#no roommate either because some twisting of the fates has made it so my roommates have transferred out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mobagehelllocal · 4 years ago

Text

“lucky ending”

First at all, I like do much your writing and I hope you are doing well. Second, I was wondering what would happen if the MC (Fem!s/o I guess) decided to not go back to her world, like she decide stay with her villain? Can you do make headcanons of this for the dorm leaders? Thank you very much.

-- from Anonymous

A/N: Hi Anon! Sorry for taking so long! Thank you so much for liking my work and for sending in this request! Since this was submitted before I opened my headcanons request, I’ll assume you wanted a scenario! It reminded me of a particular Japanese middle school/high school tradition... I don’t want to spoil it, but I do hope you enjoy it!

edit- additional pieces: ver i (this), ver ii (???), ver iii (rook & lilia)

“Hey, did you know?”

You looked up from your meal to see a grinning Ace.

“Well... you haven’t told me what this is about Ace.” you finally said in a dry tone. “So, no—I wouldn’t.” Beside you, Epel’s lips curled up in amusement.

"Are you sassing me?” Ace squinted at you.

“Who could say.” you shrugged your shoulders. “Anyways, what is it?” Ace studied you for a couple more seconds before he too seemed to ‘shrug’ it off and continue.

“There’s actually a tradition in Twisted Wonderland during graduation season.” Ace’s smile turned wicked, as he raised his hand and tugged at a button on his shirt.

“Please don’t strip. Nobody needs to see that.” you said—Deuce promptly choked on his food and Grim snickered beside you. On his other side, Jack sighed as he patted the man on his back.

“It’s not that!” Ace scowled. “Sweet Queen, if you keep going on like that, I swear��”

“Sorry, sorry.” you raised your hands—palms up. “So, what is it?”

“This button.” he pointed at the second button from the top. “Well, for NRC, they go with the fifth button—but either way...” Sebek leaned forward in interest.

“Is this the button tradition?” his eyes sparkled, “you see, I was thinking of giving—”

“It doesn’t work like that Sebek.” Ace said—at which the Diasomnia student immediately deflated in response.

"People give this out at graduation.” Ace continued. “It’s like the last chance to confess--before you leave the school life behind.”

‘Last chance huh...’ you thought, as you remembered Crowley’s words from the other day.

“In my generosity, I have found a way to bring you back home... but...” the Headmaster peered at you with glowing eyes. “Something tells me you don’t want that anymore.”

“And because I’m so generous... I will let you decide what you wish to do.” his eyes brightened behind his mask. “I hope to hear from you soon...”

"Why not the first button?” you couldn’t help but ask. Ace, who had just finished recounting how many buttons he had given out in his last graduation was startled by your question.

“Err...” Ace scratched the back of his head. “I dunno?”

“It’s the second button, because on the regular school uniform... it’s closest to the heart. Because graduations at NRC are in the summoning robes—that means the fifth button.” Jack finally spoke up, “what normally happens is... someone confesses, and the other party decides whether or not to give the button. When the other party gives their button—it means they return the love of the person who confessed.” Grim’s face twisted at that.

“In conclusion... disgusting.” Epel shrugged his shoulders, before he shot Jack a look. “I’m surprised you, of all people know that.” Jack’s whole body twitched, and his tail bristled in response.

“So. you were being a little shit.” Deuce told Ace.

“Yeah Ace, you’re an asshole.” Grim huffed.

“Not true, all of the people who wanted my heart, got it~” Deuce grimaced in disgust at his roommate’s response. On his other side, Sebek shifted upright.

“I don’t care what you all say, I’m giving—”

“Sebek, no.”

As your friends erupted into chaos your hands fell on top of your second button and you fiddled with it thoughtfully.

“Alright, what is up with you two?” Riddle turned around to glare fiercely at the squabbling Ace and Deuce. At his movement, the long cloak of the summoning robes shifted around his legs.

“Nothing, Dorm Leader!” the two immediately squeaked out, and Riddle sighed—exasperated, but continued to eye them suspiciously. As a fourth year, Riddle had no need to visit campus as often as he did. Ace was already made the Dorm Leader, and Deuce was his Vice Dorm Leader once the two had entered their third years but—

‘I know Trey told me not to worry…’

Cater and Trey had long since graduated from Night Raven College—but the former was still ever so interested in what his friends were doing. He had easily convinced Trey and Riddle to go on call that night to catch up. It was during that call that Riddle had confessed his fears about leaving the fate of Heartslabyul to Ace and Deuce.

“Wow~ Riddle is much more of a mother hen compared to Trey~” Cater had laughed, delighted. Riddle had instantly puffed his cheeks, ready to defend himself. Trey—sensing the argument that was about to come—quickly placated him.

“I don’t think it’s wrong of you to care so much, Riddle.” Trey had said, in his same soothing tone. “You’ve held onto the dorm leadership for three straight years… it’s natural that you worry about how Heartslabyul will do… but… I believe—the dorm will be what our juniors make of it.”

“That’s my worry.” Riddle grumbled in response.

“Well—the two of them did shadow you as Vice-Dorm Leaders during my fourth year, yes?”

“…Yes.”

“I think they know what they can and cannot do by now.” Trey consoled, “Have a little bit more faith in them—after all, you were the one who entrusted the Dorm’s future to them in the first place.”

“I suppose…”

“If all else fails,” Cater chimed in, “[Name] will be there, won’t she?”

“I’d like it if I didn’t have to rely on her for the two of them but…” Riddle unconsciously smiled at the thought of you. “but yeah… she… she certainly had a hand in how Heartslabyul changed to be the way it is today...”

“Ah~ I’m a little jealous you still have an excuse to see [Name]~” Cater hummed.

“I—” Riddle felt his cheeks flush at that, “It’s not like that!”

“Huh~? I didn’t say anything though~” Cater cackled knowingly. Riddle tensed, and Trey only sighed in amusement as the red head began to lecture the older man.

Despite Trey’s (and admittedly, Cater’s weaker) attempts at getting him to be more hands off—he continued to conduct surprise visits to the campus. Primarily to keep a check on both Ace, Deuce and how they were currently running his beloved dorm. He knew it almost always made the two panic, but he just wanted to ensure that—they were doing fine. Riddle worried endlessly—

“I don’t think it’s as surprising as you think.” You had told him once, a giggle on your lips. “Riddle… despite everything… you still genuinely want the best out of people. It’s the way you are.” He had flushed red when you put it that way, but he was incredibly appreciative of the fact that you noticed. He was also happy that you didn’t think it as something he should change immediately.

“Ace and Deuce—I can see why you worry but…” you had patted his hands gently, and shot him the same sweet grin you had given him that time—about two years ago—after his embarrassing Overblot. “You’re also improving yourself. Take it step by step—little by little, and I’m sure one day you won’t think twice about whether or not those two can do justice to the Heartslabyul in your vision.”

Seeing you as often as he did was just a bonus—or so he’d like to think. He hasn’t quite admitted to himself, how incredibly fond he has grown of your presence, and how much some of his visits was more to see you again—rather than visiting his juniors.

He could feel the way his lips unconsciously curled up just at the thought of you. He quickly turned away from his juniors—if only because he could not stop smiling.

“Come to think of it…” he mused, pretending that this was just a thought that came to mind—and not something he’d been eagerly looking forward to— “Where is [Name]?” When there was no response, he felt his smile drop and his brow twitched at their silence.

“Come now—if there’s anytime you’re going to be quiet…” he turned to look at them, only to realize that they had incredibly guilty expressions. “… Is something wrong? Is she hurt?”

“Well—no.” Deuce rapidly stuttered out, “It’s just—well—” he glanced hopelessly at Ace, whose eyes shifted around in an uncomfortable manner.

“Err—it’s a little hard to explain…”

“What is going on?” He demanded, his expression growing dark as he thought back to the last time, he had seen you. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with you—you had greeted him as kindly as you normally had. You had looked healthy to him and nothing had seemed to be weighing too much on your mind… “Tell me right now.”

“Thank you, for coming with me.” You had smiled, “but you can leave me here, really.”

“Do you even know why Crowley called you?” Ace asked, his hands crossed behind his head when he noticed the most subtle shift in your expression.

“[Name]?” he arched a brow, and you shook your head, a smile bloomed on your face at his concern.

“No, it’s… it should be nothing.” You looked down at Grim. “You’ll stay with them, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” The monster scowled. “I don’t know why Crowley wanted just you… It’s not like you won’t tell us after…”

“That’s true.” Deuce had agreed easily.

“I will tell you if it’s important.” Ace’s eyes narrowed at the way you phrased your sentence, and when you slipped into the office—it was only Ace who stayed, his gaze fixated on the door.

“Is something up Ace?” Deuce turned to see that the Heartslabyul Dorm Leader hadn’t moved from his position by the door.

“I think she’s not telling us something.” Ace said, before he approached the door and pressed his ear against it.

“Ace! That’s rude!” Deuce moved to pull him away, but Ace shook him off.

“Sssh! I can’t hear!” he hissed at Deuce before he leaned harder against the door.

“—I have found a way to bring you back home—” Ace and Grim immediately stiffened. Deuce looked on, wary of their reactions.

“What…” he swallowed, “what did you overhear?”

“She still hasn’t said anything.” Ace said after he told a frozen Riddle the story. “and… well… none of us have the heart to bring it up.”

“Well Grim certainly wanted to.” Deuce interjected. “But we figured… it was probably something we should wait for her to say… are you okay, Dorm Leader?”

“You don’t need to call me that.” Riddle replied immediately, before he exhaled. He raised his hand and pressed it against his forehead as he thought of the situation.

‘Of course, …of course, I should’ve thought of it.’ His hand fisted in his hair, as his brows furrowed. ‘This isn’t home to her this is… it’s the farthest thing from a home.’ He felt the blood drain from his face, and the minute shake of his hand at the realization.

Riddle made the two promise to not speak to you about it—and that he’d try to bring it up instead. Deuce looked like he wanted to protest. Riddle could understand—the three of you had a certain type of friendship that should mean that Ace and Deuce had a right to bring it up with you but… Ace had always been much more perspective than he actually let on, and agreed to let Riddle handle it.

Whether Ace understood the depth of Riddle’s feelings or not, was currently inconsequential given the circumstance. What Riddle needed to focus on—was speaking to you about the… issue.

No, it’s wrong to call it an issue—and neither is it a problem… It’s just… perhaps best called a big decision. One that Riddle knew your likely answer to, and how it’s not the answer he would want to hear.

In his defence, ever since coming back, Riddle did try to talk to you about it. He tried very hard to confront you—but whenever he’d try to tell you—he’d take one look at your smiling expression and think about how much he’d like this moment to last longer. ‘Just a little longer… Let me have their smile a little longer—’ because he knew that the moment, he brought it up—you might no longer smile at him.

Unfortunately, time is nobody’s friend—and during a break from his graduation practice, he ran into you.

“Oh, [Name].” he blinked in surprise before his eyes narrowed when he noticed that you weren’t smiling as usual. “Did something happen?” he asked, immediately anxious for you.

“Ah it’s…” you paused, and your expression grew even more distressed. “I don’t… know how to phrase it.” He grew cold at that—he had a general idea on where this conversation could head… Before he could get a word in, the doors to the Hall of Mirrors opened, and a bunch of other fourth years exited noisily.

“Do you want to talk somewhere else about this?” The slightest furrow in his brow, and the tiny down-turn curve of his lips expressed his concern for you. Your heart did a little leap, and you briefly got lost in his pretty grey eyes before you slowly nodded.

Your voice was soft as you explained the turmoil you’d been going through the past few days.

“I… want to stay. I want to stay so badly that I keep coming up with excuses to do so but… at the same time… I know that this means I’ll be abandoning my family… my old life behind and…” you looked down at your hands, and Riddle’s frown only grew as your voice got shaky. “that’s unfair to them—isn’t it? That—I’ll just up… and leave… and say nothing.”

“If you want to stay, then just stay.” You didn’t look to be convinced, and Riddle felt his heart twist that he isn’t enough of a reason for you to stay.

“It sounds so easy, doesn’t it?” you chuckled, your tone low, “maybe my life here is certainly far better than anything else I could dream of but… the guilt will eat me alive. That I just turned away from them… It’s so selfish of me.”

“I don’t think it’s wrong for you to be selfish.” Riddle disagreed as he reached out towards you and held your hands. At the action, your eyes fell to your twined fingers, and you observed the gentle way in which Riddle rubbed the back of your hand. “I think you earned that much. I don’t believe anyone’s ever been in your situation before so—there’s no right or wrong about what you’re doing. It’s all about what you want to do.”

“You think so?” your voice cracked, and he leaned forward so that you could see the honesty in those pretty grey eyes of his.

“I know so… and if you still feel guilty then allow me to bear it with you.” He took a deep breath before he slipped one hand away from you to tug at the fifth button of his summoning robes. Your eyes widened—stunned, as you recognized what he is about to do.

“Let me express to you my own selfish desire.” He pressed the button into your palms as he met your gaze evenly. “I love you [Name]—I want you to stay—so—can I be the reason you do?”

His deep red hair fluttered in the cool wind that passed through the open halls of the college. You could see sweat dribble down his temple, and the smallest shake of his bottom lip. He swallowed; his Adam’s apple bobbed. His own eyes peered and searched your gaze too—for any indicator of the answer you would choose to deem him with.

As you looked at Riddle, you knew that a part of you will always feel guilty about the choice you were about to make but—that honest affection in those eyes were enough for you to know that Riddle, as he is, was always going to be enough of a reason to stay.

“Yes…” you murmured, and Riddle’s nervous expression broke away for a joyous one—an expression that made your heart do a little dance. “Yes—I’d want you to be the reason I stay.”

It took all your courage (and the fact that it was his graduation—Great Seven did he look so good in those robes—) to finally tell Leona about what Crowley had told you.

“Good riddance.”

You felt your face pale, and your soul—shatter at Leona’s reply.

“What… what did you say?” you stuttered, “Did you just really…?”

“I said good riddance.” Leona rolled those green eyes of his at you. “You can finally go home. You can finally stop bothering me.” His eyes turned poisonous—and you felt your whole body weaken. You would have dropped to your knees if Leona’s glare hadn’t frozen you in the first place.

“You…” you swallowed, “you don’t mean that… you don’t… right… Leona…?”

“Good—” his green eyes became murky with an emotion you couldn’t quite understand, “—riddance.” He then scoffed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Now leave me alone.”

“But—”

He began to walk away—but desperate—you grabbed him from behind. Your hands wrapped around his chest, as you clung to him as tight as you could.

“Herbivore... The hell are you doing?” Leona hissed as he moved to rip your hands off him.

“Wait!” He froze at the command in your tone, and the way you pressed your head in between his shoulder blades.

“Let me... let me say something... Please...”

‘Were you crying?’ Leona tensed; his tail flicked about in irritation—ready to confront anyone who made his woman cry—

He hissed at his own thoughts.

“I’m not going to listen to your shit, woman.” He snapped, and he felt you flinch against him. Something deep and primal in him whimpered—because he knew he had terrified you.

He had to convince himself—this is for the best. This is for your sake.

You were not his woman. You were not his mate. You should not have a future with him.

You were supposed to be leaving.

He wanted you to leave.

It would be better that way.

You didn’t deserve the second prince. You didn’t deserve a rebel. You—

You deserved much better than him.

‘So please let me go.’ he thought, a little desperately, ‘because if you don’t... then I won’t be able to let go.’

“Leona... I... I really have no courage. I can’t even look you in the face because I’m...” He growled at that, and he felt you flinch again. “Let me do this...” He felt you move your hands, and you pressed something into his own palms. You curled your fingers around it, before you pulled away.

“I want you to have this. If you won’t let me say anything... then please let me do this.”

There was a brief silence—as you studied the way Leona remained tensed, his tail jerked around in irritation and your eyes shut in despair.

‘Of course... It’s Leona... what was I thinking?’

‘Of course, he wouldn’t want you to stay—of course—’ you realized your own foolishness. ‘Of course, he wouldn’t want you.’

“I’ll go. I’m sorry.” you said before you rushed off, as you tried, desperately not to make a sound as you cried.

Leona’s ears moved rapidly; despite your attempt to not make a sound—he could clearly hear you cry your heart out as you ran away from him.

“Tch…” he looked down at his hands, only for his brows to furrow in confusion. “This is… a button?”

“Does the herbivore…” He lifted his head to look off into the direction you took off in. “does she know what this means…?” His brow twitched in irritation; he pulled his hand back and got into a stance to throw the button away—but something in him couldn’t do it.

‘Are you really going to throw her heart away?’

“Shit!” He swore to himself as he threw a fist at the closest thing he could—one of the trees in the garden. He paused, as his eyes lingered on the patch of grass that he enjoyed taking naps on… with you.

He thought of all the things he would lose—

The way you smiled at him, despite how hopeless he was as a person. The way your skin felt against his own when he could get away with hugging you despite never saying those three words… The way you looked at him with acceptance—regardless of his glaring faults.

He thought of all the things he would never experience—

The way you would suit the crown of a princess—more than any other women he’d known. The way you could glow under the light of Afterglow Savanna’s sun. The love you two could’ve shared if he would just stop being such an asshole—“Stupid woman…” he growled low to himself, as he spun to give chase to you. His hand reached up to rip a certain button off his own robes. “I just can’t be selfless—”

‘Not when it comes to you.’

‘Not when I desperately need you.’

When he pushed open the doors of the Hall of Mirrors, Crowley turned around, startled.

“Kingscholar—?” the Headmaster gaped.

“Is that still connected to her world?”

“Yes but—what are you doing?” Crowley cried, alarmed as Leona rushed for the portal.

‘If there’s a god out there… if the ancestral spirits do exist… then please—’ he faltered at his own thoughts before he shook his head. ‘Please—don’t let me be late—’

“You’re back!” Your mother had only paused for a second, stunned when you popped out of the mirror in the living room, and fell to your knees. She quickly dropped down onto the ground before she reached for you and pulled you into her embrace.

“Mom—I’m—” you felt your eyes tear up, “I’m home—” you said—even if a part of you felt that home should have been two green eyes, a cocky smirk, and a warm patch of sunlight on the grassy ground.

“Oh… sweetie…” Your mother pulled back to cup your face in her hands as she studied your expression. “Never mind that—tell me what happened? I need to hear everything!”

You blinked rapidly and nodded. She brought you to the kitchen and sat you down as she whipped up a snack for you to eat as you recounted your adventures in Twisted Wonderland.

You were—baffled—she didn’t seem as terrified as you thought she would be. You had thought you would’ve come back to her crying—or, you don’t know—police in your house maybe? She was calm—and she was simply… interested in your story.

Like she knew all about it already—and she just… wanted to hear your point-of-view.

When you got to the part about Leona—you got all choked up. Regardless of how he treated you—you knew that a part of you would always love him. If anything—it would be something you would desperately cling onto, and in the depths of your heart—you will continue to nurture it. It was the only thing of him, you had left.

“You loved him.” Your mother held your hands, and you shook your head as you gently corrected her.

“I’ll always love him, mom.” You felt tears hang onto your lashes. “I’ll always… wonder… ‘what if.’”

“Would you go back if you could? Would you stay with him?”

“I… I would but—it’s not like he wanted me.” Your lower lip trembled, and you felt your chin wrinkle at that. “He didn’t want me.”

“I think he did, sweetie.” Your mother wiped your tears away. “Leona is pretty dishonest to others… and especially to himself.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“He pretty much is.” And that’s when it dawned on you.

“Wait you—” you looked up at your mother with furrowed brows. “Why does it sound like you know him—? You—you haven’t met—”

That’s when the door swings open, and your father’s voice echoed in the house.

“We’re back!” You only had a moment to question what he meant by ‘we’ when he entered the dining hall with a familiar figure.

“Leona—?” Both males looked at you—surprised. Despite how happy you were to see both—your eyes naturally gravitated to Leona.

Your eyes met his, and he blinked slowly before a smirk crawled up his lips.

“Took you long enough.”

“Time isn’t exactly linear across two worlds.” Is the first thing Leona told you as he brought you to your room—or more recently referred to as his room. He dragged you onto the bed and pulled you onto his lap with relative ease—his fingers tangled in the cloth of your shirt. The only reason there was a distance between you two—was because of the way you Leona stared at you with a hungry fervour.

He looked at you like he was a starved man who had just caught sight of an oasis in the middle of a desert. There was also a difference in the way he held you—a certain desperation in the way his fingers pressed against your skin—as if making sure that you were no desert mirage. You had just seen him—but it felt as if he was seeing you for the first time in an unbearably long time.

“You entered the portal before I did.” Leona studied you with his vivid green eyes. “but when I went through the portal… I arrived a day after you were first taken to Twisted Wonderland.”

“Wait… so how long… did I miss out on?” you asked weakly.

“It’s been a year.” He replied quietly, and you looked at him—stunned.

“That’s—you—” you cleared your throat. “why?”

“Why what?”

“Why—why wait? Why—why did you stay?” you whispered, “you could’ve just gone back—” He scoffed.

“That’s simple.” He stared at you evenly. “If I hadn’t waited for you I…” he paused. “I might have never seen you again.” You felt your eyes go wet, but you inhaled sharply as you resisted crying. He pulled you even closer to him, his arms wrapped around your waist. Though you tried to move away—it was futile, Leona was stronger than you.

“Why—I thought you said—”

“I tried to be selfless with you.” Leona confessed lightly, his eyes studied your face—the way your eyes glimmered, the way your lips pouted as you attempted to hold back your tears—you hadn’t changed from whence he last saw you but—

Having lived in a world without you for one year—only strengthened his resolve to be with you.

“I tried to be selfless with you.” Leona repeated, “but I’m sorry—I can’t be. I have to be selfish because—the future I want… it’s one I can only realize by your side so—” He moved his hand away from you only to move it to his pocket. When his fist opened, your eyes widened to see an elegant black button on his palm.

“I’ve waited a year to return my heart to you.” He murmured softly, as you began to cry in earnest. “Will you accept it?”

“Of course, I will—you big—asshole—” you cried, as you hit his chest. Leona could only chuckle, as he raised his other hand to brush your tears away.

“I deserved that.”

“Yes, you did.”

With your fingers laced with Leona, you went downstairs to meet up with your parents. Your mother cooed happily, while your father nodded gruffly at Leona.

“You promise you’ll take care of her, alright?” Your father eyed him, and Leona nodded.

“I will.” He promised.

“You will visit, won’t you? Or call through the mirror?” Your mother asked hopefully, and you looked at her surprised, before you glanced up at Leona in a questioning manner.

“So, you would never need to choose.” He dodged your gaze; a light flush rose to his cheeks. “I worked with Crowley and Malleus,” your eyes widened—he willingly worked with Malleus? “to establish a proper connection between your world and mine. I kept in contact with the Crowley who let you through the door in the first place… and now we’ve managed to keep the timelines properly linked.” He raised a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Basically… you’ll be able to keep in contact with your parents… or anyone else you wanted to keep in contact with in this world.”

“Leona…” you felt your eyes water at that.

“Don’t cry.” Leona reached down to wipe your tears away, “cry anymore—and your father will retract his blessing.” You looked at him, a little stunned—he didn’t seem like the type of person who’d ask for someone else’s blessing.

“Of course, I did.” Leona said as he figured out where your thoughts had headed, though he sounded slightly offended that you would think he would not have asked.

“It took him a year too.” Your mother said fondly while your father snorted. Leona swiftly cleared his throat before you could ask again.

“A story for another time.” He said way too quickly, before he offered you his hand again. “For now—” his green eyes softened as he met your eyes, and your fingers instinctively laced together once more.

“Shall we go home?” he gestured for the mirror that begun to glow. You smiled, and quickly jerked on his arm to pull him down. Surprised at the sudden motion, Leona’s face drew close to yours—and you leaned forward to press a kiss against his cheek.

“Silly kitty,” you giggled, “I’m already home.” He speedily pulled back. Despite the grumpy expression on his face, you were delighted to see the flush rise to his cheeks once more.

“And I… I am too.” He murmured softly, and your smile slipped into something much more tender.

You were excited to see what the future would hold for you two.

“Azul.” Azul blinked as he turned his head to the approaching Jade. He arched a brow at Jade’s bemused expression—the man rarely made that face. If Jade ever encountered something he didn’t understand, he was more likely to react to it with curiosity and excitement. So, for Jade to be confused—with the lightest flicker of worry… well, Azul immediately found himself to be anxious.

“What is it?”

“According to one of our juniors, [Name] came by to ask for you earlier—but we were at graduation practice. They redirected her to your office to wait.” Jade’s brows furrowed. “Apparently… she looked quite distressed.” Azul felt himself frown immediately at that.

“I was going there anyways because of this—” Azul raised his hand to present some documents. “I’ll speak with her.” Jade nodded; his expression looked a little bit more relieved.

“I’ll keep Floyd off for awhile then.” Jade decided, “there must be a reason why she specifically seems to want to speak to you.”

“Alright.” Azul agreed, before the two parted ways. He thought back to when he had met you earlier that day—you had been thrilled to see them. Floyd had happily picked you up and spun you around several times—before you needed to be saved by Azul and Jade. Shortly after that, you had to go attend class—at which point they bid you goodbye, with the promise of spending more time together, later.

Azul, Jade and Floyd had just returned to Night Raven College today for the graduation practice. They hadn’t seen you in person for quite a while because their internships took them far away from the College. Azul wasn’t particularly happy with it (none of them were, really—even you) but you had always known how important success was for Azul (especially him) so you had encouraged him to pick what he knew was the best choice for the future.

His heart sped up at the thought of how deeply you understood his feelings—and his desires. At that point, he promised that he would ensure—his future would be spent making you happy and that you would never be left wanting.

You will get the best from him because he knows how much you deserve it.

You deserved so much better than him—he knew that—he’s accepted it as an irrevocable truth. However—you had chosen to stay by his side, despite his past—and despite his inexcusable actions.

“Azul… I think you shouldn’t be ashamed of your past.” Your voice resonated in his mind, and he’s instantly brought back to that time the two of you quietly stood in front of his elementary school photo.

“After all, it’s because of that Azul—that you’ve become the Azul I see today and…” You turned to him with a tender smile that instantly made his heart soar like a flying fish and his eyes well up with tears.

“I think you should know—that the Azul before me today, is not as terrible as you like to believe.” Then you giggled, and his cheeks flushed red at your next words.

“It’s quite the opposite actually—you’re someone I can’t help but watch because… I think you’re amazing.”

So, he was going to do his best for you.

He was an inherently selfish person.

You were someone he wanted to hold onto for as long as possible. He knew that maybe one day you’ll realize that he wasn’t worth it. He knew that it will hurt him—but he also knew that if that day comes, he wouldn’t stop you.

He’d let you go.

As selfish as he was—he knew you deserved for him to be selfless for once. Especially if it meant you being happier.

It would hurt so much but—knowing how much better you could probably have—he would do it.

‘While you’re by my side…As long as you’re in my life… for however long I’m allowed too…’

Until the day that someone … or something—that was inarguably the better choice for you comes along—

‘I’ll treasure you… take care of you… treat you like a Queen—’

He stopped right before his office doors, and briefly fiddled with his hair. He inhaled, before he pushed the doors open. You turned to look at him with a despondent expression.

“Azul.” You hiccupped, and his heart dropped to his stomach at seeing your tears. There’s a part of him that immediately goes into a cold fury—‘How dare anyone make you cry—’

“Shh… It’s alright.” He slid the door closed behind him, dropped the paperwork carelessly onto the ground and opened his arms.

You immediately took it as an invitation to delve into his arms. Your breath was shaky, but Azul’s familiar and fresh ocean scent immediately calmed you down. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, and he rubbed one hand consolingly down your back. He slowly led you to sit down on the couch, and let you stay in his arms as he plotted a way to get back at whoever it was that made you show such a sad expression.

Once you pulled away, he immediately pulled out a handkerchief to pat away the wet tear tracks across your face.

“Are you alright?”

“I… yeah… just… I was… overwhelmed.” You said, breath still heavy. "I have something to tell you.” Azul hummed, as he moved to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear.

“The Headmaster... he’s found a way.”

“A way...?” Azul cocked his head, not quite understanding what you meant.

“...”

“...” At the sudden silence, Azul raised his head to see you look down at your hands. He noticed that you were trembling ever so slightly. Azul narrowed his eyes at such an action.

“[Name]?”

You looked up; your eyes were glassy—with one blink you would probably start crying again. He could see the minute tremble of your jaw.

“I can go home, Azul.”

“That’s...” Azul blinked rapidly—stunned but at the same time—his heart tightened in his chest, and he automatically clenched his fists.

‘Ah…’

‘I didn’t think it would happen so soon…’

‘I didn’t think I’d have to let go of you so quickly…’

‘I don’t want you to go.’

Azul was selfish—he has always known that he was selfish... but with you... he always tried to not be.

He would be selfless with you.

He promised himself that much.

You had always been more than what he deserved—so how could he ask you to stay with him?

Knowing that—he knew what he had to say to you.

“You must be happy.” He finally managed to speak, and he prayed that you didn’t realize how shaky his voice got. He was barely able to keep himself from crying too. “You will go home, won’t you?”

“Is that it?” you asked, heartbreak in your voice but he gritted his teeth in response.

“Well... what else did you want me to say?”

“I...” you stood up; your breath shaky.

‘I wanted you to give me a reason to stay.’ went unsaid.

“... Nothing. I just... came here to tell you.” you finally said, your voice soft. “I’ll... see you later Azul.” You turned quickly—but not fast enough for him to not see the tear that slipped down your cheek as you escaped Mostro Lounge’s VIP Room.

“...”

Azul laced his hands together, before he rested his forehead against his hands. A whimper left his lips, as he began to shake in his seat.

“Tch...”

His heart squeezed tight—and he idly wondered if this was the type of feeling that Floyd’s victims got. It hurt—it hurt so much. Azul’s pathetic whimpers turned into guttural sobs. His fingers spread to cover his eyes—and his glasses slid off his face, down to his lap and then to the ground—at his actions. His whole body shook as he cried his heart out.

The one time he tried to be profoundly good—

The one time he tried to be selfless—

It was only right that he felt this much pain over it—after all—he always believed that he deserved it.

He struggled to remind himself how much this was for your sake. How this was better for you. Even if you began to hate him for it (and witch, did the thought of you despising him made another disgusting whimper slip out of his lips—), he’ll watch over you—only the best for you.

When you rushed out of the room, you immediately slammed right into the twins. They are both briefly stunned by your expression, but just as quickly, you clung onto the closest twin—in which case, it was Floyd. The man immediately wrapped his arms around you. He began to coo comforting words to you as he shot a look at his twin. Jade’s eyes flickered between you and Azul’s shut door, before he ultimately decided to shuffle you and his brother into a nearby room. Once you were sat down, Jade quietly coaxed the story of what happened out of you.

Through your tears, you tell him. You grow a little terrified as both twins gain a quiet look of rage almost identical with Azul’s earlier expression at your tears. The two share a look, and Floyd almost immediately got up—until you stop him.

“Please… don’t be mad at Azul…” you muttered, “I… I don’t think he means it.”

You remember the expression Azul made. First—there was fear, pain—before it shifted to something more like acceptance.

You don’t understand.

Why wouldn’t he think he was worth it?

He had always been selfish—and you wanted him to be selfish with you—and yet—

“You must be happy.”

He had said, but you had immediately caught the slightest bit of wetness that had began to well up in his blue eyes. You had noticed the way he had stiffened, the way his breath and voice hitched as he did his best to hide from you what you were truly feeling—

Jade and Floyd exchanged another glance, before coming to the same conclusion.

“Listen [Name].” Jade reached and cupped your chin in a delicate manner. “Here’s what we’ll do…”

When Azul finally exited his office, he had to fix his robes, and his make-up—if only to keep his unflappable façade as Azul Ashengrotto of Octavinelle. What he didn’t anticipate was to be immediately blocked by the Leech twins.

“Ah. There you two are.” Azul cleared his throat, his voice still scratchy from the amount of crying he just did. “There are some things we need to do—” Floyd slammed a hand against the wall right next to Azul’s head, before he leaned closed—his eyes dark as he studied the octopus merman in front of him.

“Shrimpy ran by here. She was crying.” Floyd’s eyes narrowed, and Jade sighed from behind him. “What did you do?”

“Apparently, the dear girl is being offered a chance to go home.” His voice trembled at the last word, but he held fast to his belief that this is the best choice for you. “I congratulated her on it.”

“Why?” Floyd hissed, “why would you—Azul—”

“It was only logical to assume so.” Azul said in response. “I presumed she wished to go home.”

“What… makes you think she wouldn’t want to stay here?” was Jade’s quiet query.

“It’s obviously the better choice for her to go. There’s nothing for her here.” Both twins blinked, a little awed that Azul—their selfish, greedy Azul—just said that.

“… There’s nothing here worth staying for. Not for her at least.” Azul said—at the sight of their expressions. “I’m sure—she’ll be happier in her home world. She should have never even come here.”

And wasn’t that a terrifying thought?

He wondered what it would have been like to have lived in a world where he had no concept, no idea of you. He shuddered immediately—he would rather always be able to remember you. If he could not have you, then he would cup the memories you shared together in his palms and hold on as tight as he could.

Floyd let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Is that truly what you believe?” Jade’s eyes narrowed, “that there’s nothing for her here?”

“You can’t sincerely believe that!” Floyd snarked, his expression twisted in displeasure. “The Azul we know—he would be selfish.”

“Don’t you see?” Azul, fed up, finally yelled, “It’s because I’ve always been selfish with her that I should be selfless for once.” He gritted his teeth aggressively.

“Of course, I want her to stay! I practically need her to stay.” He inhaled sharply, as he looked at the twins with wet eyes—frustrated that, as per usual, he had lost control of his emotions and tears. “But I also need to acknowledge that it may not be the best choice for her! So, I don’t want her to consider me when she’s making this decision—It’s not about me. It’s about her.” He exhaled, a part of him satisfied that he had managed to stun the twins once more… that is until Jade let out a soft chuckle and stepped aside to reveal that you were standing right behind him. Floyd stepped back, while a snicker escaped his lips.

“Azul.” You peered at him with wet eyes, and he tensed.

“You two—” Azul looked up to glare at the twins, who shrugged easily as they retreated away.

“Azul… why do you think like that?”

“…” He looked away, he didn’t want to answer, but when he felt your soft hands cup his face so that you could direct him to look at you—seeing that familiar look in your eyes—the one that told him how badly you wanted to understand him—instantly made him soften. “I always think about it… you deserve better. Better than me.”

“Azul… you need… to stop thinking of yourself like this. I love you.” You added, and his eyes widened, “Regardless of what you think—I think the best option for me… is to be by your side Azul.”

“You… really think that?” his voice shook, and you sniffled too.

“Of course, I do! Even if you didn’t want me… or need me…” you lower lip trembled, and Azul wanted to kiss your worries away. “I would cling to you as tightly as possible—it hurts but—I’d stay. You’re always going to be worth it for me.” Azul’s whole body quivered, and without thinking his hand slid onto a button on his blouse. He took one of your hands off his face to press a button onto your palms.

“You have my heart.” He murmured, voice soft, and his eyes moist. “and you have my future… if you’ll let me share them with you.”

“It’s a deal, Mr. Ashengrotto.” You said, your own eyes pricked with tears—and he let out a little chuckle.

He will continue to do everything in his power to always—remain—the best option for you.

“What a couple of cry-babies.” Despite Floyd’s tone, a pleased smile made its way to his lips.

“Our cry-babies.” Jade murmured, a familiar smirk plastered on his own face as he watched you and Azul bawl into each other’s arms.

You were, once more, invited to Scarabia’s annual graduation party for their fourth-year students. It was… one of their grander parties and it was hardly the first one you had ever attended since befriending their Dorm Leader two years ago.

However—what made this party different from the others you’ve attended so far, was because a part of the graduating batch were your friends—Kalim and Jamil. The very fact Kalim was graduating, made the Asim family decide to sponsor this year’s party. This meant that even as far as grand parties would go—this year’s party blew the past other parties away in terms of extravagance. There were a lot of people (guests of the graduates), food (completely catered—for sure Jamil slunk away a little miffed that he didn’t get to cook), music (hired by the Asims) and dancing (right in the centre of the room too!)

It was incredibly beautiful—and just… something you have never believed you would have had the chance to experience. You expressed as such to Kalim, who, with a grin—laced his fingers with yours as he pulled you straight to the dance floor. His warm hand landed on the curve of your waist before he began to lead you in a complicated dance. You let out a few squeals here and there—especially because dances native to the Land of Hot Sands were quick, and nothing like you’ve experienced before. Kalim only grinned happily as he twirled you around then rapidly pulled you back into his arms. You could feel your cheeks flush red as you were pressed up against the man’s well-defined chest.

