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le-fruit-de-la-passion · 5 months ago

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Press One for Love, Two for Regret

Chapter 3

Summary: Proper confessions should never happen over the phone. Viktor knows that. So how did he get here?

Pairing: Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 5.3K

Warning: Mature (mentions of explicit content, explicit in last chapter)

Notes: Yup, this started from a silly lil 1K prompt, don't ask me what happened, I wouldn't be able to say either. This chapter is pretty heavy on feelings, self-reflection and angst, but I think y'all will find it enjoyable ❤️. There's one more chapter left (the SMUT yeehawww), but I've written chapter 3 in a way where you could technically stop reading the story here if you didn't want to read the smut, and it would still be a satisfying conclusion. I know most of you are in it for the smut too, so don't worry my beloveds, it will come 😛💕

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 4/End)

The humanities faculty room always smells horrible.

It's hard to tell where the pungent scent even comes from; it feels like it's in the air, in all the furniture, in the walls themselves. There's no window to even attempt to vent it out either; it’s in the oldest wing of the university, built at least sixty years prior to the construction of every other unit. Most teachers avoid it like the plague, preferring to work in any other available space on campus, so it's almost always empty.

But it isn't today.

“Melllll,” you moan, shoving your face into the leather couch’s pillows. The smell is somehow worse, imbued into the fabric. If you had to describe it, you would just call it old. Like rancid coffee forgotten on the kitchen counter for too long, or ancient damp books abandoned in an attic. Old. “Why do I always mess up everything I do?”

Mel looks up from the paper she's grading with a sigh, adjusting the small reading glasses on her nose.

“You don't mess up everything you do,” she argues softly. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, and you say what you think without feeling ashamed. That's not something for everyone, but it's not a flaw, either.”

You can only groan into the odorous leather as an answer.

Viktor had been your very first friend at work, but he had been a lot more. Without him, you would have never met Jayce, and without Jayce, you would have never met Mel. And you would have no one to cry your woes to on a Friday evening, a whole two weeks after the most disastrous phone call of your life.

“And I believe Viktor is equally at fault here. He knows better than to play hide and seek with you forever,” Mel hums pensively, crossing her legs. Her olive eyes narrow, her nose scrunching up slightly in thought.

“He's stalling, trying to figure a way out without confronting his feelings or yours. He's smart enough to know there isn't one, but he's stubborn,” she points out, tapping her manicured nails on the wooden table. Tic, tic. Like **the sound of seconds passing on the clock, never-ending and all-consuming.

At first, both Jayce Talis, mechanical engineering PhD and researcher, and Mel Medarda, political science PhD with five peer-reviewed books published under her name, had been two extremely imposing people to interact with. You already felt unworthy enough talking to Viktor, but after learning of the kind of people he usually hung out with, you felt like an absolute loser. Jayce and Mel are both unreasonably attractive and accomplished, and when Viktor joins them, there's no denying he belongs to their world, and not yours.

In those moments, the differences between the two of you seem much more glaring: the university professor with a collection of awards and a PhD in biomechanical engineering, who is dedicating his life to creating life-altering prosthetic limbs and transmitting his knowledge to a whole new generation of scientists… and you.

The guidance councillor who can't shut up.

It’s not that you're ashamed of your job; you love what you do. You love being able to help people figure themselves out, and orient them toward what will make them happiest.

But when you stand in the same space as Viktor, it's hard to see anything other than how much greater of a person he is than you will ever be. He's like a star in the sky, shining brighter and brighter every day, and you get the privilege of watching him through the lens of a telescope. That should already be enough for you to be satisfied.

But it isn’t, not anymore. It hasn't been for a long time. And you want to do so much more than look at him. You want to touch him. You want to kiss him. You want to be someone worthy of shining alongside him; but you never believed that would ever happen.

And for so long, it felt so much easier to just date people whose very existence didn't make you feel like you would never be enough to reach their ankle. People who just wanted something casual and meaningless, some sex, maybe the semblance of a romance. And that's how you ended up with a string of disastrous relationships with men you barely even liked.

You contort your body uncomfortably on the couch to face Mel; it squeaks awkwardly under you, like it's threatening to break.

“Did you know? Did everyone but me know?”

She rests her head on her hand, the hint of a smile on her lips, seemingly slightly amused by the question:

“Depends on who you mean by everyone. No one outside his circle of close friends, for sure. He's not the type to scream about his love life over the phone,” she adds with a teasing glim in her eyes. “No offence.”

You groan, shoving your face back into the roughed-up leather. God, it still smells.

“But Jayce did know,” she confirms, and you hear her straighten her chair to return to work. The comforting sound of her fountain pen starts up again, but you know she's still giving her conversation with your full attention. Mel is like that, able to carry on a hundred tasks at once without breaking a sweat; you wish you had an ounce of her composure.

“Viktor told him after he got drunk last year at the faculty cookout. I believe his exact words were…”

She pauses to do a dramatic imitation of Viktor's voice and tone, “‘Jayce, she is wearing that dress just to put me into an early grave’.”

Not only is it pretty accurate, but God, you know exactly what dress.

The skimpy little sunflower dress that you knew showed way too much chest for a work-related event. You had worn it in the hopes of eliciting any sort of reaction from Viktor; but he had barely spoken to you that afternoon, constantly vanishing every time you entered a room. You assumed you made him uncomfortable with something you said, like you always ended up doing with everyone else.

So you had left the party on the arm of some nameless T.A. from the law department, hoping it would help you forget Viktor, just for a while.

It hadn't.

“And I knew,” Mel continues smoothly in her regular voice, “because I know what it's like to want someone to notice you so badly. To want someone to love you back.”

You detect something very personal in the way she pronounces the word ‘love’, almost like it's painful to even say.

Mel rarely talks about herself, preferring to listen to the stories of everyone around her. Everything about her gives an air of mature confidence and independence, and if she ever has any issues in her personal life, she never shares them with you, or anyone that you know of.

