad my soulmate tell was so much easier than yours.”, your best friend says, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder. You smile up at her, tracing the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. You know the same one is gracing the wrist of her soulmate and boyfriend Chanyeol. They were lucky enough to find each other during their first week of college, after they quite literally ran into each other - Hannah spilling her coffee all over Chanyeol’s favorite shirt. You still remember how your best friend had come home that night, eyes shining, cheeks bright, her smile never leaving her face. Till this day, you still don’t fully comprehend how utterly perfect her and Chanyeol are for each other - even though you shouldn’t be surprised, soulmates usually make perfect couples. Of course not everyone always finds their soulmate - some also have “normal” relationships. Some meet their soulmates only very late in life, some very early on. It’s different for everyone - just like the soulmate tells are different for each person. But Hannah’s right, matching tattoos are way easier to figure out than seeing each other in dreams, especially when the dreams fade way too quickly in the morning, or the person you’re supposed to see is just a vague, blurry shape.

“I hope I’ll be able to remember more of his face from now on. Maybe this means he’s… he’s closer to me now?”, you say, trying not to sound too hopeful. Hannah squeezes your shoulder. “I’m sure it does. Come on, let’s eat now - I made your favorite tonight.”, she answers gently, and you immediately jump up. “Why didn’t you say so?”, you tease her, and she laughs, following you out of your room and into the kitchen.

As soon as you open your eyes, you reach towards your nightstand to grab the notebook and pencil you placed there last evening. This morning, you’re finally able to remember the exact curve of his smile, so you scribble frantically, trying to fit the bright smile into the drawing you began yesterday evening. The face is still incomplete, half in shadow and too blurry to make out every detail. You don’t know if you’ve managed to capture the exact shape of his chin yet, and his eyebrows - are they maybe a bit fuller? You groan, and fall back into your pillows, blowing some of your hair out of your face. “Why are you always disappearing again?”, you muse silently, and close your eyes, desperately trying to remember the exact shape of his face. What shade of tan is his skin, exactly? And his hair - you’re not sure if it’s black or brown. Maybe it’s even a bit reddish?

The more you try to remember, the more his face seems to disappear again, the details slipping away from your grasp.

You only remember his deep eyes, and his bright smile.

But one thing you know for sure - he’s ridiculously handsome.

The rest, it seems, has to wait for another morning.

Over the next few weeks, you begin to recall more and more details of your soulmate’s face. The exact brown of his eyes, for example. His hair is a faded red, probably dyed. His nose looks extremely boopable, you think. His smile makes your heart race, and one morning, you wake up with his laugh still ringing in your ear.

Your drawing gets more detailed with every passing day, until one evening, you have finally managed to draw a complete face.

You were right - he’s handsome, incredibly so. In your drawing, he’s smiling, but by now you’re also able to recall how his face looks when he’s not smiling. You grin, noting that both of you seem to have a serious case of the so-called “resting bitch face”. “Truly meant to be, huh.”, you murmur, adding a few more shadows around his jawline, until you’re pleased with the final result. You take a sip of the tea Hannah has brought you over an hour ago, it’s cold by now, but you still drink it. Just then, there’s a knock on your door, and you make a “Mh?” under your breath, letting the person outside know it’s okay to come in. Chanyeol sticks his head through the doorframe, dark hair falling messily into his brown puppy eyes. He gives you a happy smile which you immediately return. “Hey there! Hannah and I are about to make pancakes, you want some, too?”, he asks, and you chuckle. “Hannah and you, huh? I think you mean only Hannah is going to make pancakes. You’re almost as much of a mess in the kitchen as I am, Yeol.”, you retort, and he ducks his head. “Uh, maybe. I might help with the batter though - just no cracking eggs for me, you know how that turned out last time.”, he admits, and you make a disgusted face when you recall the taste of eggshell in your otherwise yummy pancakes, “Anyway, you want some or not?”, he inquires again, and you nod. “I’ll never say no to Hannah’s pancakes. I’ll be there in a second.”, you answer, and he gives you the thumbs up before closing the door again. You sigh and gaze at your drawing again. “Who and where are you, dream boy?”, you murmur, before stuffing the drawing back into your sketchbook, finally joining Hannah and Chanyeol in the kitchen.

The next few days pass without anything exciting happening, and before you know it, school is starting again. You usually dislike the first day of class, everything is unfamiliar again, and you always get lost on your way to find the right buildings and rooms, but weirdly enough, today is different - everything goes smoothly, and you even have time to get yourself a tea on your way to your first class. You find a good seat not too far in the back, but also not too close to the teacher, and begin to unpack your notebook and pencils. You rarely take notes on your laptop, preferring to do so in a real notebook as you find the scratching of your pen on paper weirdly calming. You also love to doodle when you don’t take notes, and that’s much more fun to do on paper as well.

Over the next few minutes, more and more students begin to file into the classroom, and for some reason, you suddenly feel kind of giddy, nervously bouncing your leg while gnawing on your lower lip. Soon, the teacher gives his introduction, and begins to talk about this semester’s syllabus. About halfway through the class, there’s a small commotion when the door opens again, and a very late student slips inside the classroom. When you turn around to see who’s making all the fuss, you only see the back of his head - his hair is a faded reddish color, definitely dyed. For a second, the shape of the person seems oddly familiar… But then, you just shake your head, a small smile playing on your lips when you think about all the crazy hair colors you’ve had over the past few years, until Hannah basically forced you to give your scalp a rest. “You’ll go bald if you don’t!” Seeing the faded red color now, you kinda miss your own colorful looks. Mhm, maybe you could at least get some bangs soon.

The rest of the class passes rather quickly, and a glance at the watch says you have almost an entire hour until your next lecture begins. You text Hannah, asking how her first class went and if she’s free right now. She answers quickly, saying she’s already on the way to her next lecture but that you guys can grab lunch together. Occupied with answering her, you don’t notice that the person in front of you has come to a sudden halt. You squeal when you run into a broad back, dropping your phone to the floor, the sound of the screen landing on the hard concrete almost deafening in your ears. “Oh fuck.”, you mutter under your breath, praying to whatever God or Goddess is listening that your screen isn’t cracked - you definitely don’t have the money to get it fixed. Thankfully, the case seems to have protected your phone from the worst. You exhale, relieved, before straightening and getting ready to tell off the person responsible for this accident. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you don’t text and walk at the same time.”, a male voice says, sarcasm lacing his words, and you look up to glare at him.

The second you lay eyes on him though, your heart just stops for a few seconds, before beginning to race again, hammering against your rib cage.

You silently gape at the boy in front of you, taking in the red dyed hair hanging messily into deep dark eyes. His lips are pulled into a cocky grin, his head tilted to one side, showing off his sharp jawline, arms crossed over his chest, a backpack slung over one shoulder.

Oh how often have you drawn that face by now.

You know the exact curve of his lips, plump and rosy and almost a bit too kissable for your liking, and by now, you know way too well how your fingers always itch to brush his too long hair out of eyes that seem to hold all the stars and galaxies in them.

“You.”, you breathe out, and it seems that he finally recognizes you too, as his eyes get even bigger and the cocky grin slips from his face, replaced by an awe-filled smile. “Oh my God - it’s you! You’ve… you’ve been in all my dreams.”, he says in a rush, just when you open your mouth to say the same. A giddy smile splits open your face, and you nod excitedly. “Just as you’ve been in mine.”, you answer, breathlessly, and like two magnets being pulled towards each other, you both take a step closer. “I’m Sunwoo.”, he introduces himself, sounding a bit breathless himself, before he holds out his hand for you to take. You accept his handshake, feeling electricity shoot through your whole body when your skin makes contact with his for the first time. “I’m Y/N, it’s nice to finally see you - really see you, that is.” When he smiles at you in earnest this time, you swear your heart stops again, before beginning to race twice as fast as before. “Well, I think I already have a favorite class this semester.”, Sunwoo murmurs, unconsciously tugging you closer to him, your hand still securely held in his. “I think so, too.”, you answer, and return his smile while looking at him, drowning in his deep, sparkling eyes. He cups one side of your face with his other hand, brushing some of your hair back behind your ear. “I’ve waited so long for you.”, he whispers, and you feel your throat close up at his words. “Me too.”, you answer, and slide both arms around his waist. He sighs, returning your hug and placing his chin on top of your head. You listen to his quick heartbeat, mirroring your own racing one, noticing how normal and right it already feels to touch him.

You just fit - like two puzzle pieces, finally put together again.

The fateful day you met your soulmate for the first time would forever be engraved into your mind.

Since then, Sunwoo’s hair had gone through some changes - he had redyed it red for the first few months, until it had faded to a soft brown again, and then he decided to just go back to black. You had asked him once to dye it a bright pink, but he had just given you a funny look, shaking his head before continuing to watch your favorite movie - The Cat in the Hat, your choice for this week’s movie night. A few days later, you yourself had dyed your hair a bright pink, almost giving Hannah a heart attack when you opened the door to her room.

Over the next few years, there were many amazing first experiences you shared with Sunwoo - your first dinner together (Hannah had been so nice to cook for you guys because apparently, you didn’t only share the resting bitch face, but also the inability to cook anything edible), your first kiss (yes, Sunwoo’s lips felt just as amazing as they looked), the first night spent with each other (you had talked about literally everything and anything until the first rays of sunshine had crept into your bedroom), your first holiday as a couple (a road trip gone horribly wrong, with you guys having to spend the night in the car because one of you (you were pretty sure it was Sunwoo’s fault) had typed in the wrong address into the navigation system), your first big fight (now you don’t even remember what it was about, but you had both sulked for two days until making up, the longest you had ever gone without speaking to each other), your first encounter with each other’s families (teasing Sunwoo about his younger sister being taller than him had quickly become one of your favorite hobbies) and finally, your first apartment together (it was a teeny tiny flat, but you filled it with many beautiful memories).

You knew that many more first experiences were still waiting for you - like adopting some pets together (you were already looking at cute kittens), and maybe a wedding one day (you had to admit, after attending Hannah and Chanyeol’s wedding and crying buckets when they said their vows, you weren’t as opposed to the concept of marriage anymore), and probably also having a family of your own together - one day, in the still far away future.

You couldn’t wait to share the rest of your life with your other half, your soulmate, the person you called your home - and you knew that Sunwoo felt the exact same way.

for my light, my love, my Summer @sunmoonieverse 💞

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kpopisthereasonihavenolife · 5 years ago

Text

Kim Taehyung/Reader [F]

Genre: royal au, magic au, hopelessly romantic, fluff, dashes of angst, taehyung is a brat but in a fun way, y/n is babie, could kinda be considered love at first sight?

Warning(s): toxic royality (the king), brief mentions of isolation/selling of servants, one mean lady who whacks y/n with a dowel rod

Words: 8.2k

Series | One-shot | Two-Shot | Drabble | [Rated: T ]

Summary: You were born with magic. Born by two perfectly normal human parents, you were born in a bright light that others considered cursed. With your father walking out and your mother abandoning you, you were sold to the royal palace in the Lisha Kingdom who had heard of your magic. You were handed over to them not as a person, but as a prisoner. At the age of 5, the king placed you in magic binding items and placed a mask over your mouth, keeping your cursed words of sorcery locked away.

Now, his eldest son who had been living abroad from far off kingdoms to the seven seas- learning and experiencing the world as he knew it- returns to the palace to take his place as the crowned prince and Lisha’s future king. What he can’t seem to wrap his head around, however; is the beautiful servant girl who is always wearing a mask and no matter how much he talks to her, she never talks back.

a/n: so, this is something I started late last year and while at the time, i was super excited to start it, as time passed I let it sit and then when I came back to it, I had no idea what on earth to do with it. So, instead of pressuring myself into something I wouldn’t be happy with, I dusted up the draft I had and I am posting this as an open? unfinished? piece. I have no future intentions of continuing it, even if the ending is so open with room for questions, I simply don’t have the answers. I’m trying to be more fair to myself when it comes to my work and not pressuring myself into writing a story I won’t be happy with. That goes along with not stressing out either. Nonetheless! I hope that what I did get completed was worth the read! ily <3

“I sure hope you are not planning on sneaking off; now are you, Your Highness?” The prince froze mid-step as he was previously attempting to leave his carriage entourage, but got caught by the temporary attendant to make sure he got back to the palace in the process. “We only just entered the capital, what could you possibly be going off to do?”

The platinum-haired prince turned around with an over-dramatic swing and pitiful stomp of his feet on the carriage step. Built with soft yet sturdy muscles from his days traveling and sailing at sea, his tanned skin was the perfect shade to swoon anyone who looked at him. Eyes big and blue in color- a rare trait to have such bright hair and eyes in the royal family.