“Isn’t this fun, [Name]?” Kalim let out a boisterous laugh as he continued to spin with you at the centre of the celebration. His dark summoning robes shined under the opalescent light of the room.

“Yeah…” your eyes flickered away briefly, before landing back on his face. Luckily, Kalim had not noticed your slightest hesitation—nor the fact that you were lying.

It wasn’t that you weren’t enjoying yourself—you always enjoyed any moment you could spend with Kalim—that was the truth but—

You could feel the countless dark stares that many of the eligible young women of Twisted Wonderland shot as you hogged Kalim’s attention. Ever since you had arrived at the party, Kalim had happily, and staunchly stayed by your side throughout it—eagerly sharing with you details from the Land of the Hot Sands.

It made you… nervous… insecure.

“Hm? Is something wrong?” Kalim cocked his head to the side, bright red eyes curious—but you didn’t want him to feel upset on such an important day for him.

“It’s really nothing.” As the music finished, you pulled away. “I do think I’m a little tired… So, I think I’ll go rest back at the table.” He gave you a worried look.

“Are you sure?” he cocked his head in an innocently curious manner that made your heart hum in pleasure of his concern. “You’re my friend, [Name]! So, I want to make sure you’re well!”

‘You’re my friend.’

‘You’re just a friend.’

You felt your lips tightened at such a damning sentence, and you quickly looked away.

“Yeah, I just…” you paused, “maybe you can dance with someone else?” you suggested—even if you wished with all your heart that he’d notice how you were truly feeling.

“Oh! That’s a great idea!” Kalim beamed brightly, before he turned around and happily waved his arms. “Who wants to dance with me next?”

In an instant, the Asim Heir was surrounded by gorgeous women, and you were elbowed out of the crowd.

“Oof.” You grasped at your stomach after you were harshly pushed away, and some of the ladies at the outermost part of the circle, sniffed haughtily at you before they turned away.

You stood there for a moment, as you wondered if it would be too late to fight your way through the crowd to reach his side but… You watched Kalim offer his hand to one of the beautiful women. Something in you lurched, and you could not bear to watch so you quickly retreated to your seat—you felt like a coward.

Your table was devoid of your year mates now. Grim was hanging around with Deuce near the buffet table. Ace and Epel, on the other hand, were incredibly popular and seemed to be dancing with some other women too. Ace looked pleased, but Epel’s expression practically begged for someone to get him out of there. Jack on the other hand, claimed that the noise was too much for him, and had eagerly retired to his dorm. You let out a small giggle, as you briefly met Epel’s suffering gaze, before he and his partner turned again. In the process, your eyes landed on the ever cheerful Kalim… and his incredibly enthusiastic partner.

The woman had herself pressed up against his body and seemed to be saying something right into his ear… but judging from her slightly frustrated expression—whatever she was saying had no effect on Kalim.

“In my generosity, I have found a way to bring you back home... but...” the Headmaster peered at you with glowing eyes. “Something tells me you don’t want that anymore.”

You frowned as that memory, unbidden, returned to the forefront of your mind. You were supposed to tell Kalim about it but… Your eyes flickered up to see him dance away with the woman.

You doubted you would get the chance to do so now.

Which you definitely… did not do on purpose.

You just—did not know—

How does one bid goodbye to the sun?

As the music ended, the same hoard of women surrounded Kalim once more. Despite the pang in your heart—you couldn’t help the exasperated but fond sigh that left your lips as you see Kalim smile cheerfully at them all.

Not at all bothered.

Still of a kind heart.

The way he was right now…

‘He truly is the sun.’ you thought, you looked around and you noticed—that everyone was paying attention to Kalim. Their gaze fixated and focused on Kalim’s next actions.

‘Everyone here is a heavenly body, orbiting the brilliant sun.’

Kalim had always had a sense of magnitude to him—always had a spark that attracted everyone… even those who were never meant to stay.

‘And I’m a meteor off course.’

Your eyes hazed over and watered immediately at the realization of your position.

‘I cannot stay.’

You ducked your head frantically—as you felt the inevitable spill of your tears down the curve of your cheeks.

‘I have no place here… no place to stay.’

No one ever willingly bids goodbye to the sun.

They spend the rest of their lives trying to find the right way back to it.

And you know the path you must walk will take you universes away from the one sun that you wished you could orbit around for eternity.

You choked briefly, and instinctively grabbed a nearby napkin to dab at your face. You were glad Grim was enjoying the festivities at the table across—had he been with you, everyone would have probably noticed your complete breakdown.

You sniffled quickly and froze as a hand that held out a handkerchief, entered your line of sight. Your eyes traced the tanned forearm, up the toned arm, before your gaze was caught by deep dark eyes.

Jamil stared at you with a frown on his face as he pressed the handkerchief into your hands. You flinched, startled, before you grabbed it.

“Thanks.” You stuttered, voice low, and Jamil gazed at you unflinchingly.

“You’re thinking of going home.” He murmured in that soft spoken, delicate tone of his. “No… you’re already going home.” His eyes narrowed, and under the candlelight of Scarabia’s halls—the shadow of the flames licked his face and made his dead, calm expression somehow… even more terrifying than usual.

“Please… don’t look at me like that.” You bowed your head, as some of your tears slipped down your knuckles. You could hear Jamil sigh.

“You’re going to break his heart.” Jamil murmured, his voice as cool and collected as ever.

“How can I break something… that I’ve never held in the first place…?” You muttered as you lifted a golden goblet up to your lips. Jamil shot you an unimpressed stare at that.

“Regardless of what you believe,” Jamil pursed his lips. “You will hurt him.”

“It’s not going to last.” You said in defence. “He’ll move on…” you looked up; tears got caught in your lashes as you blinked rapidly. “He’s going to meet people even more amazing… Like someone who …”

‘Someone who will suit him.’

‘The best person that he could be with.’

“I’m sure of that.” You tried to sound convincing—but you couldn’t truly—not when your heart believed otherwise.

“… That… isn’t something that you alone can decide.” Jamil’s eyes slid to Kalim. The man was burning as bright as ever in the centre of the room. “Kalim should have a say in that as well.”

“I can’t believe you’re the one saying that.” It was wrong of you to say that. It was—without a doubt—a low blow. Judging from the most miniscule of movement above Jamil’s brow—you had guessed he thought the same.

He didn’t blow up and instead, the man sighed deeply as he picked up his own golden goblet for a drink. You look down onto the handkerchief that you clenched in your hands.

“Jamil…” you did not look up, and instead your hand reached for your own pocket. “would you… give him this letter?” you pulled out a wrinkled envelope—one you had penned immediately after learning from Crowley that you could go home.

You… you couldn’t bear the thought of watching Kalim get sad.

You had always figured that if something like this came up you would tell him in a letter instead.

So, that you would never have to face his sadness or his tears.

“… You’re a coward.” Jamil said quietly, before he grabbed the envelope anyways.

You don’t say anything.

He was right of course.

You were just a coward—as you frantically cupped your heart in your hands in the hopes that it would not burn away into nothingness.

“Then,” Crowley peered down at you with glowing eyes. “Are you ready?”

You had to drag your eyes away from the doorway—that you had stared at whilst you wondered if anyone would run after you.

Though you knew nobody would.

It had been what you wanted in the first place.

You didn’t want… you hated seeing people get sad. So—you had chosen to write letters to all your friends… and you had set them in places you’re sure they’d see. It was so selfish of you but—

You remember Kalim’s tears when Jamil had overblotted, two years ago…

‘It’s better this way.’ You reassured yourself before you looked at Crowley.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” You tried to smile, and something about the way Crowley tilted his head made you feel as if he pitied you. He chose not to say anything, and instead the Headmaster gestured to the glowing mirror.

You took one step toward the mirror before the door behind you dramatically burst open.

“[NAME]!” Your heart stopped at the voice, and you turned around to see that Kalim was standing right there—his hands on his knees as he panted in exhaustion.

“Ka…lim… why…” your eyes caught sight of a Jamil who slowly dragged his feet into the Hall of Mirrors before your line of sight was completely blocked out by Kalim’s red eyes.

“[Name]! Why—why are you leaving?” His lower lip wobbled, and your heart wrenched itself at the fact that you were the cause of such an expression. “And you didn’t even tell me—have I—are we not friends? Is that not enough reason for you to stay?” His expression looked so genuinely heartbroken, but you snapped into attention at his words.

“The thing is Kalim…” you tried to avoid his gaze. “It’s exactly because we are friends that I… that I cannot stay.” You managed to force out.

“What? Why?” he gaped at you, and your frustration at the situation made tears begin to slip out of your eyes.

“Because I love you, you idiot!” you practically yelled, uncaring of your audience. Kalim gaped at you.

“But—but—I love you too!” Your heart quickened at his statement, but you frantically shook your head.

“No, you don’t—you love me—as a friend.” You emphasized, “and I can’t stay knowing that—you need to end up with someone… better than me—”

“I mean it [Name]!” honesty shone in those red eyes. There was a flicker of desperation in those eyes before he quickly fell to his knees in front of you. You gaped at him in surprise as he reached for his chest.

Snap.

He looked up at you, as he stretched out his hand to offer you the gleaming button.

“I love you [Name].” He met your eyes head on—and the seriousness in that gaze of his made an exquisite shiver run down your spine. “So—won’t you marry me?”

As the graduation ceremony in the Mirror Chamber concluded, Vil and Rook exited first out of all the Pomefiore fourth years. They quickly approached their Pomefiore juniors, who were all, enthusiastically cheering for them.

"Congratulations Senior Schoenheit! Congratulations Senior Hunt!”

Epel shuffled forward and offered the two seniors a big bouquet of brilliant red roses each.

“Oh~ They are beautiful~ Merci, Epel.” Rook took the bouquet with a pleased expression, and happily sniffed the roses. “and very fragrant too~”

“You were so impressive, Senior Schoenheit! You got so many awards!” said one particularly awed junior.

“Naturally.” Vil inclined his head, as he inhaled the intoxicating scent of the roses. Around him, his juniors continued to give bouquets to his fellow seniors. Disinterested in that—his eyes flickered around in a slow pace... looking for...

Vil frowned behind the rose bouquet when he could not catch sight of you.

‘Now, where could you have gone, sweet potato?’

“Er...” Vil glanced back down at Epel, to see him quickly flicker his eyes in a direction.

‘I see.’

“Excuse me.” he murmured underneath his breath before he proceeded to move away from the Pomefiore gathering, down the path Epel had signalled him too.

“Congratulations Vil. I mean—I guess you didn’t need it but--ah... no... I’m saying this all wrong...” he heard you before he saw you. His glossed lips curled up in an amused smirk at the sound of you practising your congratulatory message. Vil turned the corner to see you seated at a bench in the middle of the open courtyard. Unlike him, you were dressed properly in your version of the school uniform. You had furrowed brows, a wrinkled nose and pouted lips as you stared into a bouquet of what looked to be dark coloured flowers. He almost called out to you when you began to speak to yourself again.

“Hi, [Name] here. I wanted to congratulate you and also... tell you... Agh! Is this really the time to tell him about that? God... I don’t want to...”

“Don’t want to what?” You jumped in your seat. You turned your head quickly, only to immediately loose both your train of thought and breath at the sight of him.

It was not the first time you had seen Vil in the summoning robes—he had been one of those students that had immediately caught your eye during that entrance ceremony—all those years ago.

But...

It was like seeing him for the first time—if that made sense.

His light blonde hair twisted into loose lavender waves that accentuated his sharp but delicate features. The sheer brilliance of his violet eyes in contrast to the paleness of his lashes were further accentuated by the dark make up that no one else but Vil Schoenheit could possibly hope to pull off. His lips were glossed gently with that pale lavender colour that had you dying. How long have you dreamed of kissing those lips? Smearing that lavender colour across his cheek? Ruining him, the way he’s ruined you?

How could you ever hope to fall out of love with Vil Schoenheit?

How could you ever hope to fall in love with someone else, after Vil Schoenheit?

He approached you slowly, with an elegant countenance only heightened by the way his robes swirled around him.

“Sweet potato?” He arched a fine brow. You were still silent despite that he had taken the seat next to you. While he may draw pleasure from the way he made you speechless, your earlier words still held fast to his curiosity. You snapped into attention after you realised that you had been staring for quite a while at him.

“T-That is—Senior Vil! Congratulations on your graduation!” you stuttered out as you simultaneously offered to him the bouquet in your arms. You peered up at him worriedly, and promptly got distracted by the way his long lashes tangled briefly as he blinked.

“Roses as well?” he tilted his head, pale blonde hair curled gently around his cheeks. You paused and saw that he also had a bouquet of vivid, red roses in his arms.

“Oh! Um! How presumptuous of me... I didn’t mean... that is to say...” he always turned you into a nonsensical fool. It was impossible to string words into sentences when everything would fall away in the face of Vil. He stared at you, bemused, as you babbled. “Sorry, I suppose you wouldn’t want this—Right, that’s that—I can just—”

“I did not say that.” Vil’s slender shoulders shook in laughter. Vil dropped the bouquet of red roses he had already been holding, to take the bouquet you offered him. He peered at it gently and noticed that what he had originally thought were black roses were actually—not. As he moved it under the light of the sun, the roses would shift between a dark violet or a deep blue. His breath caught in his throat. Red roses were—no doubt—classic. They were beautiful—but this bouquet you gave him… the roses were bewitching.

“What colour are they meant to be?” he finally asked as he leaned down to inhale the familiar, comforting scent of roses.

“What do you see?” At that, he looked up at you with a curious expression. You looked back, eager to hear what he thought.

“I can see violet and blue toned colours... they also seem to be black in some angles.”

“Oh.”

“Are they not meant to be like that?”

“No, no they are... I asked ah... Professor Crewel to help me breed these type of roses... It’s amazing what magic can do for plants.” you admitted, his eyes flickered quickly between you and the bouquet.

“You bred these... specifically?”

“Ah... yeah... back home...” you struggled briefly, “there were these roses that were either bred or coloured to look pink and yellow. I wanted to make ones that were violet or blue. Thanks to magic, it’s possible to actually create these.”

“Why?” he scrutinised your expression as you quickly flushed.

“Er... That’s because I couldn’t choose between either of the colours.” You said quickly as you licked your chapped lips—momentarily realising that you had forgotten to bring your lip balm. ‘Vil is looking at me, and I’m horrendously ugly. What hasn’t changed?’ you bemoaned to yourself.

“I figured... Pomefiore colours, yeah?”

You watched as he studied the way the colours of the rose petals would shift in the light. You were happy to note that there was a little glow of awe in those violet eyes, and—what you hoped was delight. His expression quickly shuttered after you noted that they were Pomefiore colors, and he dragged his gaze from the deep coloured roses to glance at you.

“You know sweet potato... lying isn’t very attractive.” he said, nonchalant, and you froze.

“What... lying?” you chuckled nervously. His eyes narrowed briefly, and you winced.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” You quickly avoided his gaze as you felt your eyes immediately begin to go wet, “Sweet potato, look at me.” You inhaled sharply as you slowly turned your head to face him again. You chewed nervously on your lower lip, and his eyes narrowed again.

“Don’t do that.”

“Sorry.” you knew he was referring to your habit of chewing on your lower lip.

“Well?”

“... I was hoping you wouldn’t notice until... later.” you finally admitted. “though who am I kidding—I wanted you to know... I wouldn’t have given that to you if I hadn’t wanted you to know that...”

“Violet roses mean ‘love at first sight’.” Vil murmured softly, “Blue roses mean ‘impossible love’... and Black roses have so much meaning... just what are you trying to say with this bouquet, [Name]?” you flinched as he named all the colours that appeared in the bouquet.

“Black roses... I... this is also me saying... goodbye.” Vil froze, as he turned to you quickly, his eyes turned even sharper.

“What are you going on about?”

“Headmaster Crowley... he found a way for me to go back.” you swallowed, “and... I think I’ll go.”

“And what about the violet and blue roses? Will you ignore what you just told me?” Vil demanded, and you looked away—unable to look at him—because you know that if you do, your resolve will falter.

“That’s... I just... I wanted to confess. To get all these feelings out because I know... I know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled, but you held fast and tight onto your resolve.

‘Just let it out. Get it out of your system and... and maybe you could start again.’

“Why do you believe it’s impossible?” You hear Vil sigh, exasperated. “For the Queen’s sake—look at me [Name].”

“No, look at me.” you snapped back, and he recoiled briefly at the sudden flash of anger. "I’m more than aware that we...”

‘We have no chance. I, of all people—know that. It’s just some dream I cooked up in my head.’

“Look at us.” you said, miserable. “I... you’re so beautiful... and amazing... and I’m just... me. How could I ever suit someone like you? How could I make someone like you, happy?”

“You will stop talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Putting yourself down the way you’re doing right now.” He replied, “and look at me when I’m speaking to you, [Name].” You feel a soft, gentle hand cup your cheek, and move it to face him. Vil had a frown on his face—and while he never looked less pretty because of it, you still hated that you were the cause of it.

“[Name]... you...” he paused, sighed before he dropped the bouquet of dark coloured roses down onto his lap and raised a hand to his uniform.

Snap.

Your eyes widened as you watched Vil rip a button off from his uniform before he offered it to you.

“Vil—that—you—” you stuttered. You remembered him talking about the importance of the uniform, and he was the last person you would ever imagine, who would actually—

“What normally happens is... someone confesses, and the other party decides whether or not to give the button. When the other party gives their button—it means they return the love of the person who confessed.” Jack’s voice echoed in your head.

“There’s a tradition at graduations in this world.” Vil began gently as he placed it in your hands, “when one person confesses—the other can chose to—”

“Give them a button.” you murmured and Vil tilted his head to the side in surprise.

“You know of it?”

“The others... Jack... told me.” you mumbled, “but this... Vil... you...”

“My happiness will not be dictated by others—no, Vil Schoenheit is a person who will grasp happiness with his own hands.” He leaned towards you and pressed his forehead against you. His eyes softened as your eyes watered and the tears began to spill. “I’m giving you this button because I’ve already found happiness by your side. Nothing you say will change that so...” He brushed your tears away with the thumb of his hands, and you found yourself lost in the gentle affection in those violet eyes.

“Won’t you stay with me?” Those lavender lips curled—and you’ve never ever wanted so badly to kiss someone in your life, “I’m not a generous person, [Name]. You can only answer yes… or yes.”

“Ah—[Name]!” Ortho signalled for you to come close quickly. You moved to the boy’s side, before he gestured for you to peak into Idia’s room. You had expected to see Idia as he fiddled away with his computer—as per usual. To your surprise however—Idia was in fact—just stared off into space. You gaped at him, before you peered down at Ortho who nodded worriedly.

“Big Brother’s been like that for a while.” You could hear the frown in Ortho’s voice. “I don’t know what to do—not even his games can pull him out of it.”

“Really?” at the disbelief tone, Ortho looked up at you with wide golden eyes.

“Really!” he nodded, his fiery hair bobbed at his movement. “He hasn’t touched a single game in a while! He’s actually gone to some of his classes—well I still needed to bring him there—but he didn’t resist like usual… In fact, he didn’t complain at all! He’s even gone to graduation practice! That’s why he’s—” Ortho gestured at his outfit, and you realized that Idia was, in fact, dressed in the summoning robes.

“What do I do?” Ortho asked, and you knew if he could cry—he probably already would be.

“I’ll… I’ll try to talk to him. You can stay here, alright?” Ortho nodded, and with a deep breath, you pushed the door open.

Idia, on the other hand, still stared off into empty space—unable to register anything. All he could do was think about what had got him so distracted.

Crowley had bothered him too much about graduation—and Idia just simply… didn’t want to think about it. Unluckily for Idia, the Headmaster could become incredibly annoying when he wanted to be. Whenever Idia just wanted to brush aside the issues—Crowley only pressed him even more. At his wit’s end, Idia had thought to mess around with his computer… or something. Perhaps jam Crowley’s ability to connect to Idia—or even better—plant something that will hear his secrets… (‘I sound like Azul,’ Idia had even despaired briefly).

It was as he hacked his way into Crowley’s system in the Headmaster’s office that Idia had accidentally listened into a particular conversation that he sorta wished he remained oblivious too.

“You asked for me?” Idia had jostled in his seat when he heard you speak. He rapidly looked around his room—wondering if you had made it in without him realizing (again). He had an excuse on his lips—ready to be said if you wondered what he was doing. (He had a feeling ‘annoying Crowley because he wants me to physically attend graduation’ might not up your support levels together much.)

“Ah yes [Name]! Please! Do come in! And sit, sit! For I am gracious.” Idia whirled around to look at his monitor. With some rapid taps onto his keyboard, he was able to get a visual of Crowley’s office. He quickly recognized your form from behind.

‘What are you doing in Crowley’s office?’ Idia thought. He didn’t need to wonder too long however because his question was quickly answered.

“My dear girl, I’ve done it!” Crowley said rather cheerfully, “For I am gracious!”

“That’s… great?” Idia could imagine your cute, confused expression. You made it often enough whenever he tried to explain anything about the games he played. Though your worlds bore many similarities when it came to consoles—there were minute differences that often slipped your mind. He let out a soft giggle at that—you were adorable, and just having thoughts about you made his mood all better.

“That’s great.” You had repeated slowly, “but ah… I’m confused—what is this about, Headmaster?” you inquired, genuinely sounding like you had no idea what he was talking about.

‘Maybe I should go off. I don’t want to listen in and… I’m sure she’ll tell me whatever it is about—yeah?’ Idia nodded to himself, and just as he’s about to click the button that would cut off the audio—

“Well, what else could it be about my dear girl~?” Crowley had cackled, “In my generosity, I have found a way to bring you back home—”

Idia’s hand slammed down on the keyboard in shock, as he began to choke. He stared at his black screen in shock—not sure how to feel about what he had just heard.

‘You’re going home?’

He shouldn’t… have been as surprised as he was really.

He remembered that day, around two years ago, when you were first isekai’d into Twisted Wonderland. He knew that the plan had always been to send you home as soon as Crowley actually found a way to do so but…

As he spent time with you—he had gradually forgotten.

No, he didn’t forget—he—

Put it out of his mind.

He was so caught up in enjoying the time he had with you, that it had slipped his mind that it wasn’t permanent. That it wasn’t something that could last for as long as he wanted.

He knew that you always had your past world—your family, friends, and life—in your thoughts. He would too—if he were suddenly isekai’d in some foreign world where he had nothing.

So, Idia thought little of the possibility that you would remain in this world any longer. He knew—

He knew you’d want to go home because—

“What would keep you here?”

“What would keep who here?”

Idia yelped and leapt off his chair at the sound of your voice. He turned around to see you, as you peered at him with an amused smile. His heart skipped a beat at the way you smiled.

‘This is illegal—! You shouldn’t have power over me like this!’ He wailed inwardly, ‘Especially when—’ He let out a strangled noise as you pressed a warm, soft hand against his forehead.

“You don’t seem sick…” you mused, and you tilted your head in a way that Idia squealed at. You were just… so cute. Perfect waifu material for sure—you were kind—always so kind to him, and always willing to understand him in ways no one else ever was able to do. Ortho loved you too—

“Idia?” you leaned closer, and Idia frantically moved back. A wire made him trip backwards, and he let out a pained grunt at that.

“Oh no—are you okay?” He raised a hand to prevent you from drawing any closer.

“I’m okay!” he squeaked out, “I’m fine—just—give me a moment—”

“Alright.” You drew back, and with little hesitation, you chose to sit down on his bed as you watched Idia slowly stand upright. He patted his behind and winced—at which you let out a soft giggle. After a few more moments, Idia shuffled to sit right beside you. He fiddled with his sleeves awkwardly, his eyes flickered away—and back to you.

“Why—why are you staring at me like that?” he finally managed to say, and you smiled.

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in the summoning robes.” You said, “they suit you. You’re very handsome Idia.” Idia’s face quickly flamed up, and his hands rose to cup his own cheeks as he began to stutter rather fiercely.

“That—you—but—I—you lie!” he settled on; his face completely flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m not lying.” You shook your head, as you admired him in his summoning robes. You really weren’t—Idia can clean up rather nicely, and the dark colour of the robes accentuated the blue of his hair and the gold of his eyes.

“Thanks.” He said, his hands still covered the bottom half of his face.

“Are you really okay, Idia?” you asked, a little more concerned when your attempt at a conversation fell through.

“Yeah…?” he looked at you confused, and your eyes moved to the door. You knew Ortho was still there but…

“Ortho was pretty worried about you. Said you were acting all weird.”

“That’s because…” he chewed his lower lip, and he looked at you from the corner of his eye. “Well…”

“You can tell me anything.” You said—as you always did, when Idia worried himself to a frenzy at what you might think of the things he liked. “You know me Idia, I don’t mind.”

“Yeah… it’s…” he hesitated before he turned to you—Idia’s expression was different—it was, strangely serious and intense—not in any way you’ve seen it before. It instantly made you even more worried. “The truth is…”

He was never particularly good at lying—nor was he good at keeping secrets from you. You were a person he considered a dear friend—and he was always the type of person who ended up spilling everything to you. He liked being able to talk about the things he enjoyed—he liked that he had found someone who wanted to hear him out.

So, he told you what he had overheard, his eyes fell to his palms because he could no longer face you. He was worried about what you’d think when you found out that he heard what had happened—and he was worried that something on your face will make him break down.

Idia was afraid of losing you.

Idia was afraid of losing a person who was so willing to be his dear friend.

His fists tightened on his shirt, and he wondered if there was any reason, he could give you so that you would stay.

“Idia…” you began, but your sombre tone made him squeeze his eyes shut because he didn’t want to confront the truth—that you were actually going to leave and…

“Are you really leaving?”

“That’s—”

“Please don’t leave!” you faltered briefly, and looked at the way Idia was hunched over, with his eyes squeezed shut. It would have been quite the comical sight if it were not for the seriousness of the topic.

“Idia—I’m—”

“I really—I don’t want you to go—” he fiddled with his robes. “I know that’s… selfish of me—and I know you’re probably thinking of your family but I think—no—I know—” He hesitated, and he looked up at you, his expression shy, his chin wobbled.

“I… lo—” he shut his eyes quickly as finally blurted out how he truly felt. “I love you [Name]!” He tugged quickly on a button in his robes before he offered it to you with shaking hands.

You stared at him—stunned—you knew what Idia was like. You knew how much courage it must have took him to be tell you this—and to confront you about it too…

“Idia… won’t you look at me? Please?” you asked, gently. He glanced up at you, and you gave him a sweet smile that had his heart run a mile a minute. With that tender expression, you took the button in his hands and rubbed it gently with your fingers.

“Idia… you didn’t hear the whole thing, did you?” Idia furrowed his brows, before he shook his head.

“I accidentally quit the program…” he admitted, “and… I was too scared to go back on so…”

“Idia—I’m not leaving.”

“I guess it wasn’t enough—wait, what?” his head jerked back up to see your happy expression.

“I have no plans on leaving. If you had listened further, you might’ve heard that.” You giggled lightly, “I didn’t want to leave you—so I asked Crowley if it was possible to just… communicate with my world instead.” Idia gaped at you, completely surprised.

“Wait—you’re staying?”

“Yes.”

“For me?” he squeaked, and you nodded.

“For you. For us.” You held up the button between your fingers, and he looked at it for a moment before he met your gaze again, his face rapidly turned a bright red.

“So, I—I didn’t need to—do this—?”

“Technically… no?”

“Can you just forget the last few minutes please—”

“Absolutely not!” He made a strangled whimper-like sound at the back of his throat, and you laughed as you moved to embrace him. “I won’t forget it—because I love you too!”

“You—you do?”

You pulled back, to cup his face in your hands. His cheeks burned red, but you disregarded that to look into his gold eyes. His pupils shook, and you could see how nervous he was—you could feel the way he trembled in your hands.

“I love you Idia—and I’ll happily accept your heart.” Idia exhaled heavily, as he slackened into your arms, before he moved to wrap his arms around you.

“And… I love you…” he mumbled, less nervous—a little more assured—but for sure, deep in love. “Thank you… for staying with me.”

When Malleus himself invited you to Diasomnia—you gathered all your courage to go and tell him about what Crowley had told you.

"Ah [Name].” Sebek greeted you with a cheerful smile as you entered Diasomnia’s Main Hall. “Care for a button?”

Your brows shot up as you realized that he was carrying a bunch of buttons in his cupped hand.

“Err... Sebek... why...” you cleared your throat. “Why do you have so many... buttons?” Sebek brightened up at the question.

“You see, remember when Ace was speaking about the Second Button tradition?” At your hesitant nod, he continued, “I have come to understand that I shouldn’t be thinking about exchanging buttons with the Young Master—”

‘Oh dear.’

“As his vassal, I should be more concerned with the fact that should he exchange buttons with someone, it would ruin his attire—and by extension it may ruin his reputation.” Sebek nodded to himself, pleased with his own reasoning. “So, I chose to prepare a lot of buttons for the Young Master to pass out to those seeking his button.”

“I... I see.” You exhaled. If you had to describe what you felt for Sebek at this very moment—you would describe it as exasperated, but fond. He wasn’t a bad person--just... hilariously attached.

'Malleus...’

Had it already been two years since you came to Twisted Wonderland? Had it already been two whole years since you had met him in the gardens of the Ramshackle Dorm?

No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t remember how dark it had been that night—nor could you remember the exact reason why you had still been awake.

“Hm. Who are you?”

What you do know is that everything faded away in favour of remembering how you felt when you first laid eyes on Malleus.

“Well now this is a surprise. You are a child of man.”

Long dark hair that tumbled down to the small of his back, pale porcelain skin, and vividly green eyes that were framed by long, thick lashes. The light of the moon was bright enough to illuminate him and it made him all the more ethereal in the night.

As you had stared at him, you felt your throat dry, your heart picked up its pace and your cheeks burned. You didn’t know—you still don’t know—but something about Malleus just left you so speechless... and in awe.

You raised a hand to your chest, as you felt it skip a beat just at the thought of him.

‘I have it bad.’ you had to accept that much—even if you knew you had—practically—zero chance with him.

“[Name]?” Sebek brought you out of your stupor. You dragged your eyes back down to Sebek’s palm, and the shining buttons in his palm.

“I’m surprised you’re even offering.” you pointed out, and Sebek glanced at you thoughtfully.

“Regardless of my personal feelings,” Sebek sniffed. “I at least know that the Young Master thinks of you as an important friend.”

‘What was it that Jack said?’

Jack had said it was something of a serious promise (Ace completely disregarded it--but... well, you were more likely to believe Jack between the two of them). You also remembered that Malleus wasn’t even allowed to show up in front of the Ghost Bride because he was the sole heir of the Valley of Thorns...

‘It’s not like Malleus would give me his he...’ You couldn’t help but blink in surprise at the bitterness of your thoughts. ‘Since when did I...’ You quickly shrugged it off, before you finally nodded at Sebek.

“Sure, why not?” After you picked it up, you began to play with it in between your fingers.

“Come to think of it [Name], what are you doing here?” Sebek eyed you suspiciously.

“Ah that’s because—”

“I invited her here.” At the sound of his voice, a shiver ran down your spine—and you felt the tips of your ears burn with a blush. You both turned to see Malleus as he entered the main hall.

Your eyes widened, and a gasp slid past your lips at the sight of him dressed in the dark coloured summoning robes. As the robe billowed around his long legs, he moved with a certain grace that made it seemed like he was gliding towards you.

“Woah...” you raised a hand to your lips in surprise. In return, Malleus’s lips only curled—pleased at your reaction.

“Ah, Young Master! You look amazing!” Sebek exhaled, as awed as you.

“Thank you.” He inclined his head elegantly, before his eyes shifted back to you. You shuffled in place uncomfortably, before his lips raised into a gentle smile.

“I apologize I could not come to Ramshackle tonight. We were busy preparing for graduation.” Malleus said, “I thought we could walk instead in the gardens of Diasomnia... before I escorted you home. Not a bad plan, no?”

“Young Master...” Sebek furrowed his brows briefly, but Malleus only raised a hand—his eyes never leaving your form.

“It is fine Sebek. I will not take too long.” He tilted his head; his dark hair gently fell across his face at the motion and your struck by the motion to tuck it behind his ear. You had to curl your fingers together to stop yourself.

“Shall we?”

You walked quietly beside Malleus through the gardens; your heart pounded in your ears.

‘I have to tell him. I really need to.’ You glanced at him quickly from the corner of your eyes. His eyes had slid shut as he inhaled, his shoulders rose and fell at his action. Your heart twisted regretfully, and you could feel your eyes tear up briefly.

His smile was gentle—delicate, much like the fairy lights that naturally accompanied him every night.

He looked so peaceful.

He looked content.

He had once been so forlorn.

His eyes had been so viridescent and sad. Loneliness had wrapped him up in a cold embrace.

You wondered if centuries from now—Malleus would remember you.

You doubted it.

You were just a drop in the ocean of Malleus’s life.

As if you could ever...

“I’ve been wondering.” you flinched as he suddenly spoke, and you blinked rapidly—as you hoped that none of the wetness in your eyes fall out.

“Yeah?” you hoped he didn’t notice the way that you had been so overcome with your feelings that you had to choke that out.

“That.” Malleus pointed at button that you had been unconsciously playing with your hands. “Why are you holding a button?”

“Oh that’s...” you looked down at the button in your hand, “Sebek gave it to me. He said he was passing it out to people who would ask you for your button.”

“My button?” the dragon fae blinked slowly. You quickly told him about the tradition Ace had mentioned.

“Ah.” Malleus let out a soft chuckle. “Yes, I do believe Lilia mentioned it.” then he peered down at you again. “That begs the question... why did you accept the button from Sebek?”

“Well... that’s because...” you nibbled on your lower lip. ‘It’s not like I can tell him that I...’ you stopped walking, and when Malleus realized that you had stopped moving—he turned around to face you.

“Little one?”

“I just figured... well... I don’t think I’d ever get one.” you said in a self-deprecating tone. “So, I thought... might as well... It’s a cute tradition anyways.”

Malleus felt his brows furrow in response. He had easily noticed that your mood was not particularly bright. He frowned; he despised the things that would make you sad—it made your light dim.

Your brilliance saved him.

He would be damned before he let anything cause you to flicker out like a dying star.

When you saw his shadow approach you, you couldn’t help but flinch. You didn’t want him to look at you right now—when you know your feelings are all over your face—when you couldn’t control the way your heart hummed in pleasure—knowing he was with you.

Malleus grabbed your hands, and you swear he could probably feel the way your heartbeat moved into a rapid pace at his touch. At this proximity—Malleus’s scent—gentle but fragrant—of wildflowers and smoke—enveloped you, it made you instinctively relax. You looked at your hands as he gently pried your fingers open to take the button away from you.

“I see...”

Before your eyes, the innocent little button caught a flame and burned away.

“Malleus, that’s overdoing it—don’t you think—” when you looked up, you caught sight of the way he reached for the buttons on his uniform.

Snap.

“I wish you spoke to me first.” Malleus said softly as he pressed the button into your palms. He looked down at you, with those eyes—

Vivid greens--but so gentle, so loving.

Nobody had ever looked at you like that.

“After all, I would gladly give my heart to you, my bright light.” your eyes widened, and they began to sting.

“You can’t... you can’t just do that... You’re a fae prince... and I.... I don’t belong here... I... I...” Malleus listened intently as your breath grew uneven as you tried not to cry. “I... I don’t...” you tried to give the button back, but Malleus only pressed your fingers close. “Crowley told me I could go home...”

“You do not have to.” Malleus leaned down and lifted your head so that he could press his forehead against yours. Your eyes were too sad—too wet.

He could not believe that you thought of yourself like this.

‘You don’t understand little light... If there’s anyone who should be unworthy to bathe in your presence it would be I....’

“You could stay here, with me. You could be my Queen...” Malleus paused thoughtfully, “No... that is wrong. You already are my Queen.”

“I’m no fae. Not even a magician. Not a speck of magic in me.” your grief escaped you through your tears, “you still want that?”

‘Volatile as I was... so arrogant and self-assured in my own powers.... but you had not given up on me, little light.... that is why... I won’t let go of you either.’

"Of course.” he replied easily, “you possess more power than you think. You possess so much power over me.” he whispered, and his breath fanned over your face. “I do not mind how powerless I am against you.”