She's not cold by any means, and she helps everyone with genuine care, that, you are absolutely certain of. But you can feel there's a side of her she desperately wants to keep to herself. She's only ever mentioned her mother once, in a drunken haze, muttering something under her breath about never being enough for her.

You wonder if that's the person who’s love she’s longing for.

When she speaks again, there is something akin to nostalgia lingering in her voice:

“You get that special look in your eyes. You both looked at each other just like that, but neither of you ever noticed.”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes. Fucking ironic. You can never seem to stop talking, but now, the words you want to tell her just won't come.

Mel doesn't seem to mind, though, and the sound of pen scrapping paper picks up again. You force yourself out of your leather cavern, sitting up on the couch to look at her directly.

“…Why didn't you say anything?” you ultimately settle with, but it rings much more fragile and hurt than you wanted it to.

She gives a small shrug without looking away from her documents:

“Not my place to. Viktor needed to confront his feelings head-on, and you needed to realize you were never not enough or too much for him,” she states matter-of-factly, “It's that simple.”

Everything always seems so easy when it comes from Mel's lips. But in your mind, thoughts are jumbled, emotions are running wild, and everything you thought you knew about the last four years is falling apart.

Maybe, that time on New Year’s Eve when he told you there was no other place he'd rather be, he hadn't meant at the party. He had meant with you.

Maybe, when he had taken your hand, it wasn't just because you were excitedly counting down the last seconds until midnight. It was because he wanted to touch you just as much as you wanted to touch him.

Maybe, at the end of that night and in those early morning hours, when he had said you would make someone really happy one day…he was asking if it could be him.

“Maybe,” you **exhale bitterly, enunciating the world like a curse, “it would actually be simple if he just answered my texts, or my calls. Or anything I do to try and reach him.”

Yeah, you're to blame for being so blind for so long. For noticing the smallest things about everyone else, but missing all the signs when it came to him.

But so is he for refusing to talk about it now that you finally see it.

“At this point, I’m seriously starting to consider lock-picking their apartment,” you grumble, more in tiredness than anger; you can't even manage to stay mad at him for longer than a minute. “He’s the one who showed me how to do that, did I ever tell you that?”

She lets out a soft laugh at that; but when she glances over to you, there's a hint of something new in her eyes.

“I'm sure he would enjoy seeing you put your training to use, but there might be another way to see him. I think he's had more than enough time playing hide and seek.”

You know that glint in her forest-green stare; she knows something you don't, and she’s chosen to reveal it to you. You almost jump off the couch with your eyes wide, so quickly you almost lose your balance:

“Mel, what do I do?”

She snorts as she motions for you to sit back down with a calming wave of her hand, amusement clear on her face.

“Calm down. I wouldn't tell anyone about this normally,” she begins, lowering her voice in secrecy, as if you’re not the only two in the room, “and I want to make it very clear you did not receive this information from me.”

You nod eagerly in agreement, hanging on to her every word.

“Go to their apartment,” she declares with certainty. “If you keep going after their door and to the end of the corridor, there's a big potted plant on the window sill. An orchid.”

You frown in confusion.

You've only been to Viktor and Jayce's apartment a few times in the couple of years you've known them. Usually for relaxed group hangouts, or an occasional game night. You remember very little about it other than the all-consuming childish excitement of being in Viktor’s home, and the absolutely not innocent thought of his bedroom being barely a few feet away.

Why don't you ever remember the important things?

You try to muster every memory you have of the apartment complex itself instead; they live on the third floor, and their door is the second one on the right after the elevator. The hallway is a straight, narrow line, and you've noticed how dark it always is every time you’ve visited.

Dark, yes, that's right, because aside from a cheap light fixture, there’s only one window that lets any light into the hallway, at the very end of the corridor. One window, that is almost entirely blocked by the world's most decrepit potted plant.

“The… really ugly one?” you ask with uncertainty.

Mel snaps her fingers in confirmation, a hint of perfect pearly white teeth shining between her lips.

“I think you may find something of interest under it. Jayce told me about it for whenever I want to…” she hesitates on her next word, uncharacteristically a little bashful, “visit.”

Oh, you fucking knew it.

“I totally-” you start triumphantly.

“Yes, I know, you knew it for months,” she interrupts, waving her hand in dismissal. Her lower lip sticks out slightly, almost like she's pouting. You've never seen her this embarrassed. “It's incredible how you notice everything about everyone else, but when it's about you, you suddenly forget how to use your own eyes.”

Touché.

You've sensed it for at least a year now, the unspoken electricity between the two of them. How her arm sometimes lingers just a second too long on his shoulder, how his hands seem to always accidentally brush her waist. For as subtle as they were being, there was no mistaking the fire when they looked at each other.

Did Viktor ever look at you like that, too?

Why hadn't you ever noticed?

“Wait, wait,” you interrupt your own train of thought. “The orchid. Why is the orchid…”

You pause when the realization hits you like a bucket of cold water.

Oh.

“Do… do they have a set of keys under the orchid?” you ask slowly.

“I didn't say that,” Mel says, bringing her two hands up in self-defence; but the smile lingering on her lips tells another story. “And if you say I did, I will deny it and throw you under the bus with every inch of my power as the advisor for the debate club. Are we clear?”

You could kiss her.

You settle with a tight hug, holding her with as much force as you can muster. The scent of her perfume, bitter and floral, masks the decrepit smell of the room for just a moment. Is there any problem Mel can’t solve?

“Mel, you're the best,” you grin against her ear.

“So I'm told,” she hums. She gently detaches herself from the hug, giving you an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Now go. I don't like seeing you mop around my teacher's lounge, and I can't stand when Viktor performs his little disappearing act instead of talking things out.”

She picks her pen back up, giving you one last genuine look of support, voice soft, sincere: “You two are really meant for each other. Give him hell.”

—

Viktor is much less attentive than people give him credit for.

That’s not to say he’s oblivious or careless. In fact, when it comes to his work, he could instantly notice a tenth of a millimeter discrepancy from a mile away. He could hear the slightest abnormal murmur in the heart of any machine, and pinpoint its exact origin within seconds. Throw a blindfold on top, and he'd still know exactly where to place each and every single component of his prosthetic models.