“I haven’t been home in years!” The prince countered with a pitched fit. “I want to explore before I go to the castle. What’s so wrong with that?”

His attendant only shook his head. “I see your time abroad spoiled you rotten.” The prince inwardly scowled. It did not. “You need to head to the palace and greet your father- the king- immediately. He is no patient man.”

The prince rolled his eyes. He highly doubted his father had changed. Even when he was a small child and still lived with his father in the palace walls, he could remember his strict and blunt father. The stereotype of royalty was upheld to a new level when the focus was put on Lisha’s king. The prince stepped back into the carriage interior before plopping himself across the plush bench. Arms folded behind his head and one of his boot-clad feet kicked up across from him on the opposite bench as he huffed.

“Prince Taehyung! Your attitude is rather uncalled for.”

“Why stand around bickering about it? I thought we had to go see the king immediately?” Taehyung mocked as his leg that hung off the bench bounced against the velvet in some unpatterned rhythm that played the tune of annoyance. The attendant kept his itching argument to himself remembering it wasn't just some bratty kid he was talking to, but the crown prince of Lisha.

He just bowed his head before shutting the carriage door. Soon, Taehyung jostled across his bench when the carriage took off moving forward. The sound of clopping hooves paired with the sound of wheel crunched dirt and stone.

An impatiently sat hour later and Taehyung had been taken into the palace ground, met with his father- as pleasant as that was- for the smallest amount of time used for a visit. Taehyung questioned if it was truly necessary in the first place and then was promptly sent off. Not having nowhere specifically to go to other than his quarters later, he just wandered.

Walking around with dark trousers and a shirt so white and worn it was nearly sheer and obviously two sizes too big as it’s thin fabric puffed as it stayed tucked into his bottoms. The summer was much harsher inland than it was out in the open seas and he can say he had quite the distaste for warm weather.

As he wandered and familiarized himself with his home again, he heard gossip from this way and that. Some about royal unfairness- a fair complaint if Taehyung was honest. Other about pains that began to come with their growing age. And a lot about ‘her’- she never being named. From what he could gather form just passing words of his eavesdropping, someone was employed as a castle servant and not well-liked by her peers. Intrigued, Taehyung finally had a goal in all his aimless walking.

Put his charisma and people skills to work and find the ‘not-very-well-liked’ servant girl.

It was noon by the time Taehyung felt like giving up already. He had spent hours walking around in circles and even talking to a few staff circles but turned up empty-handed to figure out just who this unliked girl was. He stood on the second story of the west wing’s balcony as the summer air was as stagnant as a puddle of warm water. Feeling his sweat roll down his back, he let out a small yelp when something touched the back of his neck.

Jumping back and away to his right, he held his neck and looked to see what touched him. Expecting to see some sort of critter on the ground, he instinctively looked down. Instead of a rodent or bug, he saw a pair of feet. Looking up, he was soon making eye contact with a pair of large- rather pretty- eyes.

His eye shot back down to your feet. Wearing no shoes, but two anklets around each ankle, you were already an odd one to Taehyung. Looking you over, you looked normal, yet not. Dressed in a skirt and corset with a long-sleeved worn maids shirt, it looked like palace work clothing. You wore no gloves as others did and wore a set of two bracelets around your wrists that matched the ones on your ankles. Hair pulled back off your neck completely to try and outwit the heat, Taehyung looked at the mask covering the lower half of your face.

Looking down at your hands, he saw you held a small handkerchief.

“So that’s what touched me!” He exclaimed, letting out a breath of air- relieved it wasn’t a critter after all. Even with all his time out in the open, he still got freaked out at the initial idea of anything creepy-crawly running around on his body. “Sorry for the noise, I hope I didn’t scare you?” He asked, apologizing for how he scampered away from you so suddenly.

You just smiled as your eyes pushed up and shook your head. Taehyung tilted his head a fraction.

“You’re… not a talker are you?” You shook your head again. “What is it? Shy or something?” You shook your head again before you pulled something from a small pouch that was strapped to your side. A small little notepad and a worn, wooden pencil. Scribbling on it with speed to impress the best writer, you were soon holding your notebook in front of Taehyung’s face.

‘I’m not allowed to talk.’

“Not… allowed? Who made that rule up, that’s just ridiculous.” He breathed out.

‘It’s true!’ You wrote as you pointed at it for emphasis as he could see your cheek puff from under your mask.

“But, you can talk, can’t you? Just not allowed to?” You nodded. Taehyung watched as you started scribbling again.

‘I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you visiting the capital?’

“Oh, no- nothing like that.” Taehyung rubbed his neck. “You see, I’m actually-”

“Y/n!” You jumped as you whirled around and saw an older servant at the corner of the balcony- not too far from you and Taehyung. She stomped her way around the corner and to your side, lightly swatting your bare leg with a thin, wooden dowel. “I’m certain you haven’t finished your tasks! You cannot delay, the king expects results and you- cursed child- are hindering them!” You bowed in silent fret before straightening your back.

You turned to Taehyung as quickly as possible, placed your handkerchief in his open hand and pointed to his neck. You fanned yourself as if telling him ‘it’s hot, take care of yourself’ before you rushed off with another thwack of wood to your calf.

Taehyung didn’t even have the chance to get your name- although he heard the servant woman say it. He couldn’t tell you his name, or who he was and here he stood. On the second floor balcony with your white and pink embroidered handkerchief. He wasn’t even able to scold the servant for whacking you with a dowel before she scampered off behind you. It must’ve stung on your skin.

Taehyung was a young man, but as he remembered you writing on your book and how your eyes looked, he chuckled like a child in puppy love. He looked at the handkerchief and folded it neatly before tucking it into the pocket of his trousers. As long as he had that one piece of cloth, he would see you again anyways. He had to return it, he was a gentleman after all.

Xxx

The next morning, Taehyung snuck out of his room before any palace official came to usher him off to his royal princely duties. Walking around in a pair of loose silk trousers and a black button-down of the same fine silk fabric, he padded around in the gardens. The fresh air reminded him of his time outside the palace, he already missed the memories of days prior.

His steps halted when he saw someone crouched by a line of rose beaded shrubs. A pair of shears in their hand as they snipped roses from the bush and placed them into the basket at their side. He smiled when he saw their bare skin and anklets. He walked up behind you before speaking.

“What are you doing out here?” You jumped, shears falling out of your grip and stumbling back onto your rear-end. Looking up and behind your shoulder, you saw Taehyung biting back laughter. Instead of rolling your eyes, he could see them bend into crescents and your cheeks push up under your mask. Lifting the small notepad and pencil at your side up into your lap, you begin scribbling.

Taehyung moved to your side and squatted down at your left. You were soon showing him the notepad.

‘Good morning.’

Taehyung waved cutely at you. “Good morning back. Now, about the shrub?” He pointed to the flowers before you started writing again.

‘I heard the prince came into the castle after a really long time yesterday. I was going to place a basket of flowers as a welcome home for him outside his room. Anonymously of course.’

“Oh? So, you don’t know who the prince is?” You shook your head. “Well!” He perked up. “I’ve heard he’s pretty handsome. Better watch out, cute girls like you could totally be his type.” You just shook your head, denying his little outburst as he just giggled at you. Taehyung hopped closer and picked up your sheers. “So, how do you know which ones to cut?”

You pointed to a bloomed, vibrant rose. You motioned with your hand to find bright, big petaled stems. Following your pointed finger to each bloom he should cut, he snipped roses and placed them into the basket you didn’t yet know was actually for him.

When you finished, you took your shears and the basket and stood. Taehyung offered to walk you back to your room before your royal servant duties began. You allowed him to and you both were on your way. Taehyung did most- all- of the talking. You tried expressing conversation with your hand waves and gestures. Taehyung had a bit too much fun trying to decipher them like a game of charades.

“Hey,” he called when the two of you just walked in silence. “Why can’t you talk?” You looked down and pulled your notepad out.

‘The king hates my voice.’

“Why? You're always barefoot and always wear a mask? Are you sick?”

‘No.’ You started to write, but scribbled something out and wrote something else instead. ‘I don’t think I can tell you.’

“Is it a secret?”

‘Well, no. But, sometimes it’s hard to admit.’

Taehyung nodded and placed his hand on your head. “Sorry I asked. I didn’t mean to upset you.” You only shook your head. “I look forward to seeing your flowers after you’ve arranged them.” You rose your brow before you pointed at your room door, arriving at your room finally.

He let you in and practically danced back to his room. He stopped in his tracks and pressed his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose realizing he once again neglected to tell you his name.

“Next time!” He shouted to no one, promising himself that next time he wouldn’t forget as he marched back to his room.

Xxx

You entered your room that you shared with another servant girl. She often got along with you and didn’t alienate you as others did. Walking in, she was already dressed and awake. She was quick to ask you where you’ve been as you’re not normally allowed to go anywhere without permission or supervision. Royal orders.

You showed her the basket to her before shoving your note in your face.

‘Do you know some guy with light hair who is allowed to walk around the castle in pajamas?’

“What? Some nut-job in his pajamas?” You nodded, lightly flapping your notepad at her for calling him a nut-job. “You’re making it up in a fit of loneliness. Oh god,” you huffed, throwing your notepad down before moving to sit and place flower after flower from your basket to a glass, aqua vase. “The silent treatment, huh?” She teased. She soon left to start her morning.

You waited. Unable to do anything until the sun began to finally rise. The king refused to let you wander the castle unless it was daytime. You had planned to finish the flowers and hoped your supervisor would allow you to deliver them to the prince’s door before your work started. You sighed, doubting it would happen. You soon dressed in your work clothes, took the small vase and left- deciding to take a trip to the prince’s quarters first then meet your supervisor.

Trotting down the hall, you rushed to place the flowers and then run back to your room to wait for your supervisor, hoping not to be caught. Though, luck didn’t seem to be favorable with you in the grand scheme of things.

“Y/n!” The voice of the old woman that is your superior echoed behind you. You immediately stopped in your tracks, slowly turning around to meet her angry stomps approaching you with a glare that pinned you down. You unconsciously held the vase closer to your chest. “What in the world are you doing? Heading down the royal halls of our royal family. On top of it all, unauthorized!” You shrunk under her scolding.

“What’s going on here?” A voice calmly addressed behind you. Looking back, it was Taehyung behind you. He had changed his clothes since earlier. Black pants with a white long-sleeved shirt and black vest. Hair now parted and brushed. His fingers decorated in rings and ears pierced with small hoops. Black boots covering his feet.

“Ah-” your superior stuttered. “I- your highness!” you whipped your head back to the old woman. “I apologize for the commotion so early! Y/n here was simply disobeying a set of very specific rules and-”

“I am only hearing excuses.” His voice was sharp in contrast to the warm way he spoke to you earlier on. He grabbed your elbow lightly, getting your attention. He smiled at the red peeking out from under your mask. “You were going to give those flowers to the prince, yes?” You slowly nodded. “Well, can I have them?”

You looked at the flower vase and then back up. You turned around in three clumsy, unsure steps before presenting them to Taehyung. He laughed lowly, graciously removing the vase from your grip into his.

“Thank you, Y/n. I, Taehyung of Lisha, truly appreciate it.” You nodded. He called for your ear as he shot your supervisor a look of ‘stay back and hush’. “Come meet me later, I want to talk more is possible. Okay?” He whispered as you nodded again before you were pulled off to finally start work.

Taehyung took the flowers you gave to him inside his room, placing them in the sunlight on the small side table beside his bed. He laughed smittenly as he poked at the flowers' soft petals. At least he was finally able to tell you his name this time.

Xxx

Taehyung had forgotten how suffocating it could be to be inside the palace. It may be grand and large in scale and size, but the constant hovering and directions as to what and what not to do as prince kept him clicking his tongue. He’d find himself muttering prayers of patience to get through just the formalities. He may have been gone for years, but he didn’t forget how to be princely.

He crossed paths with his father a few times in the halls, only stopping to lower his head to him in respect as he just kept on going, his attendant in tow. Taehyung hissed at his father’s back each time- not even granted a nod in return. He wasn’t sure why, but since knowing that his father hated your voice, he grew ten times more annoyed towards him.

In fact, you occupied many of his thoughts of the day. He just met you, yet he seemed undeniably drawn to you for reasons he wasn’t sure of. Was it because you were dressed so differently than the other servants? Or perhaps you had certain guidelines and rules to follow under the king's directions?

He was currently sitting in the private library with his temporary attendant as they droned on about something or another. Taehyung- much to his aides jargon- sat slumped forward, elbow on the small round table he sat at and cheek cupped in his palm. Utterly bored, he finally found a chance to speak among a minuscule break in his attendants lecture.