“I’m not an immortal. You... I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh, bright light... I would prefer to live the rest of your life by your side... rather than spend centuries contemplating what it could have felt… to hold you in my arms.” Malleus professed. You were now openly sobbing, and Malleus pressed his lips against your jaw, onto your cheeks and over your eyelids.

“And should you worry about the centuries after... that is alright my bright light. I will simply find you again.”

As he pulled away, he noticed that your breathing was still shaky, and he leaned in again to give you several more comforting kisses.

“Won’t you... get bored of me?”

“Ah... but you are such a bright spark... I will never tire of you.” He made sure to stare straight into your eyes, “I will never tire of the way you look at me, the way you blush... the way you react when I call for you—and the feel of your heart...” He moved his thumb to feel the rhythmic beat of your heart.

“Will you not… let me…have your heart too?” He found the button—his button from earlier—and pressed it once more into your palm, to remind you of his earlier gift.

‘His heart...’

“...How... can I say no?” you choked out, “Yes... of course... Malleus.... I’d... there’s never been anything I wanted more.”

He could feel his shoulders slacken in relief at your response, as he bent down to brush his lips across yours.

‘I was terrified that you would slip away from me... Thank you...’

“Then let whatever years we have together... be ours only....”

#aiwrites #aiscenarios #female reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twst scenarios #twst riddle #twst leona #twst azul #twst kalim #twst vil #twst idia #twst malleus #inspired by: lucky ending by vickeblanka and the second button tradition #ai lucky series

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herstroywritten · 4 years ago

Text

Darn Pigtails

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

It started with pigtails.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_______________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

How wrong he had been.

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

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

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

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

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

"What's gotten into you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Was it up to yours?"

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

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

"None of your fucking business."

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

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

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

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

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

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

______________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh… sure?"

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

"How-"

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm trying-"

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

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

"Did you do it?"

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

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

______________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm serious, Riven-"

"I am too."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

________________________________________________________________

He wakes up and she's gone.

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

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

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

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

"We leave tonight."

"What? Where are we going?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who told you that?"

"Oh, you know. Just some girl."

"Some girl, huh?"

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

"Mmm. She seems like a handful."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That was a… last minute choice."

"What for?"

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

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

"You would've pushed me away."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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blouisparadise · 4 years ago

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Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of July. We really hope you enjoy this list and that you give these fics a lot of love.

Happy reading!

1) Your Good Time | Explicit | 3070 words

Louis nodded along with what the guy was saying, apparently his arousal taking over his brain to mouth filter as he said, “Who would want to hide a fit bloke like you? That guys an idiot.” Louis scoffed, dramatizing the word ‘idiot’, giving the guy a sly smirk. The guy leaned an arm against the bar, turned his body to Louis and fixed him with a curious look before he held out a hand.

“M’Harry.”

Louis and Harry meet in a bar when Harry's date is an ass. Inspired by Temporary Fix by One Direction.

2) I Push You To The Limits | Explicit | 3846 words

Louis is a brat who likes seeing his boyfriend get jealous and possessive over him.

3) Overkill | Explicit | 4354 words

Louis was never going to get over how fucking attractive Harry was. How glorious his big, tall, curvy body was. The feeling of Harry behind him, hot and heavy, trapped on the tube after they’d been somewhere during rush hour. His thick hands, full of pretty rings sometimes, handing Louis a cup of coffee, then getting one for himself.

4) Too Nervous to be Lovers | Mature | 6445 words

Louis doesn't want to spend quarantine with Harry, his straight roommate, who doesn't even acknowledge his existence.

5) Fratboy In Love | Mature | 6830 words

Harry Styles was a frat boy who loved to sleep around and flirt with boys and girls. Louis was a good uni student who loved to stay in and study and wasn't much of a partier.

Insert his best friend Niall who talks him into going. Louis gets drunk and ends up sleeping with harry. The next day he leaves before Harry wakes and tries to avoid him at all costs. Thinking Harry wouldn't care since Louis was just another conquest. But what if Harry did care. And actually have a crush on Louis. Read and find out

6) My Sunflower | Mature | 7057 words

Louis would rather be sunbathing at the beach with his friends, not slaving his spring break away in his father’s flower shop.

7) Waiting | Explicit | 8023 words

Louis Tomlinson was Harry’s omega, of this Harry had always been sure. Unfortunately for Harry, Louis seemed to think they were just best friends. The six weeks that Harry has to live with Louis were going to be rough.

8) Shine Light Upon Your Ground | Explicit | 8506 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/H, which the reader can picture as Harry or Henry Cavill.

Louis sighs again and fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist, twisting the charms around and petting the fake diamonds.

“How much for a night?” A deep voice suddenly asks him. The man who approaches him is already pulling out his wallet and flicking through a bundle of bills. Louis, who had been sitting at the bar completely innocent and minding his own business, lets out an offended, strangled sound.

“Excuse me?” He demands, straightening up in his seat. The hem of his dress creeps further up his thigh but he pays it no mind.

9) Glistening Under The Sun (You're My Honey Soaked Love) | Mature | 8996 words

“Oh Petal,” he picks her up nuzzling the top of her head with his cheek as she nibbles on the lavender, “How lucky are we? I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy, the only thing we have to be sad about is that soon I won’t be able to hold you like this,”

10) Connected To The Heart | Explicit | 9059 words

Note: This is an coda scene for this fic.

“Your stage cue is way too close for you to be wearing that look you’re wearing,” Louis informs him. He can’t stop himself from looking up at Harry through his eyelashes, the silk of Harry’s dress shirt brushing against the backs of his knuckles.

“Twenty minutes,” Harry agrees. His breath is minty from the gum he was chewing earlier, fresh and warm. “Twenty minutes can be a long time, baby.”

This time, Louis has to force himself to roll his eyes. “Not nearly long enough for the way you always want to fuck me.”

11) Fuck U Betta | Explicit | 11438 words

There’s something about having Louis like this, exposed and desperate, that makes a primal urge bubble up from deep inside Harry’s chest. Desire mixed with something else, something unquantifiable. It’s the thing that makes them want this, need this. Nothing else will satisfy them or quench their thirst.

OR the one where Harry likes the thrill of the chase, Louis likes to be chased, and everyone gets what they need… in the end.

12) Kiss Me In Your Chevrolet | Explicit | 11569 words

"Yes, Lou?" Harry asked, rubbing his tired eyes. A gust of wind came through the open windows, sending chills down Harry's arms as a light rain began falling outside. He closed his eyes again and let his head fall back to the couch arm rest.

"Can we go there?" Louis asked, probably pointing somewhere. Harry opened his eyes and felt his heart jump in his chest, a magazine page a couple of inches away from his face. Startled, Harry closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to collect himself.

Harry blinked a few times to focus his eyes on the page Louis still held in front of his nose. "You want to go to the Grand Canyon?" He furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the left to look at Louis' face.

13) Pull The Trigger | Explicit | 12007 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #16 on this list.

Louis has never been alright with killing. Will that change when he learns what it's like to be the one holding the gun?

14) Open All Night | Explicit | 12537 words

It’s six in the morning when Harry finally makes it back home.

Harry's a bartender, Louis' got a nice ass and a shit taste in men. They make it work.

15) Among Other Things | Explicit | 16073 words

“Harry, it’s 7:45, oh my god, my class starts at 8:15,” and Louis wants to cry. Harry’s busy under the bed trying to find the tiny silver key but Louis knows that fate just hates him and he needs to find a way to get up. “Harry, I—fuck,” Louis whines. Harry stands up in a rush.

“I can’t seem to find them. It. The key.”

Or, Louis’ the teacher of Harry Styles’ daughter. Their paths shouldn’t cross like this. This meaning Louis showing up to school handcuffed to a headboard.

16) A Bullet And It's Gun | Explicit | 18156 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #13 on this list.

Louis’ parents arrange his marriage with Harry. He’s fully ready to accept that he’s going to be a sad and lonely person for the rest of his life. But then Harry starts proving himself as more than just an asocial man with money.

17) By Such Slight Ligaments | Explicit | 26764 words

Note: The fic pairing is Louis/Henry Cavill.

A late night visit to a patient sets off a series of events that will turn Louis' world upside down.

... Here there be monsters.

18) At Your Fingertips | Explicit | 27384 words

He finds himself wrapped up in sheets in bed on Thursday night, staring at the familiar name on a new story that was posted the night before.

His fingers twitch, ready to hit play and surrender to his impulses, saving the regret and turmoil for later.

And still he hesitates, internally praying that he’ll somehow gain the strength to exit out within the next few moments before he inevitably loses his patience and hits the button.

Three…

Two…

One.

Play.

19) Forgot My Roots Now Watch Me Bloom | Explicit | 28334 words

Lonely transit worker Louis pulls his longtime crush, Peter, from the path of an oncoming train. At the hospital, doctors report that he's in a coma, and a misplaced comment from Louis causes Peter's family to assume that he is his fiancée. When Louis doesn't correct them, they take him into their home and confidence. Things get even more complicated when he finds himself falling for Peter's brother, Harry. Loosely based on the movie "While You Were Sleeping".

20) Push You Out, Pull You Back In | Explicit | 31544 words

Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.

21) Baby Blue | Explicit | 39439 words

Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head.

He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin.

“Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

22) Lidocaine And Palm Trees | Explicit | 44653 words

Heat, fake tans and lots of traffic.

Harry never expected to earn his living this way when he moved to LA.

Louis didn't think he could ever be the same after his divorce.

A lighthearted story about two guys trying to find themselves in the vibrant, sprawling city of Los Angeles, with a side of technical porn industry stuff.

23) Sleeping On Our Problems | Explicit | 67369 words

Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.

24) Truth Would Be | Explicit | 91869 words

“You want me? I’m not a… a thing to be owned!” Louis stuttered, still very angry and confused.

“Hmmm…” The alpha tapped his lips as if he was contemplating something. “Last time I checked, the debt was paid off and the only thing I had asked in return was… you. So technically I do own you.”

“You are crazy…” Louis muttered as he began to back towards the door. Harry’s impossibly green eyes turned a shade darker, but his tone was still teasing and light when he said, “Maybe I am…”

The I-paid-off-all-your-debt-so-you-are-mine AU in which Omega Louis wants to be left alone by Alpha Harry but it's super complicated when he starts to not hate the alpha all that much.

25) Collision | Not Rated | 224594 words

Note: This fic was finished in 2018, but two new epilogue chapters have been added.

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

#bottom louis #top harry #blp fic recs #monthly fic recs #fic recs #blp #larry

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imaginedxlan · 4 years ago

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Already Gone (Ron Weasley)

a/n: i know this isn’t a one direction account but jesus christ if any of yall read duplicity, the double update has me FUCKED UP. everyone keeps playing already gone and connecting it to harry and aven and all i can say is ouch. i’ve loved this song for so long and i wanted to write with it. for some reason all of my ron imagines are just pain, sorry about it i promise i really love him !!

the ultimate sacrifice in love is letting go. forced in a situation that you never wanted to be in, you have to make the decision of what’s more important: your happiness or his.

Hardly anything in your life has ever come easy to you. Growing up with the knowledge that you’re the daughter of two death eaters. being forced into a life you didn’t want. attempting to concentrate on classes you knew wouldn’t matter once the dark lord blew this castle to smithereens.

the only thing that did come easy to you was loving ronald weasley. the spontaneous, optimistic red haired boy who stole your heart only three years ago. the night of the yule ball, he finally worked up the nerve to tell you how pretty you look in your dress and your heart skipped a beat. you two did not act on your feelings after that for a whole year, finally confessing your feelings to the gryffindor during your fifth year. your love came with rules, however. it had to be in secret. you kept no secrets from him, not now anyway. he knew of your parents loyalty to the dark lord, you knew of his involvement with dumbledore’s army, but you’d never tell anyone.

when you we’re together, you weren’t a slytherin and a gryffindor fighting for different sides of a bloody feud, you were y/n y/l/n and ron weasley, two seventeen year olds who were madly in love with each other. your parents could never know, his friends could never know, so you only existed together behind closed doors.

“do you think there will be a day when i don’t have to keep you—us—a secret anymore?” ron asks as his hands run lighting through your hair. you lay together in the room of requirement as you do every night after sneaking away from your roommates.

you want to tell him yes, that one day this war will blow over, that the two of you will be able to parade around your love for the world. but you can’t lie to him. the more you learn about voldemort’s plans, his mission to kill your boyfriend’s best friend, the more bleak the future becomes.

“i hope so,” is the only reply you can fathom. you know deep down that there is little hope for the two of you. that ron will always be loyal to his best friends and you to your family. there’s no sense in dreaming of a happily ever after that will never come.

so you don’t think of the future. you think of now. you think of the feeling of his arms wrapped around you, one that you’ll cherish until your last breath. you wish you could plan for what could have lied ahead for the two of you, if the world wasn’t what it is. meeting his family, falling into rhythm with the loud and energetic aura of the burrow that ron has told you so much about. moving in with him, marrying him, having a hundred ginger children running around your backyard. how your heart aches for the dream of a life with him.

“i think there will be,” he muses, only making the pain in your chest grow. “i think by some twist of fate we’ll be together forever.”

you wished it was true.

the small glimmer of hope you held in your heart to one day be with ron faded more with every second you spent at malfoy manor. you and draco weren’t so different after all. you only wanted to make your parents proud, you didn’t necessarily want this life. you were also close with the blond boy, even more so the deeper you became embedded in the dark lord’s plans. surrounded by death eaters at the large table in malfoy manor, your heart was in your throat. your parents to your left and draco to your right, you found comfort knowing that draco was probably feeling the same way you were, scared.

the conversation droned out around you, all of them discussing potter, but your mind continued pulling to the boy who was sat back in a safe house somewhere, you never knew where. you sent letters to each other in secret but you begged him not to disclose his location, fearing the knowledge would be torn from you by the dark lord. it had only been a few days, but you miss his letters

“one of our youngest may prove to be more helpful than we initially thought,” the dark lord calls, pulling you from your daydream. your mothers hand fell into your lap and squeezed your hand. “y/n, it seems like you have formed quite the bond with one of potter’s closest confidants, a weasley, no?”

draco snaps his head to look at you, disbelief painting his features. you kept your eyes ahead of you, staring at the details of his crisp table in front of you to distract yourself from the hammering in yours chest.

“well?” the dark lord speaks up again, making you turn your eyes to face him. “don’t leave us waiting for your answer.”

“my lord,” you squeak out, barely audible. draco takes the hand your mother is not holding it to remind you you’re not alone in this. “i will do anything, anything for you. please do not bring him into this.”

he only laughs at you. making your heart twist in fear. you can’t betray ron, you can’t put him in harms way.

“look at how she begs,” he continues to laugh, other adults at the table catching on and joining in on his tease. you’ve never felt more belittled in your life. “you must know something of their whereabouts.”

“i do not, my lord.” you reply in earnest, you had no idea where they were hiding. you’re grateful for your blissful ignorance in this moment. “i swear it.”

the dark lord narrows his eyes toward you. draco squeezes your hand causing your to look at him. ‘tell him’ he mouths, fearing that you’ll be on the other end of an avada kedavra if you don’t. ‘i don’t know’ you mouth back.

the silence is deafening.

“my lord, please. i told you i’ll do anything, anything you wish,” you plead, hoping to come off the topic of ron. “you can search my brain for their whereabouts but i promise i don’t know.”

it’s quiet again. you begin to wonder what ron is doing right now. what he would think if he could see where you are.

“you’ll receive the mark,” the dark lord finally speaks up. “both of you, draco as well.”

you shut your eyes tight at his demand, squeezing draco’s hand tighter. you don’t want the dark mark, neither does draco, but you’ll die if you don’t get it.

“either this or you find that little boyfriend of yours and bring him and his dear potter to me,” he give the ultimatum, worse than your own death, you’d be the facilitator of his. you open your eyes and wordlessly nod. “good.”

you would do anything to protect him, you love him more than you thought you could ever love a person. if you were to get the dark mark, become a death eater, you couldn’t be with him. you would become everything he was fighting against, you couldn’t ignore that anymore.

so standing next to draco in borgin and burkes, the dark mark finally plagued your forearm. you can’t help but let a single tear shed at the thought of ron ever seeing this mark on you, hating you for it. you love him so much, you went through this to protect him from the dark lord, so you have to let him go.

dear ron,

i know i haven’t written in a while, the world is upside down, and all i can ever think about is you and your safety, so i couldn’t write to you. remember all the things we wanted? that night you asked if we could ever truly be together? i wanted all of that with you, i wanted to grow old with you. meet your family, move in together, live outside of this secret. i wanted to have a normal love with you. i think i knew it the back of my mind that we wouldn’t get our happy ending. we were born into different sides of this bloody battle. we were always meant to say goodbye. star-crossed lovers, that’s what you always said right?

i’ve had to make some decisions, ron, ones i’m not proud of. i need you to know i did it all for you, i’ve wanted to protect you since i knew i loved you. you have been the most important person to me, i couldn’t live with myself if i put you in danger. i know what you’re thinking, that we could have done this together. we could have fought for us, for this, but we were never meant for do or die. i think you know that.

don’t let this change who you are, i love who you are, please stay that way. stay optimistic, believe in love and happiness. i know you won’t want to, you’re stubborn just like me, but I know that you'll find another. another love that won’t hurt, another love that’s easy. don’t be afraid to love her with everything you have. that’s all i could ever want for you. i wish i could tell you this in person, hug you—kiss you—one last time, but looking at you makes it harder. i know i would chicken out. our time together, those moments we had alone, just the two of us without a thought of what was happening in this cruel world, they were perfect. know that i’ll never regret one second i spent with you. you made my heart feel like it was on fire, you let me know what true love is like and i am so grateful for that. but no matter how perfect we were, perfect couldn't keep this love alive.

so i have to go away for a while. i don’t know if i’ll ever be back, i don’t know if i’ll survive this so i need you to know this isn’t me leaving without any sort of love for you. i have to leave because i love you. you know that i love you so, i love you enough to let you go. it may seem selfish but i can’t keep dragging you into harms way, i’m sorry. there was no road we couldn’t have taken where we both make it out of this, where our love conquers all. i wish that was the case but it isn’t. someone’s gotta go. i can’t hurt you anymore than i already have, so it has to be me. i have to go so you can live.

so i guess this is goodbye. trust me when i say my heart breaks a little more with every word i write on this page. i know it’s cliche to say, but this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me and the choices i made. the choices that ultimately placed the last nail in the coffin of the hope that we could be together forever. i want you to know you couldn’t have loved me better. not a day will go by where i don’t think of your heart, your smile, the things that made me fall in love with you in the first place. you knew about my flaws, about my family and you still loved me. i cannot thank you enough for showing me what real love looks like.

i know you don’t agree, that i’m stupid for giving up my greatest love story, for letting you slip through my fingers but this is how it has to be. i want you to be happy, and that can only be if i’m gone. i could never ask you to choose between me and your best friends, your family, so i made the choice. you can be angry with me, hate me if it helps, whatever makes it easier to erase me from your mind, from your heart. a piece of me will always belong to you ronald weasley, but i want you to move on, so i’m already gone.

i love you, forever and always,

y/n

#ron weasley x reader #ron weasley imagine #ron weasley #weasley imagine #weasley #harry potter imagine #harry potter

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gguksgalaxy · 5 years ago

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Lily Luck | MYG | Soulmates

“You get five chances to meet your soulmate. Five opportunities to look them in the eyes and be overwhelmed with the feeling of love. To find a little red line around your pinky finger. Yet, the feeling dwindles with each missed opportunity. Each missed opportunity comes with a scar where that red line should be. It’s a game of fate and luck, and the latter doesn’t seem to be on your side.”

›› AU: Soulmates ›› Genre: Angst / Fluff ... I think? ›› Rating: R (implicit sexual content) ›› Pairing: MYG x Reader, MxM pairings ›› Word Count: 10.7k ›› Warnings Include: Swearing, alcohol use, romantic angst and anxiety, very slight implicit sexual content, a very drunk Jungkook, soulmate scars. This is not a nsfw 18+ fic! A/N: Hi there again, @spicykoreantatertots. Here it finally is! I hope that you enjoy what I did with the entire story. Thanks for talking to me a bit after I posted the teaser. It's what sparked my idea for the last scene ;) there's some stuff hidden there for you. Please enjoy! Happy late Valentine's day. — Lily, aka Gwaen.

Soulmates of the first mark are the most devoted. Their love is pure and all-consuming.

You’re late. It’s your first class of the semester and you’re terribly late. The worst part is that you got up at six in the morning to make it and you’re still late. As one of the only fifteen people to make it into this class you consider yourself lucky. But if you’re late you will also be promptly replaced by someone on the waiting list.

So you’re running, darting across campus because your train had been stuck at a red sign and made you just those five minutes late which could cost you your spot in this class. Out of breath, you swerve a corner, nearly tumbling over as the sole of your boot gets caught on the pavement. You shouldn’t have worn platforms.

You’re gonna make it. No matter what. Continuing your sprint towards the building at the south end of campus, you check the time on your phone. Four minutes left. You can d—

Colliding straight into someone’s chest, you topple forward. Your bag skirts over the stones and you curse out loud. The guy does the same, having landed straight on his backside with you sprawled over his lap.

You don’t have time for this. All you see before you scramble up is a messy mop of blonde hair and a very exotic — not messed up — bouquet of lilies.

“I’m sorry!” you rush, grabbing your bag and continuing your race to the classroom. Up the stairs to the building, through the revolving doors and into the elevator which — god bless — is downstairs.

There’s no way you’ll look presentable. Hair a mess, face red and sweaty, breathing ragged. But you’ll make it. You’ve worked yourself to the brim getting an 80% average to qualify for this class. Two years of agonising criminology and law courses, just for this class. The Criminal Law Clinic would give you much of the needed experience for working in the criminal law field once you graduate. That’s why everyone wants to take this class. It’s the only one that lets you tackle actual cases head on.

You walk inside with your water bottle half chugged down and coat slung around your arm. The teacher gives you a suspicious look, but you hold your head high. The man is notorious for being a real drill sergeant when it comes to this class.

There’s one seat left, beside a guy whom you know as Jung Hoseok. Fourth year law student. Took a gap year to be the head of activities at Moop, the criminology and criminal law student association. A terrible name, but a great association with a great team. Hoseok’s parties are still being talked about.

“Okay everyone, please take out the prepared material so we can get started,” the teacher says, standing up from this seat. “Today we’ll be discussing the setup for this clinic, as well as the first case and who will be second chair.” That’s everyone’s reason to be here. To get to sit next to him at a criminal law case in court and help win it. Hands on experience. “Each of you should’ve prepared a way to tackle this case, the one with the best defense will get the spot.”

You sigh calmly, trying not to freak out about arguing your case while you’re still recovering from your sprint. As you’re scrolling through your laptop to find the material, you notice a burning sensation on your hand. Have you scraped yourself during your fall? You frown, looking down and—

Right there on your pinky finger sits a small white scar. Neatly wrapped around the digit as if you had once worn a thin ring there.

A soulmate scar? No. That can’t be. Right?

Your eyes widen, vision blurring as you stare. A missed opportunity to bond with your soulmate. But why didn’t you notice? Everybody always says that when you pass them you feel a pull. One that makes you look back and lock eyes with them only to feel as if the world explodes into a thousand colours of fireworks and butterflies.

It takes one gaze into your soulmates eyes for you to bond. For a small red line to wrap itself around your pinky finger that will tie you together for all eternity. Yet once the opportunity is missed, and you don’t meet eyes despite being so close, a white scar appears. It signifies the damage upon your connection.

You shake, tears appearing in the corners of your eyes as you stare at the small scar on your finger. There’s a hollow feeling in your chest, like something is missing that was there before. Your gut twists with nausea, hands trembling as you touch the scar. A hiss passes your lips. It stings.

“Hey? Are you okay?” Hoseok asks, placing a hand on your shoulder. He must’ve followed your gaze to where you’re staring at your finger because he curses under his breath. “Okay, come on.” Looking up at the teacher, he speaks again. “Please excuse us.” He helps you stand up on wobbly legs. “She’s not feeling well, I’m just going to help her get some fresh air.”

The teacher calls something after you, but you don’t quite catch it as Hoseok leads you through the hallway to the outside seating area on the third floor.

You missed your soulmate. You had severed the line that was supposed to pull the two of you together and now that scar would be there forever. A painful reminder of the tear. Only four opportunities left to meet them, or you’ll be lonely for the rest of your life. Scolded by society too.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Hoseok whispers, shaking you.

It’s only then that you realise the tears running down your cheeks. You sniffle, wiping them away. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, not even certain what for. Hoseok doesn’t know you, why would he take care of you like this. “Thanks for coming with me. You can go back to class.”

He shakes his head, handing you a water bottle. “I’m not going to leave you here to cry on your own.”

You thank him softly, taking a few sips from the bottle along with some deep breaths. The empty feeling remains, as if your soulmate had ripped your heart straight out of your chest. It still burns, the scar, and it gets worse the more you pay attention to it.

This is not a situation you ever thought you’d be in. You’ve always dreamed of having a first mark soulmate. Someone who would be devoted to you for the rest of your lives. Who would stand by your side and fight for you. An all-consuming love. You’ve seen it first hand — both your parents and your best friend are first mark soulmates. You will never have that. The opportunity has been robbed from you all because your train was late.

“What if I don’t find them?” you ask, completely disregarding that Hoseok shouldn’t have to answer such questions from you.

Hoseok smiles, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “You will. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you will find them.”

Can you believe that? “Not everyone finds them.”

“There’s no reason to worry about that while you’ve still got four opportunities left.” Hoseok shifts a little closer, showing you his hand with his palm facing upwards.

His skin is tan, long slender fingers seemingly soft even if you haven’t touched them. And there, around his pinky and ring finger, sit two white scars. He missed them twice? Most people meet their soulmate on the first or second encounter. Set up for life with a devoted lover. Yet some take longer to find the bond that by then will have dwindled with each meeting.

“I promise that the pain will go away, and that numb, empty feeling in your chest will too. Just give it some time, they will cross your path once again.” Hoseok’s voice is soothing, and he gives you another hopeful smile as your eyes flicker between your hand and his. “Don’t let people tell you anything different. Fate will bless you on another day.”

You suppose he’s right.

Soulmates of the second mark are the most passionate. Their love is vibrant and fervent.

“I really think you’re going to be fine,” Namjoon says from the other end of the phone. “You’re not the first person to not meet their soulmate on the first encounter, and you’re certainly not the last either.”

Currently you’re sitting on a bench in the train station, waiting for your train home. It’s been over a month since the first encounter you had with your soulmate. The first missed opportunity. Hoseok had been right, the pain and the numbness went away. But it wasn’t easy.

“I think Namjoon is right,” Jungkook, your roommate, says.

You huff. “Easy for the two of you to say. One of you has been with their soulmate for six months now, and the other one hasn’t crossed paths with them yet.”

“Just because Jin and I are first mark lovers doesn’t mean that I can’t give you advice,” Namjoon counters. The two of you have been best friends since high school, went into college together and shared a condo for four years. Until he met his soulmate last May, and decided to immediately move in with him. If Jungkook, your mutual friend, hadn’t offered to move in with you, you would’ve made more of a problem out of Namjoon ditching you. Jungkook may be a bit of a mess, but as far as Namjoon knows Jungkook is a perfect roommate.

The younger lets out an exasperated groan, probably playing a videogame in the background while you’re on group call. “Okay, but I get where she’s coming from.”

“I also don’t want your advice.”

“Excuse me!” Jungkook asserts. “I did nothing wrong!”

You roll your eyes even if he can’t see you. “Why don’t you come back to me once you’ve had your first encounter.” The harsh words roll of your tongue like acid, burning in the back of your mouth. Frankly, you’ve had enough of everyone trying to console you or care for you. Especially when they don’t know what it’s like.

“Hey,” Namjoon interjects as you get up to go to your train that should soon be arriving. “Jungkook took care of you while you were too devastated to eat properly. He deserves a little more credit, don’t you think?”

It’s true. When you’d come home after class — which you sat through with tears brimming your eyes — Jungkook had already been waiting for you with your favourite cup noodles and some good old snuggles. He’d made sure you ate at least twice a day and didn’t lock yourself in your bedroom to wallow in self-pity.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Okay, hold on.” The train rushes by, swallowing the sound of your friends’ voices and everything else around you. The wind whips your hair into your face, causing it to stick to the light layer of gloss on your lips.

It stops. Doors opening, people exiting as you wait leaning against the side of the escalator. When you enter, one foot on the steps, you feel it.

It’s like a hand wraps itself around your chest, warm and comforting yet demanding at the same time. You frown for a second, stilling amidst the people trying to get to a seat.

Whipping your head around, you gasp. Frantically you try to push back through the group of people behind you. Heart pounding in your ears, hand burning by your side with the impending tear of your red string of fate. From the stairs you scan the crowd of people on the platform. You don’t even know what they look like, but they must be looking for you too, right?

There’s one person standing too still amongst the mass. He seems to be a young man, black baseball cap covering his eyes, but you catch sight of blonde hair at the nape of his neck when he turns around. In his hand, he holds a single bright pink flower.

A lily. Just like the ones from the bouquet of the man you ran into.

It’s him.

You run. Bumping into bodies as the burning around your ring finger intensifies. If you knew his name, you’d call out for him. All you can do is try to reach where he was standing. You can feel his presence as you reach the exact spot. But he’s not here.

Anxiously you look around, trying to see where he went. There’s less people now, but the black baseball cap is nowhere to be found.

A flash of pink.

You turn around, to catch him jumping into the train right as the doors slide shut with the whistle of the conductor.

Tears in your eyes, you stand defeated while the train departs. Your hand burns, and you look to find the second white line. It doesn’t hurt as bad as the first one, but your heart still claws inside your chest. Hollow, defeated, alone.

That’s when you realise that your phone is still on call with Namjoon and Jungkook. You shakily lift the device to your ear. “Guys?”

“Thank God! I thought you’d died or something!” Jungkook exclaims.

Namjoon chuckles. “What happened? We heard a bunch of bumping and shuffling around you.”

You take a trembling breath. A weak attempt to stop yourself from crying in public as the train has disappeared from your view. “He was here.”

“Wait, what?” Jungkook gasps. “Who? Your soulmate? Did you catch him? Wait, was it even a guy?”

Words lay on your tongue but they’re held back by the lump that sits heavily in your throat.

“Jungkook, calm down,” Namjoon shushes him. “Are you okay?” he asks you.

“He’s gone,” you croak, looking at the timetable of the trains. The one home had now long departed, and the next one wasn’t for another hour.

Namjoon sighs softly. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll find them. Did you see what they looked like?”

“No,” you mumble as you plop down onto the same bench as before. “He was wearing all black, a baseball cap, and I think he had blonde hair but that’s all I caught.”

“It’s a guy?” Jungkook questions again.

“Yeah...I think at least. They looked like a guy from behind. I don’t know what to do guys. I was rushing for my train and he was waiting on the platform for another train and I just completely missed him. When I went looking, he was entering and the doors shut on me. I was so close,” you whimper, hang covering your mouth. “So close.”

Jungkook and Namjoon are both silent for a few seconds, the sound of your roommate’s game suddenly cutting off.

The youngest speaks first. “Did you miss your train?”

“Yeah, th-the next one’s in an hour.”

“I’ll come pick you up,” Namjoon offers. “Jungkook, you order some food. We’ll be there in half an hour. I’m picking you up from the south end, Y/N.”

Jungkook hums an affirmation. “It’s going to be okay Y/N, I promise.”

“Thanks guys,” you say, wiping your tears. The call ends, and you’re left along with the dissipating emptiness in your chest.

You know that you’re supposed to have hope. That fate gives you five opportunities for a reason. But you can’t help it. You curse lady luck for damning you like this. For playing such a cruel game with your heart. Why can’t the two of you just run into each other at the grocery store like your parents did. Or at the park, like Jin and Namjoon.

To pass each other and have the moment of feeling that urge to turn around and look back. Meeting eyes. Falling in love at first sight like the legends say. To be happy forever.

You’re aware of the implications of having a third mark soulmate, or worse. That they won’t love you the same. That they won’t be as devoted. That unlike first and second mark lovers, they won’t just have eyes for you.

All you want is the love you’ve always dreamt of. To have someone to come home to who will love you no matter what. Even with three opportunities still on the horizon, you feel like that has already been robbed from you. Cruelly pulled from your fingers. You know it'll be harder to find him the more opportunities pass. The pull will lessen each time until it fades. The fact that you hadn’t felt it at its strongest, you —

You kiss the new scar on your ring finger, holding back more tears as you go to wait for Namjoon.

Soulmates of the third mark are the most sincere. Their love is playful and profound.

You stare at the marks on your fingers, digits halted on the spines of the books in the library. Hoseok had been right, the pain had again faded. This time though, it had hurt for longer. Or well, that’s what you thought at least. Namjoon’s boyfriend, Seokjin, had told you that it might’ve been because you were so upset.

That was a serious understatement. It’s been about four months since then, a total of nearly six since you first ran into him. You haven’t been okay since. Namjoon and Jungkook have been bending over backward to make sure that you’re okay. Even when the younger himself now had a first scar too.

He’s hopeful though, in a way you wish you could be. Namjoon has always said that Jungkook is a hopeless romantic, and it’s true. Your roommate had seemed a little shaken by the occurrence but had shrugged it off, saying nothing more than “it must’ve not been the right time”.

You sigh, shaking the thought. If anything you could learn something from Jungkook. Even if you have one scar more than him. The timing wasn’t right, but it will be. Eventually.

There’s not much you know now other than the blonde colour of his hair and the lily he’d been holding. After some research you’d found out it had been a Lily of the Incas. Not that that gave you any more information about him. He also hadn’t seemed awfully tall, but that could’ve been deceiving.

You can’t help but wonder if he’s been looking out for you the way you’ve been looking out for him. Does he know what you look like? Does he care as much as you do? Maybe he feels the same amount of distress and pain that you’ve been feeling.

No. You want him to be happy and keep moving. Your heart aches at the thought of him hurting even when you’ve never met. Was that the bond? Or just your mind playing tricks?

Despite the mess in your mind, you manage to find the book you were looking for.

You grab it from the shelf and startle as the sudden sight of someone’s face on the other side of the shelf. Holding the book tightly against your chest as you turn. You hate it when that happens.

That’s when your phone decides to start blaring on it’s loudest setting. You curse under your breath, dropping your book in your haste of trying to turn the device off. With your heart pounding in your ears you catch sight of Jungkook’s name on the screen before it silences.

On the other side of the library the woman behind the desk is shooting you an angry glare, and you notice she’s not the only one staring at you. Your ears burn red along with your cheeks as you grab the book from the floor.

You’re about to move back over to the desk when the phone rings again, seemingly even louder this time. Nearly dropping your stuff again. You’re so rushed that you pick up instead of hang up. With anxiety blazing through your veins you put the book on the shelf and opt for the exit.

Once outside, your heart calms slightly and you finally lift the phone to your ear.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Don’t swear at me! This is an emergency woman!” Jungkook exclaims loudly.

You roll your eyes, making way for your car. There’s no way you can show yourself there again. At least, not today. You’ll just have to come back tomorrow.

“Hello? Are you listening to me?”

“Yes! I was at the library you fool. Everyone stared at me.”

Jungkook laughs. At least he can see the fun in this. You connect your phone to the car, now hearing his voice through the speakers. “Okay, but is it my fault that you didn’t put your phone on silent?”

Starting the car, you turn off the parking lot. “Tell me what you want or I will hang up on you.”

“As I said, it’s an emergency.” Jungkook’s pause is followed by rustling and crunching. “I have an exam tomorrow and we’re all out of Cheetos and Redbull and like how the fuck am I going to get through the night?”

You snort. “Have you ever thought of starting early so you don’t have to pull an all-nighter?”

“I have. It’s just not my vibe you know?” Jungkook sighs as something falls to the floor. “So can you please help a guy out?”

“On one condition,” you say as you’re already turning into the street towards the grocery store.

He lets out an exasperated sound. “Anything for Cheetos.”

Jungkook’s antics might annoy the living hell out of you from time to time, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. A lightness in your days is what you need the most right now. “Please pick up this book I need for my revisions after your exam.”

“Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

“Have you been to the library before?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been inside the library?”

“Maybe.”

You sigh, parking the car. The second you turn off your engine you feel it. Like the veil gets pulled and all that is left, is the excruciating burning sensation in your middle finger.

No. No. It can’t be. “Jungkook?”

“I promise I will get your book. Don’t worry, I know how libraries work.”

“No, Jungko—“

“I swear! Just get me my Cheetos, please.” The pout in his voice is evident despite your own pain. As is the stress you know he’s trying to cover up. Jungkook’s got enough on his plate tonight.