But when it comes to the world outside his lab, his attention to detail just plummets.

If a bomb went off right outside his apartment, he probably wouldn't even look up from his notes. Jayce usually has to call his name thrice to pull him out of the trance-like state he gets into when he's sketching up a new idea, and that's only because he's used to Jayce's voice; for someone else, he might not hear it at all.

Even walking home from campus, he pays no attention to his surroundings, lost in his thoughts of valves, hydraulic cylinders, and flexion plates. He mechanically follows the same path he's walked thousands of times, a habit so ingrained in him it allows him to fully disconnect and think of nothing but work.

He's glad he has such a strong grip on his own mind, because if he didn't, he would let his practical ideations slowly morph into thoughts of nothing but you. You, who he hasn't seen in two weeks, because he likes to pretend change can't happen if he simply refuses to acknowledge it. It's much better to focus on what he actually has control over, to lose himself entirely in the things that make sense to him. To forget the world burning around him.

And that's exactly why he doesn't realize you’re in his apartment, sitting on his couch about ten feet away from him, until you make a pointed cough to signal your presence.

“Ah,” is the only thing he manages to get out.

He wishes he'd be surprised, but then again, he knew you would find your way to him eventually. He could keep trying to bury himself in work and avoid you with every inch of his power, you would not stop until you got answers to your questions. You’re just as stubborn as he is. That's part of why he fell for you.

So, there's nothing he can do, but let out a defeated sigh.

“I would ask how you got in here,” he starts flatly, taking off his coat robotically to place it on the hanger, “but I have a feeling it doesn't really matter.”

You don't react to his distant, tired tone, your expressive face unusually devoid of emotion when you speak.

“I didn't use your lockpicking lessons, if you're wondering.”

He can't help but snort at that:

“Disappointing.”

You both stay silent as he slowly takes off his boots and removes his wool scarf. The atmosphere isn't exactly awkward, but it's not comfortable either. Like a cheap, stiff version of the warm intimacy you usually share.

You've always been so easy to read, and anything that didn't show on your face always came from your lips. He always knows how you feel: he's observed every single expression on your face, from the slightest pout to the biggest grin, and committed it to memory with the dedication he only ever puts into his projects.

From the day you literally crashed in his life four years ago, utterly drunk and analyzing him with astonishing accuracy, he's felt the need to analyze you, too. To decipher every part of you, understand each component, each reaction. He craved the idea of knowing you like a cartographer knows the maps of the world, like an astronomer knows the place of every star. To understand you as you had understood him, with a single glance.

Right now, he has no idea what you're thinking.

In typical fashion, you're the one who ultimately breaks the ice first:

“You could kick me out,” you declare, staring him down almost challengingly. “I'll leave if you really want me to.”

There's clear apprehension and hurt in your voice, a bitterness you're trying your best to hide, but failing. He despises being the one to make you feel that way. He's become no better than any of your exes.

“We both know I won't do that,” he exhales. He's still standing in the entryway, just a few steps away from the threshold of the living room. There's no hiding anymore, no backing out. You're here, and he has to face you. Even if it breaks him.

“In the kitchen, second drawer on the left,” he says, making his way inside resignedly. “There's a rather large bread knife inside it. It hasn't been sharpened in a while, but it should do.”

Your passive expression falls for a second and you stare at him in confusion.

“Do for what?” you ask, eyebrow raised.

“Killing me to spare us both the embarrassment of this conversation,” he answers unenthusiastically.

You're the one who snorts, this time. If he could forget why you're here, he could almost pretend this is just a regular talk between close friends. Almost.

You get off the couch without hurry, stretching your limbs lazily; he wonders if you've been waiting for him for a while. You're still in your usual work clothes, but your hair is dishevelled, and your makeup is a bit smudged. Had these been different circumstances, this would be the kind of look he would imagine you in when he's alone in bed, but that's exactly the kind of treacherous impulse that's led him to this situation in the first place.

There's a strange shimmer in your eyes when you look at him again:

“You got any booze in that kitchen ?”

He’s starting to realize no matter how many years you give him, he’ll probably never be able to completely figure out what's going on in that brain of yours.

“You want to drink. Right now,” he states in disbelief.

You shrug:

“Seems like you listened to me when I was drunk last time. Maybe that'll get your attention again.”

There's an undeniable bitterness under the light sarcasm. It's deserved, frankly. And maybe a drink would make what's inevitably coming less difficult.

“First cabinet to the right. You can take the clear unlabeled bottle,” he offers.

You hum in approval, making your way to the kitchen without looking back at him. He makes his way to the couch, sitting at the opposite end of where you had been.

You come back with the bottle in one hand, and two mismatched shot glasses in the other. One is his, a souvenir from an academic conference in Marseilles; the silver lettering simply states ‘Ainsi va la vie’, ‘such is life’. He has to wonder if you chose it on purpose, to taunt him.

Although, the other one is Jayce's, and it's shaped like the torso of a woman with huge breasts in a bikini top with the colours of his old college. So it's equally as likely you just grabbed the first ones you found.

He always overthinks when he's anxious.

You put the three items down on the rectangular table in front of him, before sinking into the couch next to him. Your bodies aren't touching, shoulders an adequate distance from each other, but the proximity is still unnerving. The smell of your perfume, usually so comforting, makes him feel slightly ill.

You pour the alcohol into the shot glasses unhurriedly, progressively filling them both to the brim.

“Did you know Mel and Jayce are together?” you ask, not looking up from your task.

“Unfortunately so,” he mutters sourly.

You pause at that, perplexed.

“No, that is not what I meant, I am very happy for them,” he clarifies quickly. “But their decision to keep it a secret has been rather… precarious for me.”

You slide a glass towards him and give him a smile; the first one of the day, the first one in two weeks.

“You walked in on them fucking, didn't you?”

He groans, and you laugh. God, he missed that sound.

“I have never been more embarrassed in my entire life,” he complains, wrapping his hand around the shot glass. He notices with gratitude it's the plain one and not its heavily endowed sibling. “Being able to run had never seemed more appealing.”