“What is the story behind the serving maid with the mask?” He voiced finally. The question brought his lecturing aide to silence before they cleared their throat.

“Your Highness, you needn’t worry-”

“I’m expecting a proper answer,” Taehyung fought. “Do not run me in circles. I will just simply ask about her again.” His eyes kept staring off to nowhere, focusing on nothing in particular. His jaw snapping shut each time he spoke as his palm pushed into his chin from slouching. He heard his aide sigh.

“As you wish.” Taehyung almost tutted with a snide smirk with his clear victory over the barely started discussion- but he refrained. “She was sold to His Majesty as a child.” Taehyung’s heart dropped to his gut, although his face was as calm and unchanging as before. He has had much practice in keeping a bored expression to hide his true emotions from others. “She was sold on the condition the king suppress her abilities because her parents simply did not want a cursed child.”

Taehyung lifted his head to his aide for the first time that afternoon. “Excuse me? Abilities and curses? Are you pulling my leg after I advised you not to?” In actuality, he knew what his attendant was referring to. Magician’s and sorcery.

An exceedingly rare breed of human. He's met only a few before in the past during his travels abroad, but the way this attendant spoke about you was angering him. Pushing him towards a sour mood. Like mentioning your beyond normal abilities would cause some sort of bad karma.

“No, Highness. That servant girl is under constant surveillance and strict restriction as ordered by His Majesty- your father. Every accessory she wears is a restriction.” Taehyung remembers how you explained that the king hated your voice. His brow dipped. His father hated your voice because you had magic? No, that can’t be it. The king must be frightened of your voice- the voice that should be free to recite spells because it was your birthright.

“And that woman’s mask?” Taehyung asked. “What of that?”

“It is a final resort to keep her silent. She cannot use or speak of magic so long as she wears it. That is the royal order. She is not even able to remove it herself, only royal blood may do so.” Taehyung’s brow ticked back up. Only the Royal bloodline can remove it, huh? He bit back a snide smirk.

“Interesting,” he mumbled. The attendant was pleased to finally drop the topic altogether.

The prince continued to partially listen to his ‘catch up’ lessons on palace do’s and don'ts; however, in the grand scheme of things he was always wondering when or if he’d get the chance to run into you again somewhere. He felt guilty for being the son of the man who is keeping you from reaching your true potential as a sorceress. He was the only son of Lisha’s king and you were his caged animal.

The magic users he had spoken to before in his past had always told him the same thing when he asked how magic felt. It felt like the ocean breeze at dawn and that breeze turned into a cold, harsh storm when the magic was gone. Without magic they felt suffocated. The torment of magic repression was enough to bring some to the brink of insanity. However, he wondered how you felt about it inside. Restricted for so long, were you in pain?

Did you even know what magic felt like? Could you remember from your childhood before it was pushed down into the pit of your stomach and smothered?

The moment he had the opportunity to slip away from his forced shadow, he promptly took it with haste. Ducking out and rushing off, he was able to camp out in an alcove before the coast was clear for him to wander again. He walked with a sense of near urgency as he hoped to run into you as he’s done before. Or perhaps meet his father in the halls, that would suffice as well.

Heading down to the royal halls where the royal families rest in their private rooms, Taehyung quickly slipped into the room that used to belong to his mother and former Queen of Lisha.

Just the air in the room and how she had decorated it with vases and painting in the past brought the weight on Taehyung’s chest off. The room had been untouched just as he had wished- a sort of tomb of remembrance in her honor. She had not lived past 40 before illness and improper- obviously botched- treatment took hold of her. Leaving her son behind, he still missed her every morning when he woke to the sun.

He opened the permanently unlocked wardrobe and wooden trunk in the room. Revealing dresses, corsets, hair pieces, accessories, jewels and nightwear with the occasional pair of trousers- however improper for a lady they were. The trunk had shoes that he could vaguely remember dancing on with his mother leading him when he was smaller.

He trifled around before he pulled a pair of open top, black shoes from the trunk that could easily be worn without crafting the ankle- or anything around it. For himself he grabbed a ruby earring that hung from his lobe as soon as he placed it on himself. It bounced off his jawline with each turn of his head. This was his mother’s favorite color- ruby red. He smiled into the mirror that hung on the wardrobe door and hoped his mother would be proud of the man he grew up to be.

Shutting everything back up, he grabbed the flats and left the room. He rushed around and asked any servant or guard he could find if they knew of your whereabouts. He was in the midst of asking yet another when his attention was grabbed from behind.

“Highness, are you searching for Y/n?” He turned at the mention of your name. Not one servant he had spoken to had addressed you by name but this woman who approached him did without wavering. Young and with kind eyes. “Unfortunately, she’s wrapped up in chores until this evening. Her curfew is at sundown, so she won’t have any time for much extra activity.” She explained to him. “However, if you need to pass a message to her, I’d be happy to deliver. She and I share a room in the servants' wing, so it’d be no trouble in the slightest.”

Taehyung’s eyes lit up. At least you weren’t completely isolated from the rest of the castle. You seemed to have a kind enough roommate- at least at surface level. It was always possible this woman with the kind eyes was lying to look good in front of him- the prince who obviously had no ill will towards you.

“Would you? If I find out you haven’t, I’ll be very upset with you.” He lightly teased, only half meaning it the underlined threat of ‘don’t do what I ask and a royal fit is in your future’. She simply nodded. Taehyung lifted the flats into view “I’m tired of seeing her run around shoe-less because the castle won’t provide her proper shoes that don’t encase the ankle. These should help.”

Something in the woman’s eyes shined. Like someone being kind towards you was something so asinine and rare. She gratefully took the shoes from Taehyung’s grasp as she smiled down at them so purely it almost seemed she would weep. She nodded to herself before she looked back to the prince, glee written on her features.

“May I tell her the prince gifted these? Or shall I be anonymous with it?” Her voice perked, almost seemingly excited to deliver your new ‘royal’ shoes.

Taehyung smiled. “Please do tell her it was me. I’d like the credit for the safety of her feet,” he chided. She nodded and before she could run off to put them in their shared room, Taehyung stopped her. “Oh, what was your name? I never caught it.”

She smiled at the prince. “I am Akina, Highness.” Taehyung nodded to her. He wanted to learn as many names and faces as possible of his servants of the castle. Unlike his father, he wanted to appreciate his staff for their work. She scampered off as Taehyung turned and went back to wandering the halls. That is until he got caught from his out of breath, frantic aide that chewed him out for simply running off.

Taehyung was in for an earful he had a feeling he couldn’t sneak away from.

Xxx

When you entered your shared room with Akina you slumped against your door with a silent huff. Ever sense Taehyung had run into you and lain into your supervisor, she had gotten even harsher on you. Your feet were sore and your legs hurt from all the dowel swats you received if you were to even step wrong walking down the hall. Still, you just took a breath and calmed down, holding your sour disposition about your treatment. At least you weren’t executed- so you could deal with the harshness.

“Madam Hana was too strict today, wasn’t she?” You looked up and saw the small figure of Akina sat in her bed. You nodded before you walked to her, plopping on her bed beside her. You pulled out your notepad and ever shortening pencil as you wrote in the dimly lit room.

‘My legs hurt from all her whacking,’ your paper whined for you.

“Well, maybe I can cheer you up. Or, maybe our charming prince can.” You looked at Akina, your brow shooting up. She hopped off her bed before going to the small shared wardrobe in the room that held both your and her items. She grabbed something from the bottom before whirling around and coming back only to plop something into your lap. Knocking your notepad and pencil away from you. “These are from Prince Taehyung, for you.”

You were speechless- not that you could speak anyways. Sat in your lap was the cleanest, more lovely pair of black flats you had ever seen. Enclosed around the toes and open to the top of your foot with just enough room to hook over your heel and not an inch higher. They’d be so convenient to wear. You ran your finger over their edges before you were reaching for your notepad again and scribbling furiously. You shoved the paper into Akina’s hands.

‘Are you sure they’re for me?’

“He strictly instructed me that I give them to you with the message that he wants you to wear them because he doesn’t want you to hurt your feet anymore,” your roommate explained. You just stared at them star struck. The prince really wanted you to have these shoes? Where did he even get them? Regardless of if it was really him who gifted you these shoes or not, you just nodded in acceptance.

The idea of not padding around barefoot anymore was blissful to just think about. You grew excited to wear them in the morning when another day of grilling work and dowel whacks began. Akina just smiled as she set your notepad aside, watching you kick your feet with your under eyes pushing up in a smile she couldn’t see.

“You are just too darned cute,” the older one insisted. “If I were 10 years older, I’d adopt you in a heartbeat!” She gushed before she sat on the bed beside you and grabbed the shoes. “Let’s try them on!”

Xxx

Taehyung woke up early that next morning, taking to the halls as they were quiet and empty in his silk, royal pjs once again. Peach colored button up shirt that matched the same peach silk trousers that hung off his hips. Slippers of tan on his feet and a robe of gradient corals to fight off the morning chill. He hadn’t bothered in fixing himself to be presentable in the halls, simply because it was far too early to care about physical appearances.

He left his room that morning and made a dash for the gardens. He had hopped to run into you there again, but he wasn’t very hopeful. The only reason he saw you last time was because you were gathering flowers for him- the same flowers he kept in his window sill and watered. But, even if you were not in the gardens, maybe you would be somewhere else?

He stopped mid stride in the hall when he remembered that Akina had told him that you had strict surveillance and curfew. You most definitely wouldn’t be allowed out of your room until fetched. He groaned to himself as he then spun on his heels and backtracked towards the servant’s halls.

Thankfully, he knew where your room was- he did drop you off once after all.

He never realized how many servants were under the king’s employment until he was walking down halls of the servant’s wing. It seemed they were endless before he finally turned down the hall he knew was yours. He nearly jogged when he caught sight of the door he remembered dropping you off at before.

He came to a stop in front of it before he was knocking lightly. He turned and looked out the window behind him- the sun was almost ready to appear for the day. Although it was not yet upon the horizon, the sky had already begun to change colors. His attention fell back to the door when the door handle jostled and then twisted.

The door was cracked open and he was greeted with Akina standing in the open crack. She seemed shocked to see Taehyung in front of her room- of course that was a valid expression. He wasn’t even properly dressed after all. He smiled down to her as he tried to peer inside of the room- but it was too dark to see properly. He looked back to Akina ruffling his messy, blond hair.

“Is Y/n awake yet?” He asked her. Akina twisted her body around and watched as you remained sleeping in your bed. Curled into your blankets and softly snoring. She turned back to her prince.

“She isn’t. Shall I wake her up?” Taehyung shook his head.

“May I come in? I know it’s not proper for a male to enter a female’s room, but could I?” Akina’s face twisted in a few moments of shock before she was stepping back, taking the door with her as it opened further. Apparently, she didn’t mind. Taehyung thanked her as he stepped in, Akina shutting the door behind him.

He stood in the room as he looked around. It was dim, the lantern on the desk in the middle of the room unlit as the morning sky only barely gave the room light. Though it was bright enough to navigate, Akina still rushed to strike a match and light the lantern for better view. She didn’t want the crown prince falling over something and getting hurt in her room.

The small, two bedded room was far different than his own grand room. He felt almost guilty at the difference between staff and royal standards. However, it was something not even he could change- it was part of how the world has been. Perhaps though, one day he could at least improve servants’ quarters.

He shook his head, his thoughts wandering before he turned to Akina. Asking for silent permission to come closer to you. She nodded as he tiptoed to your bedside and knelt beside it. He smiled as you slept.

You slept curled up in blankets, tucked into your chin and curled up like you were cold. Your head had completely slipped off your pillow as you occasionally squirmed. He started poking at your face; your cheeks and nose and tracing your forehead in dumb patterns. He even poked at your mask that he was annoyed you still had to wear even while sleeping. He watched your face pout as he curled his lips to keep himself from laughing.

“Y/n,” he called. He kept prodding at your face until your eyes started to twitch under your eyelids. “Y/n,” he cooed again. As Taehyung tried to wake you, Akina moved to her own bed as she sat down still a bit in shock that the prince was in her room and messing with you. Eventually, your eyes slowly opened, before blinking slowly. He smiled at you as your eyes moved to look at him. “Good morning,” he greeted.

He laughed as your eyes shot open now realizing who was in front of your bed. Tangled in your blankets you shot up and tried to get out of your fabric prison. Sitting up, your torso free of your blanket, but your legs still trapped in it’s folds, you looked past Taehyung to Akina. She was simply smiling at you, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders before you looked back at the prince.

You looked around to the desk and saw your notepad and pencil sat there, but too far for you to reach. You jumped when Taehyung stood from his knelt position beside you and started to pull at your blanket. You moved as he tugged and before long he was pulling the blanket off you completely.