You mumble a trembling affirmation. “Anything else I can get you?” Squeezing your middle finger, you try to stave off the pain and impending tears as you lean back in your chair.

Jungkook pauses, and you have to cover up your mouth to stifle a sob.

“Spicy noodles, two cups.”

“Okay, I’ll be home soon.” You hang up, tears running down your face and neck. One hard punch delivered to the steering wheel makes the car horn go off. Drawing the attention of people near. You don’t notice with your eyes closing tightly.

You need — Fumbling for your phone, you unlock it and slide over the screen for Namjoon’s number. It rings on speaker, device laying in your lap as you trace the painful scar. Why does it hurt this much?

“Hey, what’s up?” Namjoon answers.

You breathe, trying to catch yourself from falling before you tell him. But nothing coherent comes out. “Joon, ‘t hurts.”

He curses under his breath. “Door’s open.”

Soulmates of the fourth mark are the most compassionate. Their love is secure and easy-going.

Today’s the first time you and Seokjin are hanging out alone. No Namjoon. He’s nice, although you’re a little suspicious as to why he was so keen on taking you out today.

It’s April, seven months since you got your first soulmate scar. At this point it’s kind of settled. The anxiety and the impatience. Namjoon would claim your attitude hasn’t improved though. You’d gone from frantic hopelessness to complete disregard and it was a slippery slope. Or so he said.

“So why are you taking me out to meet your friend?” you ask the man beside you.

Seokjin smiles, running a hand through his nearly-black hair. “You’ll see when we get there. If I tell you, you’re gonna put up a fight. Namjoon mentioned you have a tendency to be quite...uncooperative.”

You snort. “Whatever you say.”

He stops. You have to halt your own movements and turn back to look at him. Seokjin’s got an unreadable expression on his face, staring intently at you as you wait for him to catch back up. “You need to get your head out of your ass.”

“What?”

“You’re acting like the entire world is against you just because you haven’t been able to find your soulmate yet. You’re not the first person to find them at the fourth or fifth mark and you won’t be the last. It’s not going to change anything.” He speaks firmly, walking past you.

You move, opening your mouth to speak but he cuts you off with a sharp look.

“One word about me and Joon being first mark soulmates and I’m leaving you stranded. It’s unfair for you to use that as an argument against him. Every single time you tell him that he wouldn’t understand because he has me, he starts feeling more and more bad about himself and what we have. I get that you’re hurting but it has to stop.”

“Oh,” you mumble, hanging your head as you continue to follow Seokjin down the street. Anxiety flecks in the corners of your vision. You know that your comments have struck a wrong chord with Namjoon. The two of you have gotten into multiple fights over the past months because of it. You didn’t realise that it was weighing so heavily on him that it was affecting his relationship with Jin. “I’m sorry.”

Seokjin nods. “I’m not the one who needs to hear that.”

“Still.”

“I know,” he says, looking at you over his shoulder. “As I said, I understand where you’re coming from. You just need someone to talk some serious sense into you. Jungkook’s too much of a hopeless romantic to give you any real advice and Namjoon is too afraid of hurting you. So now you have me.” He clasps a hand over your shoulder and smiles.

You weakly return it, and stop as he does, in front of a small flower shop on the corner of a busy street. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. We’re here.”

Jin really cares about Namjoon. You hope that your soulmate will love you the same. Even though a fifth of fourth mark might not be the same as a first.

He leads you inside. The heavy scent of flowers and wet soil hits you. It’s sweet, but overwhelming, making you scrunch up your nose. The inside of the shop is very cosy. Flowers blooming colourfully along the walls in pots set on the table. Organised, in a messy but still somehow coherent way.

“Jin!” a young man calls from behind the counter, black hair falling messily over his eyes in unkempt curls. “I was just about to call you!”

“Hey Tae! Where’s your boyfriend?” Jin looks around while walking over to him.

Tae sighs. “He just left, something came up and he had to go.”

You frown as Jin lets out an annoyed sound. “I said this was important.”

The other just shrugs. “So was this apparently, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine Taehyung.”

Taehyung.

You feel as if you’ve heard Namjoon mention his name before. He smiles at you. There’s dirt staining his hands and a red streak — of what you assume is ink — on his cheek.

“Y/N, this is Taehyung. He’s a family friend of mine and the owner of this store.”

You look around now wide-eyed, glancing over at the roses, peonies and daisies. “You own this place?”

He nods excitedly, moving go wash his hands at the sink in the corner. “Yeah, the shop’s almost a year old now. Business is pretty good. My boyfriend helps me run it where he has time between his uni schedule. He mainly takes care of the boring, administrative stuff.”

You chuckle as he washes his hands while Seokjin moves towards the coffee machine in the back like he owns the place.

“Coffee?” He asks you, turning on the kettle..

“Yeah sure.”

Taehyung calls back that he wants tea. There’s something comfortable and warm about the way he smiles. His presence is a little all over the place though. Currently nudging open a drawer with his elbow to find a towel so he can dry his hands. When he locates the white cloth, you notice the white lines circling his fingers.

And then you see the red mark around his thumb. A fifth mark.

“You and your boyfriend are soulmates?” you blurt out.

He turns to face you, wide grin stretching over his face. Showing white teeth and full cheeks. “Yeah. Seokjin actually came here for him.” He shoots the elder a look over your shoulder. “Apparently I’m not as interesting.”

“You’re not the one who wrote a Bachelor’s thesis on soulmate statistics and the true meaning of the mark order!” Seokjin counters with a pitched voice.

“Wait, what? Why are we here?” you ask, brown furrowing when Seokjin sets a cup of coffee and a cup of tea on the desk. “Jin?”

He rolls his eyes. “I was going to have Taehyung’s boyfriend talk some sense into you. That’s all. Just thought that if you wouldn’t believe us, maybe you’d believe science.”

Taehyung laughs, shaking his head as he grabs his tea with both hands. “Science, science,” he waves Jin off. “We all know science isn’t going to make her feel better.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re even more of a hopeless romantic than Jungkook is. It was worth a try,” Jin shrugs.

“Okay, let’s not talk about me as if I’m not here.” You don’t know whether you’re more confused or upset at this point.

There’s a ding of a bell, and all three of you look up to see a couple walk into the store. Taehyung excuses himself, going up to greet them.

Seokjin gives you a pointed look.

“What?”

“Ask him,” he whisper-yells. “You saw his mark. Ask him whatever you want, he won’t mind.”

You swallow thickly. He is right. You are curious. You want to know whether Taehyung and his boyfriend knew when they met. How in love they are. If it’s different.

Taehyung returns. Startling you by placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “You know that you’re going to be okay, right?”

“Huh?”

He gestures towards your hand where you’re absentmindedly scratching the scars on your fingers. “You’ll find them, and you’ll fall in love and everything will be okay. I know it’s hard, but try not to worry so much.”

You shiver. “What if I don’t, though?”

Taehyung gives you an apologetic look. “I worried about that, when I got my fourth mark. I felt beyond lucky when I finally found him. But it’s not all what society makes it out to be. Fifth mark soulmates shouldn’t be regarded as rare. They’re definitely not as uncommon as people who don’t find their soulmate at all. You still have the odds in your favour.”

“Science?” you question.

He grins. “That. And experience.”

“But—“ you start, cut off by another ring of the doorbell. Taehyung sighs and mumbles something, going to help the man. The couple is still roaming around.

Seokjin gives you a light shove. “See.”

You lean against the counter. “I don’t know, Seokjin. What if it’s not the same?”

“Just because society is hell-bent on making us believe that fifth mark soulmates aren’t worthwhile, doesn’t mean that they’re right. Fourth mark lovers are known for being compassionate, fifth for being patient. Those aren’t bad qualities. The big words attached to the first mark love doesn’t mean that the love is any stronger. Trust me, Taehyung and his boyfriend are way more disgusting than me and Joon.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you retort. “The amount of times I’ve almost wa—“

“Okay, we are in public. Please let me retain some integrity.”

Taehyung leaves the black-haired man who stands by the lilies. His hand reaches out to touch them. They remind you of your soulmate, and you briefly consider getting a few to take home.

There’s a spring in Taehyung’s step. He tilts his head as he eyes you. “What are you most worried about?”

You trace the scar on your middle finger, thinking hard about the right answer. “That they won’t love me?”

The warm smile that he gives you says enough. “This might come as a shock for you to hear, but it takes a while for soulmates to truly fall in love. That goes for all of us.”

Eyes widening, you turn to Seokjin. “He’s right,” he answers.

Taehyung takes another sip of his tea, long fingers curled around the pink mug. “First and second mark soulmates feel as if they’re instantaneously in love because they get overwhelmed with the feeling that comes with finding your soulmate so soon. But that’s excitement. It’s not the kind of love you are worried about.

“The feeling that you’re so worried about takes time to develop. For some longer than others. Just remember that you were meant to be, and that they will love you even if it takes some time. No matter what.” The sweet, gentle smile doesn’t leave his eyes as he speaks. It’s almost as if he’s remembering something.

He seems so in love. So happy. You yearn to have that too. “You really love him, don’t you? Your soulmate?”

He nods, brushing his curls out of his eyes with the back of his hand. “With my entire being.”

Your heart swells at the way his eyes twinkle while thinking of his soulmate. Sure, you’ve been around Namjoon and Seokjin long enough to know they love each other. But it never looked like this. So simple and pure.

“How did you know?” you ask finally.

“That I was in love with him?”

“No,” you shake your head, finishing your coffee as yet another person enters the store.

Taehyung looks up at them. “I’ll be with you in a second!” he calls out to the guy, who waves politely. Then, his eyes fall back on you, waiting for your question.

“How did you know it was him?” you ask, briefly glancing at Seokjin who’s just silently watching you grill Taehyung about his love life. Though, he gives you an affirmative nod. “Because they say that there’s no pull, no fireworks. I barely felt the pull last time, so how will I know who it is?”

“Ah,” Taehyung grins. “You’re sort of right. There were no fireworks. I am no expert on this matter, but I think that the feeling kind of develops more so than dwindles, each time you meet. When we finally bonded, I first and foremost felt the mark. It was like a warm and fuzzy feeling, like tingling. Nothing like the burn of the scars.” He pauses, brushing his fingers over the little red line on his thumb. It stands out against his tan skin, shifting as he sets down the mug.

No fireworks or pain sounds okay. Yet you wonder how he knew who it was if that wasn’t there. “Is it really just...different?”

“Your heart will know,” he continues. “I didn’t know as soon as I locked eyes with him, but when he came over and smiled at me I felt like I was coming home.” He places a hand over yours where you’re gripping the table. “To me that feeling trumps fireworks.”

Seokjin huffs. “You sap.” He turns to you. “I’d like to add that he cried for an hour straight afterward.”

A flush creeps up Taehyung’s neck. “That’s beside the point.”

“Sure,” your friend muses smugly. “Just trying to warn her that it can still be overwhelming even if the world doesn’t erupt in a bunch of glitter.”

You nod, smile stretching at your lips, reassured. Taehyung seems truthful. He seems so in love and content with where he is. Unbothered by what everybody says about fifth mark lovers. His happiness makes you feel a little better about what might be to come.

Even if you find your soulmate late. Even if you have to retrace your steps after the fifth mark —You will find him and he will love you. No matter what.

The bells rings again, three more people filing in and causing Taehyung to groan. “I’m sorry guys, I really have to get back to work.”

“That’s okay,” Jin says. “We have to pick Namjoon up anyway.”

The florist nods, hugging Jin and then — to your surprise — hugging you too. “Stay hopeful,” he whispers.

You shoot him an honest smile, thanking him as you wave him goodbye. Jin and you push past the people standing by the roses, having an avid discussion about whether pink or crimson is a better choice. You chuckle.

Once outside, you breathe in the clear air. “He’s nice,” you say.

Seokjin shakes his head with a laugh. “I can’t believe you’d listen to Taehyung out of all people.”

“He was pretty convincing.”

“Well, I’ll take that as a success. Stop worrying, and look ahead. You have a future full of love waiting for you.” Jin goes to pull you in for a hug, when he stops and stares. “Wait, your hand.”

You look down, eyes nearly falling out of their sockets when you see the fourth scar on your finger. Yet, this time there is no pain or hollowness in your chest. “I...”

“Come,” Seokjin grabs your wrist and pulls you back inside. There, you look at the people you pushed past. Two woman, one man. But the man already has a soulmate mark on his ring finger.

Taehyung looks up and meets your frightened eyes. “Is everything okay?”

You hold up your hand and he gasps.

All you can do is shake your head, looking over to the man in the far corner. Even his soulmate mark is clear from this distance. All of the people inside have soulmate marks, or less scars than you. Then...

“The guy!” You stumble as you turn to look at Jin. “The black haired guy by the lilies! It must’ve been him.”

Taehyung joins you. “The one from earlier? I didn’t catch his name, I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, taking a deep breath to hold yourself together. “It’s fine.” That’s when you start to feel the slight burn. It rises along with the bile in your throat. Looking at your hand, you know that now everything hangs by a thread.

Only one encounter left

One encounter to find the man with now black hair who seems to love lilies.

Soulmates of the fifth mark are the most patient. Their love is tender and serene.

“I regret my decisions,” you grumble under your breath as Namjoon pulls you along towards where the party is already in full swing.

Apparently Hoseok had pulled a few strings and one of the university dorm buildings now had their courtyard turned into a gigantic club. Music thrums in your ears, lights flashing as you follow your best friend into the crowd.

“You need to get out of the house more often,” Namjoon says close to your ear. “Jungkook should be here somewhere too.”

You whine. This isn’t your scene. Or well — not anymore. It used to be when you were in the first year of university. Your wild phase. But now that you have your thesis looming over your head, you really can’t be bothered to get drunk on a regular basis. Unlike Jungkook, whom you often had to guide to his bed in the middle of the night.

Namjoon is right though. You haven’t really been going out a lot lately and it wasn’t doing you any good. Taehyung’s words have impacted you, you haven’t lost hope. Instead, you just feel incredibly lonely.

Jungkook is seeing this random girl. Seeing meaning fucking. So he’s out of the house quite a lot. Namjoon and Jin too. They’ve been planning to go on a long holiday over the summer, so they’re gathering supplies and getting everything in order. You know they would make time for you. It’s just not that easy to ask.

Even if you’ve never really met your soulmate, you feel like they’re missing. Like you’ve had them and they’re now gone. That strange hollow feeling in your chest is always on the back of your mind. Nagging. Body aching to be held. To be warm. Home.

“Okay, you’re zoning out,” Namjoon gives you a little shove. “Let’s get drinks.”

Soon, you find yourself in the crowd, dancing with a beer in your hand. It’s easier to lose yourself when everyone else is, following the music as it guides you. You laugh at Namjoon. He’s not the most coordinated person, but he’s having fun at least. It makes you smile, to see him smile.

A pair of arm snakes around your waist, body stumbling into yours from behind. Followed by a whiny drawl of your name and a wet brush of lips over your neck.

“Jungkook!” You squeal, pushing him off with a scowl. It takes one look at him to know that he’s already too drunk. “Dude, are you like, okay?”

He nods, smile as bright as ever, but eyes glassy and cheeks red. “M fine. Very fine. Much fine.”

Namjoon grabs him by the arm when he starts swaying on his feet. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Dunno,” he giggles. “Five...teen? Where’s Jin?”

“Not here,” your friend answers, hand firm around Jungkook’s upper arm. “When did you start drinking?”

You feel a little bad for the younger. There’s no way he’s going to make it through the entire night, probably not even another hour. The boy might be able to hold some liquor, but even he has his limits.

“He was here for the set up,” you state.

“Hmm, was fun.”

“Jungkook! Don’t wander off like that.” A voice calls. From the crowd a young man with jet black hair appears. Full lips and a beautiful smile as he hugs Jungkook close to him. “God, you stink,” he grumbles, giving Jungkook a once-over. “You, my man, are cut off for tonight.”

Jungkook whines, pout on his lips but no fight left in his body. He keeps his arms wrapped around Jimin’s neck.

Then, Jimin turns to you. “You must be the infamous roommate? I’m Jimin.” Jimin’s wearing a white t-shirt with a deep cut v-neck where a pendant dangles against his tan skin. The fabric falls past his hips. Just shy of the waistband of his jeans, revealing a sliver of skin.

His smile is friendly — handsome — so you return it as you shake his outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Namjoon gives him a short wave.

“Say,” Jimin laughs as Jungkook leans into his chest, now just hugging him. “I’m going to get the kid some fresh air, would you mind fetching him some water.”

“I’ll come,” Namjoon says to Jimin, grabbing for Jungkook’s other side. “We’ll be at the south end, where we came in,” he says to you.

You nod, watching them go and quickly turning to head for the bar.

Your entire chest is cold before you realise what happened and you bump into someone.

“Shit,” a deep voice sounds.

Looking down you notice that your light blue shirt is now dark — is that red wine? The stain spreads over your chest and side. You look up to meet eyes with the stranger who is absolutely mortified at the sight of your ruined shirt.

“God, fuck, I’m so sorry.”

You’re uncertain of what to do, looking between him and your top. “I — It’ll be fine I’ll go rinse it in the bathroom or something.” The shirt sticks to your skin. His is stained too, but it’s not as noticeable on the grey fabric that frames his chest.

He shakes his head, black hair falling behind the frame of his round glasses. Eyes brown, warm yet sharp. “No, it won’t be. It’s not just going to come out.”

You let out a dry chuckle. “Thanks. That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Yeah, uh,” he pauses, rubbing the back of his head. His arm flexes, black leather jacket raising and stretching the tucked-in fabric of his shirt over his frame. He’s attractive, you note. “I’m not trying to be weird but,” he falters, “I live on the third floor, if you want I can give it a quick soak.”

“And go topless?” You deadpan.

“No.” His voice is jolty, eyes widening briefly. Strangely, the leather jacket, messy hair and — is that a choker around his neck? “You could borrow a shirt of mine, really, it’s no big deal. I’m so sorry.”

Is he really offering you to lend you a shirt and clean yours at a college party when you don’t know him? “I —“

“Yoongi! Y/N!” That familiar voice. Hoseok appears from behind you, a drink in his hand and cheeks flushed with the effects of it. “What’s — ew. What happened?” He stares at the stain on your chest. If it wasn’t for that stain you’d have whacked him over the head. “Is that red wine?”

Both you and the guy who’s apparently called Yoongi, nod in unison, causing Hoseok to let out a weird sound.

“Yoongs, I can't believe you brought red wine to my party.”

Yoongi shrugs. “It’s my money.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes, looking at your shirt again. “That’s gonna stain.”

“I know, your friend here offered to lend me a shirt,” you say with a nervous chuckle, giving Yoongi another look. “Can I trust him? Or is he gonna murder me as soon as he gets me alone?” Over the past year, you’ve gotten to know Hoseok well through spending time together studying for Law Clinic. You’ll trust him for this.

He gives you a grin, one that seems to hold implications of a less friendly nature. “Trust Yoongi? I mean, he wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Hoseok pauses with his eyes on his friend, and then he leans into your ear. “Unless you asked him to.”

“Okay!” you yelp, pushing him away from you while Yoongi sends Hoseok a glare. “This thing is starting to stick, and it reeks. I’ll take you up on your offer, let’s go.”

Yoongi smiles, shaking his head. “Come on,” he motions for you to follow. Leaving Hoseok behind in the crowd, he pushes towards the main entrance. Unlocking the door and leading you inside.

“What did Hoseok just say to you?” he questions.

Your cheeks flush as you enter the elevator. “You don’t want to know.”

“If he said something about the incident with the peanut butter, I just want to say that I’m innocent,” he says with horror crossing his expression

“What?”

You laugh, exiting the elevator before him. “He didn’t say anything about peanut butter, but now you’ve piqued my interest.”

“Forget I mentioned it,” he says with an awkward smile.

“Maybe,” you hum, letting him struggle with his key at his front door. “Or I’ll bring it up some other time.”

“You don’t even know me!”

“I know Hoseok though. I could ask him.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow as he blocks the entrance. “You wouldn’t.”

“Give me that shirt you talked about and we will see if I can have mercy on you.”

He gives in and lets you enter. The apartment is small, one of the single studios in the complex. It seems cozy, a little messy but it's nothing you’re used to from being a student yourself. A bed sits in the corner by the window, an electrical piano at the foot of it.

You watch as Yoongi walks towards the dresser, swiftly pulling out a black t-shirt that’s neatly folded. A clothes bag hangs over the side, probably holding a suit. Is he graduating this year?

“Here,” he hands you the shirt.

It’s soft, certainly not cheap by any means. “Thanks, where’s—“

“There,” he says, pointing at the door by the entrance. “There’s washcloths in the cabinet under the sink if you want one.”

You awkwardly stand in the middle of his apartment, uncertain of your actions. Yoongi is nice, attractive, a little hesitant but certainly not shy. Turning to the bathroom, you notice the sheet music sprawled over the bedsheets and the bouquet of flowers on the kitchen counter.

“I’m really sorry, again,” he says sheepishly.

“It happens, don’t worry.” It’s not the first time a piece of your clothing has gotten ruined by a spilled drink. You can’t be bothered to get upset over it.

The bathroom is small, a little cramped even. Nothing more than a curtain to stop the entire place from getting wet when the shower turns on. Student accommodation at its finest. It might be cheap and convenient, but you’re not getting any special treatment. Which is why you were so adamant on moving in with Namjoon when you started your degree.

Under the sink, you find a neat stack of light blue washcloths. To your surprise they’re soft, certainly dried in a dryer and not on a rack. You run it under the tap, squeezing out the excess water before pulling your shirt over your head.

“Yoongi,” you call, creaking open the door a little. “Were you going to soak my top?”

“If you want me to. It’s worth a try to get the stain out.” Like this, with the thumping of the bass merely a background ruffle, you notice the rasp in his voice. Deeper than you’d originally thought.

You hold the shirt out through the door. “Here.”

His hand grazes yours as he takes hold of the soiled fabric. Long fingers grazing yours. Pausing. He holds you and you feel your heart skip. Then, he lets go, not saying another word.

Trying to be quick, as to not inconvenience Yoongi any further, you swipe the washcloth against your red-stained skin. It’s sticky more than anything. The smell of red wine pungent. You’ve never liked it, wondering how he stands it. Rubbing the cloth over the small stain on your jeans is futile. It’ll need a wash.

You rinse the washcloth with warm water, leaving it over the edge to dry. His hand soap smells of vanilla and coconut, and you thoroughly scrub your hands.

No.

With the water still running over your hands, you stare. Blinking. At first you try to rub the little red line on your thumb. Thinking it’s a stain. But it’s not coming off no matter how hard you rub it.

Your soulmate mark.

A fuzzy, warm sensation as you touch it. Heart clenching, thumping loudly and overtaking the buzz of the music.

Who? It happened tonight, after you’d arrived.

Jimin! You gasp at the realisation

Hastily pulling on Yoongi’s shirt, you throw open the bathroom door. “Thank you!” you call, quick to leave. “I gotta go!” You give him no time to reply, darting out the front door.

The music envelops you, and you lean over the railing to look. Where did Namjoon say they would be again? South end, right?

You nod to yourself, chest heavy with anticipation of finally meeting him.

A voice passes you by as you start to run again. You’re startled by a hand clasping around your wrist.

You’re stopped, unceremoniously pulled back into someone’s chest. “No, listen, I—“

“Like hell I’m letting you slip between my fingers again,” Yoongi speaks.

You meet his expectant gaze that lower to where his fingers encase your wrist. His heart is pounding louder than yours, right below where your other hand had landed on his chest. Fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, you stare.

It’s hard to miss the red line around his thumb where it brushes up to touch your own fingers. Everything suddenly is set ablaze, right at he touches your mark. It’s when you know...

You’ve come home.

Yoongi lets out a deep sigh that resonates within you.

“Finally,” he whispers, suddenly pulling you close to press his nose into your hair.

You hiccup, tears suddenly falling at the disbelief. Yoongi is your soulmate. It’s not even a suspicion. It’s a certainty. A warmth that spreads through your entire being as you let him wrap his arms around your shoulders. Your own hands splayed over his chest, hearts beating in sync.

“It’s okay,” he says with his lips lowered to your temple.

He smells like red wine and cologne, tinged with something that could be coffee, or chocolate. You inhale deeply. This is him, your soulmate. Just that feeling alone comforts the ache you’ve been feeling, dulling it to something that’s still overwhelming.

Yoongi pulls away, cupping your cheeks to have you look up at him. “At university, when you were running to class. At the station. The library. The flower shop?”

You nod, winding your arms around his neck. Fingers brushing through his hair.

His eyes are a deep brown, lashes framing them with what may be a hint of eyeliner or eyeshadow. Does it even matter when looking into his eyes makes you feel like nothing else exists but him?

A strangled sound leaves your throat, unsure of what to say, but knowing all too well what to do. You pull him down. Lips crashing together in the heat of the moment.

Yoongi gasps, but he doesn’t falter. Hands catching your back as he stumbles, pressing you up against the wall. He tastes like red wine too, but you’ll forgive it because it’s him.

His lips are soft, moving over yours as if you’ve had years to practice. Fingers digging into all the right places. Your hips, your waist, the top of your thighs. A grin against your mouth, and a huff against your cheek as you lean in further. You trace the seam of his lips with your tongue, and he lets you in without missing a beat.

Bliss. Euphoria. It overcomes you — grounds you in the way you’ve needed all this time. He grounds you. Holding you against him, fitting precisely like he was made for you. Maybe he was.

He swipes his tongue over yours, tilting your head back just a little further. Cradling you with his hand so you don’t collide with the wall. But it puts you at his mercy, making you keen.

At the sound, he parts, panting and resting his forehead against yours.

“Wow,” you breathe.

He chuckles, cheeky grin pulling at one corner of his mouth. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, now he gets cocky.”

Yoongi leans in again, brushing his lips over yours. “It’s not every day that you get to kiss your soulmate for the first time,” he whispers. “But I can give you a wow too, if you want.”

Your ears heat up along with your already red cheeks. Fingers still holding tightly onto the lapels of his leather jacket, you bite your lip. “What now?”

He thumbs are your bottom lip, pulling it free. A little entranced, eyes zoning in. “I could think of a few things.”

“Hey!” You slap his arm. “We may be bound by fate, but I’m not having sex with you before you take me out on a date.”

He rubs his arm with a scrunched up nose. “That’s not what I meant!”

You sigh, followed by a chuckle, unable to remove the smile that is making your cheeks hurt. His eyes still shine though, even when he gives you a pout.

“Then what?” you ask.

He shrugs, suddenly a little shy in the way he brushes your hair over your shoulder. Hand trailing down your arm to brush the line on your thumb as if his body already knows where it is better than you do.

“Call me cheesy,” he mumbles while taking your hand and brushing your thumb against his lips. Veins line his fingers, and it’s now that you notice how soft his hands are. “But I really just want to hold you and wake up beside you.”

How could you possibly say no to the shy, gummy smile that appears on his face. You know you can trust him, deep within your soul. You know you want him. Your body aches to be near him. So you kiss him again. “I think that can be arranged,” you mumble against his mouth.

But in the end, love is what is at the core of all soulmate relationships.

Yoongi hums against your bare shoulder, one of your legs lifted over his stomach as he trails his fingers over your thigh. Nails slightly scratching, soothingly drawing patterns, up and down, over and under, until you’re shivering and smiling into his hair. He grabs you when you do, fingers digging into your flesh and making you laugh.

Two months have gone by so fast. Fast enough that it still seems as if it was yesterday when you stood in his apartment with your shirt drenched in red wine. A shirt that didn’t survive the encounter.

Now, you lie in his bed. Skin to skin in the warm confined of his sheets. Yoongi’s humming a tune from one of the songs he’s been practicing on the piano the past week. A classical piece. One that’s brought him many frustrated nights. Cracking knuckles sounding through his small studio as he sighed in defeat, bent over the instrument for hours.

You’ve had enough time to study him. Enough time to know how to help him relax. It’s how you ended up in bed, naked and sweaty, breathing each other in until it was all you knew. Until he forgot about those damned black and white keys that had him by the throat most of his days.

Studying music wasn’t easy, but his passion burned brighter than his frustration. It fuels him.

It’s what fuelled him as he drowned himself in you.

“So,” you finally say, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Yoongi stops his ministrations, craning his neck to look you in the eyes. “Oh, that’s why you interrupted my practice?” he teases, mischievous glint in his eyes much like that first night you met him.

You raise a single eyebrow. “As if you weren’t three bars away from ripping the keys off your poor piano.” Shifting over, you sit over his stomach with legs braced on either side of his waist.

Naturally, his hands hold you there, fingers fitting perfectly along the curve of your body. You reach down without breaking eye contact, tracing his mark. He shivers at the gesture.

Nobody has ever told you how sensitive soulmate marks were. That having your soulmate touch them felt like an electric current running through your body, setting you alight. Like you connected each time. A warm, simmering feeling that you’d never experienced before. Something you can’t truly describe. So much more than words can define. It runs deep.

Yoongi brushes his hand over your bare chest to twirl a strand of your hair between his fingers. “What is it?”

“Now that we’ve been together for two months, I think it’s time you tell me about the Peanut Butter Incident.”

He groans loudly, hands dropping from your body. “I beg of you, anything but that.” Yoongi is so much more dramatic than he seems at first glance. Shifting between calm and collected to goofy and outgoing when he’s with the right people. Like Hoseok, who you know has been his close friend since they were freshmen.

“Please.” You pout at him, taking his hands and lacing your fingers together.

“Why do you torture me like this?”

“Torture?” you gasp.

He tightens his hold on your hand, and shifts, effectively flipping you over so you’re under him. “Looking at me like that is not fair,” he says while thumbing at your bottom lip that was previously jutted out. One of his legs slides between yours, your hand resting on his bicep.

“If you tell me,” you trail, fingers tracing down his arm to grab his wrist. Lifting his hand to rest over the back of your thigh. “I promise I’ll let you do anything.”

Contemplation crosses his face, making his eyes narrow. He meets your gaze for a mere second, before he grazes your cheek with his fingers. Brushing along your throat, his eyes darken momentarily. A mere flash. “Anything?” he asks, tonguing the corner of his mouth.

“Anything.”

He runs his hand through his own hair, pushing the black strands back to reveal his forehead and furrowed eyebrows. “You can’t judge me.”

“I’m sure it can’t be that bad if it involves peanut butter.”

The story hasn’t even left his mouth and his cheeks are already flushed. He groans. “Fine. Okay.” He takes a minute to gather himself, thinking hard of how to word whatever happened on that cursed day. It makes you worry a little. But it also makes you more curious. “It was my first year in college. Me, Hoseok and a few of our friends had gotten together to get absolutely shit-faced.”

You’re not surprised to hear that this somehow involved alcohol.

“We were playing truth or dare,” he trails off, words getting stuck in his mouth as a flush creeps down his neck.

Then, he sighs, covering his face with his hand. “Do I have to incriminate myself like this?”

You chuckle. “Yes, you must.”

“Why?”

“Because you love me.”

His hand drops down from his face so he can narrow his eyes at you. “Aren’t you lucky.” You laugh at his comment, happiness blooming in your chest at the hidden confirmation. Yoongi has been hesitant to say it, but you know he feels as strongly as you do.

“So, we’re playing truth or dare,” he continues, “and Hoseok puts a target on my back. Sadly, I was too drunk to save myself and I picked dare.”

“No!”

He waves you to silence. “The fucker looks me dead in the eye. Knowing full well that I had a crush on the girl sitting next to me at the time. And he dares to lick peanut butter off her—“

You gasp, clasping a hand over your mouth to stifle the sounds. He glares at you as your apology comes muffled through your fingers. “Off her what?”

Again, he covers his face. “Off her...chest.”

“Oh.”

Yoongi peaks through his fingers. “What ‘oh’?”

You shrug. “Is that it? You had to lick peanut butter off a girl’s tits when you were a freshman?”

He bites his bottom lip, worrying before he rushes, “Igotturnedon.”

Five seconds pass in which you stare at him with raised eyebrows. “You mean you got a—“

“Yes,” he grits out, not wanting you to say it.

Laughter bubbles up from your lips. You really can’t help it. It’s more so the sight of his flushed ears and grumpy face than the story itself. Through the tears shining at the corners of your eyes, you grab his hands and force them away from his face. “Yoongi,” you whine while still laughing. “Yoongi, look at me.”

“No.” He turns away from you, but not before you catch the shy smile splaying out over his lips.

Pressing yourself against this back, you kiss the spot just behind his ear. Yoongi shivers, going pliant in your hold. “Babe.” The word is a whisper, fanning out over his cheek.

Your soulmate will always pretend to have a strong revolve, and he does. Just not when it comes to you. A deep, dramatic sigh shakes his frame when he finally turns to come nose to nose with you.

“What?”

A giggly kiss to his nose. “You’re a fool.”

He gives you a hard stare, placing a firm hand on your hip. “Am I now?”

You nod, kissing his lips softly until he responds and kisses you back. Groaning as you push him onto his back, tongue slipping past his lips to taste. To kiss him deeply and feel his body slot together with yours until it’s all your senses register.

Fingers digging into your skin. Heaved breaths and hearts that swell with happiness and sink again with relief. Yoongi’s hands both trailing up your back, the feel of them so soft.

Humming against his lips, you break away with another peck. “You’re my fool.”

Special thanks to: @yoongs-jeontae @mygsii @softlyjiminie @jiminsfault @justbtses @honeymoonjin @joonsrack @bangtiddies

@clarissalance @jishookedout134 @leuchtendesstrassenlicht @carolithe @accidentxlly @goldhoneyyy @chimkookie @jksnipslip @ggukiebabes @thinksshesawolf @xiubaek-13

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astringofmadhousefloozies · 4 years ago

Text

Instant Karma

Another fic. A female Yuu, the same as my previous ones, cannot keep her hands to herself, and pays dearly. Told in the second person. Please let me know if you liked it, I thrive with compliments.

Content warnings: sexual harassment, neck trauma, misunderstandings, and getting wildly, wildly horny at the end.

~*~*~*~

"Sorry this is taking so long."

"Take all the time you need, babe."

Idia only paused a moment before going back to work. Something or other had blown a wire under his desk, and he'd been under there fiddling with the electronics for about as long as you'd been there. You hadn't blinked in five minutes, and weren't planning to any time soon. Today, fate had been kind to you, and presented an arresting visual tableau.

"Why'd this have to happen when the new chapter came out? I wanted to show you-" He yelped at something falling, and continued, grumbling too low to make out.

"Hey, I can wait. Keep on keeping on." You'd pulled up a chair just behind him, your head balanced on one hand, keeping your jaw up.

At least Grimm wasn't here. He wouldn't be able to shut up about how long you'd been staring at Idia's ass.

It certainly wasn't perfect. It was as bony as the rest of him, and you'd probably go snowblind at the sight of it uncovered. But, it was attached to the rest of the boy you, if not loved, at least profoundly lusted over, so of course you'd keep a close eye as he shifted around and occasionally hitched up his waistband. Hell, it was close enough to touch.

And that's when the devil in you got the worst idea of your life.

You looked to you hand, and to the prize, and back again as the smile split your face. Truly, a dreadful idea. He might simply break in half, and what would you do with him then? But you'd already drawn your hand back - and slapped him clean across his rear.

He yelped, and jumped up so hard he cracked his head on the bottom of his desk. Your own hand stung, but you couldn't stop laughing; joyful, wheezy laughter that got a hell of a lot wheezier when you got bodied clean across the room.

Oh yeah. Ortho.

"Hey buddy..." He had you pinned against the wall with one of his little hands around your throat, the other telescoping out into some sort of beam weapon. You couldn't really focus properly, the grip on your neck painfully tight and cutting off your air. "S'up?"

"Why did you hit my brother?" Oh, shit. "You shouldn't hit anyone! But especially not him!" You couldn't get any purchase with your feet as they scrabbled beneath you, and even with both hands trying to remove his own from around your neck, it just kept pressing, pressing, pressing as his arm cannon whirred and glowed into a full charge. "You hurt him."

You really would have liked to make an excuse, but you were getting awfully grey around the edges, and the only sound you could make was a gck-gck-gck as it occured to you that you were about to die at the hands of an overprotective little boy robot because you didn't have the good sense to keep your hands to yourself. Do they have Darwin Awards here? You're about to earn the top prize.

A long-fingered hand with discoloured nails set itself on Ortho's shoulder. "Ortho, stop."

Without a word, he dropped you, and stepped back as you coughed and struggled to your feet. He was still glaring at you as you stumbled towards the door, Idia behind him as he looked between you both.