You grab your own glass, the smile on your lips genuine, but fragile. The words still left unsaid hang above you both, and he's forced to remember this is but a moment of respite before everything falls apart.

“Maybe a drink will help you forget,” you joke, holding up the glass in his direction.

How he wishes it would.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he simply answers, bringing his glass to yours until they hit with a light clink. “Cheers.”

Your gaze holds his captive as you speak, like you're reaching into the depths of his very being.

“Na zdravià.”

You throw your head back and down the shot before he has time to voice his surprise, so he does the same, not wanting to break the unspoken rules of the toast; his ancestors would roll in their graves.

The liquid burns his throat almost instantly, the familiar warmth of alcohol settling into his body. It’s strong, powerful, but there’s a recognizable hint of plum and almonds that's comforting to him.

He can’t help a discreet, fond smile as your face scrunches from the sharp taste.

“I-I don't think I've ever had that before,” you cough out, your eyes slightly watery. It's endearing that no matter how much you drink, you never seem to build a tolerance to the sting of strong spirits.

“Slivovice. Plum brandy. The homemade ones are noticeably sharper than what they sell in stores here. Although… perhaps not as legal.”

You let out an amused cough, wiping away any tears before they get the chance to fall, smudging your mascara even more. But you're still smiling at him, decided, bold, never letting yourself be defeated by anything. It's like he's falling for you all over again in that single moment, outside of time and space.

Even in his darkest moments, when all else crumbles, you remain the unwavering light he can always find in the sky.

“I am a little surprised you remembered how to say that,” he admits softly.

What he had meant as a compliment seems to come off as a reproach in your eyes, and the smile falls, ending the magic of the instant.

“It may not always look like it, but I listen to you, Viktor,” you mumble, hurt. “I'm not an idiot, either.”

“I did not mean to imply-” he protests, but the words die in his throat. He opens his mouth by reflex, before closing it again; the sentence lingers incomplete in the air.

“…Why did you hang up?”

Here it is.

“Ah, so we're jumping into the questioning already. Alright,” he sighs. He chooses to stare at the bottom of his empty glass to avoid seeing your reaction. It's pitiful, but it'll spare him some of the pain and embarrassment. “I did not want to listen to what you would say, this once. I was scared if I heard your answer, it would all be real. Unchangeable.”

Change. Viktor had never been scared of the concept before. Change means something new, passing from one state to another, an evolution. It means progress. Nothing could ever be as gratifying, as glorious, as making the changes you want to see in the world.

But he didn't want you to change. He wanted you to stay just as you are, always excitedly talkative and brilliantly observant. Always shinning. A star brighter than any other, that could never fade no matter how the world treated her.

Revealing his feelings for you would have put that in harm’s way. You might think he had never truly been interested in your conversations, in all those ideas and words you feel so self-conscious about, and lose the trust you had in him as a friend.

He couldn't take that risk.

“So… you avoided me for two weeks ?” you scoff in disbelief.

He lets out a short, bitter laugh:

“I would have attempted longer if you did not break into my apartment.”

The poor attempt at a joke doesn't seem to land very well with either of you. The atmosphere feels still and heavy, the strange tension palpable.

“Ok,” you exhale, leaning your head back against the back of the couch. “You can ask me a question now.”

He glances at you in surprise:

“A question? Why?”

“So it's equal. I ask you one, you ask me one,” you explain simply, like it's the most basic rule of conversation in the world. “I haven't been attentive to what you were trying to tell me, for a long time. I need to change that.”

He hesitates for a second. There's a lot he wants to ask you. Had things been different, would you ever have considered him as someone you could fall for? If he could change the timing, the place, the words, would anything have made it so you could have loved him?

“You read people so easily,” he almost whispers. “I always assumed you knew how felt for you, but were too nice to tell me off. That you did not want to break what we had.”

It’s time. It's time for change. There is no other choice than to move forward. He continues:

“I am… sorry that I fell in love with you.”

Ah…

The weight seems slightly lighter on his chest. It's not a good feeling, exactly, but there's a certain peace that comes with finally having said it.

The expression on your face is yet again one he doesn't recognize.

“I'm not. I’m not sorry, Viktor,” you breathe out, hardly any louder than his respiration.

Your hand touches his, just barely, and he flinches, pulling away. But you refuse to back off. You reach for him again, your fingers timidly touching his own.

“Maybe I did know, in a way,” you reflect, a single digit moving across his knuckles, the ghost of a caress, “but I wouldn't let myself believe it. I didn't want to lose the only person I’ve ever felt wanted to listen to me. So… I stopped listening to my instincts, I guess.”

You let out a shaky laugh.

“I talk all the goddamn time and I don't even listen to myself.”

He turns his hand around, letting your index trace the lines of his palm instead.

“A fortune teller who can't read her own cards,” he teases gently. “Ironic.”

You scoff with a smile; your fingers intertwine, tentative.

“You're one to talk, asshole,” you huff playfully, “the big smart professor who can't figure out when someone is in love with him.”

His heart stops beating in his chest.

“Ah. You... you lo-” he stops himself before finishing his sentence, scared of pronouncing the word. He takes a shaky breath before he attempts again: “You feel the same way I…?”

He leaves the question open. He's still hesitant to make it real. Of saying the words that'll shift things. Because damn it, yes, Viktor is scared of change when it comes to you.

“I’m in love with you, Viktor,” you smile, like it's the most natural thing in the world. “Did the part where I broke into your apartment just to talk to you not give that away?”

What a strange feeling. He's dreamed of hearing those words from your mouth for so long, never believing they would, and yet it feels so right. As if you had told him a thousand times before this moment.

Maybe you had, in your own way.

He squeezes your hand, the sensation of your skin against his making it all feel impossibly real.

“I suppose we're both idiots,” he sighs gently, eyes locking into yours. “The blind oracle, and the clueless teacher. What a dynamic duo we make.”

Your forehead meets his, your nose just barely tickling his.