Taehyung looked at the notepad on the desk before he was grabbing it and placing it in your lap before he was sitting himself down beside you on your mattress. He decided to keep his opinion on your white nightgown to himself- you looked adorable in it. He giggled as you started to scribble down words quickly before shoving it into his lap.

‘What are you doing here, Your Highness?’

“I didn’t get to see you all day, so I came to see you.” He gently set your notepad back in your lap before he was talking again. “I know you're under some strict scheduling, but do you want to go walk with me? I have something I want to talk to you about.” Your eyes widened before you looked down at your lap and lightly kicked your feet against your bed frame. Your being filled with nervousness as Akina was soon standing up.

She moved to the trunk at the end of your bed before she reached into the wardrobe and grabbed a bag to hang your notepad and pencil in. She was now kneeling in front of you, grabbing your feet around your anklets before she was slipping your new, black flats onto your feet.

Taehyung smiled as Akina helped you, glad that she not only gave you the shoes like he asked, but they fit so well on you. She then grabbed your notepad from your lap and placed it into the small bag before helping you to your feet.

“If Madam Hana comes by, I’ll try and stall for you. Go enjoy the morning before work, okay?” She held your hands before she slung the bag over your shoulder to let it rest on your hip. Taehyung was soon standing behind you and patting your back between your shoulder blades. He smiled down at you, something that helped ease your nerves.

Between the both of them, you were soon out in the halls with your nightgown on and Taehyung beside you in his pajamas as Akina shut the door behind you both. You shivered from the cool air in the halls compared to your small, warm room. Taehyung was quick to pull the silk robe from his shoulders and place it over you.

“Wear this,” he urged as you wanted to decline as it was a royal’s robe. He just persisted before he pulled your arms through the sleeves and straightened it to sit on your shoulders. Your shoulder didn’t quite fill it out like his did, but that was alright. You had to admit, it was a lot warmer than nothing at all. “Let’s go talk,” he soothed as he was soon leading you off to somewhere.

Xxx

Taehyung had taken you to a small, secluded part of the royal gardens where you’re not usually allowed. Only royals are allowed beyond a certain point and the select few of servants who care for the garden. Shrubs and bushes of healthy, green color. Rows of flowers lining the cobblestone paths and marble busts of past royal rulers. A small fountain at the center off all the intermingled paths of stone.

He watched you look around and fidget with your fingers. You were currently disobeying a number of rules at the moment. Leaving your room without permission, not being properly supervised, wearing the prince’s robe, entering a restricted garden where servants aren’t allowed. Your mind couldn’t keep up with everything that’s happened in such a short burst of time.

Taehyung pulled you along with him until he sat you down on a stone bench near the fountain before he sat next to you. He sat in silence for a moment as you continued to fidget. He was slouched back, looking up at the color changing sky as the windy blew in small wisps. He hoped his robe was enough to keep your warm.

“I ended up asking my attendant about you, you know?” He started. He could practically feel you stiffen next to him. “I learned a lot about you from him and learned why you do what you do. Though, I have a lot of questions to ask you about it personally.” He felt you moved beside him, taking out your notepad to write on it before you were tapping on his thigh.

‘Are you angry about it? What you learned?’

“No,” he shook his head. “Or maybe I am, but not with you.” He sighed as he brought his chin down to look at the fountain. “I heard that you were sold to my father when you were a child and that the first thing he did was slap you in restraints. That is what I am angry about.”

‘So, you know what my restraints are for?’ Your notepad asked him before he was looking down at your lap. Your fingers were trembling, but something told him it wasn’t because of the morning chill. You were scared. It was clear that you were isolated from your fellow servants because the knowledge of your magic wasn’t exactly a well kept, royal secret.

“Yes, I know you’re a sorceress, Y/n.” You ducked your head, tucking your chin into your chest in shame as you just wished to fade away and disappear with the wind. It wasn’t your fault you were born like this and it wasn’t your fault that everyone thought you were some kind of tumor to be removed from society.

Everything was taken from you since you were a child and it wasn’t your fault. You slowly wrote before handing him the notepad again.

‘I am sorry,’ you apologized. Taehyung’s slouched figure straightened before he was taking the notepad and setting it on the ground on top of the cobblestone and out of your reach. Your eyebrows shot up as you went to go and reach for it before Taehyung was off the bench and kneeling in front of you. He grabbed your hands, stopping your attempts to retrieve your book back.

“Y/n, I don’t want you to apologize for something my family did to you.” His voice was stern as he forced you to look at him as he spoke on his knees in front of you. “It is my father and his awful rules against sorcery that put you right here, right now. It is in no way your fault, you were born with your magic- you can’t just get rid of it or outgrow it.” Your eyes didn’t move from his. You weren’t sure how, but he knew how you felt about it and he was putting to ease all your anxieties. “Listen to me, I want to do something. I have things I want to do that involve you- things I want to do to protect you.”

You furrowed your brows as he let go of your hands and reached up to your face. He traced around the edges of your mask. You reflexively reached up to hold it, keeping the straps behind your ears even if you knew it wouldn’t fall off. You couldn’t take it off, no one could but His Majesty to your knowledge. Taehyung smiled up to you.

“I have a request, and by the end of our conversation this morning, I’d like for you to answer me properly. Is that alright, Y/n?” You simply nodded to him. He placed his hands over your own that were held up by your ears. “I heard that both your gauntlets and anklets are suppressors, and that this mask is also one. When you told me that the king hates your voice, you were talking about your magic, yes?” You nodded again. “Alright, then you also know that you’re unable to take your mask off.”

You felt dumb just nodding to him. But it is all you could do. With him blocking your path to your notepad on the ground and his hands holding yours in place by your ears, you had no other choice but to nod or shake your head in response to his questions.

“Only royal blood can remove your mask,” his tone suddenly changed. It was short and quiet as opposed to his earlier stern monologue. “If that is true, then I can take this mask off of you.” Your eyes widened. “If that’s possible, I’m going to try. I’m going to pull this mask off and I want to hear your voice. I want to see your face, I want to know what you sound like and what you look like when you smile.”

You felt him let go of your hands as he moved his fingers behind your ears. You felt his fingertips feather around the shell of your ear before they hooked under your mask’s straps. Your breath halted.

“When I remove this, I want you to call for me,” he instructed you. You didn’t even nod to him that time. Just remained breathless and still. The sensation of him pulling your mask over your ears and away from your cheeks was odd. It felt like static as you could physically feel something coming back to you. Your throat felt warm and your cheeks tingled with feeling. Like something was being returned to you.

When your mask was pulled from your mouth and away from your face, the wind picked up. The morning chill being blown away as a warm, summer breeze fell in place to comfort your bare face. You ducked your head away from his eyes. Taehyung took your mask before he placed it behind him, joining it with the notepad on the cobblestone before he lifted his hands back to cup your cheeks.

Your cheeks were soft and warm. They pushed under the pressure of his hands as he lifted your chin to look at him. When your eyes met his again your face flushed and he could see the red hue that crept onto your skin under his hands. He smiled at you the moment the sun started to breach the horizon now.

“Memorizing,” he told you. “Now, call for me.” He watched your pink lips open and close, unsure on how to do it. What to do and then the anxieties set in again. You haven't used your voice in so long. What did it sound like now? Would it be weak and hoarse? No, surely not. Your throat was warm and smooth and you felt something magical in the absence of your mask. “It’s alright,” Taehyung soothed. “It’s just us here, just try.”

He watched you stick your tongue out to lick at your dry lips before you opened your mouth again. He felt your jaw move under his hands and your cheeks hollow out at your lips unsure movements. Your chest inflated as you took a breath in.

“Um,” the small noise that came out of your mouth made Taehyung jump as his fingertips pushed into your cheeks further. Trying to urge you to speak, he just nodded as you tried again. “Prince Taehyung?” You whispered in a small, adorable voice.

Taehyung’s jaw dropped before you gasped and pushed your palms against your mouth as if you had just committed a crime. In a sense, you did. It was a royal order that you not speak, but then again it was the prince who told you to speak in the first place after he took off your mask. You were confused and shocked at your own choice of actually speaking again.

“Y/n, would you consider being my lady-in-waiting?” Taehyung blurted out as your eyes bugged before he continued. “I know it’s not proper, and that only noblewomen are assigned court ladies, but I am without an assistant and I want it to be you.”

You had never heard of a prince asking for a woman servant to tend to him before. It was absolutely asinine. However, when you looked at Taehyung, he really meant it.

“Why?” Was your reply and he felt his hair stand on end at hearing your voice again. “The king would surely reject the idea.” It was so soft, like velvet to his ears.

“I will speak to him. He is my father and I will fight him on this. He has no choice if I threaten my throne after all- it works as a last resort.” Threatening his throne? As in threatening to not come to rule and dismissing his coronation one day in the future? That’s ridiculous! “Of course, I’d never really give up my place as crown prince, but it’s a good bargaining chip.”

“But, Madam Hana. She is my supervisor, if I-”

“If you serve under me, she will be unnecessary. I do not want to see her hit you anymore.”

“My prince, I don’t know.” It was no surprise that you were unsure about it. It was all so sudden, not to mention all the unknown variables about such a strong choice. “What answer do you want from me,” you whimpered as you fiddled with the fabric of your nightgown. Taehyung ran his thumb across your cheek as he pulled his lips back into a smile.

“Whatever answer you give me, I’ll accept it. Unlike my father, I am no bully,” he teased. You smiled at the prince calling the king something as lowly as a ‘bully’. His time abroad seemed to have fused this childish, refreshing nature into his persona. It made you feel warm and Taehyung felt like a spring shower.

“If I agree, would you be happy?”

“Yes,” he answered in a heartbeat.

“You are so sure of yourself,” you replied to his quickfire answer.

“I am sure of you.”

As you sat in the restricted garden of royalty, the prince of Lisha on his knees in front of you holding your cheeks in his silk pajamas with his hands that had removed your mask, you made a decision. Perhaps, it was a foolish one in the making. It would surely anger the king and could create tension among your fellow servants. It would undoubtedly cause Madam Hana to go into a fit. But when you thought of Akina and her support as well as your Prince Taehyung who knelt before you, all that didn't seem to matter any more.

It felt like you were regaining a piece of freedom you were stripped of when you were young.

“I would,” you told him. “I would consider it, if you would allow me,” you finalized. If being his lady-in-waiting and throwing out the standard status quo was what it was going to take to please your prince, then you’d just have to accept it and follow him. He was the first royal to even show you a spec of kindness like his late mother did once very long ago.

Yes, you should stick to Prince Taehyung’s side.

578 notes · View notes

quickspinner · 4 years ago

Text

These Two Hands (I’ll Never Not Know You)

I worked on this for ages, and I just couldn't get it to come out right, so I put it aside and worked on other things. I hadn't looked at it in months, and then the WIP meme came along, and I started looking it over, and it turned out to be ridiculously easy to fix and finish, so here it is at last!

Shoutout to all my artist buddies, whose complaining about hands being such a pain to draw gave me the idea for this fic. 😆 Love you guys.

I don't think I said anything that specifically made it clear, but they're university aged in this one.

It was a beautiful summer day in Paris, with just enough breeze to keep the heat from being unbearable. Enjoying the weather and his music, Luka had no idea how long he’d been sitting there playing on the warm, wide stone steps of the Trocadero. A while, by the sun and the hollow feeling in his stomach. Luka packed up his guitar and slung it across his back. He started to descend the steps, but paused as he nearly trod on something at the bottom. He bent down and picked up the book, plain black and with heavy, weighted paper, like an artist’s book. It wasn’t battered or dirty, like it had been there for days, though the canvas cover was frayed a bit at the corners. Well-used, he concluded, and lost only recently.

Luka looked around, hesitant. He couldn’t see anybody who looked like they’d lost something. He went back up the steps and looked around at the top, with the same result.

Luka sighed. He got so into his music, he frequently lost awareness of his surroundings, so while he knew some people had stopped on the steps to hear him play, he had no memory of what they looked like or what they’d been doing, other than Officer Roger passing by and giving him the stinkeye. Apparently the officer hadn’t felt like ruining a perfectly good day by hassling about permits and nonsense, though, and once he’d moved on, Luka had played without regard to his audience.

He went back down the stairs, thinking, and then sat down slowly on the bottom step. He felt like an intruder as he opened the book, as he thought of the battered spiral notebook full of embarrassing, half-finished scribbles he carried in his guitar case. He checked the inside of both covers first, but found only the initials MDC. No phone number, not even a full name.

Luka blew out a frustrated breath, fluffing his bangs away from his face. Reluctantly, he began turning pages.