You only made it partway down the hallway before you collapsed to the floor, shuddering with fear and adrenaline.

~*~*~*~

"Yuu?"

You rolled towards the voice, seeing a familiar tablet hovering over you.

"You okay?"

"Yes. Instant karma's a right bitch, in'it?" You still managed to laugh, even if it hurt like a bitch and sounded like you'd gargled whiskey and cigarettes. "You alright? Wanna come get some revenge?"

"Ortho won't let me out."

"She hit you!"

"I did. I'm sorry."

"If you were sorry you wouldn't have done it in the first place!"

"I shouldn't have done it." You sat up, taking deep, even breaths to slow the shudders racing though you. "Shitty thing to do, especially with no warning."

"Don't come back!"

"Ortho, she forgot her shoes, she has to come back."

In response, a door down the hall opened, and your shoes were pitched so far past you down the hall that they hit the far end and dropped to the floor, before the door closed with a loud bang and the clanging of locks.

"I'm sorry, guys. Both of you. See you later, maybe?" And with that, you left the tablet behind and slouched towards your shoes.

~*~*~*~

There was a knock upon your door, and a familiar person beyond it.

"Th'fuck're you doing here?" you stepped to one side to let him over the threshold, stifling a cough. "Skipping class today?"

"I wanted to check on you before Board Game Club, and Ortho's too busy right now to stop me." Idia peered down at you, wringing his hands. "Why are you skipping class?"

"Had a few with Mal today." Idia blanched, an impressive feat when his skin was so pale as to read almost blue. "Yeah, I don't want him after him either. But I'm good." And you were, really. Your neck was bruised all to shit, and it hurt when you breathed, but honestly, it had hurt to breathe at times ever since Eliza nearly macked you to death, and it was very easy to ignore. "You don't have to stay, especially when I scared you half to death just because I thought it was funny at the time."

He made a sound you couldn't identify, and closed the door. You shrugged. "Suit yourself, but you'll need to replace any windows he breaks coming in to check on you." Which was pointless considering the general state of Ramshackle Dorm, but the nights were growing cold, and even with your ghostly roommates agreeing to keep the fires on through the night, you'd need all the help you could get. You settled on one of the wounded couches to resume your novel, and he settled in beside you, leaning in.

"Uh."

He tugged down your collar, laying two fingers across the bruise that clearly outlined a mechanical thumb. "Does it hurt here?"

"Some. Not badly."

He pressed down. "Now?"

"More than before."

He repeated this at several places before he was satisfied that his overzealous brother hadn't caused you lasting damage.

"I'm so sorry, Yuu."

"No, I am. You have nothing to be sorry for." You turned to face him, his face still close. "That was fucked up of me to do, you don't touch anyone like that unless you get permission... Earth to Shroud?" You snapped you fingers by his ear, but he was staring at your neck, deep in thought.

That was when he lunged, and put his mouth on you.

You didn't have anywhere to go, and really, once he started, you didn't want to go anywhere. The ache of your throat turned to a sweet fire from the touch of his lips, his tongue, his teeth - at the first nip at your pulse that dragged down to your collar, you wound your hand through his hair and told him, in between wheezing gasps, "don't you stop, don't you dare fucking stop."

(And there was hair, too. You could feel it under the fire that crept and wound between your fingers, thick and with a soft curl to it, surprisingly robust considering the wan, turbuculitic quality of the rest of him.)

Unfortunately, he pressed you away into the couch as you wound around him, extracting himself from your grasp as he wiped your blood - at the sight, you made a sound that made you both blush - from his mouth.

"Oh no you don't, get back here -" He was already heading for the door, and your knees were too weak to hold you. "Get back here and finish what you fucking started! You prick! You asshole!"

He looked at you from the door. His lips swollen and purple, his face covered with a sweet red flush, and it physically ached to see him like that and not within distance of hand or mouth. But Idia smiled at you with a grin that twisted his face into something grotesque and malicious, and she shook his head and left without a word.

"Oh, wow." You whipped your head around, and Grimm was looking at you. God knows how much of that he'd seen, you certainly hadn't been giving him any thought. "You can't even see the handprint anymore."

You screamed in pure, blue-balled fury and threw your novel at him.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twst fic #idia shroud

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once-upon-a-tommorow · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Fair and Square

(⚠️TW For my followers: vore)

A Pred POV From Jac's perspective.

🔸Audience: 17+ but still sfw, mainly because of the swearing and bad corny satire comedy🔸tw religious mention🔸capslock tw🔸safe v/ore.🔸 Half-size prey🔸 half willing prey🔸teasing Monster Pred 🔸 Nonbinary masc pred and prey🔸 and both are Ace Romantic partners so yay for /lgb/tqia r/epresentation 🔸

⚠️I'd like to consider this a professional s/hitpost because it is a experimentation and a introduction to something I have been loosely working on for two years (at some point I'll make a backstory post), this was all made for fun so when you come to my circus expect to see clowns, now for their names \/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Additional character Info: [Pred (Jac) is a

C/apricorn Siren Hybrid. age 21. (He can turn into a human form but he chooses not to most of the time unless it's for ash because who tf would wanna be human in a time like this?]

[prey (ash) is a Werewolf. age 19.]

[Side character roommate: brenda a talking black cat whose kinda sketchy. Age unknown.]

And just in case you are extra nerdy for my halfwit characters here is their voice headcanons:

Here's art I made of them: (update: I'm taking the art off this post because if Tumblr pulls any sh*t with turning everyone's stuff into a NF.T leave my work the hell out of it.)

Jac: (Not the intro radio guy but the main singer)

Ash:

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𝕹𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗: Deep far into in the woods you couldn't tell if if left was right or right was left, it was all but seemingly endless dead leaves that would crumble under your feet and the twisted jagged trees that reach into the sky like lightning in reverse, it was always cold, the only sounds were the sound of wind tossing the leaves and the occasional caw of a lone crow, but if you walked deep enough into those old woods you would find what only felt like a displaced fever dream..a victorian house, standing alone, at first glance it looked abandoned that with the ivy which climbed the walls and the boarded up windows and tattered curtains, who could possibly live in a house this....trashy..but yet: In the dead of the night you could see the faint glimmer of a light being turned on.. there have been many foolish enough to come to this porch, come to this door, mostly jehovah's witnesses... How they managed to find the address is another mystery we will not question..like why is there a house out in the woods? I DON'T KNOW? WHOEVER BUILT IT MUST HAVE BEEN THE G/RINCH OF THAT ERA; but whoever did come to the house was greeted at the door by a gentleman of a short stature, he seemed so well kept together almost as if he matched the house which was weird considering it was the 21st century, but when you came into that house as soon as the door went shut your fate was sealed...and by fate I mean these criminals were going to either force you to join their peculiar gang or they were going to knock you out cold and drag you off to a secluded location where you would never find them again..the tallest one was usually the one to do this..but how he went about knocking them out is well.... that's not important right now, right now that tall bastard by the name of Jac was creeping through the hallway to surprise greet the gentleman named ash which we mentioned before...but why?...Well... There is going to be a lot of why's and similar to a/lice in w/onderland we might just not have them all so maybe going into the mind of this madman will clear some things up...hopefully....... I'll probably be coming back later...he has me held hos---.

Jac: "This is going to be so much fun."

𝕹𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗: he says.......

Jac: why am I hearing voices?....eh the medications probably failed me again like they always do... either that or it's that one creepy guy in the attic who accounts for everything I say in grand description... he's probably some sorta spy... he'll be dessert...

𝕹𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗: he slowly-................ ahem...uh...he slowly slides his hoof like hand across the old-fashioned wallpaper.. It was rich purple and green striped with golden stripes separating the two other colors, it looked faded from age and was beginning to peel, jac had to be careful not to knock over all the picture frames and fedoras that hung lining the main hall past the lobby or ash would know...ash knows everything is in a certain place and it has been like that..for a very long time..he doesn't want anything changed... nothing can ever be changed *vague soft sobbing*-

Jac: would ya just get on with it man? I mean even the clock has had it with all your yappin and now it's tickin too fast because you're given it anxiety, chop-CHOP!

𝕹𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗: his steps drew heavy on the old dusty wooden flooring with nothing but a cheap rug covering the hall, underneath they creaked as if they were going to cave in. He finally reached the doorway peering in, in anticipating seeing the middle aged maelstrom of a mind that was his belov-ed.

Jac:

"You were workin with your papers like ya always did, so engrossed in whatever nonsense you were writin

I SAY AS A PAPER FALLS CASUALLY FROM THE CEILING

That you were Blissfully Unaware of who was watching you.. oh how could-I help myself, you were such a square,

You always used such big words all the time to be emphasizin whatever crap you were tryna say to everybody that could have been easily said in like.....not 10 minutes, but NAH, you had to be all Fancy wit it like you always do with everything..and maybe that's why I like........no.....LOVE you.."

𝕹𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗: like me?

Jac: yes you, ya fuckin lunatic, now quit writing about our life and stalking me through the attic, it's gettin kinda weird, you're really that bored that you have to write our memoirs?

Ash: and a very royal f-ck you to you too. *And than he falls from a hole in the ceiling and scatters over to sit on his chair at his work desk like nothing happened* you know I haven't left this place in a month since my last arrest and you know we can't get wifi.

Jac: I didn't know it's been a month...wow TIME MOVES FAST WHEN YOU DON'T GIVE AF.

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(narration has switched to jac now) jac POV:

Author: From this point ash won't hear anything jac is thinking and "" marks will be used when something is said aloud or as their normal function (have fun with trying to figure that one out, as my writing style fluctuates. ;)

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Jac: Now ash........ya had this word...how do I say it...?

"Sapio somethin"..I donno, it meant being attracted to smartiepants like yourself...but you can't outsmart me this time...

He hadn't gotten any sleep, it was 3am, I really oughta do this guy a favor, so I grab onto the back of the collar of your shirt and drag you backwards in your chair with force, now our eyes are meetin except you are looking at me upsidedown, heh heh heh, now your bangs are a mess from the gravity...of the situation.. har har funny joke, but that wasn't as funny as your response

"What are you doing" you ask

WhAT AM I DOING?

WITH YOU?

At 3am.......hmmm so many things to do alone at night..... And I just say like a jackass "nothing. What are you doing up this late?"

"You didn't answer my question" ash says,

As if me giving him a answer is going to spare him any less, So I tell him: "I gotta be frank wit you pumpkin, I don't know, I was getting up for a latenight snack, and low and behold..the fridge was empty..and suddenly I found myself here......pretty weird if you ask me"

Ash: if you were coming from the kitchen than you wouldn't have needed to come down the hall from the lobby, I find that suspicious.

Jac: And I don't answer him and stare at him with a dopey smile on my face and he gives me the look...ya know..."the look" like..... W/ednesday a/dams.. after her brother just stole her doll. But he was so small that I couldn't take it seriously..I mean coMON, he's practically the size of a doll to me, he was the doll, I can take him...........whole. I come closer closin in on him holding him down to the chair with my hoof and his face still doesn't change and suddenly things start getting animated and by animated I mean ash started movin, like, a lot, he was going all over the place, putting up such a fit, and yet he couldn't get away, he started makin all kinds of weird snarlly noises..heh..might wanna get that checked out...I think the motor in his little head is broken... "YOU RASCAL, YOU RAGAMUFFIN BARBARIAN"

he shouts, "ah yes, all my favorite nicknames," I say "comon little fella, give another to me, I dare you."

"MONSTEROUS BABOON"

"Oh shit" I say "you have such a way with words. Now tell me in great detail what words you'll come up with as my dinner"

And than he really lost it, he managed to get out of the chair and started running.. I'm 14ft tall... He is 5ft2.. this guy ain't gettin far anytime fast..is that how ya say it? Hell if know, NOW TIME TO PLAY TAG!, The house was.. well he said it was a "victorian mansion", but by the looks of it to me it was basically like navigating a small storage shed, and it would probably be haunted if it wasn't for me scaring everyone away like I always do...but why do I...eh, hell if know..I don't know anything when he's around.........he ran around the house like a wind up mouse slamming Into things as soon as he saw me edge the corner. "All this production" I say "what is this? FastFood and a movie?"

And than he blurts out "YOU AIN'T GETTING ME BITCH!!!, AND THE CORRECT TERM IS "DINNER AND A SHOW" YOU HALFWIT BLOKE"

oh and now he's correcting me, I feel like a smarter man now "THANKS BUDDY!, NOW I'LL FINALLY BE ABLE TO FINISH COLLEGE"

That's it, he's gonna get it.

He looked like he was about to say something as he angrily looks back at me but than trips on his pointy toed a/cademia shoes and now at a snails pace I finally catch up to him, laying on the living room floor next to our broken vintage shitty Rabbit-Eared excuse of a TV.

But than our cat brenda gets in front of him and is all like "THAT DEADASS CHUMP IS MINE", And of course, I civilly toss her out the window... behind the couch....not sure where she went but I could care less as I pick ash up from his face plummeted position off the floor as he digs his nails into it leavin sharp nail marks all the way across it, I lick my lips,

"MIne all m i n e~...haHaHAHA!" and than he kicks me in the face and I feel offended but than remember that he doesn't stand a chance and I heartily laugh "woe to you little wolf, woe to whom attempt to defeat me with your skINNY twig leg, that I could easily break like a pocky stick if I wasn't so kind" and than he sCREAMS

"YOU'RE A BASTARD AND YOU'RE GLUTTONOUS" and than he interrupts his own ranting by sneezing from my fur. "AND YOU'VE RUINED MY NIGHT!!"

And I look him dead in the eye..... everything is silent and all that can be heard is the tick of our grandfather clock..tick...tick...tock tick, and I lean right up in his face.. than I lick it, and than I passionately whisper:

"g o o d." Than I slowly lean away from his face, as I see his eyes turn to wide saucers of destruction. Both our breathing is tense now, and I can see him start to crack..."is that a smile I see?"

He doesn't answer as his face scrunches into shapes never before seen by man in a attempt to hide his hysteria. I lightly take his glasses off his face and put them in my pocket..

He softly whispers "So war is what you want tonight dear?"

And I say "no sweetheart, it's pronounced

*V/ore...and by v/ore I mean you"

And he responds "no, you are getting that confused with the french pronunciation "vous" which means in english "you""

And my voice gets deep as I heavily respond:

"v/ore means: to devour..... vous"

AND THAN HE STARTS SQUIRMING LIKE A RABID SQUIRREL... I start maniacally and chaotically laughing

Ohh asher..you were always so cute when you got like this

One thing I knew bout you was how you hated everyone and everything, but you had a special kind of hatred reserved just for me, I could see it in your eyes

The disgust as you tried not to laugh and keep serious well I playfully drove you insane, we felt like tom and jeremy but closer, he was always so hot headed that with just a glance he could set my soul on fire..he always considered himself a p/yromanic.. I'm not sure what that meant but I was a maniac for him, the world was a c/hipotle restaurant and he was the main enchilada to my heart 💘

I think there was screams, I couldn't tell, they were muffled as I shoved him in headfirst into my mouth like he was cotton candy..if cotton candy tasted like a pumpkin spice cappuccino.. he had such weird taste in shampoo choices, it wasn't even fall.... But boy I was going to hog down on him like thanksgiving dinner.. now for my favorite part, the noodle arms, I could feel as he struggled graspin at anything he could..which was my shirt, I grabbed both of his arms and shoved them in swallowin more of him, he was so feisty going down, stuck halfway gazing into the abyss of my throat, I liked to refer to it as the tunnel of love but whenever I called it that he got crazier so I kept my mouth shut...as much as I could with his waist stuck in it, his shorts...tasted like...money.....wAIT A FCKING SECOND!! DRATS HE STOLE MY S/ATURDAY TACO FUNDS.. I'll teach em for that one, maybe he just won't come out, I don't know, haven't made up my mind yet, afterall he is on the border of the world and yours truly, he'll have a long time to think bout that in not so solitary confinement. After more squirmin tension and practically choking gulping him down, He slips into my empty stomach like a freezing foot in a wool slipper; Not that I know what that tastes like.. and maybe ash was right, I am rather gluttonous, my shirt even popped up all thanks to him, welp, it's not like he can blame me, it's not like I have anything else to eat, besides...... Cornflakes and that questionable dinner gifted to us, I am not touching that food.....

But how can I sob over being a poor man when ash makes for the richest feast of all, he wasn't too thrilled about it though, as I obnoxiously burped breaking the silence, I could almost hear his muffled "ugh".

"Ahh~ Man, for being such a square you sure make me round" and than he kicks me in the stomach and I go down to the floor like a burning blimp, I swear I could have heard the t/itanic theme, mayhaps that was the post-dinnertime sadness, like when we were at family dinner and I didn't want to be there and uncle phil called my gay cousin louie a-- AND THAN ASH KICKS ME IN THE INTESTINE AND I SCREAM LIKE A LITTLE GIRL

"Haha just kidding that tickled"

I'm not really sure what that chatterbox was going on about now, all I could hear from em was..."fis mrace mis urnmermry" He says indistinguishably muffled.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak food" and than he raises his voice enough for me to hear it clearly: "THIS PLACE IS UNSANITARY!."

"Aww what a shame" I say to him, I even spiffied it up for him and left it reserved just for him, but little goodie twoshoes is never satisfied with anything I do for him. I giggle everytime he moves as I walk over and plop down on the couch causing him to shake around in my belly like a drink mixer, he feels a little dizzy and disoriented now pawing at the walls as if trying to find a secret doorknob or somethin, but alas there weren't no doorknobs here, not in the ribcaged prison that is spending time with me. I lean back on the couch and kick my feet up over the armrest but because the couch is so small my legs go completely over it and by hooves touch the floor, I attempt to get myself more cozy snuggling up against the couch cushions, but than I realize the remote was all the way at the end of the coffee table, but there was no way in hell that I was going to get up, so I reach for it and reach for it and than ash's weight drags me over down like a anchor and I almost fall on the floor if it wasn't for the coffeetable breaking my fall. "You're lucky buddy we lived" and than ash yells "pardon my language but WHAT IN THE BLAZING HELL HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU? wait- don't answer that"

And I casually respond "just doin a little hardcore p/arkour, baby, don't worry bout it, I got this all figured out" and than I accidentally knock one of ash's teacups off the coffeetable and it smashes on the floor to smitherines.

Ash: "What was that"

Jac: "uuhhhhhhhhhh *hiccup* something....that I'll deal with later"

Ash: "Ah. I see. EXCEPT I DON'T. It was my cup wasn't it"

Jac: "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, HEY you know what we need?"

Ash: a professional surgeon, And lots of glue to put my cup and you back together.

Jac: no, I was thinking more uh.. *hic* that I could really go for some hot chocolate right about now

Ash: WAIT NO---not unless you use your own cup.

And than I get up having a hard time keeping my balance as I stumble aimlessly across the living-room and than I lean up on the kitchen doorframe like b/ugs bunny if he let himself go, than I hear his cracking little voice yell at me hot tempered: "JACKSON MALFREY ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO-"

I cut him off midsentence: "yeah yeah, hold ya horses in there, we're almost there."

I'm kinda heaving and wheezing from how full he makes me feel, but I was determined and bullshit ready, so I waltzed through the kitchen, it's floor was checkered and that was the most noteworthy thing about it..which disoriented the drunks who would come over here very much, and I walked over opened up the cabinet and GASP.........*wheeze*

".........................." "Jac are you ok" ash asks with slight concern.

"Yeah, I just realized we still have 4 o/reos left in the cabinet that I can dip them in the hot chocolate"

And than ash sounds deflated yet amused as he suggests: "oh and well you're at it, we also have cookie straws"

And I dig them out of the cabinet

"Vanilla and chocolate swirl!... Oh I remember these!, it's been so many years since I've had one of these, this is just swell!, I can't believe you remembered"

And he replies "yeah, we were supposed to have them with coffee and biscotti, so don't eat all of them." And than I hear the sound of him irritatedly mumble complaints and I giggle "ok, thanks a million, pal, you're the best" after a short montage of me searching for my cup and getting too excited drinking all the questionable almond milk instead of using it to put in the cup, I come to my senses and pour the rest of the milk into the cup and than eat the empty milk container, he squirms even more and now his shirt is soaked "was that necessary?? Now I'm cold" and I say "Gotta keep the environment clean", I spend the next minute with trying to figure out how to heat up the milk now that it's in the cup and I don't have a microwave so I put the cup in a pot on the stove and the Magic begins✨

The pot starts to get hot and the milk starts bubbling and I sing to myself

s/tayin alive by the bee gees and bopping my head absentmindedly forgetting any time I rhyme it hypnotizes humans to fall asleep out of trance and ash passes out, I get out the oven mitt and pick up the scolding cup and than the oven mitt starts on fire and I blow it out, and than I put marshmallows in the milk when I haven't even put the cocoa in yet and they also start on fire, after mixing the marshmallows up with the mix, dumping cookies in and cookie straws, I put in a icecube to cool it, I stand there, looking out the kitchen window that overlooked the sun rising over the tree blocked horizon and our garden that in the summer grew all kinds of stuff like tomatos, and corn, and hemp, and sunflowers and brenda's coming at the window with a baseball bat, I lock the window and I drink out of the hot chocolate feeling it warmly trickle down my throat as it gracefully dumps all over ash and he wakes up screaming, not out of pain, but out of surprise. I start to get real tired now, after eating all those cookies and milk and hot chocolate and that stupid expensive shirt brenda shoplifted that brenda and ash were fighting over because brenda wanted to sell it but ash took the tags off because ash liked it. and adorable ash himself, it's finally all getting to me, and I slowly sink to the floor sprawled on my back like a dead man, and ash tells me I have to do his papers now, and I say to him "ok, whatever, fair and Square" and than I pass out snoring loudly and ash sighs loudly.

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

Ash: "pig"

Jac: "What was that, backstabber? 👀"

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Author: ash can't hear the puns.

But he can feel them.

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captainsimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Titanic || H.S

Part Five || “No Me Queda Mas”

Disclaimer: I do not own the pictures I use for title cards. Obviously.

Warnings: This book contains mature themes and discussions, such as gun violence, emotional and physical abuse, attempted suicide, mentions of blood, character deaths, heavy sexual content, and reference to the real maritime disaster of the 1912 cruise liner Titanic.

“Exactly. But if you jump, I’m gonna have to jump in there after you.“

Both Harry and Drake were up by seven in the morning, energetic and absolutely starving. They made sure to dress as quietly as they could, careful not to wake their other two roommates. They were men of the same age, around their late twenties, heading to the states to escape religious persecution. They had arrived later that day after they had picked up the remaining passengers from Ireland, both men talkative and equally as excited to start a new life. The four men chatted into the deep hours of the night and discussed a variety of topics. Perhaps the funnest topic they covered was women.

The two men were traveling with their girlfriends and since they were not legally married, they had to bunk in separate living quarters. Except their boyfriends had splurged what money they could to give them the best comfort as possible, and Harry learned their girlfriends were staying as second-class passengers. Drake made the joke about how first and second class weren’t all that different, and that these boys were living every poor man’s dream of being with a woman of practical royalty.

“They scream louder than any woman.”

“What do you mean?” Harry questioned.

“I mean,” Drake nudged his shoulder playfully, “they’re so touch-deprived that they practically melt from any man’s touch.”

“Man, shut the hell up!”

Everyone continued to joke and tease, and Harry wondered if that was indeed true. He had only been with two other women before - his first when he was seventeen and a woman he thought he loved at the age of twenty-four. He prided himself on the noises he caused, but he didn’t quite understand what Drake meant. Did upper-class women really not experience pleasure as often as women in love? Did upper-class women even fall in love? Do upper-class men not know how to perform? He understood the point of the joke, and although slightly misogynistic, Harry pondered on the societal gossip that sometimes proved true. It wasn’t like he was ever going to experience it to compare.

He and Drake tip-toed outside their room and locked it behind them. Breakfast was available until ten, but they wanted first dibs on the freshest stuff there.

It was a buffet style breakfast. They stacked their trays up high, first come - first serve, with buttered bread, sugar cookies, chicken noodle soup, and milk.

“They’re holding out on us. I saw them lugging buckets of grapes and strawberries up to first-class.”

Harry chuckled and sipped his milk, “Because they’re first-class.”

“Either way, this bread is delicious.”

And over breakfast they chatted about their past trips, skills, family, and aspirations. If it was possible, Drake spoke more than Harry. Once a conversation reached its end, Drake would easily glide into a new one. It was quite refreshing to speak to someone who didn’t shut you down or didn’t know how to carry a conversation. Harry paused Drake, however, when he mentioned that he was a trained carpenter.

“You build things?”

“Buildings. I build buildings.”

Harry shoved him, “That’s what I meant!”

Drake laughed along, “Yeah, my father was a carpenter. I built my Montana ranch from the ground up with my own two hands.”

Harry felt like meeting Drake was fate. Now he didn’t have to grovel and beg some New York carpenter to oversee the construction of a London business. If Drake agreed to help Harry build his bakery, he would at least trust the process more. A few sips of soup and some sugar cookies later and Harry considered Drake a closer friend than those he met on the playground.

“I have a proposition.”

“Well, Mr. Capitalist, I’m all ears.”

Harry grinned, “Would you like to help me build my family’s bakery? I would pay you generously and provide you housing during your extended stay in New York.”

Drake mimicked the act of deep thought, leaning forward and swishing around his cup of milk. “Hmm, a generous offer.”

“Or do you have to be back in Montana immediately?”

Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t.

“My brother has the ranch covered. I can write to him and let him know I’ll be bringing in a little extra cash.”

Harry jumped in his seat like an excited child, “Is that a ‘yes’?”

Drake chuckled and tried not to spill his milk as Harry shook his shoulders excitedly.

Drake was around five years older than Harry, thirty-two and thriving, so it made sense that he had this feeling of being an older brother to Harry. He was actually the youngest of his siblings, having older brothers at his side since birth. It was a blessing, and in a weird twist of plot, he felt like an attentive older brother sat here at breakfast. The way Harry’s bright smile lit up any room and the way he acted as if everything happened for a reason - he was almost tempted to give this kid the rest of his sugar cookies.

“Sure, man. I trust you’ll pay me.”

Harry nodded and while overflowing with joy, he slid his sketchbook in front of Drake and began reviewing the first couple sketches of the type of building he had in mind.

You had been kept up late by your mother’s final walk-through of your stay room, complaining there were not enough towels and not enough space for your accessories on the bedside table. She acknowledged the vastness of the ship and its wonderful hospitality, but there was always something wrong in her mind. And all you could do was nod your head as you sat impatiently in the side chair as she worked the midnight crew through each fix.

So excuse your slow responses and tiny yawns at breakfast. The tables were beginning to clear out, with many still entering for early tea or a late meal. The breeze passed through the open doors and nipped at your cheeks, waking you up slightly from the boring chatter.

As the others spoke, you couldn’t help but think about yesterday and what weird a kiss you and Cal had shared. Was it supposed to feel good? You knew Cal had other women before as he was turning thirty-six just a week after your scheduled wedding. He was never so playful, especially not in front of waiting staff, so you pondered what that change in attitude could possibly mean. Or perhaps you were thinking too much, and he really just had a lapse in judgement.

You could make out talk about the weather, America’s current stock market, and ideas about what the cooks were going to prepare later today. Speak on topics that never interested you and never will interest you carried on for a few more minutes before everyone began ordering their second course. You pulled a cigarette and its holder from your handbag, expertly placed the cigarette inside the silver and inhaled the cooled, mellowed smoke. It woke you up instantly, also calming any nerves from the night before.

You didn’t like when Cal smoked and dusted your flooring, but the presence of a holder made all the difference. No mess, no stains on your fingers - just tranquility.

Your mother cleared her throat quietly as to only alert you, watching the other occupants of your table carry on with their conversation. She unfolded her napkin and placed it carefully across her lap. “You know I don’t like when you do that in public.”

Instead of rolling your eyes at her absurd worry, you inhaled the smoke deeply and exhaled across her view, clouding her face in your personal stress release. It was a power move, a move that you were allowed to execute since she was in control of literally every other aspect of your life. A little smoke shouldn’t anger her as much as it did, but any ounce of independence you still displayed could be interpreted as plain disobedience. And disobedience of your own family meant it resulted in disobedience within a marriage. But before you could establish dominance in one area of your life - your own body - Cal reached over to pull the cigarette from its holder and extinguished it on one of the side plates. You narrowed your eyes, ashamed of the control he proved he had.

“She knows,” Cal chuckled, ignoring your look of embarrassment and instead calling over the waiter who was making his rounds.

A woman you had met briefly yesterday as she boarded from Ireland, Molly, was invited to sit at your breakfast table by one of the men here, yet you couldn’t remember which one. She was a small woman, dressed in a comfortable dress that didn’t quite match the occasion of a late breakfast, but she wore it proudly. She was sweet, strong-willed, and almost always proved louder than anyone else in the room. You liked her personality as it was entirely different from everyone else you had ever met. Although your mother called her “new money” with a nasty grimace on her face, you only saw her for what she was - independent and vocal.

But here you were now, being dehumanized in front of practical strangers, and you looked up to see Molly’s surprised expression. She lowered her arm to extinguish her own cigarette on her ashtray. To continue smoking freely after you had been refused your tiny refuge seemed wrong, improper even. But you didn’t acknowledge her action, ears perking up as Cal restated your breakfast order.

“We’ll both have the lamb, rare, with very little mint sauce.”

You absolutely hated lamb. Any type of meat, really, and the thought of having to stuff it down so you wouldn’t starve maddened you.

“You like lamb, right Sweetpea?”

You plastered a thin, wide smile as you turned to your fiancé, your face almost comical and proving so as Cal took it as a real ‘yes’.

By now your little squabble had gained attention from all at your table. Molly began laughing loudly to cut through the tension, raising her water glass to take a quick sip.

“You gonna cut and chew her meat there too, huh Cal?”

Your mother turned to her sharply but Molly was unmoved, deciding to change the subject to something more interesting. Cal interlocked his fingers together and rested his hands above his belt buckle, looking across the table at Molly with a more calm look compared to your mother, but still hardened with displeasure.

“Say, who thought of the name ‘Titanic’? Was it you, Bruce?” Molly asked.

Bruce Ismay, the chairman of the White Star Line, seemed ecstatic to receive questions about the ship. As of that month, it was his greatest accomplishment and current world wonder, his newborn creation that deserved any and all praise given. He nodded happily and swallowed the piece of fruit hurriedly to answer Molly’s question.

“Yes, yes,” he answered, cleaning his mouth with a napkin. “Mr. Andrews here built her from the ground up!”

Thomas Andrews, a shipbuilder and main architect for Titanic, was shy with any compliment he received, deciding to accept the praise quickly and return the attention back to Ismay. “But the idea was all Mr. Ismay’s! He envisioned a liner so grand in scale...”

You began to drown the conversation out. Cal insisted on dining with specific groups of people. From your point of view, it worked almost like a ranking. Ismay and Andrews were certainly important people on this ship and had first hand experience with such social circles, but they were no John Jacob Astor. The most Cal and your mother did was share morning greetings with Astor, who dined with his wife in a more private section of the same dining hall. Cal had always maintained your titles of royalty, saying that only a few dollars here and there separated you from a higher connection. And at dinner time your group expanded, including around ten others who were just as respectable.

“I wanted to convey sheer size with her name! And size means stability, luxury, and above all, strength,” Ismay spoke.

You sucked in a low breath, ready to make a select few laugh and others seethe. “Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Ismay?”

Mr. Ismay turned to you in silent astonishment, surprised by the first complete sentence you had spoken all breakfast. But he smiled and shook his head ‘no’ at the name. You felt your mother reach her hand under the table to cup your arm.

“His opinion about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you.”

Your mother’s fingernails dug deep into your forearm. “What has gotten into you?”

But Molly and Mr. Andrews enjoyed your comment, laughing under their breaths.

You smiled sweetly and tore your arm away from your mother, standing and excusing yourself from the table. Both Mr. Ismay and Mr. Andrews stood out of respect for your departure. You exited the room to walk out on deck.

Cal took in slow breaths to steady his rising anger, avoiding other’s eyes so that they wouldn’t notice the effect you had on him. But Molly, with her rapid wit and steady toughness, wouldn’t let Cal live this down.

“She’s a pistol, Cal. Hope you can handle her!”

Cal crinkled his eyes and chuckled as to brush off your misbehavior. “I might just have to mind what she reads from now on, don’t I?”

Mr. Ismay sat down and readjusted his tie. “Freud, who is he? Is he a passenger?”

It was bullshit that third-class passengers were barred from touring certain areas of the ship. All Harry wanted was a better view of the ship’s structure so he could outline it. He mainly drew portraits but he had promised his mother he would show her his drawings of the best parts of the ship, like the grand staircase, fashion, the giant steam funnels, even the food. But third-class passengers weren’t allowed in first-class areas without the proper approval, having to eat from a choice of about four foods each day and reduced to simply imagining what the giant clock looked like.

So Harry doodled anything he found interesting - the dogs who traveled down to third-class to take a shit, the coast of Ireland as Titanic sailed past, and third-class passengers with their children, card games, and instruments. He was currently drawing a man holding his daughter up against the railing to see the water, focusing on the detail of their clothing and their happy expressions. Drake watched Harry work his magic, grinning every single time Harry drew the next precise detail accurately. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge, but Drake swore that every human wanted to have this specific talent. Anyone who disagreed wasn’t human.

“I can’t believe you got the eyes right,” Drake scoffed, inhaling smoke from his reduced cigarette.

Harry grinned at the comment, smudging the charcoal over the two foreheads to create the shading. Looking from the models to his paper, he completed another detail that impressed his friend. He was almost finished, brushing his index finger over certain parts. Drake greeted some friends he met at last night’s dinner as they walked past and rested in the surrounding benches. He motioned them over to Harry’s work.

Drake nodded in approval at all the compliments Harry received, “Do you make any money off your drawings?”

It’s quite possibly every artist’s worst nightmare, to scribble incorrectly over a good drawing, completely ruining the fine detail it took too long to accomplish. But as Harry’s pencil scraped over that crumpled piece of paper, the air around him and the water under him spoke to his artistic desires, telling him to wreak havoc on his flimsy sheet and to never stop. The somewhat endless black line did indeed stop once it reached the edge and to the fabric of his tan pants, leaving a light but visible charcoal mesh on his only pair. His eyes, as well as his clouded mind, ignored his major mistake and instead focused on the yellow fabric that begged to flap higher in the cool, ocean breeze.

His eyes traveled through every detail- the white lace clinging to the base yellow, the pearls hugging your waistline and wrapping around your backside to function as buttons, the baroque beauty of your neck and the lace wrapped around it, your brown skin glistening underneath the sun, and your red lips sculpted into a memorable pout - all of it entered Harry’s viewpoint in what seemed like forever but only took a mere second. One glorious second for Harry to stumble into a world he knew he could never abandon. The curl in your hair, the frown on your face, the gentle nature of your grip on the forbidden first-class railing - all of it a disastrous craving that would for sure develop into a blister on the lip if Harry didn’t get a smell of your lavish locks and accidentally brush the tip of his nose against the priceless diamonds draped through each curl, or get a taste of the red syrup staining your plump lips and accidentally bite it a little too hard to muster a moan of pleasure rich women kill to produce, or get to feel the touch of your fingertips against his palms, his face, his chest, his back as you left streaks of bright red. These prohibited images knocked against the padded confines of his thick skull and he felt like he completely violated the law with such an absurd idea.

But as you furrowed your eyebrows and focused on another focal point - Harry himself - he felt as if every inch of your being was worth being imprisoned for. His forbidden sweet creature.

You stared at the stranger briefly before looking back at the waves beyond the bow of the ship. Yet, you continued to feel his powerful gaze. You didn’t feel uncomfortable with his locked stare, but you wondered if he was possessed, spiraling through a trance that you had become a victim of. Was his gaze good or bad? Was he seriously entranced or judging your physique? Walking away would break the spell, but you stayed glued to the railing for some reason, watching the waves make way for Titanic’s many entrances.

You heard the voice in your head instruct your view to stay on the water, but you disobeyed for once, unaware of such a lovely decision until you locked eyes with your third-class admirer. You have always gotten attention from anyone you encountered, both pleasant and unpleasant, but attention nonetheless. And the waves of this particular admiration traveled through the misty breeze and onto your blushed cheeks, pinching them with a silent yelp, a plea, an almost beggarly request for your consideration. So you obliged its want, gazing across the third-class gatherings to the man sitting on one of the few benches on deck, surrounded by confused and teasing passengers who looked between you and him, wondering if you were going to break first from the rare situation. A situation that many never considered legitimate, possible, or even appropriate. But the lot of you were on the blue waves and the bubbly foam and the impressive craft of a thousand good Irishmen that welcomed the rare and extraordinary.