“I'd say we make a good duo. You and me,” you grin. You're so close he can feel the warmth of your breath on his lips. He smiles.

“I'd say so as well.”

Taglist Darlings ❤️ : @soniiyi , @mischievous-piltovan , @just1cefor4ll , @luv-urself-first, @girlidkthinkofsmth , @starflesh-moth , @raynoway, @vyshnevaka , @ash-84321 , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane #viktor x reader smut #arcane smut #viktor x reader fluff #viktor x reader angst #arcane viktor #my writing ✍️#mine #fruitforthoughts 💭#mel medarda #jayce talis #meljay #jaymel #archive of our own #ao3

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slaytheusurper · 8 months ago

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⭑ Separate Worlds, Chapter One ⭑

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Michael Gavey x Popular!rich!reader

A/N: It took a while as I wanted to write some chapters ahead but the first part of my first longer fanfiction is here! Please give me feedback I need to know if it's any good :)

Summary: Living two completely separate lives you and Michael had never really crossed paths and you’ve never really looked at him before. But when your worlds collide, affections arise.

Word count: 1.8k

Wednesday, October 12th 2006

The sound of rain hitting your thin single paned window woke you from your usual noon nap. Waking up with a groan, you checked your watch. A beautiful watch from Cartier, one you’ve always wanted. Another gift from your beloved father, who would rather send you gifts to apologise than actually say the words. He would once again miss your birthday, this year he would fly to Turkey, for a 'very important business trip'.

You didn’t even care where the fucker would run away to this time, he’d do anything to get away from your mum, and from your family. Anytime you would meet someone and tell them your name they’d immediately perk up, your family was quite an old one and when the first cars were invented your ancestor was there, right with Benz himself. In current day your father ran the family company, manufacturing and transporting cars all over the world, and soon your brother would join him.

You never had much of a thing for cars, but luckily for you your older brother did. He wasn’t going to be there either though. He was accepted into Harvard, and was currently studying abroad in America. A loud knock fully awakened you and you rose from your bed, you were so tired you didn’t even change into comfier clothes, you just napped in your cute fall outfit of the day instead.

Opening the door, Farleigh almost immediately bursted into your room. He seemed angry, but he usually was. You met him in your first year, of course upon hearing your name called on in a lecture, he partnered up with you after class. So your first project was with him, he was nice enough but sometimes he could be really annoying and above himself.

You took a deep breath as Farleigh made himself comfortable in your bed, you did not have the energy to tell him to sit on the couch instead so you silently joined him, waiting for him to start his rant. “So? What happened?” You asked, since he was still moping on your bed in silence. “That fucking rat Oliver! He lends his bike to Felix ONCE and now they’re besties! He is literally a dirt poor cunt that has no personality or anything interesting about him!”

Great so that’s what this was going to be. “Christ Far, what did he do?” You had to hold back a chuckle, you felt bad for him but when Farleigh was mad he made this really funny face. “Don’t fucking laugh! It’s not funny! You know how Felix and I were going to go to that new coffee place that just opened, and you and Eloise were going to join us after your maths class? Well fuck that apparently! Because Felix just messaged me that Oliver and him are doing an assignment together and he had to cancel!”

“Don’t get me wrong Far, that really sucks but if it’s for school I don’t really-” He cut you off before you could even explain yourself. “The fucking assignment is not until next monday! It’s wednesday for fucks sake!” You so did not have energy for this. “Okay Far, please calm down, if you do think that Oliver is doing it on purpose the last thing you want is to give him the satisfaction of pissing you off. Just stay calm about this and we’ll ask if Maisie is free this afternoon to join us.”

Farleigh seemed to cool off and now instead looked a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, yeah you’re right. Sorry for barging in like this, didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll message Maisie then, grab a coffee with me? As an apology for waking you up?” You gave him a smile and nodded. “Let’s drink it in the library, it’ll be so cosy with the rain and I need to finish some homework really quick before maths today. Should I message Eloise if she wants in?”

“Yeah sounds good, put on your shoes and let's go!” Farleigh was all back to his normal energised self again and you did as he said. Eloise replied that she would join you later. You and Farleigh jogged to the library, him with your coffee’s and you trying to hold the umbrella over both of your heads. Both of you couldn’t help but giggle as Farleigh almost spilled the coffee at the entrance, while you shook off the umbrella.

You both strolled in and walked over to a free table in the back, with a big beautiful window that showed the autumn weather outside. Farleigh slid over your iced coffee to you while he drank his hot cappuccino with way too much sugar. Farleigh grabbed his laptop to work on some essay he had due tonight and you grabbed your maths homework. After about thirty minutes of work, you both couldn’t help but talk about Eloise’s new boyfriend.

A loud snort accidently left your lips when Farleigh imitated the poor boy's smile, which was all teeth and kind of creepy, when you flinched at the sight of a guy peering at the two of you behind a bookshelf. Farleigh’s brow furrowed and he turned to see what you were looking at behind him. Once he saw the guy he turned back to you and mouthed ‘what the fuck?’ which made you laugh again.

This seemed to be the final straw for the guy and he walked over. “Could the two of you shut up. You do realise that this is a library? People are trying to actually study.” The guy sneered. You looked at him with wide eyes, where had you seen him before? He didn’t seem like the guy to take literature…also not any of your other classes- oh… Maths. You definitely saw him there.

You’ve never really looked at him before. He was quite handsome if you took away the classes, khaki pants, tucked in blouse and the keys hanging from his belt, not bad. Farleigh spoke up before you could apologise. “Aren't you the guy who screamed at Oliver during O week?” He looked at the guy with an expression you knew all too well, he was about to rip this guy a new one. And of course the poor guy’s face goes red as a tomato.

You felt bad and gave Farleigh a look, anything to stop this awful moment. Luckily Farleigh gave it a rest and the guy opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself. He walked away instead. “What the actual fuck was that.” You laughed, the whole interaction was absurd. “I have no idea- Oh, El just messaged me. She is… on her way and will be here soon.” Farleigh read as he scanned his eyes over his phone.