It was full of...hands. Hands planting a seedling, hands cleaning something indistinct. Hands buried in a lumpy mass. Clay? Or maybe dough? Hands twined in yarn, holding the vague suggestion of knitting needles. What they were doing was usually only lightly sketched in and suggested, but the hands themselves were detailed and bold. It was kind of weird at first, but as he continued to turn the pages, still checking each for some sign of the owner, he began to appreciate the different types of beauty and strength captured on each page. He could imagine the trembling in the wrinkled hands with swollen joints that held a flower stem delicately. There were fingers curved over a computer keyboard, charged with energy, and he could almost hear the rapid smack of the fingers hitting the keys.

Luka found himself rubbing his fingers together. He’d never contemplated his hands from an aesthetic standpoint. Why would he? They were rough and scarred; his fingers from the guitar, his palms from the ropes and rigging on the boat, from the lifting and carrying required for the constant rearranging of the stuff on deck to make sure they could get around. He’d never thought about whether they were—any of what he saw in these pictures.

He glanced up and around again, still feeling guilty to be poking through someone else’s private things, but no one was paying him any mind, and he still had no clues as to the owner. He tried to flip quickly, just checking each page for even a hint of where he might go to return it, but with everything but the hands indistinct there wasn’t much to go by.

He stopped in surprise on the last sketch in the book, staring at the drawing of hands on a guitar. The guitar was just roughed in, once again more of a suggestion than a drawing, except where the left hand rested on the fretboard, pressing into the strings.

The hands, though, were incredibly detailed, and, he realized with a sudden blush, they were his. He touched his thumb to the ring on his pointer finger absently. The right hand, curved to strum, the pick invisible from that angle but implied, had bracelets matching his stacked along the wrist.

The nails were colored in, dark like his, but beyond that, he wouldn’t have recognized them without the jewelry and the small curving scar near the thumb of the right hand.

These hands were elegant, graceful, intentional. It had been a long time since Luka last consciously thought about the control he had over his hands, but he couldn’t help thinking about it now. It had taken him years of practice to get there, but when he played, his hands did exactly what he needed them to, found the strings he needed quickly and accurately. Though they were thin, they were strong and sure, equally capable of coaxing a melody and knotting a rope with speed and strength.

That was what this person had seen in them, at least.

“Oh!”

Luka looked up and found a girl staring at him with both hands over her mouth, her blue eyes wide. Her gaze flickered between him and the book.

“Is this yours?” he asked without thinking.

She nodded slowly, pink spreading over her cheeks.

Luka closed it quickly and stood up, offering it to her. She took a hasty step forward, grabbing the book gratefully, but somehow got her feet tangled up and yelped as she tipped forward. Luka caught her shoulders and steadied her. “Woah, easy.” He shifted her back until she was solidly on her feet, and let go. “I’m sorry for snooping, it’s just I found it on the steps and I was trying to find a name or something so I knew who to give it back to. I wasn’t having much luck, though, so I’m really glad you came back.”

“Oh,” she said, blushing and holding the sketchbook to her. “It’s okay, of course I understand. I’m glad it was found, at least. I just...I’m just kind of embarrassed, I know it must look kind of weird, and I usually ask before I draw someone but you were busy and the music was so lovely and I started watching your hands and just kind of got caught up in the moment but I’m really sorry—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Luka said, putting a hand on her shoulder briefly to interrupt as she began picking up speed. “I thought they were cool, and I’m flattered you saw something in my hands worth capturing.”

She smiled shyly. “I like hands that make things. They’re my favorite. I mean, it started just as a drawing exercise, because hands are hard, and so I thought if I just kept drawing them I’d get better. And...and then when I started looking, I got interested, and I kept going. It’s kind of stress relief now. And that probably doesn’t make it any less weird.” She put one hand back over her face, the other still clutching her sketchbook, and made a little whine. “Why am I still talking?”

“That’s amazing,” Luka smiled, and then hesitated. “Um, are you busy? On your way somewhere? Because if not, I’d really like to look at some more. If it’s okay with you.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and the flush on her cheeks deepened. “R-really? I mean, sure, if you, um. If you want to. I didn’t really think they were that interesting, to be honest.”

“Well, I do,” Luka said, and backed up to sit back down on his steps, tipping his head to invite her to sit next to him. “My name’s Luka.”

She smiled nervously, perching on the step and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m Marinette.” Luka turned back to the beginning of the book, and began to page through more slowly, pausing now and then to ask Marinette about a picture.

“That’s my grandmother,” she told him, as he looked at a picture of half-gloved hands resting on the handles of a motorcycle. “She travels a lot.”

“I really like this one,” he said after a moment, pausing at the hands twined in yarn.

“I, um,” Marinette hunched her shoulders a little bit. “I love drawing people knitting. They all look so different, even though they’re doing the same thing. Everyone holds the yarn a little bit differently, knits just a slightly different way.”

“And this?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “I can’t quite figure this one out.”

“That’s my friend Kim,” Marinette explained. “He’s a swimmer. He was doing backstroke time trials and I just got really fascinated with the way his hands held onto the wall. I didn’t quite get the perspective right, though.” She giggled nervously, and Luka smiled at the sound. “The blurry spots are from when he dripped on me trying to get a look at what I was doing.”

“I can see it now,” Luka nodded. “The tension in them, and why you did the eyes here between them—”

“They ended up looking kind of buggy, with the goggles,” Marinette admitted.

“No, I really like it, though,” Luka looked up to flash her a quick smile. “You really get that sense of power about to let loose.”

Marinette blinked. “Y-yeah,” she smiled. “Yeah...thanks.”

“Why make the rest of the drawings so incomplete compared with the hands?” Luka asked curiously, looking up from the book to meet her eyes. “I mean, I get why the hands are the focus, but why make the rest of it so vague?”

Marinette blushed. “It’s...stupid. I don’t know if it’ll even make sense if I say it out loud.”

“Try me,” Luka smiled.

“It’s just, no matter how I draw them, it’s not the full picture,” Marinette said thoughtfully, and then glanced up at him with an adorably shy smile. “No pun intended. I just mean that there’s so much that these hands can do and when I draw them, I’m really only capturing one. I’d be fascinated to find out what else your hands can do besides play guitar,” she added, and Luka’s face flamed red, though Marinette didn’t seem to notice anything suggestive about what she’d said as she picked his hand up, examining it. Luka swallowed as she turned his hand over and ran her fingers over the calluses on his palm. “You didn’t get these from the guitar,” she said. “Sports? Or something else?”

Luka cleared his throat. “I live on a boat on the Seine,” he said, watching her. “I work with a lot of ropes, and I’m always climbing around fixing something or other.”

Marinette nodded, looking up at him, his hand still cradled in hers. “That explains the tan. What else?”

“Um…” Luka blinked, trying to think. “I carry sound and boat equipment.”

“Okay,” Marinette said, still listening. Looking at him like he was a puzzle she was trying to solve. He wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear, or why he suddenly very much wanted to be worthy of her interest, but...

“I...comfort my sister,” Luka said softly, dropping his gaze to his hand again. “She’s nervous, she gets worried. I put my hand on her shoulder so she knows that I’m there with her and she’s not alone. I...I calm my mother down. She’s kind of...passionate, she gets worked up about stuff a lot. I put my hand on hers or on her arm to remind her to take a minute to breathe.”

“And you help up strangers who trip over their own feet,” Marinette giggled.

“Yeah,” Luka smiled, looking at her. “That too.”

“It sounds like your hands do a lot of good,” she said. “Your hands help people. Lift them up. You carry, you support. That’s very noble, Luka.”

Luka’s face heated. “Poetic, but...I think that’s giving me a bit too much credit,” he said, looking down at her little hands on his. He was beginning to be fascinated with their contrast, by the way their fingers looked together. Impulsively he closed one hand, capturing hers gently.

“You’re really special, Marinette,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody that thinks like you.”

Marinette stared at him for a second, and then looked down at their hands. It seemed to hit her all at once that she’d been holding onto him, and she jerked her hands back, face reddening. “I’m so sorry—I’m being really weird, aren’t I?” Marinette hunched her shoulders. “I’m sorry—”

“Maybe a little bit,” Luka broke in, stopping her from another apology spiral. “But what’s weird anyway? Just something a little different than normal. Unique. Nothing wrong with that. Let’s just roll with it.” He grinned. “Embrace the weird. May I see yours?”

She looked startled. “W-what?”

“Your hands,” he said, holding out his own. “May I see them?”

Marinette couldn’t get any redder but her mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a moment. “It’s okay,” Luka said quickly. “If you’d rather not. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said, hunching her shoulders again. “It’s only fair, right? Gosh, I didn’t even ask you, you must think I’m so—” She made a wordless noise in her throat and held out her hands stiffly.

“I don’t,” Luka chuckled. “I didn’t mind. It doesn’t have to be fair, though,” Luka said, making no move to take her hands again. “If you’re not okay with it, don’t feel like you have to.”

“It’s really okay,” she said. Her hands relaxed a little, her shoulders came down, and there was enough sincerity in her smile to convince him. “It’s just, I don’t think mine are anything special.”

“Hmm,” Luka chuckled, slowly reaching to take her hands. “I didn’t think mine were either, until today.” His hands dwarfed hers as he closed his fingers lightly. Her fingers were slender and elegantly tapered. Her fingernails were short but filed meticulously into perfect ovals. He ran his thumbs lightly over the backs, tracing the veins and gliding over the bumps of her knuckles.

“So what do you do with these hands, besides drawing?” he asked as he looked.

“Sewing, mostly. Some knitting and crochet and things like that, but mostly I make clothes. I’m in school for fashion design and I’m always working on some project or other. That’s why my hands are always so beat up.”

Gently Luka turned her hands over, letting go of her left hand to trail his fingers over the palm and fingers of her right, noticing the calluses on her fingertips and one on the side of her middle finger.

Luka looked up at her and grinned. “You said hands that make things are your favorite.”

Marinette shrugged slightly, smiling. “It’s worth the callouses. The business stuff, I could live without, but the making—it doesn’t feel like work. I like making things that help people express themselves.”

Luka picked her left hand up again and noticed a shiny burn scar on the heel of it. He turned that hand up and let go of the other to run his fingers lightly over the scar. “What’s the story here?”

“A boring one,” Marinette chuckled, making a face. “I’m a klutz and I live in a bakery. I tripped and put my hand down in the wrong spot. I’ve gotten lots of burns for various reasons but that’s the only one that really left a mark.”

“Do you bake?”

“Sometimes. Not for the bakery, but for friends and family on special occasions. I also do a lot of decorating. Cakes and cookies and stuff. I’m a master with a piping bag.”

“That makes sense,” Luka said softly, thoughtfully.

Marinette tilted her head and looked up at him. “Luka?”

“These little hands create so much beauty,” he mused aloud, marveling. Marinette squeaked and he glanced up at her, a question on his tongue, but he froze instead, caught by her eyes, clear baby blue, framed with dark lashes, and currently wide and staring at him. It struck him all at once as he took in her vibrant blush and pretty parted lips that she was really, really beautiful, and that he’d been fondling her hands for the last several minutes and he should...he should probably let go.

He didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to let go of those tiny, strong, capable, beautiful hands.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” Luka said, and cleared his throat to smooth out his suddenly rough voice. “What you were saying about my hands lifting people up. Your hands...make things beautiful. You take ordinary things and make them better.” He looked back down at their hands, rubbing his thumbs absently across her knuckles as he spoke. “That’s a pretty special gift, Marinette. Making the world a more beautiful place, or even just making it so that people can see the beauty that’s already there...you’re amazing.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to look back at her face. “Would you, um...this is going to sound really forward, but would you go out with me sometime?”

“O-out?” Marinette stammered, looking rather like she’d just been hit in the head with a board.

Luka tried not to laugh. “Yeah. Out. On a date? Maybe this weekend? I know we just met, but…”

“I’d like to,” Marinette blurted, face red. “That...that sounds really great.” She dropped her gaze for a minute, and then flicked her eyes back up shyly, a slow smile curling her lips. “But if you want my number, you’re going to have to let go of my hands first.”

Luka grinned back, squeezing her hands instead of releasing them. “Or I could just take you out right now. Are you free for lunch? I’m starving, personally.”

***

It was another sunny summer day, on the same stone steps, and Marinette and Luka sat pressed close together, the fingers of his right hand threaded together with her left, as she sketched busily on the sketchbook in her lap. They’d been there for a while now, but Luka was comfortable and happy lounging on the sun-warmed steps, humming a tune to himself and trying not to fidget in a way that would tug on the hand Marinette was holding.