He was attractive - his short hair dancing in the air one curl at a time, his broad form rising to sit up straight when he realized you were also admiring him, and his eyes never blinking as to not miss anything you might do. And he had this magnetic pull, almost as if he was screaming at you to come down and speak with him. You felt somewhat disgusted with yourself, imagining a normal conversation with a normal person, a very handsome person, whose gaze alone made you feel a tingle at your fingertips and caused a tiny grin to break on your face. It wasn’t appropriate to be thinking of another man this way when you had never felt this way for the man you were to marry. And yesterday’s kiss did not equate to the powerful senses you were currently experiencing.

You hoped he didn’t see your grin, but Harry did. He caught it instantly, his heart pounding and his hands instructing him to quickly sketch the curve.

By now Drake was waving a hand over Harry’s face to see if that broke off his view, but Harry simply leaned forward, unaware of the obstruction and oh so enchanted by that tiny grin you hadn’t dropped.

“Oh, forget it, Harry! It’s like angels flying out your ass to get next to the likes of her.”

To be seen, thought of, recognized as a human being and not glossed over as some extra - the recognition of plain existence excited you to new extremes. And just as your mind told you to unlock the first-class gate and venture over to your admirer, real life interrupted in the form of Cal’s tamed grip on your upper arm.

You dropped your gaze quickly, hoping Cal did not realize your original viewpoint, and looked down at the unwanted physical connection between you.

"Why must you defy your mother’s orders and misbehave in front of friends?”

You pulled yourself away from his tightening grip. “I have already received this lecture from my own mother. I do not need to hear it again.”

Cal let out a low chuckle, “Then why must you not listen? You embarrassed me.”

You fought the urge to yell and relay yet another disapproving tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m not feeling well this morning.”

And with that fake apology, Cal hummed in sympathy and tugged you in for a short hug. “Why didn’t you just say so? It could have saved us the humiliation.”

You sucked in a harsh breath at his choice of words to avoid the frustrated tears, pulling away and patting his chest as you excused yourself to your stay room. He groaned as he suspected he had done something else wrong, but did not dare to follow you this time.

Drake shook his head in discontent, “A man like that should be grateful to have a woman like her.”

Other passengers shared their agreement, whistling and all. They teased Harry and shoved him playfully, congratulating him for the impossible. And as you walked from Harry’s eyesight back into the ship, he rejoined the conversation briefly before he began a simple illustration of your eyes.

Drake sat back down on the same bench as Harry as all the chatter died down, looking over at Harry’s paper. He rolled his eyes and smiled.

“She really did a number on you, huh? I’m all for going after the unreachable but this is truly unreachable, boy-yo.”

Harry stopped his tracing to look up at Drake, “I know… but she saw me, too.”

Drake furrowed his eyebrows, wondering if Harry was simply awestruck or serious. And with a slight chuckle of disbelief, Drake muttered, “that she did.”

A moment passed before Drake spoke again, deciding on letting Harry live in his little fantasy for the rest of the day. He tapped Harry’s stack of papers with his index finger. “I’m sure you’ll do her justice.”

And Harry did.

If you stood in the middle of the room and screamed at the top of your lungs, you were certain no one would even look up. Because besides your impressive attitude you were known for, your problems seemed minuscule compared to others. No one seemed to piece together why you were the way you were, opting for society’s sexist explanations instead of simply asking you.

Just a few hours ago you were seen and not looked over quickly - you felt appreciated and noticed. Now, even in a room with hundreds of people and many sat at the same table as you, you weren’t even acknowledged. Perhaps it was because you never spoke - you couldn’t blame them for not noticing you then. But then again, when you did speak and Cal silenced or interrupted you, discrediting even opinions, no one minded.

They were the same endless parties, the same narrow people, and the same mindless chatter. Like they flipped a switch each night and wiped their slate clean, ready for the same routine the very next day with no complaints at all. And it frightened you that this would remain your routine, the same routine you had already lived for twenty-two years, with no way out and no ‘off’ button.

You felt as if you were floating away, heavy and lightweight at the same time, feeling yourself blink every few minutes. Your eyes focused on one point - the ashtray in the middle of the rounded table, even as people from surrounding tables came to greet your mother and Cal. You kept track of time by the impressive height of the gray ash, some landing outside the tray and onto plates. It grew higher… and higher… and your food was barely picked at, Cal was reaching over you every so often to tap his cigarette on the tray, and your mother was on her fourth glass of champagne.

They didn’t see that you weren’t eating. How does someone not notice that someone isn’t eating at a dinner?

You reached over for your champagne glass, your hand shaking slightly as you downed the rest of it. Everyone’s voices were becoming silent, like you were covering both ears or going deaf, and as Cal reached over to give you a kiss on the cheek, your eyes were suddenly heavy.

“Please, excuse me, Cal. I need to run to our room really quickly.”

Cal paused his conversation with Astor to turn to you. “Are you alright? Would you like me to escort you to the cabin?”

And you smiled, “I’ll be fine.”

It was a really nice gesture, but in Cal’s mind it was simple chivalry.

You stood up, your feet sore and the nerves bunching together throughout your legs. The laughter seemed to grow as you exited, and now those nerves shocked you into running.

You barged into your stay room, ignoring the obvious worry the staff gave you, their questions of tea or more blankets flying over your head. You simply speed-walked past them, hiding your face behind your curls so they would not see your very real tears, staining the powder on your cheeks and leaving visible streaks lighter than your natural color. You leaned back on the door and tried to drown out the drunken laughs and loud violins. Controlling your breathing was easy at first until you opened your eyes and saw a mass explosion of gold, the intricate designs of each piece of cloth, the carvings in the wood encasing your mirror, your freshly made bed that Cal had jokingly suggested he’d crawl into late at night. You swallowed the itch in your throat, walking to the make-up table to drop the pins you began tearing from your hair. One-by-one you let each curl fall to your shoulder, their lost weight causing your headband of diamonds to fall to the floor. You silently deliberated what the name of your maid was, cursing yourself for forgetting when she had so nicely introduced herself last night. But then her name slid from your tongue, and you almost cried from the sudden joy.

“Trudy?” you called, starting to hyperventilate. “Trudy?”

You reached behind you to unbutton your dress, but your shoulders just wouldn’t bend far enough. Suffocated, you clawed at the loose hanging jewels instead, pinching and stretching the skin on your back that you could reach.

“Trudy!” you began to choke on your breath, yelling louder each time you called the maid. So you tugged and ripped the silver necklace from your neck, threw your jewelry box across the room, and tossed a few perfume bottles you had packed so delicately against the wall.

“I can’t... I can’t,” you cried, knees partially crumbling beneath you as you leaned against the chair. You lifted your head to witness your disheveled look, hair a mess and mascara smudged just below your water line. Lips quivering, an intense wave of self-pity and self-hatred drowning your thoughts, exclaiming the few words that actually made it through your sore skull. You listened to them, repeated and mean, basically ordering you to listen and to follow.

“Ya no queda mas.”

There is nothing left.

You were indeed a follower - and you were going to oblige.

And so you abandoned everything, opening your room door and running through the crowded hallway full of oblivious passengers who swam in the bliss of a full stomach and buzzed fingertips and toes.

You ran across the deck to the stern of the ship, careless as to who or what you toppled along the way. Of course everyone took an interest, calling out to see if you needed assistance. But as you left their eyesight, their worry diminished and they assumed someone else would offer a hand. One right after the other, they allowed you to cross their paths and leave it in an instant.

Harry lay on a third-class bench, staring up at the starry night. With a cigarette in one hand and the other stuffed away warmly in his coat pocket, he wondered just exactly where in the hell that damn ‘Big Dipper’ was. Or the little one. Hell, any constellation for that matter. He loved watching the night sky, but the city smog hid most of the stars. Now, with only the steam from the funnels blocking his view, he focused on every star individually, losing track of them as time passed, each one beginning to look the same in size but different in brightness. They formed all kinds of shapes in Harry’s mind, but he could not find those documented ones the astronomers raved on about.

He could have sworn he saw the rectangular shape slightly, its handle coming into existence as the sound of sobbing arrived and left in a flash. He lifted himself up, cigarette hanging from his pink lips and eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He watched as you continued running, pausing to catch your breath at one of the benches.

He recognized that beautiful brown skin anywhere.

His feet hit the deck floor immediately once he saw that you weren’t stopping, instead walking towards the stern railing and looking over into the water. He jogged lightly, careful not to make much noise as you contemplated such a drastic decision. Perhaps you were going to change your mind, step away, take a deep breath and go back to your endless desserts and musical concerts. But he quickly hid behind a pole when you checked to see if anyone had followed you, slightly disappointed in the fact that no one did, and stepped onto the railing and swung a leg over.

“Fuck,” Harry whispered, his mind racing and thinking of a way to calmly and safely get you back onto the deck without frightening you. If he were to jump out now, you were for sure going to let go.

You turned around once more and back toward the water, this small gesture of goodbye to the ship and all on it finally settling within you. The waves were dark, not light blue like they were during the daytime. And they sounded louder and more angry, taunting you instead of offering tranquility. The thought of jumping when the sun was out danced around in your head, a more vibrant suicide seeming better suited for your needs.

But maybe you deserved to die in the dark with no other sound besides the unnerving crashing of water and massive propellers in a never ending motion of slicing. You thought about Cal and almost immediately recoiled, the last thought before you died an unhappy thought and not at all what you wanted it to be. Perhaps your mother or your father. Trudy. No one seemed to properly fit, so you settled on the image of your famed racehorse as you leaned away from the railing, hanging off and ready to fall. Your racehorse, dark brown and majestic, waiting for you to come home.

“Don’t do it.”

You gripped the railing tight, unaware that your initial hold was so loose, and you were moments away from leaving your misery behind.

You whipped your head to see who had followed you, stunned that this person was not from the first-class - the class that prides themselves on their selflessness and courage. He was from the third - the class that truly embodied all things selfless and are crucified for it.

“Stay back,” you begged, raising one hand up as if to physically stop him, but you quickly regretted it as you felt the tough winds push you ever so slightly. “Please don’t come near me.”

Harry contemplated his next move, inhaling some final smoke from his cigarette and stepped closer. He showed you the cigarette, stepping towards the railing to throw it overboard.

It was smart, you thought. He was going to come closer, you knew that. But to do it so discreetly as to not scare you - you were kind of grateful.

“Please just leave me alone,” you sobbed, looking back down to the rushing water. “I’ll let go.”

Harry stood dumbfounded, hands in his pockets and worry etched into his face. He remained calm, however, trusting in himself to sweet talk you back over the railing.

He cleared his throat, “No, you won’t.”

You scoffed, newly formed tears threatening to leave your eyes. “What?”

“You won’t do it.”

This time you looked up to the starry sky to gain clearance in thought but were intrigued nonetheless. Either you could snap at him and jump, or you could listen and come back over the railing. All you wanted to do now was sleep, as your head began feeling heavier by the second.

“What are you going on about? Don’t presume to tell me what I will or will not do! You don’t know me.”

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, still trying to calm the situation down as easily as he could. But as your hands turned whiter as your grip strengthened and your voice began to crack, Harry knew he had to convince you this was not the answer.

He didn’t quite understand it - wanting to end your life at such a young age. By the look of your clothes and make-up, Harry could tell you had most material things the people in third-class would kill for. But there were sparkly tears on your waterline, contradicting the image of glory and wealth you so effortlessly portrayed, and the sounds of crashing waves waiting to gobble you up - the sense of you, the mere idea of that glory and wealth, - it absolutely bombarded any quick wit or joke Harry’s mouth was thinking of spitting. All rational from here on out.

“I’m sorry,” Harry spoke, bringing his hands up to breathe warm air into them. “I just don’t want you to experience the dip, is all.”

You stayed silent, staring at him as he stared at you.

“You know the water’s freezing. If you were to survive the fall, the cold would probably hurt more.”

Now your bottom lip quivered and the sudden realization of how cold the night air actually was hit you at that exact moment, and you internally begged for the stranger to step closer. “How cold?”

Harry shrugged, still trying his best to remain casual. “Most likely a couple degrees over.”

You stared at the black abyss beneath you, “I bet that would hurt.”

Harry chuckled lowly, taking the risk and stepping closer to you that a simple turn of the head was enough to see his whole face. And it dawned on you, swiftly and surely, that this was the boy who could not seem to stop staring at you earlier. He was much more handsome up close, and his voice was the final piece of the puzzle. “Exactly. But if you jump, I’m gonna have to jump in there after you.”

You laughed dryly, “You’re crazy. Absurd. The fall alone would kill you.”

Harry smirked to himself, focused on the way your wavy hair flew in all directions. He was getting you to speak more. He was buying time. So, he removed his jacket and warm vest to prove his statement.

“Yeah, it would hurt,” Harry shrugged, finally stepping close enough to hang across the railing with you. He glanced down to your shivering feet, fearful that the heels would unlock themselves and send you free falling. “Trust me, you don’t want to do this-”

“And how do you know that? Maybe I want to… die.” It resonated as a question in both your minds, the sinking sensation overwhelming your chest.

“We all die someday. I think the best part is not knowing when.”

You observed the boy’s face, studying his expression to somehow gain a better explanation as to what he possibly meant. You swallowed more tears, this time speaking in a low whisper.

“I can easily predict when.”

Harry actually felt his stomach clench.

You continued, “It’s probably already planned, with as many as two-hundred guests in attendance, and an open bar.”

Harry shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s difficult to respond to that.”

You gave him a small smile, “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Whether you meant that in a sincere or disrespectful way, Harry was hurt by the comment nonetheless.

“I know you’re angry, but trust me,” he redirected, an attempt to forget suicidal intentions and reasons and focus on the actual present moment itself. “Water that cold, like right down there… it hits you like a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body. You can’t breathe, can’t think-”

You closed your eyes, eyebrows scrunched and suddenly so very cold. “Okay, please stop.”

Harry watched as your skin produced goosebumps and your grip tightened even more. It was a sign of victory, he thought. “I’m just hoping you’ll save me the swim by coming back over the railing.”

You sighed deeply, the air you expelled turning into the cold breeze itself, mixing with the shaky breaths of the one person on this whole damn ship to hear your screams. And you didn’t even physically cry out.

“Come back with me. Trust me, you don’t wanna do this.”

You reached your arm over to prepare for the turn, but instead of gripping the railing like you expected, a warm hand gripped yours instead, tightly, and his thumb immediately began rubbing your knuckles in a soothing motion. He helped you turn back toward the ship, hands now gripping both of yours.

He smiled up at you, his eyes almost watering from the unnoticed stress that was building within him. You grinned slightly, giving a small shrug of the shoulders as the silence broke.

“I don’t want to go back.”

Harry grasped your hands tighter, “Hey, me neither. Do you know how many rats welcomed me in my cabin yesterday?”

You laughed (somewhere between a laugh and a snort), forgetting momentarily that the two of you were standing in dangerous positions exchanging quiet words.

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. I’m Harry Styles.”

“I’m-”

“An absolute blooming rose.”

Your eyes widened momentarily, the moment passing with an awareness of peace from the sudden declaration of recorded beauty. You told him your real name anyway, absolutely loving the way it sounded in a british accent, his british accent, but the ‘blooming rose’ reference remained number one. There, with your body still on the wrong side of the ship and his hands now clutching your upper arm and elbow to begin pulling you over - there you were actually content with your current life.

“Up you go.”

You raised one leg to step up a rail, unaware that the beaded lace part of your dress was longer than the rest. It caused a severe slip, and before you knew what was happening, you were falling. You screamed, one hand barely catching the railing and the other arm suffering Harry’s grip and digging nails.

“Harry!”

Harry cried out in distress, almost going over himself. He locked his feet to the ground and against the ship, thighs pressed against the railing, and attempted to pull you up.

“C’mon, you can do it! You gotta climb, too!”

You followed his instructions, trying to climb the railing like a ladder with your free hand. But as you got higher and your legs remained swinging mindlessly against the wet ship, you slipped lower.

“Help me! Help me, please!” you yelled, to Harry and to anyone else who would hear, the ocean now loud with the outrage of your absence.

Harry could feel his heart exploding from the adrenaline spiking as he looked down at your terrified face, relying solely on him to save your life. The whole time he spoke with you he was frightened of the possibility of you letting go or accidentally falling, but now that he could visibly see that you most certainly did not want to die this way, he was mortified.

“I got you, okay?” Harry waited to shout again until you looked back up to him. “I got you.”

You nodded the best you could, the tears still dripping from your eyes and nose, determined to hear his frightened voice.

“I won’t let go! I promise. Now, pull yourself up!”

It took everything in you to support your own body weight with a corset strangling you at the same time, but you gripped the rails and then Harry’s shoulder. The corset made it more difficult to breathe, but you compiled the last pinches of energy and strength within you and aided Harry in your rescue. You groaned as your knees stabbed into the top bar, but the feeling of Harry’s arms wrapping around your waist to pull you over fully eradicated that pain. You two toppled over onto the safe deck, rolling over each other with a loud thud. Harry stayed glued to your waist while you gripped the deck with your nails.

In such a climactic moment, the two of you didn’t notice three members of the crew running toward you with no clue as to what just occurred.

“What’s all this?”

Your dress had ripped slightly, and due to your bedroom tantrum and the high winds, your hair was in absolute disorder. You had no coat on, tears streamed down your face, and a third-class man was hovering over your trembling body. And the crew failed to detect the similar shaking of Harry’s large frame or his scared expression, instead pointing a finger at him and labeling him the guilty party.

“Don’t you move an inch,” a crew member warned, stepping toward Harry and dragging him away from you. Two of the men swooped in to scoop you up, checking for signs of harm.

Your frantic eyes searched for Harry, but he was already looking at you, slightly disappointed and eager to prove himself innocent without throwing you into the cold water himself by revealing the truth.

Finally, they have met lol. xxMoni

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eachandeverydimension · 5 years ago

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MDZS/CQL Fic Rec List

A fic rec list for mdzs/cql focusing on wangxian and zhuiling, because it’s criminal how many good fics aren’t on any rec lists right now!

My first time making a fic rec list, so be gentle please. If any of the authors would like me to remove their fics, just let me know!

All fics are completed.

Lan Zhan/Wei Ying (Wangxian)

Canon-verse

Something Yet to Learn by Glitterbombshell

Synopsis: Wei Wuxian is asked (under duress) to babysit a class of tiny Lan cultivators for just a few minutes. A few minutes turns into an hour, turns into two hours, turns into an impromptu literal field trip and now there's an entire class that is weeks ahead of their curriculum, their most junior disciples have apparently imprinted on Wei Wuxian like baby birds, and Lan Qiren has no one to blame but himself.

蓝色生死恋; a blue love (to live and to die for) byyiqie

Synopsis: Wei Wuxian separates his life, without noticing, into three chapters. Some days, they’re hard to look at, hard to read, harder to know he wrote all of them himself. Some of the words are in blood.

asymptotic by chinxe

Synopsis: The members of the Lan Clan have never been particularly well-known for their good judgement when it comes to matters of the heart.

Which is why it should come as a surprise to no one when Lan Wangji falls in love with an actual ghost.

Linger in the Sun by etymologyplayground

Synopsis: Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji find themselves cursed, unable to see or hear each other. They figure things out anyway.

Comments: casefic (or in this fandom’s case, nighthuntfic)

seldom all they seem by Fahye

Synopsis: or, one hundred and thirty-three principles of the Gusu Lan, pertaining to the state of marriage

***

He bows to Wei Wuxian, sword in hand, sleeves falling properly. Wei Wuxian bows in return, and the sect leaders begin the opening courtesies, and for all of ten minutes Lan Wangji is under the impression that he is betrothed to a boy who is perfectly normal and acceptable apart from an unfortunate tendency to fidget with his clothes.

That impression does not last.

Comments: Arranged marriage AU

concessions to love by besanii

Synopsis: Conceding to love is not admitting defeat.

(In which there is an arranged marriage with at least one unwilling party. At first.)

Comments: Another very good arranged marriage AU

A Match Made In Heaven by Ariana

Synopsis: After getting fed up once and for all with Wei Wuxian getting into trouble, Madam Yu decides it’s time to call in the matchmaker.

Comments: Can you tell that I love the arranged marriage trope? Yeah, it’s probably obvious HAHA

Perfectly Arranged by mondengel

Synopsis: Three nights before his wedding to an omega from Yunmeng, Lan Wangji meets Wei Yuandao.

Comments: One last arranged marriage AU, this time round with mistaken identity thrown in!

Accidents Will Happen by mrsronweasley

Synopsis: Wei Wuxian finds himself in a whole new situation.

Comments: Canon post-series mpreg

Desiderium by seredemia

Synopsis: After the war is over, the imperial realm can finally breathe a sigh of relief. While there is much celebration to be had, the price of war claims the life of their emperor, thus throwing the realm into uncertainty. Prince Lan Wangji must now watch as his older brother inherits the throne, bearing the weight of the legacy their father left behind.

That, however, is the least of his worries. As the lands gather in celebration, Prince Lan Wangji is reunited with a man he has not seen in thirteen years. Wei Wuxian's smile is as captivating as ever; and with each day that passes, the prince struggles more and more to stay away from him.

Comments: Ancient china au.

The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli

Synopsis: In which the junior disciples (namely, Lan Jingyi, Ouyang Zizhen, and a reluctant Lan Sizhui) turn to RPF in an attempt to rehabilitate Wei Wuxian's reputation so that he and Hanguang-jun can get together and get married and live happily ever after. It's... surprisingly effective.

Concerning Rabbits by pomme (manta)

Synopsis: In which Lan Wangji navigates life, family, grief, friendship, and love through the years—with rabbits.

Sleeping in Paradise by daiki

Synopsis: (prompt: AU where Demonic Cultivation shattered Wei Wuxian's soul before Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli's deaths and he went into a death-like state. Since nobody's ever done demonic arts before, nobody's sure if Wei Wuxian is alive or dead so they preserve his body and watch over him.)

Modern!AU

Operation Old Men by Chiharu

Synopsis: An ill-fated parent teacher conference reunites Jin Ling's wayward uncle with Sizhui's father. AKA: A matchmaking disaster as told by Jin Ling, Sizhui, and Jingyi.

And they were roommates... by harriet_vane

Synopsis: A fic based lightly on a reddit post— "I (21f) have a crush on my roommate (20f). I can't figure out if she actually likes me back or not or is just being friendly. She cooks for me and knows all my favorite foods, and brings me lunch. She buys me anything I want, and her family all joke about our wedding. I once fell asleep on her lap and when I woke up she was stroking my hair and I almost had a stroke. I can't figure out if she's flirting with me or not. Help!"

Blink by Menuridae

Synopsis: Mo Xuanyu's family has set him up on a blind date with a rich young master after learning he is gay. However, he already has plans for that night. Instead of going on the date himself, Mo Xuanyu enlists Wei Wuxian to go as a substitute. Wei Wuxian must act like his best friend for the night before kindly turning down Mo Xuanyu's date.

Only, Wei Wuxian finds out that turning down Mo Xuanyu's date is possibly the hardest thing he has had to do in a long time.

from me to you by Ceta

Synopsis: Or; Three-time Golden Globe recipient Wei WuXian and seven-time Grammy award recipient Lan WangJi’s love story through the eyes of the internet.

PWP

Fair Play by threerings

Synopsis: “Do you ever want to try out my role?” He propped himself up on one elbow and looked at his husband. Sweat still glistened across his bare chest from their recent exertions and Lan Wangji’s expression was soft and open.

“Hm.” The sound wasn’t either a negative or a positive.

“What does that mean?” Wei Wuxian asked. “Have you thought about it?”

“Wei Ying wants that?” Lan Wangji met his gaze, his eyebrows raised.

“Hmm.” Now it was his turn to hum noncommittally. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy this. Obviously, I do.” His smile twisted into a bit of a smirk as he gestured between their naked bodies. He could still feel the imprint of his husband’s strong hands on his hips, on his right thigh. Still feel where he’d pounded him until he begged for mercy. “But it feels so good...I might like to make you feel that good, too.”

Sun on Stone by Gotcocomilk

Synopsis: It was almost five. It was almost time for the guards to emerge, for careful cultivators to clamber up the walls and wear fine white robes into the sunshine.

It was time for the Cloud Recesses to awaken, and they were in full view of where those eyes would show.

Wei Wuxian had never felt hotter.

Comments: public sex, exhibitionism

24 Hours by tailor31415

Synopsis: Lan WangJi is always so attentive towards Wei WuXian, giving him what he needs before he even realizes he needs it. This time, Wei WuXian wants to give something back.

Comments: Part 1 of Can't Have WangXian Without Kink, an excellent kinky series.

Everything I Hold Dear by sealdog

Synopsis: For Lan Wangji's birthday, Wei Wuxian figures out how to make a duplicate of himself. Every day shenanigans ensue.

Comments: Threesome PWP with two Wei Wuxians and Lan Wangji.

Jin Ling/Lan Sizhui (Zhuiling)

Just the sight of you (is getting the best out of me) by Ibijau

Synopsis: Jin Ling wants all that Lan Sizhui will let him have, even when he knows it's needy of him. When they're caught having sex, Jin Ling loses the boy he loves and realises he'll have to fight to get him back.

Comments: Jin Ling’s efforts to get Sizhui back are so sweet. A treat to read.

A Civil Combpaign by Ariaste

Synopsis: “And,” said one of the pompous ministers, “there’s the matter of a marriage to consider as well!”

Jin Ling, who at the beginning of that sentence had expected to slam into the very last wall of his patience and lose his temper entirely, paused. “A what?”

Thing was… it wasn’t such a bad idea.

Comments: Jin Ling decides that Lan Sizhui would make the perfect spouse. The first fic that turned me onto mdzs, highly recommended. Funny and touching. Also recommended is it’s equally good sequel below.

Besieged by Ariaste

Synopsis: “Mn,” says Lan Zhan out of the blue one night. He has been playing guqin on the other side of the room without speaking for two hours, and Wei Wuxian has been noodling with some new ideas for talismans for nearly as long--one of those easy, quiet evenings of companionable silence, until Lan Zhan has thrown this enormous tantrum out of nowhere.

---

(A companion fic to "A Civil Combpaign". Read that one first.)

Comments: Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian’s POV of the matchmaking shenanigans that took place in A Civil Combpaign,

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #cql #chen qing ling #the untamed #Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation #fic rec #wangxian #zhuiling #fic recs #mine

331 notes · View notes

tysonrunningfox · 5 years ago

Text

Two Night Stand AU: Part 8

Sometimes, you finish things on a quest for feeling accomplished and end up not feeling accomplished but also things are done. And it’s bittersweet, but like, in the baking chocolate way where sure they’re sugar there as a concept but god, at what cost?

Ao3

“Knock knock,” Ruffnut cracks Astrid’s bedroom door and peeks inside, and thankfully Astrid notices the plate of pancakes in her hand before calling her out on her less than stellar knocking etiquette.

“Those better be for me, I’m not in the mood to watch you eat pancakes.”

“A peace offering,” she nods, handing the plate to Astrid. There’s a smiley face of strawberries on the top pancake and it makes her think of oatmeal from a world ago, and her stomach feels like it’s twisting around a rock.

“What did I do to deserve a peace offering?”

“Did you tell her yet?” Snotlout appears in the doorway, thankfully clothed, and Ruffnut glares at him.

“Tell me what?”

“The pancakes were to keep your mouth full while I very gently tried to tell you that well…” She exhales, and Astrid wonders when Ruffnut grew up and started trying to be gentle.

Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe Astrid is just fragile now, and it’s a relief when the thought makes her furious, some forgotten lick of heat and anger swirling in her chest.

“What is it?” She takes a bite of the pancakes, forcing it down even though it feels dry in her mouth.

“Should I be here for this, or…” Snotlout points over his shoulder, “or I can go—”

“Just tell me,” Astrid snaps, the newly re-discovered edge in her voice making Ruffnut raise her eyebrows.

“We really liked having the place to ourselves,” she says, “Snotlout is ready to take over the lease, and since I’m the primary name on the apartment—”

“Yeah,” Astrid doesn’t need to hear the dissertation about why she needs to move on from this stagnant phase, because it’s finally on repeat in her head again, the silent assertion that tomorrow needs to be different. That she needs to make tomorrow different. “You’re right, I’ll…start figuring it out.”

“I told you she could take it,” Snotlout tells Ruffnut, “it’s Astrid, after all.”

“Yeah, and she hasn’t been acting like Astrid—”

“She’s right here,” Astrid clears her throat, “and I get it, I’ve…kept your second bedroom occupied long enough.”

“You can stay as long as you need to,” Snotlout nods, “like a day. Two days. Through the week, maybe—”

“I’ll…figure it out.” She says, shocked when she actually believes it. Or at least she believes she can believe it. That she might be believable once again.

The second bite of pancakes tastes better.

“Ok, then,” Snotlout claps, “we can share boxes, if you want, I’ve got like, a fuckton of boxes at my place—” He cuts off with a grunt when Ruff smacks him in the stomach. “Hey, I’m being helpful—”

“What happened to you?” Ruffnut asks, risking her fingers to steal a strawberry off of Astrid’s plate.

She thinks about telling the whole truth, but doesn’t want to cry about it. She doesn’t want to hear about what an asshole Hiccup is. She doesn’t want to think about him, and she’s starting to remember how to force her thoughts in a direction.

“Apparently it took a near hostage situation for me to get off my ass.”

“Or some good dick,” Ruffnut jokes, but she looks relieved, and Astrid wonders how long she’s had that worried frown for Astrid to be so used to it.

“Wasn’t all that,” she lies, still not thinking about him. Not remembering what he said as she was leaving, after he proved to be everything she hates. Not thinking about how it hurt to hurt him, even though that’s stupid. Beyond stupid.

“Well,” Ruffnut pats her leg, “either way, we have to get ready for the party tonight.”

“Shouldn’t I be finishing my application or looking for an apartment with a totally possible monthly rent of zero dollars?” She laughs, a little overwhelmed, but after months thinking she’d never even be whelmed again, it’s not unwelcome.

“All the responsible returns at once,” Ruffnut snorts, “it’s our last New Years as roommates, come on. One last party. Snotlout’s dumb pretty friends are invited, you can continue your successful streak…”

“Oh God, no thank you.” She sets the half-eaten pancakes aside, “I’m good, on that front. Dating profile deleted, lesson learned, focus regained.”

“So it was horrible dick, then,” Snotlout muses, “you know, I always kind of thought something would happen with the three of us while you two were living together. And now that the days—or even hours, you could say, are numbered—”

“Still my room,” Astrid points at the door, “both of you, out.”

“All the bossiness back at once,” Ruffnut smacks Snotlout on the back of the head as she stands up, “and you, stop being gross.”

“You love me,” he follows her, grabbing her butt, and her giggle makes Astrid’s chest twinge.

And she doesn’t think of Hiccup. She doesn’t think how for a night it felt like something. How for a day it felt like friends. How he looked at her like he saw her, like she was more than her recent mistakes.

Because even if that were true, it doesn’t change what he did. When someone tells you who they are, it’s best to believe them, and Hiccup showed his hand.

And his foot. And she wishes he’d never made it her business, but there’s no changing that now. There’s just forward.

00000

“Really, I think you’d enjoy it.” The guy who can’t read social cues drones on even as Astrid tries to make herself as obviously uninterested as possible, nursing her third drink of the night and trying not to resent everyone else for having fun. “I don’t understand the stigma so many adults have against animation, but really it’s a show about the bond between man and dragon, and the world building on an already beloved franchise is vast. You could say chief-sized.”

He laughs at his own joke. The joke that she doesn’t get, or care to get.

“And with the coincidence of your name and appearance,” he gestures at her and she doesn’t remember Hiccup saying she was pretty over a video call, “I think you could really get into it. Plus, the romance angle.” He chuckles and she gets the impression he’s going to reach for her, or something, and she wonders who invited him. She was promised Snotlout’s dumb, pretty friends, not some guy obsessed with a kids’ show about dragons that he’s been harping on about for twenty minutes. “A great slow burn between well, the beautiful Viking warrior and the late-blooming future chief.”

He gestures at himself.

Her mother always told her that if she doesn’t have anything nice to say, she shouldn’t say anything at all. Her uncle always told her that was bullshit, and sometimes people need a reality check.

The only problem is she doesn’t know what reality he’s living in, so she doesn’t know from which direction to apply that check.

She blinks slowly and chugs the rest of her drink to avoid that decision.

“You know, it’s polite to respond when someone is trying to have a conversation with you.”

“Dude,” she stands up, “I’m just intimidated as hell, you know.”

“Oh, no, Astrid,” he says her name like it matters more than the rest of her and she doesn’t think about Hiccup pleading it at her, saying if he’d known she existed, his life would be different, and it’s a cruel twist that some nerd sees fate in her materialization tangential to his fantasy. It’s like she hasn’t existed while she’s been unseen, and it makes her want to scream.

“You’ve got me built up into this whole…thing, and I’m really not.” She says some sanitized version of what she’d scream at Hiccup if she saw him. She leaves out the ‘yet’ that she thought he had the capacity to understand, even if only for a second.

“No, but you are,” he tells her, and she hates that it’s not a line, that he’s staring through her and telling her who he wants her to be.

Mostly, she hates it because she was hoping for that a week ago.

She hates it because it’s easy to identify the pivot point where she stopped waiting for someone else to instruct her and started asking for more. Better. She hates how she’d have to precede her rant at Hiccup with ‘thank you’.

Good thing that won’t happen.

“Fucking hell,” she swears to herself as she flops on one side of the couch, wishing she’d thought to grab another drink.

“Astrid, right?” Someone approaches her, a tinge of concern in their drunk voice, and she looks him up and down.

Handsome, nothing behind the eyes. No wit or charm or jokes about Bundy paraphernalia that should have made her run.

“Are you Snotlout’s dumb, pretty friend?” She asks. He smirks, but the concern grows too as he points at the open front door where two uniformed police officers are waiting.

“I mean, I don’t really know him that well, but sure. I can be.” He grins, teeth straight and uniform. And there’s charm there, sure, but it’s generic. A mass-produced kind of ubiquity to it that’s comforting, like she could get it anywhere and be reasonably confident in the outcome. “But are you Astrid?”

“I can be,” she jokes, wondering what the nerd would have said to the same line. She doesn’t wonder what Hiccup would have said because it probably would have been something obnoxious, like he could pull off ‘I know’.

“No, I mean—are you the Astrid Hofferson secondary on the lease? They’re looking for Astrid Hofferson.” He points at the cops again.

“Well, considering I’m coming off the lease this week, I think any noise complaints should go to Ruffnut Thorston, who is over there.”

Maybe it’s the universe righting itself.

“No, they’re asking particularly for you. Something about breaking and entering?” Stupid-Handsome scratches the back of his neck and she freezes, smile turned waxy on her face.

Of course not. That would require too much luck. Be too easy.

00000

“Did you write this note, or not?” The officer at the station asks for what feels like the hundredth time, and Astrid knows, finally and absolutely, that Thank You notes are stupid and that her mom is and has always been wrong.

What are you even supposed to do when you get a Thank You note anyway? Does it require yet another Thank You? Is it just the start to a never-ending procession of false politeness that people had time for before the internet?

A gift is a gift, an in-person thank you is enough, writing it down is just a legal liability.

“I don’t know where you got that.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Miss Hofferson.”

She should ask for a lawyer.

She can’t afford a lawyer.

Hiccup should have to pay for her lawyer for framing her.

“Yes, I wrote the note,” she blurts, “but I did not leave it anywhere than I had broken and entered into—”

“It was found in a Mr. Johann’s apartment, inside of a broken window.”

“Yeah, I obviously just left an eyeliner note behind after smashing a window.”

“Is that a confession?”

“It’s sarcasm,” she sputters, “I didn’t—who told you about this? Was it a guy? On the phone he sounds like he’s plugging his nose like a nerd who never learned to hold his breath in the pool?” She doesn’t think of Hiccup’s voice. Her heart doesn’t twinge like it’s been stepped on.

“Let me escort you to the holding cell while I confirm our source.” The hesitation is obvious, and she feels rooted to the shitty, cold, plastic chair.

“What happens if I don’t ‘let’ you?” She asks, half-wishing she’d taken the dragon nerd up on the offer to play Viking warrior in a back room, except even joking about that internally makes her feel claustrophobic, like there’s no room in her for any more complication.

Like Hiccup is weaseling his way back in where he doesn’t belong and crowding her.

“Follow me, Miss.”