“Good, but don’t make that face again in front of her. It’ll only start something between the two of you." Then your eyes noticed something, the guy from just now, sitting all alone, fervently writing down notes. Hm, kind of sad. Only five minutes later did Eloise stumble into the library, dripping wet, with her books under her coat. “Fuck me, that rain is just getting worse.” She said a little loudly as she dropped her books on the table. Earning a look from that guy from before.

“You don’t have an umbrella?” Farleigh chuckled. “No I don’t, who remembers to bring an umbrella to uni?” She scoffed. You raised your brows and smiled at Farleigh. He laughed and Eloise sat down, copying some of your already finished homework. “Hurry up, we only have ten minutes until maths start.”

“Yeah yeah I’ll be quick. I can easily do this in five and then we be there ‘bout three minutes before, that’s plenty of time.” You rolled your eyes and watched as Eloise hurriedly scrabbled on the paper. When she was done, Farleigh went back to his dorm to watch a movie, while you and Eloise headed the other way to maths, laughing when she saw you open the umbrella for the two of you.

Eloise always preferred to sit in the back, so that’s where you went. Felix and Oliver were already there. To be honest you didn’t know if you liked Oliver just yet, he hadn’t been around for long but you just got weird vibes from him. But if Felix liked you that’s all it takes to ‘get in’. You hadn’t realised when you were walking in front of Eloise that you would be seated right next to Felix.

You didn’t mind him, but he had this sort of weird thing with girls. As if he needed to prove to himself that he could get anyone, except for you. You had no interest in him, you were more the type to have a friendship and deep connection with someone rather than hooking up. But that was exactly what Felix was, a quick fuck. You gave him an awkward smile when he grinned at you, and a small nod from Oliver.

Time for small talk was impossible as your professor already cleared his throat, silencing the hall. But for some reason your eyes were scanning the room. That kind of looked like- oh, nope not him. He kind of looks similar- also not him, oh, there he is. All the way to the bottom left. You instantly recognised that nose, that jaw, his soft blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes- okay, that was a lot. You had no idea what overcame you but you would definitely be thinking about him later, when you were alone. And it was the daydreams of him that got you through the boring lecture.

Thursday, October 13th 2006

‘Saying what you gon’ do to me’ ‘But I ain’t seen nothing’ ‘Typical ain’t hardly the type I fall for’ ‘I like when the physical-’ You were so engrossed in the song coming from your headphones that you bumped into someone. Oh god- it was him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You said as you ripped your headphones out of your ears. “Whatever.” He mumbled, about to just step around you and move along into the building but you stopped him, grabbing his arm. Which made him turn around and look at you surprised.

“I’m so sorry about yesterday, I wanted to apologise then, but Farleigh can be so rude.” You smiled. He didn’t respond but looked at your hand on his arm instead, which you then quickly let go. “Uhm, what’s your name?” His mouth was slightly opened as he stumbled out, “M-Michael Gavey.” He stuck out his hand and you shook it as you told him your name. “Nice to meet you Michael, and again so sorry about yesterday.” He only nodded and then walked away. You subconsciously smiled and put your headphones back in, heading to your next lecture of the day.

#michael gavey x fem reader smut #michael gavey x fem reader #michael gavey x reader smut #michael gavey x reader #saltburn fanfic #saltburn smut #michael gavey saltburn

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magnagaruzenmon · 18 days ago

Text

Alternative: Dragon and Kirin Part I

While Dio cooked with Son of Melody I think he’s picked the wrong bias in Le Sserafim.

So I’m here to run it back, this time after He completed Django’ story (because my last Alternative completed derailed his burlesque series, but never the matter.

As previously mentioned Dio is a loud and proud hyper social introvert, who takes no shit or prisoners, and while little Ssamachi was very cute the level of competition and fire that Dio has is not the same. So what’s the only thing that could satisfy a dragon like him? A kirin like Yunjin so without further ado here’s my take on his story.

So here is the story of Roland the invincible.

for transparency this takes place after Son Of Melody, but there will be no spoilers for that story here since its finished but not posted.

The Battle Showcase was today. And Roland and Yunjin were itching to finally prove their mettle—whatever it was.

The House of Life magician—Yunjin, prodigy trained by Sadie Kane, beloved of Ame-no-Uzume, and venerated host of Hathor—versus Roland, the invincible hero who had bested a Fomorian, a Jotun, and a Titan in their own realms. Their reputations were the kind that echoed through war councils and bunkhouse gossip alike. They were living legends—and somehow still never enough for themselves.

Because no matter what they slayed, they couldn’t seem to best each other.

If one downed a Minotaur, the other bagged a Hydra. If one mastered a new spell or combat form, the other came back the next day with something even more absurd and death-defying. The need to validate themselves—prove they were the apex of what a hero should be—drove them to outrageous feats no other camper dared to attempt.

And in that relentless pursuit of greatness, they left everyone else behind. Even among demigods, they were alone. Except for each other. Which sadly led to them only treating the other with contempt.

Roland arrived early at the legionary Country Club. Volunteering to help set up the new Aphrodite statue was supposed to be a quiet favor—a bit of goodwill toward the goddess who had helped turn the tide of the Second Titan War. He wasn’t exactly a romantic, but he respected power. And Aphrodite, when taken seriously, was terrifyingly powerful.

He swiped his all-access card and pushed the door open, eyes on his phone. His thumbs danced across the screen as he scrolled through his playlist. The guitar growl of Miracle by Bad Omens kicked in, heavy and familiar.

Behind him, soft footsteps. Perfumed air.

Yunjin slipped through the door just before it closed, moving with the kind of casual precision only someone trained in both divine grace and military discipline could manage.

“Thanks so much—oh,” she said, her tone souring mid-sentence. “It’s you.”

Roland didn’t look up. “You’re welcome.”

She crossed her arms. “Didn’t realize you were on statue duty.”

Now he glanced up, only to groan aloud. She matched him.

“What are you doing here?” they both asked at once, voices flat and annoyed.

“I came to prep for the Aphrodite statue,” Yunjin said, narrowing her eyes like she expected him to challenge her right to be there.