He was staring blankly at nothing, remembering their first kiss. Well. Not their first kiss, standing outside of her home while he held her hands in his and leaned in to press his lips to hers for just a sweet, soft moment. Their first real kiss, when his hand came up to cup her cheek as hers slid back and slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck and he kissed her for real. He remembered noticing how his hand felt so big compared to her face as his thumb brushed her soft cheek, his touch feather-light and reverent even as hers was firm against him. She tilted her face to better meet him, and his thumb slipped down to her jaw, his calloused fingertips fanning out along the side of her neck. He remembered the way she gasped, leaning into his touch, which pulled her lips away from his. He’d kissed along her jaw as his rough palm skimmed down the elegant line of her neck and followed the curve of her shoulder before stroking back up again to pull her closer. How their other hands had met and twined together, fingers locked as they were now, palms pressed tight together. He remembered how the strength in those little hands had surprised him.

Movement beside him jerked him back to the moment, as Marinette sat back to look at her page critically. Swallowing, Luka seized his moment.

“Can I see?” he asked as he sat up and leaned over, and Marinette shifted the sketchbook so he could look at the drawing of their joined hands she’d been working on.

Marinette had teased him a little bit about asking for such a thing, but not too much. He was just as in awe of her art now as he’d been the day they met, and she knew it. Her portraits of his mother’s hands and his sister’s hands were already hanging on his wall, so this was a logical addition to his collection.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, looking over the nearly-finished picture. “I’m loving it, but...I think it’s missing something.”

Marinette frowned, turning the picture back towards herself. “What do you mean?” she asked, just as Luka shifted his grip on her hand. She looked back at their hands, opening her mouth to protest, but instead her mouth just dropped open as Luka slid a small sparkling ring onto her finger.

“There,” he grinned, looking up at her face as Marinette did a credible imitation of a fish. “That’s better.” His eyes softened as he looked at her. “Marinette, will you—”

He never got a chance to finish as she tackled him awkwardly back onto the steps, her sketchbook falling from her lap and bouncing down to land in nearly the same place it had almost exactly a year ago.

#quickspins #i'll never not know you #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #ml fics

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indiavolojones · 4 years ago

Text

Diavolo eats a pomegranate while Lucifer works. Lucifer doesn’t realize that the plate of pomegranate seeds that’s just been steadily growing is, in fact, for him.

alternate summary: serving/sharing fruit with another is one of the most tender shows of love in the world and i am a soft, gentle soul that just wants canon-compliant-ish domesticity somewhere in the 1800s?? idk, they’ve known each other a damn long time. u_u

2.2kish words, G, dia/luci, #no warnings apply except for like, idk, a sizzle of diavolo thirst on lu’s part. we can angst later, y’all

Special thanks 2 @canonlucidia for being 1) my rock and 2) my resident lucifer expert that wrote the report line and lastly 3) just being so, so good with lore and patient with me when cv brain go wuh???

A memory, a snapshot in their thousands of years spent at each other’s sides, the scene burned into his mind.

Not all their moments are stretched to the extremes, interactions eternally caught in fire and brimstone. Some of them rest here, in a gentle domesticity that Lucifer is hesitant – and rightly so – to acknowledge.

Here, with the two of them alone in Lucifer’s office, is a tentative, trembling contentment that Lucifer has yet to fully take apart in his mind.

Lucifer sits at the desk with almost painfully perfect posture, as lamented by Diavolo, several sheets of parchment paper drying in front of him. A small white plate with intricate gold designs burned into the glaze rests nearby. Diavolo pulls out a blade from thin air, cutting it into a ripe pomegranate with the practiced efficiency of someone who grew up with the trees keeping him company.

“I will not be re-writing these reports if you make a mess,” Lucifer says apropos of anything Diavolo might do, on purpose or otherwise.

The admonishment in his voice half-hearted at best, even as he warily eyes Diavolo slicing the fruit open.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Diavolo quips, returning a cheeky grin, slouched over the empty side of Lucifer’s spacious desk as he cracks open the pomegranate into fours.

Diavolo opted for his human form today, which is a laughable concept to Lucifer in itself. Diavolo’s aura can barely be contained by him in his demon form, but to see his essence stifled into a mortal’s appearance… Diavolo’s human teeth are always a little too sharp at first glance or in one’s peripherals. His gold eyes are too molten to match any human shade.

Pair it with Diavolo’s inability to sit on anything without it becoming a throne – sprawling with languid, regal grace as natural as breathing, much to Lucifer’s annoyance – and discretion is a difficult request.

Lucifer has called him out on his slipping control of the glamours before, especially in the instances where they find themselves working in the Human Realm, the risk of detection a very real threat. Not that many princes are discrete, but Lucifer supposes that if he expected someone to spill out past the seams, it would be Diavolo, who has always been larger than life in both personality and power.

Despite a grandiose description, Diavolo’s attire does not reflect his status. His outfit is more fitting for a common human rather than the next ruler of Hell.

The other is dressed in indecently tight trousers and a loose, finely-woven off-white tunic that dips low on his sculpted chest. Cording at the hem of the shirt drapes over his exposed skin, and Lucifer offhandedly wonders why they even bother getting Diavolo fitted for garments if he’s just going to wear things too loose, too tight, or forego most clothes altogether.

In the past, Lucifer might have asked why are you here? or don’t you have your own work to do? All such inquiries have been shut down with a colorful multitude of responses, displaying the future king’s creativity.

Some honorable mentions being:

Diavolo’s wild claim that Barbatos was staging a coup, and clearly, Lucifer was the only one who can fight off someone with control over time. Lucifer had asked when Barbatos was hosting the next recruitment session, which led to a troublesome, if not amusing, outburst from Diavolo.

A somehow unionized group of suitors threatened to storm down the palace gates for his hand in marriage. Diavolo was merely hiding in the safest place, for once they believed he was not home, they would give up and leave!

"A curse, Lucifer. It was a curse!" If more than two pairs of eyes were to witness Diavolo, he would surely burst into flames. That's why he tried to hide behind the door when Barbatos came to collect him!

Nowadays, when Lucifer can’t kick Diavolo out of his study/Barbatos is off running the household and can’t drag him away, he allows himself to lean into giving Diavolo a hard time – nothing unbecoming of their stations, nothing disrespectful – but enough to give Lucifer quiet vindication.

It serves him right, for all the grievances he causes Lucifer on a daily basis.

(Levi calls it teasing, but Levi has not left his quarters since the last major war killed one of his favorite authors before a series was finished, so what does Levi know of social interaction?)

“If you’re in need of something to do, Barbatos and I found a few errors in your last few missives…” Lucifer begins.

Diavolo, surprisingly, doesn’t jump to the bait.

There are no witty remarks that come from the future king’s lips, only the lazy upward curl of a smile and a contented hum in return.

Unused to the lack of a response from the other, Lucifer glances down at the small plate, Diavolo's cultivated pile of seeds gathered in the shallow puddle of juice.

Another pomegranate seed plinks onto the plate, and Lucifer watches through his peripherals as it topples the delicate balance of the seeds already there.

He narrows his eyes at it briefly, as if it holds the answers to his obvious questions, but says nothing. Diavolo works at a steady pace, humming quietly under his breath as his nimble fingers pluck seeds from the fruit.

For a while, they go on like that.

Diavolo alternates between quietly munching on seeds and adding to his growing plate. Lucifer scribbles away at the parchment, his clean script much more legible than Diavolo’s own.

Diavolo deserves an award, Lucifer thinks, for the longest amount of time spent not getting into trouble in Lucifer’s recent memory. Perhaps he should be more suspicious of the other’s uncharacteristically quiet nature, but Diavolo looks at ease with his menial task.

Diavolo’s tune continues, a soothing, low cadence to his voice offsetting the relative quiet of Lucifer’s quill scratching at the parchment. It’s a waltz, syrupy sweet and with a dreamlike quality as Diavolo’s humming carries the notes into creation.

It casts a spell with charisma alone, and Lucifer doesn’t notice when his hand stills, quill hovering over the page as he tries to recognize the tune. A smile twists the prince’s lips, his lips stained darker with the sweet purple nectar.

Diavolo doesn’t hesitate in his motions, only glancing up at Lucifer through his lashes. Lucifer’s breath involuntarily catches in his throat.

Lucifer does not think about how Diavolo’s fingertips are stained as well, stained deeper than the curve of his lush lower lip. Does not think about the juice dripping down his tanned skin, drying sticky on his wrists. It is in the middle of these not-thoughts, their gazes catching in passing, that Diavolo speaks.

“20%.”

“What?” Lucifer startles, despite himself, brows cinching with narrowed eyes. Diavolo reaches down with one long, purple-dyed finger to point at the line where Lucifer��s quill has stopped. The smile only grows, Diavolo tilting his head to the side as he reads the line off of Lucifer’s report.

“‘The sixth circle has under reported their amaranth yield again this quarter, their numbers being off by roughly,” He pauses for dramatic effect, which Lucifer finds wholly unnecessary considering this is a report, not a performance, ”20%.’”

Diavolo purses his lips, before it turns into a huffed laugh, “It’s probably because they pay tithe to Beelzebub. You should talk to him about that.”

His eyes and hands go back to the fruit in front of him. Lucifer does not admit that the next part of his report was about to mention that it is likely due to his hungriest brother.

Saved from having to formulate a response, there’s a knock at the door, and Barbatos’ muffled voice on the other side calls, “Lucifer? Have you seen Prince Diavolo?”

Diavolo’s posture immediately jerks up, and then his shoulders curl in on himself, like a child that knows he’s been caught. Barbatos is, most definitely, here for Diavolo.

Lucifer is absolutely not relieved at the distraction. He levels Diavolo with a singular stare that somehow says I’m not covering for you, and nearly rolls his eyes when Diavolo returns a pained look that begs please?

A strange, out of place idea has Lucifer wanting to concede to Diavolo’s whims, to pretend that no one is there. Ridiculous. As they sit in the silence, there’s a moment where Diavolo’s eyes light up, as if thinking that Lucifer might actually help him out –

“He’s in here,” Lucifer says, because of course he is. All three of them know there’s no way that he wouldn’t be, and Diavolo deflates.

It’s clear from the slight, upwards quirk of Barbatos’ lips that he knows Lucifer’s hesitation. Lucifer bristles at the thought, at Barbatos’ ability to always see more than is shown.

Barbatos does not startle easily – in fact, Lucifer believes he can recall maybe a handful of times that the other has reacted with little more than resigned acceptance or rueful amusement.

It wounds his pride, in a sense, to have Barbatos walk in on a scene like this (like what? Diavolo slowly working at Lucifer’s carefully constructed walls, trying to carve a contented little spot in Lucifer’s life? Yes. Lucifer is aware.) and have his reaction be anything less than shocked. Appalled?

Perhaps aghast, that Lucifer too has fallen to the whims of his lord.

Unless Barbatos thought that Lucifer would cave from the beginning, Lucifer realizes, and it sours his expression in the slightest.

“Barbatos!” Diavolo grins, still slouched over the edge of the desk like it pains him to have good posture.

“I have been looking for you, my lord,” Barbatos says, his voice as even and polite as ever.

“I’ve been taking a break!”

“It’s been four hours since you said you would be right back, sir. I thought I would help you find your way, since you seem to be having some trouble.”

Diavolo, a devil of almost immeasurable power and status, has the gall to look sheepish in front of his butler and aide. He glances big, pleading eyes at Lucifer as if asking for help again, and Lucifer cocks one brow, saying nothing.

A beat of silence passes, before Diavolo suddenly exhales loudly, tossing his hands (one of which is holding a knife, and the other a pomegranate, and juice splashes on the desk alarmingly close to his nearly-finished report) into the air.

“Okay, okay! I’m coming,” Diavolo concedes, still brimming with amusement as he easily disposes of the empty pomegranate husk with his magic. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wipes the remnants of sticky juice off the blade and his fingers, staining the pristine white purple.

“Let’s stop by the kitchens on the way there, Barbatos. Fruit has only made me realize how famished I truly am!” Diavolo says, placing the handkerchief down and stretching his arms up as he stands.

“I can bring something to your office, my lord.” Barbatos shoots down the attempt at escape, and Diavolo tsks under his breath.

“You’re too smart, Barbatos,” Diavolo says, walking towards his butler and patting one hand on the other’s shoulders, “You know all my tricks by now.” He nods sagely as they walk to the exit of the room. Barbatos gives a soft sigh.

“We both know that’s not true, my lord.”

Lucifer watches, unafraid to admit to himself that he finds some amusement in Diavolo’s plight, before he realizes the mess that Diavolo has left behind.