00000

The next hour stretches. In fact, she’s not entirely sure that it’s an hour, maybe all seconds just feel like hours when she’s in a concrete holding cell next to a woman who has puked into a government provided bucket 4 times.

This is going to look great on her medical school application.

Why do you want to be a doctor?

Well, my time in jail really showed me that the public’s opinion on alcohol is irresponsible. Alcohol poisoning shouldn’t be a social activity. Except it should, because it sounds like something I want to engage in right now, given that I had to mention jail on a medical school application. Also, I want to help people, or something, especially after all this time I’ve spent being helped. Not that karma operates on an economic model of supply and demand, but also, from what I know about capitalism and upward mobility, I’m not taking any chances.

“Astrid Hofferson?” The officer appears again, asking her name like he didn’t just spend an irrationally long time confirming it. “You made bail.”

“That’s impossible. I haven’t even made my phone call yet.”

“Well, there’s someone downstairs offering to pay your bail.”

“Who is it?” She narrows her eyes, trying to remember where Ruffnut was when she left the party.

“Some guy,” the officer shrugs.

“That narrows it down,” she snorts.

“Most people don’t turn down bail.”

“I’m not most people,” she crosses her arms, getting comfortable on the bench next to Pukey McPukerson. “Who is it?”

“Some guy,” the officer repeats, “tall, skinny, saying something about convincing his neighbor not to press charges.”

“No.” She puts her foot down. Or she would, if it weren’t already down. It’s so down the ball of her foot is starting to go asleep from the hard floor and she lets the tingle anchor her.

“No?”

“I don’t want his bail. Just give me my phone call.”

“You’re turning down bail?” The officer asks and she nods, “I…honestly don’t know what to do with that.”

“I’ll take it,” Pukey offers and Astrid glares at her.

“You just stick to your bucket.” She grumbles, “you only get one liver, you know.”

“Oh, you’re a doctor now?” Pukey rolls her eyes and Astrid crosses her arms.

“Not yet.” The yet feels like fire under that numb foot and she nods to herself, more resolute in her protest.

“So, you want me to go tell this guy that you don’t want his bail?” The cop asks and she raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll tell him.”

“I’m not supposed to let you out of holding without bail.”

“I thought you didn’t know what to do with me,” Astrid antagonizes. She’s not even sure why. She’s glad she’s white. Not in a ‘it’s great to be white’, disgusting way, but a ‘this little emotional peak would have had devastating consequences if she weren’t white’ way.

She’s entirely shocked when the officer lets her out, apparently taking her suggestion to let her tell Hiccup where he can shove his bail, and that’s how she ends up at the top of the stairs, looking down at him.

He has balloons.

He looks miserable. Desperate. All of the things that her pettiest side has always wanted someone to feel when she left, instead of the other way around.

“What if I told you that I helped? Would you lock me up with her?” He asks, and the officer behind the desk coughs.

“Are you confessing, or?”

“Yeah, no, I have no interest in this particular bail.” She points back towards the holding cell, “I’d like my phone call, please.”

“Astrid,” Hiccup calls up at her, like he’s said her name a thousand times, and her fingernails dig into her forearm with the force it takes to keep her arms crossed. “I—I didn’t know what else to do, you deleted your account—”

“Not this, you idiot.” She flings the insult like it weighs more than it does, and he goes along with the charade, crumpling slightly in a way she wishes she didn’t notice.

“I know. I know, I just—I broke up with Heather—”

“I don’t care.” She almost wishes that she would yell, to impress upon him how much she means it, but it comes out calculating. No, more than calculating, like she knows the answers already, and she feels like a liar.

“Please.” He begs. She should like it. It makes her feel worse and she wishes it were easier to resent him.

“Phone call. Please.”

She gets Ruffnut’s voice mail. Pukey lives up to her nickname and pukes twice more. She thinks about her applications.

Why do you want to be a doctor?

‘Because no matter what has happened in my life, the idea of helping people has been a North Star. Yes, I know I have a fucking criminal record for breaking and entering, but in my defense, I really had to pee. Also, the guy who half-framed me used me to cheat on his girlfriend so…

So, it doesn’t matter that he’s smart and funny and that it felt like he saw me. It doesn’t matter that he admitted he was wrong. It doesn’t matter that no one has ever looked at me like they were desperate before.

It doesn’t matter that I liked it, even vindictively. Even cruelly. Even in a last-minute attempt to feel like I wasn’t part of the problem.’

So, yeah. She’ll get into medical school.

As a patient.

Because how else is she going to get the therapy she so clearly needs without health insurance?

“Astrid Hofferson,” the officer returns, “you made bail. Again.”

“Lucky bitch,” Pukey moans into her bucket.

“Is it—”

“It’s someone else,” the officer sighs, “do you need to vet them too?”

“I wouldn’t mind.” She stands up, shocked all over again when the officer escorts her to the top of the stairs.

Ruffnut is downstairs counting money and the relief is almost perfectly drowned out when she sees Hiccup still standing there, stupid balloon waving in the heater blasting over his head.

“Is this bail acceptable to you?” The officer asks and she nods, resolving to ignore Hiccup even as she can’t look away from the fact that even the top of his head is miserable.

Good.

He deserves it.

She’s not sad that he was so stupid. He doesn’t feel like something lost. It’s…post-orgasmic hormones that make her want him to be better. It’s just the result of a long, satisfying experiment that makes her want to accept an apology.

“Parked the car,” Snotlout appears in the doorway, “paid for fifteen minutes, so can we hurry this up?”

“Snotlout?” Hiccup bolts upright, recognition in his voice startling him out of his situationally appropriate moping.

“Hiccup?” Snotlout freezes, “what’s—why do you have balloons?”

“Why…don’t you?” Hiccup snorts, miserable and funnier for it, “everyone knows that New Year’s Eve is balloon hour at the police station.”

The TV behind the intake desk shows the ball dropping and Snotlout and Ruffnut move habitually, pecking each other on the lips, and Astrid thinks she’d rather be in the holding cell. Maybe her bail can be donated to charity. She could be the face of The ‘don’t online date instead of finishing things’ Foundation. The ‘just because Grandma is on Facebook doesn’t mean there aren’t still people on the internet who can and will ruin your life’ Initiative.

The ‘sometimes when you make your bed you do actually have to lie in it’ Charitable Organization, under the sub-heading of ‘Don’t have sex with people who might interact with your arrest record’.

“Can we go home?” Astrid breaks the tension, leaning into Ruffnut’s side. “The meter’s running.”

“But it’s Hiccup,” Snotlout whispers at Ruffnut, “you know my weirdo cousin—”

“Thanks for that,” Hiccup blushes and Astrid wants to ask why and to hit him and mostly, to never want to see him again, because it’s impossible to stop looking at him.

“What have you been up to?” Snotlout punches him in the shoulder and Hiccup looks desperately at Astrid again, undistracted by the distraction. “Wait—no, you know Astrid?”

“He got me arrested.”

“I didn’t know her last name,” Hiccup defends himself, “Astrid—I—there’s no way in any brand of hell that I could stop thinking about you and—”

“You fucked Astrid?” Snotlout claps his hands against his cheeks, “this is—Oh my God, I don’t think I’ve seen you since high school graduation and now you’re the guy my girlfriend’s roommate hooks up with—”

“Snot!” Astrid snaps, “let’s go.”

“Astrid.” Hiccup stumbles between her and the door, stupid balloon slapping against a corner. “You have to listen to me.”

“Hmm, ok, I’ll listen to you when you’re a witness against me, in court, because you got me arrested—”

“That was one time!” He yells, too loud for a police station, “sorry, I—too soon, I get it. I get it. I—we had two nights together.”

“Because of a blizzard.”

“Whatever, I don’t—” He reaches for her but thinks better of it and his hands shake between them with the desire to make his point. “We had two nights together and yes, I should have told you about Heather. I thought about it, but I couldn’t—I didn’t want to waste a second—it might not work out.”

“And he sees sense,” her heart falls anyway, with all that saturated green staring at her, all that intensity that she can’t make unfamiliar in her mind. “Let’s go, guys.”

“No, no. Please.” He’s smart enough to only tap Ruffnut on the shoulder, “it might not work out, because two nights is…an insufficient trial period.”

“I’m not a Netflix subscription!” She snaps, and he has a way of making her certain that she wants to cling to, no matter how stupid that is.

“No. You’re—if we spend more time together, you might realize that I’m…insufferable during game shows. And I might learn that you’re…really into weird cartoons that I hate.”

“You did not just say that!”

He read her mind again, and it’s not allowed.

“Can we move this along?” An officer indicates and Snotlout ushers them towards the door.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck.” Hiccup sputters, “not at you, not at anyone, I just—you can’t storm out again. You can’t. Not without hearing what I have to say—”

“You got me arrested.” Astrid growls, “I spent the last few hours in a cell with someone throwing up, I—this is going on my record, how am I getting into medical school now?”

“You’re applying?” He grins, too wide, too bright, and she’d hit him if she could trust herself not to enjoy the authenticity in his reaction. “That’s—I didn’t know what to do—”

“Not get me thrown in jail?” She proposes.

“Can we potentially leave jail out of the argument for why you never want to see me again?” He winces even as he’s talking and she recognizes the face she’s felt herself make too many times, unwilling to stop even though she’s behind. “For now, at least. I truly believe this will be funny later, this is something we’ll laugh about—”

“Jail.” She re-iterates. “Like with bars. And cops. And a single phone call. Actual jail.”

“I think it’s one of those jokes that needs time.” He’s defeated. She hates it. She hates herself for hating it.

“Ok,” she takes her phone from the evidence box on the nearby counter and hands it to him. “Give me your number. I will call you the second this is funny.”

Which is never.

“Ok,” he nods, and she refuses to look at his quick thumbs programming his number into her phone. She refuses to see whether he’s Hiccup or Princess Outpost, because it doesn’t matter. She’s not going to text it.

“Ok.” She takes the phone back.

He hands her the stupid balloons.

“So…bye,” she makes herself say it, waving him towards the door.

“You’ll…” He swallows the rest of whatever he was about to say and she shrugs.

He leaves.

It’s different being left when the other party doesn’t want to go. Less lonely. More permanent, if only for her choice being implicated.

“Sorry about that,” Astrid says reflexively to the officer who’d dealt with her in the cell and he holds a hand up.

“That guy was nuts.”

“Can I get his number though?” Snotlout asks, scuffing his shoe against the linoleum. Astrid blinks at him. “What?”

“You’re so stupid,” Ruffnut fills in the gap, hugging Astrid a little tighter, and Astrid’s going to miss her. She’s going to miss this entire miserable, unending, painful period of her life, isn’t she?

Closing doors always hurts, even when they need to be closed. Even more when they don’t.

“He’s my long-lost cousin, and I learn that he’s Astrid’s hostage dick? I’m curious—”

“Snotlout.” Ruff cautions, careful again.

And that’s not what Astrid wants. She doesn’t want people to be careful, she wants honest. She wants…

She blinks back a frustrated approximation of a tear and looks up at the stupid balloon Hiccup gave her. One side reads ‘I’m sorry’. The other reads ‘I’m an asshole’.

She laughs.

Not a cynical laugh, but a real bubble of something from underneath the layers. Her intuition taking the reins.

“Fuck,” she sits down in yet another shitty plastic chair, pulling up her contacts and finding Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III (an awful name). His address is there. So is his social security number. She’d steal his identity and start over if his name weren’t a bodily function. “You guys can go.”

“Are you sure?” Ruffnut asks, but there’s relief there too.

“Yeah, I’ll get you back for the bail, ok?”

“And you’ll get me Hiccup’s number—”

“Snotlout, go.” She orders him like she has the authority and it seems to work. And then she calls Hiccup. It gets through half a ring before he’s picking up, breathless and pathetic and like he needs her. She doesn’t know if she’s ever been needed, but she likes it. “You are an asshole, for the record.”

“Recorded.”

“And an idiot.”

“Yeah.”

“And next time you decide to attempt romance, at least practice your speech first because that was awful.”

“Basically, I was forced to endure it while like, astrally projecting above myself to judge myself.” He laughs, sound husky in the speakers, and she thinks he’s outside, in the cold. “It was awful.”

“In the spirit of constructive criticism, it was appalling. Truly.”

“I’m sorry I put you in jail.” He answers, authentic, and when she looks at the police station door, he’s outside, watching her hold his stupid vulgar balloon while the officers probably judge her sanity.

She hangs up and steps outside, not surprised when he kisses her even as she doesn’t expect the tenderness in his hand against the back of her neck, the soft desperation in his lips.

“Too soon,” she pushes him back, fingers staying fisted in his lapels, largely outside of her control. “You got me arrested.”

“But have you considered how much tougher you seem now?” He jokes, gloved fingers twined in hers as he tugs her down the sidewalk.

“Absolutely,” she snorts, “already thinking about how to incorporate this into my application.”

“Well, don’t worry about Mr. Johann’s interpretation,” he squeezes her hand and she squeezes back, sure of herself for some reason she can’t be sure of.

“Oh yeah, did you kill him?”

“Totally.”

“Without me?” She teases, and it’s a new year, the snowbanks on either side of the street barely soot-stained.

“Too many witnesses out here,” he scans the empty street, “your place?”

“To be fair, I don’t really have a place, I have a bed for a couple more days of Ruffnut’s charity.”

“Oh, I only ask because I don’t have a place either,” he says it like he means it and she believes him because she wants to. Because it feels instinctive in a way she feared she’d forgotten.

“You’re a catch.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, and she squeezes his hand first this time.

“I think I’m ready for that kiss now.”

“What if I don’t like your prison breath?” He tucks her hair behind her ear, fingers strong and hesitant under her jaw.

“Probably shouldn’t have sent me to prison.”

“Fair enough.”

#two night stand au #hiccstrid fic #modern au #httyd fic #it's...done #whoop

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bigdanteague3 · 4 years ago

Text

Red dress...here we go in chronological order. I had a friend from high school. He dated the same girl for many many years. We lived together after high school. His girlfriend lived really nearby. Walking distance. She had a roommate. I knew his girlfriend obviously. I liked her, we were friends, she would come over often of course. The 3 of us would occasionally watch movies or just whatever. We’d all known each other for at least 10 years or more. Anyway, at some point, her roommate also came over one day. Pretty girl. Not like...drop dead...but definitely pretty. Slim body, pretty nice sized boobs, and pretty good butt. Nothing happened. It wasn’t just the 4 of us on a double date and anything awkward. There were like 10-12 people there and I noticed her but nothing unusual at all. I was still unhappily dating Emma the lion and not generally happy lol. I remember talking to her maybe? Maybe not?

Anyway, a few days later my friend tells me that even though she has a boyfriend, dress girl thinks I’m hot. Interested in me. I can’t call her dress girl...let’s call her......Holly. Remember I’m easily flattered and I needed a confidence boost so this was like some primo A+ ego boost. I ask about her boyfriend and my friend tells me he’s never met him and he doesn’t come around. I file this away for future reference.

They come around again and armed with my new found knowledge, I make a point to speak to her. I don’t think I was bold enough to try some cheesy pick up line...but I had a conversation with her. This happens a couple of more times soon after. I remember one time telling her I liked her shirt. Because I’m fucking smooth. Emma is being a bitch as always and I’m wondering if there’s a possible something there. One night they come around and are heading out to a party. They ask me to go but I can’t. I do remember walking her out and talking to her outside. Nothing more.

Phone rang about 2am. I knew who it was. It was Holly. She was like 3 miles away at the party and needed to get home and was wondering if I could come get her. She asked if I was asleep and I lied and said no. I was there 5 minutes later and she comes out with a 7up bottle. I can’t remember why we didn’t immediately leave but we sat there for like 5 minutes. Waiting for someone else I assume. She wasn’t drunk. She was slapping the bottle on her leg and then my leg. Pop pop. Definitely throwing vibes. She comes to pop my leg again and I grab it. A little tug of war and I take it from her and take a sip. Pop her leg. I pretend to give it back and she reaches for it but I don’t let go. I ask her if she wants it and she says yes. So I kissed her. Let her have the bottle but I kissed her good. I think we were interrupted by whoever we were waiting on getting in.

I take her back and don’t expect anything more. I don’t make a move to get out but she says I should come in. I do. We go at it as soon as the door shuts. She leads me to the......couch. Not the bedroom. That’s ok. We make out and I get on top of her and grind into her. She makes no move for the bedroom and I’m not going to be a dick and move too quick. So that’s all that happened that night. Making out, dry humping and maybe a rubbed titty. My friend walked through in the middle and didn’t say a word.

It wasn’t long before word got back to me that I should come over again. I did. When I went in she was on the couch again, a 7up bottle on the coffee table and she was wearing like this seafoam green dress. I went to the couch and we started repeating the first night. I was wearing gym shorts and as I got on top of her and kissed her, that seafoam dress kept riding up and showing her panties. They were cotton, said Victoria’s Secret on them and were nearly the exact same color as the dress. She tugged the dress down a couple of times before finally saying something to the effect of fuck it....I told her I liked it better that way and we continued. I’m putting my dick right on her pussy and thrusting again. I pull the dress up even higher and her titties fall out. She has/had really pretty nipples...puffy and poky. Really round and dark. They were hard and easy to play with. She’s on her back on the couch and I don’t want to be the one to invite myself to her room. So I don’t. She’s fucking into it though. I give them a little lick and suck and she’s grabbing my dick through my shorts. That hard nipple between my lips, sucking and licking softly. Little moans. She likes nipple play. I’m on top of her kinda hovering and holding myself up with my arms. She’s grabbing my dick like she’s mad at it so I stop sucking for a minute. Through those soft gym shorts. Tugging hard. Beating me off through them. I sit upright on my ass and feet on floor and she keeps going. She sits up too and puts her hands in the waist and pulls shorts out a little...getting a peek. She sticks her hand down there and smiles. I smiled and helped the process by pulling them down. I’m sitting in the middle of the couch, she’s stroking me good. My head leaned back just relaxed and enjoying it. I’m telling her how good it feels. You’re amazing, yes, like that. Your hands feel so good. Her hands were really soft. I wouldn’t say she really sucked it...but she did lean over and put it in her mouth so it counts. A few licks up and down shaft. A couple of sucks and then back to Jerking. Handjob was really good and I told her she was going to make me cum....she kept tugging and jerking really firmly and I rotated my hips a toward her so I could cum on her legs and stomach. I’m not going to let a pretty bitch jerk me off or suck me off and not cum on her. That would be a wasted opportunity. If life gives you the chance to cum on a pretty bitch, you cum on her. By the time it actually shot out I was almost facing her and she’s tugging and twisting and I know it’s going to be a big one. An intense one. Most of it sprayed her thighs, panties and stomach. Biggest shot was that area between her belly and her bush. I came a lot. It was good. She seemed pleased with herself.

I had learned how to eat pussy by this point and I wanted to return the favor...i put my hand on her chest and laid her back down...I pulled those seafoam panties down and she spreads her legs for me like a good girl. She had her pussy trimmed pretty short...scissor cut I think, not super short and not shaved but a nice pretty triangle..and I went to work. Licking her clit slowly and steadily....sucking a little...sliding my finger in and out. She was really fucking tight. Little pussy. I didn’t just hammer away...first one finger then 2...I would slide and curl inside her a little. Slide and curl. Little drops of my cum were on her thighs and the money shot right above her bush. I clearly remember getting her pussy hair in my mouth and liking it. She had her legs spread as far as possible and was fucking moaning. One foot on floor, other against back of couch and bent at knee. She had really good sex noises. Not forced or fake. I spread her lips out wide and just licked her clit and soaked in the noises and the wetness, I knew I was killing it...she came and she came fucking hard. Grabbed my head, slapped the couch. I just kept flicking my tongue and she squealed. I loved those sounds and knowing she came on my mouth. Not going to say she screamed. But she didn’t give a fuck who heard. Not going to say she quivered in delight. But I think she did. There were some involuntary spasms. It wasn’t a put-on. It was good. Pretty sure she’d never had her pussy eaten like that. Never had it eaten that good. Not sure she had ever cum that hard either. I asked her if she liked it and she just breathed really hard like she had just run 10 miles and couldn’t get words out and nodded. Told her I did too. I remember kissing her immediately after with her pussy juice all over my face. She didn’t object or back away at all. I still had my shorts down and my dick was resting on her bush and close to her pussy as we made out. We weren’t in a rush to get dressed or clean up. But nothing more was going to happen. Her pussy stayed out, my dick stayed out. I made sure to take many mental pictures to file away of her pussy and titties. We kissed a little more just exposed like that. Maybe 2-3 minutes. I was hard again but there were no further activities. I got dressed, she wiped the cum off her belly with her hands and we kissed goodnight. Thinking this could become a thing and the first of many.

It did not become a thing. She moved home for the summer without telling me bye and I even found her number and called her and she politely declined. Boyfriend guilt I guess. I never saw her again. Flash forward 19 years

I see her in public with lots of people around. We are outdoors and she walks toward me in a fucking pair of yoga pants. She didn’t just walk, she sashayed. She says, “I bet you don’t even remember me” and I cut her off right there. I said “of course I remember you” and what my mind was thinking was not what I said. What I thought was ‘once you pick somebody’s pussy hair out of your mouth, its hard to forget’. But surrounded by so many people and not being a d-bag...i just say ‘of course I remember you...you look exactly the same’. I think that was pretty smooth and I’m not usually smooth. A subtle compliment to say she still pretty bad but nothing that could be taken the wrong way. She smiles and I ask her how its going blah, blah...and she walks away with that booty in those pants. That was over a year ago.

Flash forward to recently. Fate has thrown us together. Not in that way. She’s married and I assume happily. But I don’t see the husband often. Its usually just her. We are friends on facebook and they have a shared account. Its always very polite and cordial. Friendly. One time it was just us and she mentioned how long she had been out of school and I slyly said something like that’s impossible, seems like yesterday. (hint hint, I remember your fucking panties, and your poky nipples). She really does look the same. I know she remembers and like I said about others...that’s fucking hot. Does she think about how good I licked that pussy every time she sees me? She has to right? How I made her squirm and how she took my dick out and how it felt. Even if she fucked 50 guys later, you never forget. The red dress was nice and all and we talked for a few minutes before leaving. She leaned in to tell me something privately. Not super close but she lowered her voice. I pretended not to hear everything and said what? I heard her fine I just wanted her to lean in closer and invade more personal space. She leaned closer, repeated it, I leaned closer and listened. She also leaned down at one point and I took a quick peek and saw pretty much her whole bra. It was black and basic and she didn’t know it was visible. It was all innocent and I made it sound dirtier than it was. But the titties still look good. There was no touching and even when she talked quietly about something pretty dull, I wasn’t brushing against her. Just talking to you earlier made me feel little bolder to see if I could get her closer. Share a secret. A boring secret. Really just something she didn’t want one person to overhear.

That’s it. That’s the full truth and story. She still wears yoga pants occasionally and I see her 2 or 3 times a week. Most times its just hey...bye. See you later. Nothing will ever happen. But sometimes she seems to try to get a minute or a second alone. And she still has soft hands.

I also realize how unlikely this sounds. But it’s true. I tried to think of a way of sneaking a pic with her in background so you could see the dress. But that felt dirty and shameful. Like...look at this pretty tree and her being far left of frame. It’s also kind of cheesy to post a handjob story after you talked about getting skullfucked. But it is what it is. Maybe I can sneak an innocent pic later

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kazetokinouta-a · 5 years ago

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List of Good Kazeki Fanfictions

There are a lot of fanfictions about Kaze to Ki no Uta on the Internet, in this list we are going to see only the finished ones.

Warning: I do not own the rights to any of the stories cited here, all credits are their proper authors. The following list is for fan to fan promotion only. Kaze to Ki no Uta belongs to Keiko Takemiya.The stories here were all I read and the ones in English are complete.

When the Earth Touched the Water

Link : https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13113410/1/When-the-Earth-Touched-the-Water

One Shot Writed by Despaired Author

Synopsis:In a world where one's zodiac sign determines one's looks and abilities, a Capricorn learns the dangers of crossing a seemingly harmless Pisces. (Zodiac Personification AU)

My opinion:It's a short story, but a very good one. If you are looking for something different and with a lighter plot then this fanfic is perfect for you.

Dull Gold Silence

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12478185/1/Dull-Gold-Silence

One-shot by Despaired Author

Synopsis:Just another day in Paris for Serge and Gilbert after the accident. (Canon divergence from Volume 17)

My Opinion: It is sad and happy at the same time, Gilbert does not die but is sequeled after the events of volume 17.

Shut up, Please!

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11676501/1/Shut-Up-Please

One Shot by Despaired Author

Synopsis: "Oh my god, will you shut up already!" — In which Gilbert only meant to kiss Serge to shut him up… at least, in the beginning.

My Opinion: This is more romantic with a bit of humor, has no sad ending and has a kind of provocative scene at the end.

Twisted Fate

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10370751/1/Twisted-Fate

One Shot by Despaired Author

Synopsis: The two of them fought, and one ran away. The other set out to search for him. As the rain pours down, the runaway finds himself back down the road where the carriages would mainly enter Paris. Their fates are sealed, and the fate one shall meet is beyond twisted. Yaoi. Character Death. No like, no read.

My Opinion: Beautiful, sad and inspiring are the words I would use to describe this story. Just say one thing, prepare tissues for the end.

SergexGilbert Music

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9233685/13/SergexGilbert-Music

13 Chapters by Despaired Author

Synopsis: Series of short stories based on songs I have randomly heard on the radio. Also songs I think would match my favorite romantic couple of all time! WARNING: Yaoi/gay actions and maybe some other stuff that make this Rated T! NOT SONG-FICS! SergexGilbert There will a few chapters that will be related to each other, thereby created a mini-series within the stories!

My Opinion: A cute, well writed story, the last chapter even made my heart race. At the end of each chapter there is a very entertaining dialogue between the characters and the author.

Mirror Image

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4830983/21/Mirror-Image

21 Chapters by Enmy

Synopsis: There's a new student at Laconblade Academy. Will he gain Gilbert's trust or he will just fall in Gilbert's trap like everyone else?

My Opinion: A happy ending where Gilbert finally finds the happiness he deserves.

Untouchable

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9257141/8/Untouchable

8 Chapters by Despaired Author

Synopsis: Serge is a student at the now all-gender school Lacombrade Academy in France. Gilbert is the new student with a mysterious past and also happens to be Serge's roommate. What secrets does he hold behind his innocent appearance? And what scars are they both hiding from the world? The beautiful romance with my own little twist! Warnings inside! SergexGilbert forever!

My Opinion: A good narrative to read, with a good and peaceful ending.

Insults

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9148331/1/Insults

29 Chapters by Despaired Author

Synopsis:A prequel to my first Kaze to Ki no Uta fanfic. Serge and Gilbert's relationship slowly reveals itself at Lacombrade Academy. Will their love triumph, no matter who finds out about their secret? And what does the universe have in store to test their love? WARNING: Yaoi/Gay actions included!

My Opinion: A long story that precedes another fanfic, is a story of good quality and worth reading. A tip, read also part two, you will be thrilled.

Kissing Sins

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9113184/1/Kissing-Sins

30 Chapters by Despaired Author

Synopsis: Serge and Gilbert have run away to Paris to live a new life as lovers. Will their love survive? Will Gilbert's past tear them apart? How long will they be able to survive in Paris? Am I asking too many questions (the ultimate question)? WARNING: Yaoi/Gay actions included!

My Opinion: It's the continuation of what I said earlier, it sure is one of the best, most complete and exciting fanfics I've ever read. If you have time, read from the previous to the end of this one and you won't regret it.

Freak Like Me

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9243328/1/Freak-Like-Me

One Shot by TheWammy'sHouseReject

Synopsis: You don't belong here either, do you, Serge?

My Opinion:It is focused on Gilbert's point of view, is interesting to read and matches what the character would think.

Another Glass of Wine

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7307151/1/Another-Glass-of-Wine

One Shot y Anomalous One

Synopsis:Despite his actions in the past, Auguste Beau has very much become somebody that Jules admires, and if he wouldn't mind being seduced by him, well, that isn't his fault, is it? Spoiler/trigger warning for Rosemariné's past.

My Opinion:After reading this story, I could understand a little more about Rosemariné's past and Jules's view of Auguste. It's worth reading, it's a different thing.

Complication

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7307147/1/Complication

One Shot by Anomalous One

Synopsis: Jules' feelings for Rosemariné are far more complicated than he'd like them to be, and when they take tea together he sometimes does his best to try and understand. Spoilers/trigger warning for Rosemariné's past.

My Opinion: If you ship Rosemarine x Jules, then this fanfic is perfect for you. It shows what everyone who read the manga wants Jules to admit, his true feelings for Rossy.

Joyeux Anniversaire

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7307138/1/Joyeux-Anniversaire

One Shot by Anomalous One

Synopsis:It's Rosemariné's thirteenth birthday, and he wants a special present from Jules. Blushy awkwardness ensues.

My Opinion: It's a cute story, it shows that the feeling that exists between Rosemarine and Jules has always existed since they were children.

Perfume

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7307122/1/Perfume

One Shot by Anomalous One

Synopsis: Jules' bedroom smells of the outdoors, and books, and lavender perfume. It smells like roses, too, which is understandable and disconcerting and exactly what makes him happy.

My Opinion: This is one of those stories that make the reader imagine what could happen next, once again Rosemarine and Jules try to admit what they feel for each other, it is worth checking out.

A Thorned Rose

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4813179/1/A-Thorned-Rose

12 Chapters by eirinatakebana

Synopsis: (The synopsis is unavailable, however, it is a happy ending version of the original manga)

My Opinion: Of all the fanfics mentioned here, this is certainly one of my favorites, the story is very beautiful, well written and will make you emotional in the end.

Sleep In

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4819924/1/Sleep-In

One Shot by Sara Jaye

Synopsis: Serge, for once, wishes he could stay in bed instead of going to class.

My Opinion: One of the shortest stories, but it's cute and shows one of the few moments of joy for Serge and Gilbert.

My Only Love

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2165402/1/My-Only-Love

One Shot by X-Bride

Synopsis: Serge portrays his feeling towards Gilbert in a passionate way. Will he finally fall in love and realize his true feelings? My fist Kaze To Ki No Uta fic! Please read and comment! Thankyou!

My Opinion: The structure of the story looks like a poem, is beautiful and resembles something that Serge would actually write.

Ultima carta de despedida ( Last farewell letter)

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2842927/1/Ultima-carta-de-despedida

One Shot by yamato ishida yagami

Synopsis: Gilbert escribe una carta a Serge antes de morir... ( Gilbert writes a letter to Serge before he dies ..)

My Opinion: The story is written in Spanish, but it's so good that I couldn't help but quote it here. Copy and paste the text into Google Translate, because it's worth reading, it's very good.

WonderCraft

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2446923/1/WonderCraft

One Shot by X-Bride

Synopsis: Gilbert breaks down in his black despair and Serge is there to comfront him. What will they learn about themselves and their existence? Slight attempted suicide. R&R!

My Opinion: Similar to what happens in the original manga, Serge comforts Gilbert during his suicidal thoughts, is beautiful to read and shows the real meaning of true love.

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years ago

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The Silver Lining, Destiel Christmas/Hospital fic

Castiel expected to have a regular Christmas, the same he's had for all his life. Spent with family, exchanging presents and good cheer. Basking in the warmth of unconditional love. However, a twist of fate and a prank gone wrong leads him to experiencing a few new firsts.

His first trip to a hospital.

His first Christmas celebrated in a different location.

His first meeting with a certain man, suffering from a horrible case of food poisoning.

Of the three, he hopes the third is the first of many, many more. Is their encounter as rare as a Christmas miracle, or is it the gift that keeps on giving?

Cold. Wind races past his collar and sends shivers down his spine. “Stupid Gabriel,” he growls, shuffling the ladder until it aligns securely against his house. Castiel huffs a foggy breath over his trembling hands, rubbing them together for warmth. “How he can see tangled lights in this weather…”

Snow buffets him on his way up, Castiel pausing at times so he won’t fall off. Halfway up the ladder, Castiel’s common sense tugs at his nerves. Warns him from moving any further in fear of endangering himself. But then Gabriel pops in and strangles the thought, gratingly reminding him that decorations need to be perfect so close to Christmas. “It’ll only take me a second anyway,” he says, climbing another rung, “In and out.”

He reaches the roof, gripping the edges for balance. Squinting, Castiel scans the decorations amassed for the error Gabriel saw. Neck straining from the effort. Finding no fault in the perimeter Castiel checks the larger display. Leans further onto the roof and blindly gropes for Santa and his sleigh of reindeer. His hand slides around a hoof and Castiel squeezes it, smiling.

Suddenly a window rushes open, slamming. Castiel flinches, the ladder teetering underneath. “What? No, no -”

“Merry Christmas Cassie!”

“ No !”

Castiel falls, plastic and metal scraping across his roof and drowning out his screams. Before he hits the ground, Castiel sees Rudolph flying into a nosedive. Hurdling closer until the reindeer is all he sees. He blinks, and the world fades.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Tentatively, Castiel opens his eyes. Fights against the ten pound weights stretched across his face to re-enter consciousness. He groans, first from the overly bright lights shining above him and next because of a dull ache biting into his side. Castiel tries to rub his eyes, except he can barely find the strength to do so.

“Well… look who finally decided to join the party,” a voice drawls from the left, “It’s about time, really.” It takes too much effort for Castiel to turn his head so few inches. He scrapes together the energy and, in the process, answers important questions knocking around his head.

Like where was he? A hospital, no doubt, given the sterile white walls and medical equipment lying around. And the hanging television playing holiday reruns of, ironically, Doctor Sexy. Unfortunately his smolder doesn’t evoke any of the warmth and comfort it usually does. Pain takes prominence, especially when he moves. Castiel cannot glimpse the damage, but the amount radiating from his right worries him. What he can view are tubes criss-crossing around him and the sickly man hunched over the bed to his left: the owner of the voice. In need of a distraction, he focuses on him.

He watches Castiel with curiosity and tired amusement etched into his features. Pallored skin glistening with sweat, each freckle prominently on display like stars above a city suffering a blackout. The man wears a similar dressing gown to Castiel’s, accessorized with a bucket clutched tightly in his lap. “Hey,” he says, lips trembling, “you feeling okay?”

“I feel like shit.” Castiel’s gravelly voice sounds more so from disuse, croaking the reply. The other man chuckles from nearby, agreeing with his amateur diagnosis. Laughter becomes hacking, and his face disappears into the bucket for a moment. When the echoing coughs stop, the other man emerges. Castiel continues, “How long…?”

“Not sure,” he shrugs, “I was rolled in earlier because they had nowhere else to place me…”

“Place…?”

“There’s not really a wing for food poisoning victims,” the other man explains, “they had to stick me where they could.”

Castiel skews his head to the side, stuffing it further into the pillow. “Food poisoning? You’re in the hospital… for that?”

He glares at him, wrapping his arms tighter around the bucket. IV scooting closer from being tugged. “Listen, pal, I didn’t think I had to be here either. But apparently I’ve got the white blood cell count of a newborn so… here I am.” His head falls back into the bucket. “Be lucky you missed the massive crap volcano that erupted out of my colon.”

“I doubt it was because of luck…”

“True,” his roommate sighs, rising from the bucket once more, “being under for most of it was more drugs than luck. Kind of grateful, though, because then you didn’t hear me yell, grunt, and curse throughout it all… Until…” He blanches, fingers dipping past the rim, “until I just told you.”

Castiel arches a brow, smirking. “Why did you?”

“Because I had no one to talk to this whole time and I hate silence,” he tells him, “Been narrating the past few lonely hours.”

“You’re… not tired?”

“Too nauseous to sleep, really.”

“Even after all that shitting?”

The man rolls his eyes, feet kicking freely underneath him. “It was some pretty rotten eggnog,” he says, “and Sammy promised that vegan crap was all kosher… didn’t see him or Eileen drinking any.”

A little bit of energy jumps into Castiel as he digests the tidbit of information. “Vegan eggnog put you in here?”

“Vegan eggnog and a bad case of the flu,” he defends, “I’m usually made of stronger stuff.”

“So am I,” Castiel says, “Hardly ever sick… once my entire family got bogged down by a nasty virus and I was the only one who managed to remain healthy. Was their nurse for an entire month… schlepping from one house to the next making sure they were feeling better.”

“Then I guess they can return the favor,” his roommate offers, “especially since what happened to you trumps any cold.”

Castiel’s good mood dips low, and his body sags with the reminder of their situation. “Right,” he says, “Uh… exactly what happened to me?”