“Why? Because Sakura asked me,” she added, lifting her chin.

Roland leaned against the wall, arms folded. “Well, Oliver asked me.”

They stared. Not in hostility—but something tangled just beneath it. Not hate. Just… proximity to a fire they didn’t quite understand.

Roland’s eyes flicked away first. Something tightened in his chest and he didn’t like that he couldn’t name it.

“Look,” he said, exhaling through his nose. “Let’s just get through today without any drama. Then we can bash each other’s faces in tomorrow.”

Yunjin blinked, taken aback. A beat passed. “Didn’t peg you for the romantic, respectful type.”

He rolled his eyes. “Rude. But I get it. The vibe don’t exactly scream ‘thoughtful.’”

She smirked. “They scream something.”

“But today,” he continued, adjusting the strap of his bag, “I’d rather not get cursed by a goddess with a thing for poetic justice. Aphrodite—like love—is unpredictable. I’m not picking that fight.”

Yunjin’s smile deepened into something quieter, almost fond. “I always forget you’re actually forward-thinking. Probably because your go-to move is hitting things harder.”

He gave a half-laugh. “I mean… statistically, that works more often than it not.”

They stood there for a moment. Not talking. Not moving. The silence wasn’t awkward—just heavy with something unspoken.

Roland turned toward the lounge’s side counter, where a humble café station buzzed with the faint hum of a demigod-grade espresso machine. It wasn’t much—just a corner table with a few enchanted kettles, a charmed grinder, and a set of self-cleaning mugs—but it was a quiet ritual spot for volunteers.

“Come on,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll make you a coffee. Peace offering.”

Yunjin hesitated, lips parting like she had something to protest, then pressed them together. That strange bloom in her chest—warm and traitorous—stirred again. She cleared her throat and followed, just a step behind.

Roland moved with a casual kind of grace, weaving between stools and counters with practiced ease. His hands, usually busy wielding steel or summoning raw magic, moved surprisingly gently now—grinding beans, measuring just right, heating milk to an exact warmth. Before she could ask, he was already prepping her drink.

Yunjin blinked. “Why aren’t you making yourself one?”

“I don’t drink coffee,” Roland replied, not looking up as he stirred.

She looked scandalized. “Then why are you making me one?”

“Because you drink it,” he said simply, glancing up at her like she was the one being weird.

He slid the finished drink across the counter. Not just coffee—her coffee. Creamy, a splash of rose syrup, cinnamon dusted lightly on the foam. Her eyes widened a second time, and this time she didn’t hide it.

“How did you know my order?” she asked, suspicious now, one brow rising like a challenge.

Roland sighed and ran a hand down his face, dragging his palm across his brow as if this whole moment was a little too much effort.

“I have friends who work here,” he said, tone even. “They always talk about the regulars and the wild orders they get. Yours came up a lot. Apparently it’s one of the easier ones to memorize.”

Yunjin blinked, still suspicious but no longer defensive. Her shoulders dropped a fraction. She took a tentative sip—and froze.

It was perfect.

Every note, every ratio—exactly how she liked it. She hated how impressed she was.

“Wait,” Roland said, narrowing his eyes, “Did I mess up?”

Yunjin let out a long breath, half groan, half surrender. “No. It’s perfect,” she muttered, almost like an accusation.

Roland rolled his eyes, smirking faintly. “You’re welcome,” he said dryly, already walking away from the counter.

As he stepped into the open lounge area, one of his spirit dragons shimmered into existence beside him. The creature, normally the size of a falcon, stretched and expanded until it was roughly the shape and size of a futon. Its scales flickered like blackened opal as it curled lazily into a coil. Roland dropped onto its back with a heavy sigh, folding his arms behind his head as if he’d done this a hundred times before.

Yunjin stood at the edge of the room, coffee in hand, watching him lounge like a storm cloud on a silk pillow. She sipped again, annoyed with herself for enjoying it, more annoyed that he was so good at casually disarming her.

And worst of all, she kind of wanted to sit next to him. Yunjin stayed standing for a moment, sipping her drink, letting the silence stretch between them. Roland looked half-asleep, sprawled across his spirit dragon like some grungy mural of divine nonchalance. His boots were still on. Of course they were.

“I’ve been trying to figure you out,” she said suddenly, sitting down on the armrest of a nearby chair, angled toward him.

Roland cracked one eye open. “That sounds like a you problem.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s your zodiac sign?”

His eye closed again. “I don’t believe in that stuff.”

“You don’t have to believe in gravity for it to throw you off a cliff. What’s your sign?”

He groaned. “Aquarius.”

The pause was a mistake.

“Oh my gods, that makes so much sense!” Yunjin perked up like she’d just solved a divine riddle. “You’ve got that whole aloof genius energy, emotionally weird but somehow deeply principled, probably think you’re a misunderstood rebel—but also care too much and then pretend you don’t. Total Aquarius.”

Roland opened both eyes now, scowling up at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him.

“You’re not even trying to be unpredictable,” she continued, her voice gaining a rhythm like a prophecy. “You’re doing the textbook Aquarius thing where you act like you’re above all this, but you’re secretly the most chaotic romantic of them all. That’s why you don’t ‘believe in astrology.’ Because admitting it’s right would ruin your brand.”

“I don’t have a brand,” Roland muttered.

“You absolutely have a brand,” Yunjin fired back, sipping her coffee with mock arrogance. “Moody war god energy meets tortured art school senior. You’re like… if a thrift store and a battlefield had a baby.”

“Okay, that’s just rude,” he said, not even bothering to lift his head.

“But accurate.”

He gave her a long side glance, that little twitch in his jaw betraying how close he was to arguing. Then he sighed. Deeply. Sagging back against his dragon like giving in was physically painful.

“You know what?” he said, eyes closing again. “Sure. Whatever. Aquarius. Stars. Chaos. Let’s just get it all out now before you bring up moon signs.”

Yunjin gasped. “Wait—do you know your moon sign?”

“No.”