“Your – ” Mess? Pile of fruit seeds? Penchant for completely derailing Lucifer’s productivity? Whatever Lucifer had intended to say is cut off by a dismissive wave of Diavolo’s hand and a cheerful slant of a smile on the other’s face.

“Those are for you!” Diavolo laughs, and Lucifer doesn’t have the opportunity to get a response in before Diavolo whirls into the hallway, Barbatos shutting the door after him with a soft click.

Lucifer sits in silence, listening to the muffled, familiar chatter between the two, fading as they travel further from the door. He tells himself that this is to make sure that Diavolo has truly left, not for any other frivolous, flowery reasons that his brothers might claim, were they to know of his lingering gaze on the plate, the stained handkerchief Diavolo left behind.

The plate of pomegranate seeds rests in the corner of his desk, still untouched.

Lucifer ignores it until the candles in the room burn dangerously low, the only indication of time passing thanks to the endless twilight of the Devildom. When he finally decides to stop, he rolls his neck to alleviate the stiffness, eyes fluttering shut at the tension.

When they open again, his gaze lands once more on the plate.

This time, it stays.

Alone in the privacy of his office, Lucifer props an elbow unceremoniously on the table. He brings his hand to his chin, gloved fingers tapping at his lips. More silence passes, a decision is made. Lucifer tugs off the glove of his right hand.

For him, Diavolo had said.

Lucifer isn’t particularly fond of pomegranates.

The flavor isn’t anything amazing to him, and they’re much too messy, but there’s a strange, perverse pleasure beginning to blossom inside him at the fresh memory of Diavolo devoting his time to a task solely for Lucifer, understanding coloring where there was once muted shades of gray.

Kings are servants to their kingdoms, but there’s an undeniable intimacy in the act of servitude for one.

It makes the initial burst of flavor on his tongue all the more sweet.

#ch: diavolo #ch: lucifer #pr: dialuci #writing #did i post something incredibly personal and then also post dialuci to draw attention away from the personal post?#yes

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victimeyez · 4 years ago

Text

Buck and Fletcher 2: Electric Boogaloo

Fanfic for @knivestothroats In The Woods Somewhere - click for masterlist

This one is actually so long I had to break it into parts, tags will be listed at the beginning of each chapter for the chapter, and links to the other parts here:

Part 1: X Part 2: X Part 3: Here Part 4: X Part 5: X

Buck becomes the unwilling guinea pig for the trainees while Fletcher is away.

Tags: Captive whumpee, multiple whumpers, intimate whumper, suggestive behavior/jokes, electricity torture, graphic depictions of torture, the trainees are super fun to write, bondage, being dragged/manhandled, gags, not medically accurate don’t @ me

Buck did his best, but he was easily captured by Petrova and the others. He screamed into his pillow while they bound his arms behind him, tape wrapped in a thick layer from his wrists to his elbows, wrenching his shoulders back painfully and holding them there.

Scared, angry tears wet the pillow beneath him as he sobbed. As ridiculous as it was, all he could think about was how incredibly betrayed he felt. He had asked Fletcher nicely, Fletcher had agreed, locked him in, and then...what, gave them the key anyways? Fletcher could do whatever they wanted to to him with absolutely no repercussions, why even bother lying to him? Whenever he thought he might have a clue about Fletcher, they turned around and confused him all over again. Buck seemed to always be wrong about them - and it always got him hurt.

Dayal finished binding him, straddling his ass in the bed and enjoying the humiliating position a little too much. He ground his hips against Buck’s ass, making the prone man whimper into his bed.

“Come on Buck, don’t you wanna play?”

Buck felt hands sink into the mattress on both sides as Dayal leaned in, nuzzling into his hair, before Petrova swatted him.

“No time for that, we have experiment to do.”

Dayal chuckled but pulled away, hopping off Buck.

“Another time then, if you’re lucky.”

“Gross,” De Luca commented helpfully.

“Shut up and help me.”

In their greatest display of teamwork yet, they dragged a squirming Buck out of the room and all the way into the kitchen.

Buck was already getting tired from fighting, but his vigor renewed when he saw the car battery on the table.

He almost got away for a moment, trying to scramble to his feet to run, but a hard kick to the crotch brought him back to the ground.

“Nice,” said Petrova.

“Thanks,” O’Connor replied, a little proud.

They cuffed him to one of the sturdier wooden chairs, sat beside the car battery on the table. A pair of metal clamps were already attached to the battery, the other end resting on a ceramic heat pad, the kind you put a hot pot onto so it doesn’t damage the table. Buck almost laughed at the absurdity, but was quickly distracted by De Luca putting on a pair of thick gloves.

“Okay Buck, we are going to shock you now, and you tell us how you feel, okay?”

“Start low, if we start too high he won’t be any good for us,” O’Connor instructed, flipping open a small notebook and producing a pen.

De Luca picked up the clamps, opening and closing them absently for a moment in thought.

“Should we put a wallet in his mouth or something? Can’t he bite his tongue?”

“Eh, I think that’s for seizures,” Dayal replied.

“What’s the difference?” Perova interjected, her eyebrows quirked.

“You know, you’re not actually supposed to put a wallet in someone’s mouth if they’re having a seizure? You’re just supposed to hold them still on the ground and like, cradle their head, kinda.” O’Connor mused, nibbling the tip of her pen.

“Well, if he bites off his tongue, Fletcher might get mad.” De Luca looked at Buck seemingly deep in thought.

“I think we should do it just in case, just when I’m shocking him.”

“Well I’m not putting my wallet in his mouth, he’ll drool all over it.”

“Dayal could volunteer his dick,” De Luca mused, and Dayal flipped him off from across the table.

“Just use a dishcloth or something, let’s do this.” Perova sounded exasperated.

Dayal hopped up and grabbed the dish towel from the handle of the oven, holding it taught between his fists like a garroting wire as he walked towards Buck, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

“Open up, Buckaroo.”

Buck, who had largely been in shock, finally started to process what was about to happen and moaned in fear as Dayal approached.

“No, please, come on - did Fletcher put you up to this? You can - can’t you look this stuff up online?!”

He resisted opening his mouth for Dayal, who shrugged to their little audience before freeing a hand, pinching the soft spots of Buck’s jaw in one hand to force it open. Buck hissed in pain but couldn’t resist, and as soon as his mouth cracked open Dayal stuffed it full of dish towel until he gagged.

“You’ll keep that there if you know what’s good for you.”

Buck just moaned, tears trickling down the sides of his face. His mouth was stuffed too full, his teeth forced apart, and it hurt his jaw. He tried to move it a little with his tongue to a more comfortable position, but it only made him choke.

“Start low, only like, 9 Volts.”

O’Connor scribbled it down, and looked up expectantly at De Luca, who adjusted the voltmeter.

Buck screamed into his gag when De Luca held up a knife, but he just rolled his eyes and split Buck’s shirt down the middle, exposing him. With his shoulders forced back, Buck was arched forward, and he felt unbearably vulnerable.

Dayal picked up the clamps, touching them together to produce a small spark that made Buck flinch.

“Uhh...take one, I guess.” He touched the clamps to Buck’s chest and he jerked, forcing out a cry into his makeshift gag, and after a moment the clamps were pulled away. Dayal pulled the gag back out, letting him take in a shaky breath.

“How did that feel? Also, on a scale of one to ten, how much did that hurt?”

Buck flexed his sore jaw, trying to will his frantic heartbeat to slow.

“Come on Buck, don’t be a bitch about it.” De Luca rolled his eyes.

Buck stayed silent. He didn’t want to participate in their little experiment any more than he already had to.

Petrova tapped her fingers on the table impatiently.

“You know Buck, if you not tell us, then we can skip to higher voltages.”

Buck swallowed, his mouth impossibly dry.

“It was...uncomfortable, not so much very painful but very...unpleasant,” Buck closed his eyes, fighting back a sob.

O’Connor scribbled down a note and then looked up, nodding to De Luca.

“Let’s try 12 next.”

Buck opened his mouth to protest, but Dayal took the opportunity and stuffed the towel back in. De Luca adjusted the voltage again and pressed the clamps to Buck’s chest with little flourish.

Buck jolted hard, squeezing his eyes shut hard. Every muscle in his body tightened painfully and buzzed, and there was a hot pain where the clamps touched him. When they pulled away and the towel was removed, he opened his eyes again, blinking painful tears from them

“How did that feel?”

Buck’s body felt weak and twitchy. It was deeply uncomfortable, and he pressed his feet hard against the floor just to try to get some feeling in them.

“Buck.”

“Tingles...tingly? It hurts….my muscles are going...weak.” Trying to talk made his teeth feel like they were buzzing.

He could hear O’Connor’s pen scratching across the paper.

“And on a scale of one to ten?”

“Could I get some water?” His mouth was so dry.

“One to ten, then you can have some water.”

“Ten like….worst pain ever?”

O’Connor tapped the end of her pen against her lips.

“Hmm...ten like, I would tell you anything you wanted to know to get you to stop.”

“Ten.”

De Luca snorted and Petrova rolled her eyes.

“Ten like, I’d rather get stabbed than do that again. And that is real choice,” Petrova offered.

Buck shut his eyes tight until he thought he could see little flashes of light behind them.

“F...five, maybe?”

Petrova nodded and a cup of water was tipped to his lips, making him splutter at first before he drank deeply. He emptied it and whined when Dayal took the cup away.

“You’ll get another once you take 120.”

De Luca prodded at Buck’s chest with a gloved finger, making him gasp in pain.

“He’s pretty pinked here, a decent burn. Might blister.”

O’Connor nodded and wrote some more on her pad, before flipping to a new page.

“Let’s jump to 30, I don’t want this to take all day.”

Buck fought the gag again, but didn’t have much strength and Dayal got his way even easier than before.

“Take three.”

#knivestothroats #in the woods somewhere #fanfic #captive whumpee #shock torture #electric torture #whump

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zephyrofalltrades · 4 years ago

Text

Day 9: Possession

CW: Partial demonic possession, strangulation, self-harm, graphic depictions of demonic wounds, swearing

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Aziraphale tugged at the hem of his sweater vest looking at the old abandoned house at the side of the road.

“I like spooky-looking places remember?” Crowley said pulling out his camera from the back seat of his car. “Besides, this place is aesthetic - perfect for my photography class!” he grinned as he looked back at his friend.

“Yes, well, I also heard demons live there,” the blonde shivered.

“Demons aren’t real, angel. They’re just the construct of bed time stories and the magic of cinematography,” he hummed tying his long red locks so as not get caught in the camera straps. “Besides, we’ll be out of there before you could say 'tickety-boo',” he laughed.

"I've got supplies, just in case." Aziraphale piped up, taking out a crucifix, a rosary then a water pistol from his pockets. He patted the last with reverence. "Holiest of holy waters," he announced proudly. "From a bottle my parents got when they visited the Vatican then promptly forgot in a box in the garage."

Crowley bit his tongue from making a comment. He'll be damned if he'll ruin the blonde's fun. But he ought to show a little bout of annoyance to keep his image.

Crowley rolled his eyes at the paraphernalia, and held out the crucifix. "Planning to play as an exorcist dressed like that?" the red-head gestured to his cream sweater vest and tan trousers.

"Hopefully, it won't come to an exorcism," the other sniffed. "Which reminds me, give me your arm."

"Which one?" Aziraphale shrugged so he cast in his right.

The blonde took the rosary and wound it around a sinewy wrist, knowing that the red-head would cuss vehemently if he hung it around his neck. "There," he said with a wiggle. Crowley felt the charged contact and his brain was fried for a moment or two before his senses came back. Looking ridiculous was a small price to pay to keep his angel happy.

Soon they managed to finally step out to the door and let themselves in. It was a usual haunt for teens giving innocent dares or those with questionable hobbies. The graffiti was everywhere.

“Oh demons! Come say 'hello!'” Crowley giggled as they entered.

“I don’t think you should do that, Crowley. What if it gets mad?”

“Aww, come on angel, the demon can’t get mad because it’s not real!” he laughed aloud, earning a huff from his friend.

After a few shots of the main rooms, the pair decided to venture down the basement. It had the standard level of spookiness with an added bonus of a crudely scribbled occultist's pentagram in one of the musty corners. He gave the blonde a mischievous look and proceeded to flop himself down unto the floor, torso in the middle of the drawing.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale hissed.

"Hey, demons!" the red-head called. "Come get me!"

"Oh dear, please don't…" his friend's voice trembled.

"It's just a bit of fun, angel," he complained, but got up anyway to dust himself off. "If there are demons, they ought to show themselves more if they want to be known. Waste of time to just keep hiding in the dark, if you ask me."

His left hand suddenly came up to slap his cheek.

"Shit! That stings! What the fu-" another slap.

"Crowley, what are you doing? Is this another one of your pranks?"