The man pauses, grin slipping into a tiny frown. “You mean you don’t know? Or… remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Hell I doubt I’d ever be able to forget if that happened to me…”

“What are you talking -” Castiel chokes, dam bursting and the memories flooding over him. He shivers immediately, hospital gone and replaced with the blustery winds from outside his house. Snow falling in clumps from above, doing their best to bury him. Already he thought a blanket of white crushed his chest.

Then Hannah’s face pops into view. Scared, speaking in a way that Castiel cannot fully understand. She’s on the phone, gibberish grating to his ears. So he lolls his head to the side and watches his other sister, Anna, shove at Gabriel with a monstrous expression on her face. The one she wore when it meant their brother dug a hole so deep he couldn’t climb out of it. He remembers smiling, a few of the words cutting through the ringing in his ears to reach his brain. ‘Idiot’, ‘thinking’, ‘killed’, and ‘prank’ are all he heard.

Nearby the burgeoning fight, his friend Kelly tries her best to talk to Jack. Castiel’s nephew won’t tear his eyes away from him. Lazily he shooed him off, trying his best to help. That only brought more focus onto him.

“No, Castiel,” Hannah said, clear for the first time. She wrangled his arms to the ground with haggard breaths. “Keep them lowered to stem the blood flow.”

“Blood flow?” he asked, “What do you mean, blood -”

Blood. So much of it, trickling from where an antler punctured his side.What he thought was snow revealed itself as the broken figure of the reindeer that fell from Santa’s sleigh alongside him.

Face intact, torn from the body at the neck, its black, plastic eyes trapped him. Made it impossible to look away. Even when the paramedics finally arrived and began asking him questions, he answered in a daze. When they removed the decoration, Castiel followed the head with his own until it disappeared from sight.

The next sequence of events plays in pieces. Being patched and carried into the ambulance, Hannah choosing to go with him. Her answering questions for him. Any allergies? Only to shellfish. Medical history? Until now, spotless. The calm, automatic doors at the hospital that betray the urgency of any situation. Doctors and nurses in festive gear descending and doing their best. A prick in his arm and the fuzzying of his senses.

Waking up in a strange room, with a stranger affected by serious food poisoning who has gotten up and leans way too close.

“...come on man, I’m so sorry,” he says, “I thought you knew. I didn’t know - when I asked she said you should be fine. They fixed you up really good, able to save the kidney -”

“My kidney?” Castiel gasps, “It… it hit my kidney?”

“Punctured it in three different parts,” the man tells him, “all clean entries, plastic intact, so no serious problems.”

His mind recovers from the panic, gripping onto the facts presented like a crutch. Thankful for the assurance, but also curious. “How do you know this?”

His roommate’s face shifts from pale to deliriously red, and he shuffles a few steps back. “I… I kinda asked the nurse when she came to check on me?” he winces, “you were still out cold and… there’s nothing really on TV except Christmas specials. If you ask me the last thing I want to be reminded of is Christmas while I’m stuck here…”

Dosed again with a bruising reminder, Castiel finds his injuries doubling and heart plummeting. “Stuck in the hospital on Christmas… it is Christmas, right?”

“Well…” the other man shrugs, “almost. It’s Christmas Eve, but in a few hours…”

“So I’ve been out for an entire day?”

“Seems like it. At least you’re up, from how the nurse put it you were going to be under for awhile - at least until after the holidays.”

Castiel scoffs, “A Christmas miracle…”

“Hey, could be worse.”

“How?”

“Imagine waking up alone,” the man says, squeezing his shoulder, “without this handsome face to greet you.” He winks, charm sparking like a flickering lighter. One that fails easily since a disturbing gurgle cuts through and makes his flirty expression shift into disease. Flies away from Castiel towards the bucket on his bed and bends over it, exposing the festive boxers hidden under his gown. While aware of what his roommate does, it can’t dull the warmth caused from his wink nor the sight of his shapely snowflake-covered ass.

Castiel squeezes the blanket, averting his gaze when the measured pace of the heart monitor picks up slightly. Careful not to disturb the tube he’s sure is lodged to help him pee. Measures his breaths and thinks of horrid things to stem the blood and direct it elsewhere.

Finished, the other man flips and wipes at his mouth. “Here I thought there was nothing left in me,” he gasps, “Sorry you had to see me like that.”

He shrugs, cheeks burning. “You needn’t apologize, you couldn’t help it.”

“Yeah… but I mean, I at least know the names of the guys who I ralph in front of.”

“You mean you didn’t ask for my name when you did my medical history?” His roommate stumbles slightly, tripping over his words in a rush to defend himself. Castiel savors the brief awkwardness before paving over it. “Castiel. My name’s Castiel.”

“Castiel?” The man’s eyes gloss over while processing the name, a look Castiel was oft familiar with.

“It’s… not the most common of names,” he grins wryly, “My father named me - and all my siblings - after characters from his favorite book.”

“What books was that?”

“The Bible.”

Nodding, his roommate drums his fingers against the bucket. A different sound since it’s slightly full. “I mean, it is a good book. The good book.”

"Exactly."

Silence drifts over while they awkwardly bait the other to continue the conversation. Castiel wins, patience one of his virtues. Not the first he waited someone out, and it won't be the last. “So was he one of those religious guys?” he asks, tapping the form of a cross, “Or a… religious guy ?” The balled fists stacked on top of each other, like holding a sign, is easy to interpret.

“Neither,” Castiel tells him, “he got wrapped up in this cult when he was younger, the one Rose McGowan was a part of. When he finally left, he didn’t really give up on the faith. And… well, he already named half my siblings after angels. It’d be stranger if he stopped after Anael -”

“Anael?”

“She found a workaround,” he says, “Anna. Better than my brother Lucifer who chooses to go by his full name. The only one who lucked out was Hannah who got the most normal name of my siblings. Why he couldn’t do the same for me I’ll never know.”

“Hey, Castiel’s a cool name… bet the angel you were named after was a badass,” his roommate smirks, “ I was named after my grandmother, Deanna.”

“So your name’s Deanna?”

“ Dean ,” he purrs, the name curling perfectly under his lips. Teeth flashing in a suggestive manner like its done probably hundreds of times in the past. “Dean Winchester.”

“Well,” Castiel mirrors his expression, “it’s nice to officially meet you, Dean Winchester .”

Dean wiggles his bucket, bowing slightly. “Likewise, Castiel…”

“...Shurley -”

“Shurley. Castiel Shurley, right right right.”

He giggles, enjoying the full body production Dean performs. Attempting a casual facade, crossing one leg over the other while he leans on one hand. The other firing an imaginary bullet from his finger gun. Except he forgets the hand leaning was perched on the bucket, and Dean starts tipping. Vomit sloshes inside the bucket and, after precarious teetering from both parties, both Dean and his bucket remain standing. No mess, but tons of stress.

“Any chance you can pretend that didn’t happen?” Dean asks.

Castiel shakes his head. “Trust me, Dean, on the list of embarrassing things you’ve done tonight this hardly ranks in the top ten.”

“Well shit,” Dean sighs, hopping up onto his bed, “At least it means I can’t make anything worse.”

“The night’s still young…”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas.”

They laugh, only stopping when the pain in Castiel’s side nastily barges in on their merriment. Reminds him why he and Dean met in the first place. He hisses, vision blackening for a moment. When it returns, Dean is perched on the edge of his bed with worry. “Dean -”

“Are you okay?”

Castiel tries to reassure Dean he’s fine, but another current of pain shocks him. His knees buck up and the heart monitor beeps too loudly and the injured side feels like a meteor burning up in the atmosphere on its path towards crashing into the Earth. Sweat pours down his forehead and his limbs twitch in aborted movements. Dancing like a marionette, controlled by the intolerable cramping.

Minutes flash by like pages from a comic book. A cool touch brushes against his head, drawing one eye open. Its Dean. He appears calm while speaking to Castiel, but the fear is evident in his shiny eyes and trembling lips. In the throes of his pain it plants a seed of comfort, and he focuses on tending to that while dealing with it all.

Then someone rushes in, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum flooring. She removes Dean from view, taking up space and asking questions Castiel cannot answer. When it’s apparent, she switches tactics and scans his station. Finding what she needs, his savior calls to another person who was waiting by the door.

They dip into the hallway, returning moments later with a full bag of clear liquid. The woman who first ran in takes it from the one who brought it, fiddling above Castiel and out of sight. When she crosses his gaze again the full bag is empty. She shoves it into the hands of the nurse. Barks a terse sentence and orders her out.

Time returns to its normal pacing while Castiel’s body melts into the bed and the pain recedes into nothingness. His mind sharpens into awareness briefly and then dulls considerably with each second.

“Is this okay Mr. Shurley?” she asks, pressing around his wound, “Are you feeling anything at all?”

Castiel giggles, her actions tickling the focal point of his trauma. “Not a thing.”

“Perfect,” she sighs, flicking the full bag hanging from the stand in front of her. “So sorry that you had to experience that. A nurse should’ve been by to swap your morphine drip hours ago.”

“My morphine…?”

“Yes, your drugs,” she tells him, smirking, “what’s making it possible for you and I to have a conversation where you can contribute freely instead of in panted moans and grunts.”

Another round of laughter forces its way from his chest and makes his cheeks stretch awfully far. “I like morphine,” he says, “Can I take it home with me?”

“If only it wasn’t highly addicting,” she sighs, swiping at his nose with her finger, “Unfortunately no, but at least you won’t be leaving us so soon you’ll have to give it up right away.”

“Awesome...”

“If that’s all.” She nods, turning to Dean. “Thank you for paging me, it could’ve been much worse had he been alone.”

Dean sags against his bed, grin as large as Castiel’s. “Makes this food poisoning worth it, Doc Masters.”

“Silver lining to everything,” Masters winks. The doctor waves farewell, paying extra attention to Castiel. “Sweet dreams, Mr. Shurley.”

“Bye bye…” Castiel says, head lolling towards Dean, “What did she mean by that?”

“By what?”

“Sweet dreams?” he slurs, “Does she think I’m going to fall asleep?”

Dean’s expression softens, and he drifts closer to Castiel once more. “Yeah, you will. Morphine’s already pumping strong… shouldn’t be long until you’re back under and I’m… I am alone again .”

“ No ,” Castiel whines, throwing a tantrum. Not a good one since his limbs fly without his input, wiggling like jelly. “I don’t want to go to sleep.” Dean calms him, guiding his wrists to the bed.

“You don’t have a choice in it, Cas,” he says, “but… it’s nice to hear you want to stay with me.”

He agrees with Dean, heating up again in a delightful way. “You’re very nice… even if you throw up a lot and can’t handle vegan eggnog.”

Dean scoffs, “I can handle it, when it’s made well. But it’s not my first choice. Give me meat any day.”

“I love meat.”

“We have that in common, then.”

“Do we?” Castiel asks, skewing his head to the side, “You enjoy intercourse with two penises or more, too?”

He chokes, grip on Castiel’s wrists wilting. Dean gapes at him, color draining from his face for an entirely different reason.

In the seconds between his outburst and Dean’s answer, Castiel mulls over what he said. Clarity shines through his foggy mind and he realizes how personal a question he asked his roommate, a practical stranger. His high fades under the sweltering self-consciousness, Dean’s proximity less intoxicating and more anxiety-inducing.

His heart monitor either beeps too fast or not at all since he can’t tell if the ringing in his ears is from it or borne from the screams he refuses to release.

Thankfully Dean starts talking, and the voice inside silences. “I… I’ve never had the opportunity for more… my experience cuts off after two.”

The fuzziness resurfaces with a vengeance, strengthened by Dean’s answer. Caught off guard, Castiel hums. “Oh, well… it’s fun. But, also difficult.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Are you interested in leveling up your experience?”

“Actually,” Dean’s gaze dips towards Castiel’s lips, trailing up to his eyes slowly. “I’m… I’m more of a two-dick guy. Mine and… I don’t know?”

“You don’t know?” Castiel frowns, “that’s depressing.”

Dean laughs like a sad, twinkling bell. “Yeah, it sucks not knowing which other dick you want your dick to spend the rest of your life rubbing up against.”

Castiel nods, “Even more when you’re the only one without a second dick or a vagina to love you unconditionally. And no matter how successful your life is your family looks at you like an awkward throw pillow. They don’t know what to do with it or where to put it.”

“Exactly how it feels,” Dean says, “I… it’s not easy being lonely. Especially around this time of year.”

“But we’re not lonely,” he tells him, “we have each other.”

“That we do Cas… that we do.”

Potential sparks to life in Dean’s eyes, fascinating Castiel. He stares intently into them, watching the verdant fields in the other man’s gaze burn. No intention in calling the fire department to douse the inferno. Castiel wants to watch it forever.

Every blink becomes heavier, harder to remain open with the weights sliding across his eyes. “I don’t want to go to sleep.”

“You need to,” Dean says, “so you can get better.”

“But won’t you be alone again?”

“Nah,” Dean smirks, “it’s like you said. We have each other.”

“Good.” Castiel yawns, stretching far enough his toes peek past the blanket. “I… I really think I should go to sleep now.”

Dean agrees, peeling himself off of Castiel. He shivers with his absence. Castiel stops fighting against the morphine and allows it to drag him into unconsciousness. Dean’s face the last thing he sees when his eyes shut for good.

--------------------------------------------------------------

When Castiel wakes up again, he’s surrounded. His family sit on an assembled pile of chairs, chatting in festive gear while he stumbles into awareness.

Jack notices first, clapping on his mother’s lap and smiling with missing teeth. “Uncle Cas! Uncle Cas!”

Conversation stalls, and every face in the room turns to him. He smiles weakly, waving his hand off the bed as far as he can. “Hi,” he croaks, “how’s everyone doing?”

Gabriel laughs tiredly, scrubbing at his face. “Shived by Rudolph and he’s still thinking about others. Doesn’t that just jolly your holly -”

“Zip it Gabriel,” Anna whacks his chest, “you more than anyone else don’t get to make jokes about this.”

“Oh come on!” he cries, “The doctor said it was a non-threatening injury!”

“Because we called the paramedics,” she says, “and, by luck , your dumb prank only managed to cost him a kidney.”

“Not even! They said it would heal -”

“Guys!” Hannah interrupts their bickering, “Can you save it for later? Maybe after Castiel tells us how he feels?”

Reminded of his presence, his brother and sister sheepishly offer apologies. Castiel forgives them easily, especially his brother. “While it was stupid, I’m not dead.”

“Glad to hear it -”

“But,” Castiel continues, smirking, “I do expect a lot of attention and care… just because I’m willing to forgive doesn’t mean it’s easy to forget. Or move… or pee, I’m guessing.”

Gabriel huffs, crossing his arms. “Should’ve seen this coming.”

“Oh be glad,” Kelly says, “out of everything that could’ve happened, this is the best you could ask for.”

He relents, accepting his fate for the present. Satisfied, Castiel relaxes in bed while conversation resurges. This time filling him in on what happened while he was stuck in the hospital. From muted celebration on the Eve to a rapid exchange of presents in his house so they could arrive when visiting hours started.

“We might have left a few to open when you came home,” Anna admits, “So you didn’t miss all the fun.”

“Thank you…” Castiel holds his tongue, preferring the others to continue without his input. Finds comfort in how bright and cheerful the room feels with their presence. Reminded of a similar feeling, adjacent to the one overtaking his heart, Castiel looks to the other side of the room.

Only Dean’s bed is neat and empty. Not even the bucket was there.

“Wait,” he says, “where’s Dean?”

“What?” Gabriel asks, following his gaze, “Oh? Is that who that was? Didn’t know you got so chummy with your roommate, Cassie.”

“Where is he?”

“He left,” Anna shrugs, “Doctors came in an hour after we arrived to give him the news he was free to go.”

“And he left with this giant of a man!” his brother says, “it was terrifying, truly, seeing someone that massive.”

“He was really cool, Uncle Cassie!” Jack says, bouncing, “He bought me a candy bar!”

Kelly sighs, trying to contain Jack’s energy. “So nice of him…”

“So that’s it?” Castiel asks, frowning, “he just… left?”

Hannah reaches across and squeezes his hand, mirroring him. “There wasn’t any reason for him to stay longer, Castiel.”

He deflates at his sister’s care, her good intentions like a needle to his ballooning happiness. Castiel sighs, tugging his hand free of her hold and folding it over his stomach. “Yes, I… I guess he didn’t.”

No one dare speak, the adults in the room trying to process how Castiel’s mood shifted. His usual defense, to cover disappointment with a carefully constructed mask, doesn’t rise up inside. Whether from the remaining morphine swimming in his system or overall tiredness, Castiel prefers allowing his feelings to play freely across his face.

Memories from last night are fuzzy, but he remembers the important things. How friendly Dean was, and caring. Comforting him when it wasn’t necessary, when he had his own troubles to deal with. The possibility he represented, created thanks to the unguarded confessions brought about by drugs.

He’s drawn from his memories of Dean’s smile by a knock on the door.

Doctor Masters stands there, a smile on her face and a stuffed bear in her hands. Castiel squints at the gift, a heart in its paws and a Santa cap on its head.

“Why hello there Mr. Shurley,” she says, stepping into the room, “glad to see you’re awake again. And not in pain.”

“Thank you,” he says, “I… Am I going to be in pain again?”

She shrugs, “Not likely. I checked up on you an hour after we switched your drip to make sure it was all okay. Got to talking with your roommate and he said you were doing fine until the pain became too much to bear. So I’ve decided to start weaning you off the good stuff, and giving you enough to not feel much but still be present.”

His face softens. “Exactly what I want.”

“Speaking of presents…” she smirks, fiddling with the bear, “someone asked me to give this to you once you woke up.”

Gabriel immediately teases him, shaking his shoulder. “Cassie, you sly dog. Did someone ‘While You Were Sleeping’ you?”

“I, I don’t -”

“Why don’t I leave this here, and you can process it without me,” Doctor Masters says. She places the bear on his lap, walking towards the exit. “I’m only the messenger. Besides, there’s a lot more people in this hospital besides you.”

He misses her goodbyes, examining the bear. Studies details like the red and white scarf wrapped around its neck and the poof ball at the end of its hat is shaped like a plus sign. The red heart has a message on its surface, ‘Get Better Soon’, and one between it and the bear.

A white envelope, easily lost in the white fur of the bear. Castiel frees it, giving the bear to a waiting Jack. He reads the name on the front and his stomach flutters with butterflies emerging from their cocoon.

CAS

“Well,” Anna urges him, “you gonna read it or what?”

Flipping it around, he sees the envelope is barely held together by a piece of scotch tape. It opens with no trouble, the card slipping out and into his hand.

The cover has a replica of the bear drawn on, holding its heart forward. Words tattooed to the heart in the stuffed animal balloon to the top of the cover, taking up a lot of the tundra scenery.

Castiel passes it, more interested in what’s written inside.

Dear Cas ,

Merry Christmas! I wish I could be there to see you wake up, but I know today is supposed to be spent with family.

Thank God it’s only one day a year.

If you want to meet during any of the other three-hundred, sixty four, here’s my number. I hope you call, because I think I’ve found the second penis I want to spend the rest of my life with .

He closes the card, dragging it to his face to hide the blush and skin-splitting face threatening to add more definition to his chin. His behavior only fans the flames of his family’s intrigue, both Anna and Gabriel leaning too far forward in their seats.

“Well,” Anna starts, “who’s it from?”

Castiel waits for his face to cool, and then says, “It’s from a friend.”

“A friend ,” Gabriel chuckles, rolling his eyes, “Like we’ll believe that.”

“He is a friend!”

“He’s also a Christmas miracle!”

His family laughs, and Castiel finds himself joining. Too filled with joy to find their antics annoying. Instead he jokes alongside them and, when they’ve calmed down, explain the night’s events and his secret Santa. Counting down to when visiting hours end and he can make use of the number inside the card.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

#Supernatural #Spn #Supernatural fanfiction #Spn fanfic #Spn Christmas fanfic #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfic #deancas fanfiction #tw: vomiting

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bookandcranny · 4 years ago

Text

Stone Heart Gambit

Part 1 - Chapter 3

Soso wakes up in her bed, and for one blissful moment it’s as though all of it were only a dream brought on by too much chocolate before bed. Sunlight is shining through her window and, other than a dry mouth and a mildly upset stomach, she feels refreshed and content. Today has the makings of a perfect lazy day, she decides. She sits up, stretches, relishing the feeling of life coming back into her stiff muscles, opens her eyes, and squeaks.

The living gargoyle is staring at her from the foot of her bed. He’s eating a candy bar, pausing to pick flecks of caramel out of a rather impressive set of pointed teeth, framed on either side by a pair of tusks. Next to him on the floor is an empty bread bag, empty milk carton, two boxes of cereal- yes, empty- and a jar of peanut butter that has, as of yet, been spared from the rampage.

“You ate all my food,” Soso comments dumbly. All things considered, it shouldn’t be the biggest issue, but that milk was supposed to be communal and her housemates are going to kill her.

The beast bows his head. “I’ll replace it.” Before she can question just how he plans to do that, he hands her the peanut butter like a peace offering and— what the hell, she takes it and starts eating with her fingers. It calms her down, marginally.

“You were a statue,” she says with, if she does say so herself, remarkable evenness.

“I was. Rather, I was cursed into a prison of stone.”

“A curse, okay, sure. And now you’re… uncursed?”

He nods.

“But you still look like…” She coughs awkwardly. “I mean, you know, you don’t look human.”

“That’s because I’m not,” he explains. “I am Adamantius the unbreakable, son of man.”

“That’s a hell of a name.”

“I am the fire that burns in the west,” he says, as if that explains everything. “What may I call you?”

“I’m… Soso,” she replies. “Soso Willoughby. I don’t have any fancy titles, sorry.”

“Lady Willoughby,” he says, and his eyes sparkle. “I owe you a great debt.” He drops his head so low his horns brush the floor.

“Hey, I’m not mad about the food, don’t worry about it. You must’ve been hungry.”

“I was. I have been. For countless years I’ve been imprisoned, waiting until the fated night you would free me from my endless purgatory.”

“I did what?” she gawks. “No, you’ve got me confused with someone else. I didn’t free anyone from anything.”

He sits up and presents her with a slightly squished snickers bar. “A single selfless gift,” he says, sounding overcome. “Even when the world forgot about me, even after the stories of my triumphs were lost to time, you still came and spoke to me with such kindness. Truly I can never repay you, but I will stay by your side and serve you faithfully ‘til the end of my days in gratitude.”

“Whoa, wait, what?” she chokes. “I didn’t- I didn’t do anything! And you can’t… how am I supposed to explain you to my roommates? How am I supposed to-“ A thought occurs to her. “Oh god, how am I supposd to explain to Mr Surehouser that I stole his gargoyle? We need to get you back to the library before anyone notices you’re missing.”

The reverence falls from his face, replaced by a baring of teeth. “I will not go back there.”

Soso puts up her hands. “Okay, okay. Let’s… put a pin in that discussion. I need to think.”

“I apologize,” Adamantius rasps. “I didn’t mean to frighten you again. I swear to you, I will not cause you any harm. But I do not wish to return there, ever.”

“Well, what do you wish- want?” She leans tentatively closer, studying him. He’s less frightening in the light of day, but not by much. The color of skin still makes him appear as if made of stone, except now she can see his chest rise and fall with his breathing. A thin crack near the junction of one of his horns glows a faint red, the same flame-light that flickers behind his eyes, an inferno contained in a shell of granite.

“I want only to serve you, and to bring to account those who have wronged us.”

She doesn’t like the sound of that. “What does that mean?”

A flicker of something almost devious enters his expression. He gestures towards the bedroom window. Soso gets up to have a look. She pales.

Outside, the town is in chaos. Windows are smashed in, cars are tipped over, heavy claws marks carve a path down the entire street. It looks like the aftermath of a horror movie. A young man wearing a rubber mask is cowering in a tree on Summer Street as police and concerned neighbors try to coax him down.

“I thought it was just a really good costume,” another boy says, shaking like a lead as he gives his statement to a local news reporter.

Soso stands on the porch barefoot in yesterday’s clothes and tries not to panic. Adamantius comes up behind her in the doorway and she shoves him back inside. Remembering she’s not alone in the house, she keeps shoving until they’re standing in the narrow fenced-in area behind the back of the house, well out of sight.

“What did you do?” she demands.

“I thought the fates of the enemy should be left to your discretion, but I wanted to ensure they got the message.”

“Yeah, I think they got it!” She puts her head in her hands. “Dear god, you didn’t kill anybody, did you?”

“As I said, I was awaiting your orders.”

“Okay, my orders are ‘don’t kill anybody’.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Not ever?”

“Not ever! No killing, Ada- Adam- Why is your name so complicated!” she asks in frustration. “Don’t you have nickname or something I can call you?”

He lowers his head, looking pensive. After a moment he says, “There was someone once very close to me called me ‘Adami’.”

This information mellows Soso’s temper somewhat. Despite his appearance and somewhat murderous tendencies, there had been someone who cared for him, and whom it seemed he cared for in return, and now if his story was to be believed, crazy as it all sounded, they are likely long gone. Soso tries to imagine being imprisoned like he was, asleep and awake at once in a frozen form while the days, months, years went by. It sounds terrible.

“How long exactly were you… doing time?”

“I couldn’t say. After the first few decades or so time begins to lose its meaning. I didn’t so much feel the passage of time, only watched the rising and falling of the sun, the turning of the seasons. For much of that time, I wished only for vengeance, then for death, and then I wished for nothing at all. There didn’t seem a point. I had lost all hope of rescue long ago.” His gaze falls on her again. “Then you came. You spoke to me, and reminded me that I was still alive.”

Soso feels her face heat. How was she supposed to tell him that she’d only started talking to him because she thought he was an inanimate object?

“Adami,” she says gently. “We need to go back there. I need to figure out what happened, and the only other person I can think of who might know something is the librarian. I can’t- I don’t have enough room to hide you here without someone finding out, and once they do… I don’t know, they’ll probably want to put you in prison or dissect you for science or something!”

She reaches up and places her hands on his shoulders, privately marveling at the sheer size of him. She has to stand on her toes.

“I promise I’m not going to let anything happen to you, but you need to trust me.”

“Of course,” he says without hesitation. “I will follow where you lead.”

Soso exhales an anxious breath and releases him. “I’ll need my bike.”

Surehouser doesn’t wake up in his bed, and rather than the morning light he is woken by a persistent thumping sound. At first, he thinks it’s simply the pounding in his own head. He’s had a bottle of dandelion wine- a gift from some cousin or other- stowed away since the equinox, saved for the express purpose of drowning out the Halloween festivities with his own.

In the time it takes him to recognize the knocking for what it is, he’s become aware of three things. One: he is wildly hung over. Two: today is the first of the month. Three: following that logic, he is well overdue to submit his annual report, which was due at the first of last month. He should get to it, he supposes, adjusting his glamour to better disguise the air of malaise he carries with him. Then again he doubts anyone is going to come breaking his door down about it. If not for the occasional paperwork and the letters and packages from his relations he’d think the whole of faerie society had long forgotten about him. It’s not as if anything happens here anyway.

He trudges to the front door of the library, wondering who could be so desperate to get his attention, and finds standing there the young lady who’s been dropping by the past couple weeks, accompanied by an eight foot abomination.

“So,” says the girl. “Don’t freak out.”

Surehouser runs to his desk and retrieves the enchanted blade he keeps below the stationary drawer. He’s not as spry as he used to be though and the monster has him pinned to the cherry wood before he can so much as unsheathe it. It gnashes its teeth and twists his arm until he’s forced to drop the weapon with a cry. Without any other option, he drops the human farce and the light it forces outward stuns the creature just long enough for him to slip from its grasp. From there, escaping would be easy, just take the form of a jackrabbit or a will o’ wisp and be gone. He almost does just that, but it seems somewhere along the years he’s picked up a conscience. Damn it.

“Soso, get back, I’ll hold it off.” He places himself between her and it, forming a barrier. Between the throbbing headache and the fear he hardly notices her grabbing onto his arm.

“Hold on a second, both of you stop it!”

Adamantius readies to charge and Soso steps between them.

“I said STOP!”

It stops. “As per your instructions,” it growls, startling Surehouser almost more than the attack itself. “I will not kill him.”

“I don’t want you to do anything to him, understand?”

The creature- he looks torn. “Not even-“

“No, whatever it is, no!” she says, flustered. She chides the rampaging goliath like one would a misbehaving dog. It’s honestly impressive. “Mr Surehouser’s a friend.”

Another snarl tears from him. “He’s a faerie.”

It takes a moment to sink in, but once she realizes he knows there’s no way to deny it. Soso steps back and for the first time really takes him in, the truth of him. Under his human disguise, the librarian is summer court through and through; his body all mist and golden light. The base human features are still there, but unlike some of his more passable fellows, one look at him without the aid of a glamour is enough to know he’s not of their world. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, he veils himself with the familiar mask of the old unassuming librarian. It’s a magic specifically designed to make him easy to overlook, though the exact details of his appearance still depend largely on the viewer’s perception. It’s why he does his best to stay away from crowds. Too many conflicting accounts of the same man create a very real risk of his cover being blown.

It’s been a long time since he willingly dropped the act around another person, even among his own kind, however infrequently he sees them. Certainly he hadn’t planned to destroy his entire carefully-crafted persona when he woke up seven minutes ago. Yet here they were.

“That’s, wow,” the girl says.

He forces a chuckle. “Not the worst reaction I could’ve gotten, I suppose.”

“Yeah, well, I’m getting to a point where being shocked at every new thing is just taking up too much energy.”

Her eyes are winged and weary. Surehouser looks from her to Adamantius, an ancient warrior whom last he saw was petrified on his front lawn, a being even older than his great-grandfather, and significantly more sapient than he’d been led to believe from the wartime tales. He casts one last, longing look at his dagger laying on the floor and declares,

“It seems that we have a lot to talk about and frankly I don’t want to have this conversation standing up.”

He takes them out of the main library to a sitting area. There are two arm chairs and a small sofa loosely fitted into a circle around a low table in front of a fireplace, now dormant. Soso flops gratefully into the nearest chair. Adamantius isn’t so eager.

“I don’t like faeries,” he says. “And I don’t like your rings.”

“It’s a semi-circle if anything.” He sits. The monster stays standing, hovering at Soso’s side, tense and wary.

“So,” Surehouser begins after a moment. “You’ve, er, woken Adamantius.”

She nods slowly. “If it counts for anything, I didn’t exactly mean to.”

“It’s alright, Soso. I understand many humans in your age group go through an arcane phase, performing your little rituals and whatnot. Although how you stumbled upon something powerful enough to undo a curse like that is far beyond me.”

“I’m serious, I don’t know anything about magic or curses or whatever! It was an accident.”

He looks into her eyes; she seems earnest, though it can be hard to tell with humans.

“I gave him a snickers,” she says. “Adamantius says it was a gesture of pure kindness that broke the curse, or something.”

She looks to him for confirmation. He doesn’t take his eyes off the faerie, but nods his confirmation. She goes on to tell the full story, punctuated with various exaggerated hand motions.

“-And you don’t seem that surprised by all this,” she notes as it comes to a close. Or rather, catches up with the present. “And also, you’re a faerie? Is Surehouser even your name?”

“You could say so. It’s a name, and it’s mine.”

She makes a face. “Right. So like, what now?”

He lets out a long sigh. “Now, I need a drink.” He stands up and, obliged by the laws of hospitality, adds, “Do you want anything?”

“Oh, I don’t really drink. Also, it’s like 2:30.” When it becomes clear that that is not the deterrent she thinks it is, she turns to the creature. “What about you?”

“If you’re not having anything, neither will I.”

She purses her lips. “Actually, Mr Surehouser, if I could bug you for some water or something to eat… all I’ve really had today is, like, half a jar of peanut butter, and this guy was a rock for like a thousand years I guess so he’s always hungry.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Though food is not his indulgence of choice, he’s pretty sure he remembers where the kitchen is supposed to be. The fruit there doesn’t go rotten and the water he runs into a pitcher is cold and clean. For himself, two painkillers. As much as he’d rather not, he’s starting to think this is indeed a conversation he should be sober for.

Once he’s made up a tray he returns to the sitting room where the odd pair are exchanging muttered words and serious glances. Soso stands up to help him set everything out but as she reaches for the fruit, her monster stops her.

“For pity’s sake, Adamantius, they won’t harm her. This place is neutral territory. That’s the whole point.”

While he’s distracted she pops a handful of grapes into her mouth. “You two know each other?”

“Not personally,” says Surehouser. “Though at the same time you could say we’ve been neighbors for years.” He chuckles to himself. “For more than a century, now that I think about it. I’m a watcher. Not the first, though maybe the last.” He loses some of his good humor. The reality of the situation is setting in, unbelievable though it is. “It’s been my job to… well to prevent what is happening right now.”

“He is my jailor,” Adamantius clarifies.

“More or less. Soso, do you even know who it is you’ve been sitting so comfortably beside?”

“Does she know who you are?” he snaps in retaliation. “Have you ever taken a moment to explain the depths of your fraudulence, you oversized pixie?”

His eyes narrow. “Name calling isn’t necessary. But you have a point.” He turns to the girl. “I haven’t lied to you, but neither have I been truthful. Look around you. You see an old library, and me, its keeper. Although on the surface that is true, it’s such a small fraction of what it is. It’s only a name, only some books on some shelves.”

“Then what is the truth? The full truth.” She stares at him intently.

“Long ago,” he begins. As a start to a story, it’s as good as any. Soso’s told him her story, now he owes her one in return. “There was a terrible war between humankind and the fae people. You might know them as faeries, the hidden folk, the good neighbors. Again, that’s only the barest sliver of it. The fae consist of all magical beings, united against humanity. Once, our worlds were one, with the faerie lords, whose magic was strongest and purest, ruling over all.”

“While the humans,” Adamantius interjects. “Struggled at the bottom of the food chain. Although they were greater in numbers and more widespread than almost any other species, they were preyed on by the faefolk because of their lack of natural magic. When their science and scholarly learning grew strong enough to threaten even the faeries’ regime, war broke out. In the process, countless human lives and achievements were lost.”

“I would’ve gotten to that,” Surehouser says haughtily. “As I was saying, after years of fighting the humans finally made a breakthrough. Through study and spiritualism their brightest scholars developed a power that was enough to rival fae magic. They called it alchemy, and with it they created a killing machine powerful enough to turn the tide of the war. Adamantius, the man-made monster.

“Though it was magic, albeit humans’ version of magic, that created him, he became the ultimate soldier against the fae forces. Because of this, many came to consider his existence the ultimate insult, a betrayal of our ways.”

The monster in question lunges forward. Soso seizes his arm, nearly falling out of her chair.

“Your ways and your magic have nothing to do with me. I am the son of man.”

Surehouser takes a sip of water, smiling against the rim of his glass. All this drama for a beast who was unable to act without his human’s approval.

“Personally I’m neutral on the subject. War is a terribly ugly thing. The humans’ precious pet soldier did a lot of damage, but so did we. The only reason the humans won the war in the end was because the lords at the time feared their new alchemy. This single creation of theirs had dealt more damage in a few years, a blink of an eye to them, than all their previous efforts combined. If the humans managed to reproduce their experiment… well, the risk was too great.

“The fae forces surrendered and treaty negotiations began. One of the main conditions of the treaty was that each nation’s greatest tools of war be retired and sealed away somewhere on neutral ground, never to be used again. You see where I’m going with this?”

Soso looks offended. “Adami’s alive. A living person isn’t a weapon.”

He shrugs. “When I say tools of war I’m not speaking of just blades and bombs. Lots of things can be a weapon that you wouldn’t expect. Wealth, knowledge, even a bowl of fruit.”

Adamantius picks up an armchair.

“Kidding, kidding! No need to go throwing furniture.” He stands up, hands raised. “You are much more hair-trigger than the stories suggested. Come, I’ll show you what I mean.”

He takes them behind the front desk and pushes aside a shelf of “staff picks”, revealing a hidden doorway that opens onto the basement. Anyone who knew what to look for would be able to pick out a concealment charm easily. Sometimes it paid to do things the old-fashioned way, so to speak.

The entrance is short and narrow and Adamantius struggles to squeeze through for a minute before it becomes clear that it’s wasted effort.

“What a pity,” Surehouser chirps. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me with your human for a while.”

He growls his disapproval, but once again Soso manages to talk him down. “I’ll be fine. I promised, right? Nothing bad is gonna happen.”

The creature doesn’t look entirely at ease with the idea, but he relents. As they descend the steps, he stands stalwart at the doorway, his eyes following them down until they disappear into the darkness completely.

#original fiction #fantasy #My writing #project: stone heart gambit #writeblr

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