"This isn't me! This is -" The hand grabbed hold of his sunglasses and threw it against a wall, hard enough to shatter the lenses and bend the frame. "Oi! Those were new!"

The sunglasses were the last straw, Aziraphale knew then that his friend wasn't playing a game. He took his crucifix and advanced towards Crowley. "Now you listen here," he addressed the limb, which Crowley was restraining with his other hand from punching himself in the face again. "Leave him alone!"

They heard an unearthly chuckle from all around them and the room's darkness felt heavier than before.

The blonde jumped and whirled about, searching for the voice's source. Before he could turn back to Crowley however, the errant hand slapped the wrist holding on to the crucifix. The wood fell from his grip but a part of it touched the demonic palm.

Crowley yelped and the hand recoiled. "That burned!" he said more out of surprise than actual pain. They could try exorcising his arm! But how? he thought frantically. Before he could think of a plan, the limb grabbed for a new target.

This time he watched his hand curl around the blonde’s throat. “Stop! No!” he screamed, but his limb took no heed. Aziraphale was holding on to it with both hands to no avail, lifting him from the ground.

Crowley pressed the rosary hanging from his right wrist at it but although it stung the same way, it didn't make it let go of the blonde. Panicked, he looked for the crucifix but it had been knocked far from his reach.

"Po-pocket," Aziraphale gasped out, still doing his best to pry the fingers away.

With wide eyes, Crowley searched his friend's pockets. His fingers touched plastic. The handle of the water pistol. He hoped it was holy enough to combat the demonic arm. He snatched it and pulled the trigger, first aiming at the hand then soaking the rest of his arm for good measure. The pain blinded him but he kept going, wringing every drop of the holy water from the toy. Finally, the fingers slackened.

Aziraphale fell to the floor gasping and watch as his attacker jerked in pain. The skin of Crowley's arm was steaming a sickly green. Bumps were forming from underneath, cracking the skin then popping to excrete a blackish sludge, oozing down to the floor.

Crowley tried not to howl but he couldn't suppress the whimpers. He retched as the smell of sulfur and decaying flesh reached his nostrils. Finally succumbing to the torture, he fainted.

When he woke, the first thing he saw was a crucifix nailed high on clean white walls. He grimaced at it before turning his head to look at the rest of the room. Cots were lined along the walls. It was a ward, he surmised, burrowing beneath the blankets once more and hissing as the sheets slid against his heavily bandaged arm.

"Ah, you're finally awake," came a voice from the other end of the room. A nun was striding towards him with a pitcher of water, a glass, cups and a pot of tea. Behind her was a smiling Aziraphale clutching a tin of biscuits. "Gave us all a fright you, did," the nun chastised. "We patched your friend up as best we could, but you were worse for wear."

She took the pitcher and poured him a glass. He did his best to not choke as he gulped the liquid down. He looked up to find both nun and blonde peering at him curiously.

"Wot? I was thirsty," he said defensively.

Aziraphale chuckled. "It appears you're good to go dear boy. If drinking holy water doesn't bother you, then we have nothing more to worry about."

#racket's 13 days of halloween #good omens fanfiction #good omens #with buzzfeed supernatural elements #i just had to #human au #my fics

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crimson-dxwn · 4 years ago

Text

Room 8297 (Fox/Mouse Companion Piece)

When you try and write a little companion one-shot and end up creating an OC complete with backstory and appearance…

So @detroitbydark and I were having a little convo about what the nurses on Mouse’s ward think about the constant Coruscant Guard presence and I got a little carried away. She was gracious enough to let me write a little scene from one of the nurses’ POV.

Warnings: Angst. A lot of it (I’m a dramatic bitch). Medical stuff, nothing explicit.

Word Count: 1,900 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ It was finally the end of her shift. It had been another frantic, exhausting day. The Medcenter was understaffed and it seemed like Tekla always had one more task to do, more charting, endless paperwork. She allowed herself a stretch from her gray-wrapped lekku down to her toes before lowering herself into a seat. She’d been getting ready for sign-out to the night shift when an alarm went off from one of her rooms. SW-8297.

Mouse, she’d heard one of the soldiers call her. A strange nickname, but the men guarding her door said it with such fondness that Tekla couldn’t help but attach it to her patient too. Only in her head, of course. Tekla hadn’t been out of school long, but she prided herself on her professionalism and bedside manner. As she checked the alarm on the screen before her, other nurses hustled around, busy with last minute vitals checks and scribbling down notes for the next shift.

Tekla checked her wrist chrono. She’d given Mouse her last dose of pain medication an hour ago, which should have kicked in by now. Luckily, the woman was young and healthy and had been recovering well. By far the strangest part of her stay had been the fact that she was under constant guard.

According to her chart, she’d been mugged on her way home from work. Tekla had overheard the medics saying that the man had been caught, so she wasn’t completely sure who or what the red-and-white-clad clone soldiers were watching out for. But they kept watch nonetheless. An endless rotation stood perfectly still at attention, never faltering, never a piece of armor out of place. Their discipline was impressive. Working at a civilian Medcenter didn’t give Tekla a lot of chances to interact with them, but she knew from the Holonet News that they had helped liberate Ryloth from the Separatists in the early years of the war. They seem like good men. Their brothers probably saved my family. As Tekla walked the unit, she would occasionally get a peek at their guard changes. Usually the men spoke briefly for a while, laughed and joked sometimes. They seemed more concerned with her patient’s well-being than randomly assigned soldiers would. They must know her.

Sighing deeply, she rose from her seat at the nurse’s station and headed towards 8297. It was more likely that the alarm was from a malfunction or Mouse moving around in her sleep than anything serious, as she’d been prone to nightmares over the last week. It wasn’t uncommon after being attacked. Mouse’s overnight nurse, Miri, had told her at the beginning of her shift that the slight woman had woken the night before, disoriented, screaming. The trooper on watch had been able to calm her down without having to use any meds, but she’d still slept poorly. Tekla prayed Mouse wasn’t having another nightmare. Her thrashing tended to spike her pain to unbearable levels. She was getting discharged tomorrow, or that was the plan at the moment, and she needed all the rest she could get. The last guard outside Mouse’s door had been attired differently from the rest, with inverted armor colors and a dark visor adorning his helmet. Tekla thought she spotted the Senate seal on one of his shoulders as she’d rushed by earlier. She was good at noticing patterns, and she knew for sure she’d never seen that armor before.

The injuries her patient had arrived with had been serious - a through-and-through shot to the right abdomen and a blaster graze on her left shoulder. She’d spent days in a bacta tank, and even after that she’d needed inpatient care. No cuts, bruises, or scrapes though, except for some transparisteel lodged into the back of her neck. No scratches from fingernails, no dirt or grime on her shoes or clothes. Working on Coruscant, Tekla had seen her fair share of assault victims. Mouse’s injuries were unusual for a mugging, to say the least, but who was she to argue with the Jedi that brought her in? Jedi don’t lie…do they? She continued to ponder her blasphemous question as she made her way towards Mouse’s room. Regardless of the suspicious nature of her injuries, whoever had shot her was no professional, judging by their aim. The woman was lucky the bastard didn’t know their way around a blaster - guess it wasn’t much of a shock they’d caught the man so soon.

As she entered the hallway, the absence of a guard outside Mouse’s room immediately took her by surprise. Probably just another nightmare. The pain meds likely aren’t helping either. That didn’t stop Tekla from increasing her pace. Until she reached the doorway, that is. Voices were just audible, one male which she didn’t recognize, and the other female, which she knew immediately to be Mouse’s. Unbearably curious, she stopped to listen for a moment.

“…leave once I do.” “Yes, that was the deal,” she heard the male voice say. “You’re not going to come back,” replied Mouse. “No, cyar’ika. I’m not.” Tekla felt the finality in his statement, all the way from the doorway.

After a moment of silence, Tekla poked her head into the room. The trooper was in bed with her, blood-red armor still on save for his helmet and a glove. They were curled around each other, face-to-face, her with one hand on his neck and his ungloved hand stroking softly through her hair. His eyes were closed, brow knitted ever so slightly, as if he was in pain too.

Tekla may have been new, but she certainly wasn’t stupid. He and Mouse were together. So this was the reason she had what amounted to an honor guard outside her room. They looked so peaceful, lying together on the bed. There was no way she could disturb them like this. Mouse’s vitals had been stable up until now and her color was good. Better, actually. From the door, Tekla could see the small woman’s chest rising and falling slowly. Leaving them for a little while longer isn’t going to hurt anything, she thought to herself. She felt intensely voyeuristic, even though they were both fully clothed and Mouse was mostly tucked under the blankets. He’d been courteous enough to leave his twin pistols on the table by the window. She was glad; blasters made Tekla nervous. Both of them looked like they needed rest. Who was she to say that having him there wouldn’t help Mouse get better?

Then, right before she turned to leave, the clone’s eyes snapped open and met hers. They flicked to his blasters on the table beside her, protectively down to Mouse in his arms, and then at the floor, shame flashing hot as he looked away. But he didn’t move a muscle - she even thought she saw him tighten his arms around Mouse ever so slightly. Tekla lowered her eyes in response and carefully closed the door just a bit more to give them some privacy.

—————

She made her way back to the nurse’s station, which by now was packed with everyone getting ready for sign-out. Her coworkers were chatting excitedly, eager to head home, exchanging gossip and stories from the day they’d been too busy to relay earlier. Tekla wondered what had to have happened between Mouse and the trooper for him to take so long to come see her, and then to leave her? It seemed incredibly cruel. She moved to sit, and a familiar voice wrenched her out of her musings. Le-Tii, one of the veteran nurses on the unit had taken the chair next to hers and was eyeing her suspiciously.

“You know patients aren’t supposed to have visitors past 1700, Tekla. You’ve been here long enough.”

“She’s fine,” Tekla offered. “I didn’t want to disturb them like that. Plus he’s not exactly a visitor.”

The stout man huffed in annoyance. “Please tell me they at least had their clothes on.”

“Yes!” Tekla was flabbergasted.

“Hm. Good,” he picked at his nails, clearly bored. “’cause I’m not quite sure I approve of my taxes paying for the Republic’s finest to screw my patients in their downtime.”

“Well I think it’s sweet,” Tekla retorted. She felt some sort of protectiveness over Mouse. She was so patient and kind compared to some of the other patients that she cared for, and the woman had obviously been through a lot. How much harm could one night with him do?

“He’s a Commander, you know. Guards the Chancellor personally,” the man said, opening a ration bar, “If you look close on the Holonet you can tell it’s him. His armor’s different.”

A lowered voice from behind her back had joined the conversation.

“I bet he’s the one who shot her.” Looked like Miri was here for her shift.

Tekla gaped as the meaning of Miri’s words sank in. She felt better about her reaction when she looked over at Le-Tii, who was sporting the same expression.

“No, hear me out. She’s been here, what, over a week? And he’s come here three times. Twice I saw him turn on his heel and rush out before he even got past the nurse’s station.”

“That’s ridiculous, Miri.” Tekla couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She shook her head. “No. Why would he-”

“-when do they ever need a reason? She woke up screaming his name last night and he hasn’t come to visit her once.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say.” The thought terrified Tekla. It hadn’t crossed her mind in the whole time she’d been caring for Mouse. She thought back to the image of the two lovers lying in the bed together, to the look in the man’s eyes when he saw Tekla in the doorway. No. There was no way he did this.

“It’s not horrible if it’s the truth.” Le-Tii offered, finally deciding to contribute to the conversation.

“Well I just checked on them and she’s actually looking better now than she did the whole day, so take that as you will.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Miri replied, indignantly as ever.

The human woman was always fond of reminding Tekla that she had more experience than her. Something in her manner told her that the other girl had something against Twi’leks. Or maybe it was just non-humans...and clones, apparently.

To Tekla’s relief, Miri dropped the subject and they began their sign-out routine. Right before they handed off their last patient, Tekla noticed a flash of red at the corner of her vision. He’s leaving, she thought, poor Mouse. He walked past the nurse’s station, head studying the floor, trying to be inconspicuous. He wasn’t successful. Almost every head in the group turned to watch as he made his way to the lift. A bizarre silence made its way over the usually animated group. Not once did the visored helmet turn back.

“Good riddance,” she heard Miri mutter under her breath. “All those things know how to do is kill.”

—————— -Later that night-

Tekla hesitated before she typed the word into the search bar on her datapad. Cyarika. She hoped she spelled it correctly.

The results popped up and she studied the first entry: Mando’a to Basic Dictionary. Cyar’ika: n., beloved.

#Gen is a dramatic bitch on main #inspired by DetroitbyDark #fic #TCW #companion piece #Fox x Mouse

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