“You totally do. That was so specific. That’s such an Aquarius moon denial response—”

Roland let out another groan and tossed an arm over his eyes. The dragon beneath him gave a low, amused rumble like it was enjoying the drama.

Yunjin leaned back, smug and satisfied, sipping the last of her drink. There was a weird sort of peace in the air now—exasperated, ridiculous, and weirdly warm.

She glanced at him again, wondering if he knew she was only teasing because she kind of liked the way his scowl softened when he gave up the fight.

After a beat of silence, Roland dropped his arm from his eyes just enough to peek at her.

“So,” he drawled, “Hathor’s favorite host, huh?”

Yunjin blinked, then narrowed her eyes. “What about it?”

“Nothing,” he said, clearly meaning something. “Just… must be exhausting. Living up to the expectations of a literal goddess of beauty, love, and like, thirty different fertility symbols.”

Yunjin sat up straighter, her expression flickering between annoyance and amusement. “Wow. Look at you using context clues. I’m impressed.”

Roland smirked. “I mean, it’s not like she picked someone subtle. You’re practically a walking sonnet with glitter.”

“And you’re a walking monster truck commercial with daddy issues.”

That earned a sharp laugh from him—low, surprised, and begrudgingly genuine.

Yunjin leaned forward a bit, eyes locked on his. “But sure, yeah. There’s pressure. Everyone wants me to be perfect all the time. Smile just right, make peace, radiate grace. You think that’s easy? You think I like playing diplomat between gods with control issues?”

“Do you want me to say no?” he asked.

“I want you to say something real,” she snapped, but her tone was more daring than cruel. “Not just some smirk or a punch or another clever dodge.”

He sat up a little, propping himself on his elbows. “Okay. Fine. You want real?”

She raised her brows, waiting.

He shrugged. “I hit things because it’s easier than asking why I wasn’t enough the first time around.”

The air shifted—still charged, but heavier now. Not sad, exactly. Just true.

Yunjin didn’t blink. “And I charm rooms full of gods and monsters because if I’m not exceptional, I’m invisible.”

They stared at each other.

Somewhere behind them, the espresso machine let out a hiss of steam. Neither of them moved.

Then Roland tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly in mock challenge. “So what—you psychoanalyze me and believe in astrology? That’s dangerous.”

Yunjin smirked. “I multitask.”

“I see that,” he said, tone dry. “I guess Your love language is arguing, huh?”

“Only with people worth the breath.”

They held each other’s gaze a moment longer, and it was impossible to tell if they were about to start bickering again or kiss—or maybe both. The tension was almost musical, strung tight between them like the silence before a fight or the beat before a confession.

Roland looked away first, shaking his head and muttering under his breath, “Total Aquarius behavior.”

Yunjin grinned into her cup, smugly satisfied. But as her eyes wandered back to Roland, the teasing softened. She watched the way he had sunk into his spirit dragon’s body like it was second nature—legs sprawled, one hand tucked behind his head, the other resting gently against the dragon’s shimmering flank. There was a comfort there, a familiarity, like he’d grown into the creature’s rhythms over time.

“Your dragons,” she said, tipping her head thoughtfully. “They were a gift from Hades, right?”

Roland shook his head, eyes still half-lidded. “Not exactly. I got them after a quest. Had to travel through a bunch of underworlds—Greek, Egyptian, even one of the Celtic ones—to collect offerings for Persephone: a Stygian lotus, an Other Side poppy, and a bunch of soul-bound blossoms most people don’t even believe exist.”

Yunjin blinked. “Sounds brutal.”

“It was,” he said, a bit too casually. “I lost my signature weapon halfway through. Came out of it with cracked ribs and a broken arm.”

Yunjin frowned, but stayed quiet.

Roland continued, “Persephone took pity on me, I think. She used her magic to merge two lingering spirits I’d encountered during the quest—one was a koi spirit, graceful and curious; the other was a bear spirit, stubborn and loyal. The fusion created Ureni and Teval. Twin aspects of one soul, split between protection and patience.”

He looked down at the dragon beneath him with a small, quiet fondness.

“They’ve been with me ever since.”

“Oh.” Yunjin’s voice was soft now, touched with awe. “So they’re… your family?”

He stiffened just slightly, as if the word startled him. “Yeah,” he said. “They’re not just tools. They’ve kept me alive more times than I can count. Ureni and Teval are as much my home as any cabin or cohort.”

“Which one are you lying on now?” she asked, stepping a bit closer.

“Ureni,” he said. “The bear spirit. He’s the one that naps through battles unless things get serious.”

She nodded, thoughtful. Then, without asking, she set her coffee cup aside and eased herself down on the other side of the dragon. She expected it to feel strange or awkward—but instead, it was… cozy. Ureni’s scaled body was warm and pliant, like sinking into a memory. Comforting in a way she hadn’t expected.

She looked over and found Roland watching her, an eyebrow raised.

“I guess he likes you,” he muttered.

Yunjin gave him a sideways glance. “He’s too soft not to.”

“Still,” Roland said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “stay on your side of Ureni and I’ll stay on mine.”

“No promises,” she murmured, letting her head rest back against the dragon’s side. “Aquarius don’t believe in boundaries.”

Roland groaned, throwing his head back. “I regret everything.”

But he didn’t move away.

Neither did she.

Neither of them moved. Or so they thought

Warmth spread between them—not just from Ureni’s steady, dragon-sized body heat, but from the quiet, shared exhaustion only battle-hardened demigods seemed to understand. Somewhere between snark and softness, silence stretched. Not awkward. Not tense. Just still.

Yunjin’s eyes fluttered shut first. Roland noticed, glanced her way, and smirked. He should’ve said something. Poked her. But the weight of the day—and maybe something else—pressed gently on his chest. His eyes drifted shut too.

Time slipped.

And then—click.

A blinding flash pierced the darkness behind his eyelids.

Roland sat bolt upright. “What the—?”

Yunjin jerked awake with a startled squeak, blinking rapidly, one hand still half-curled around the edge of Roland’s hoodie—which he definitely hadn’t been wearing earlier. Ureni huffed beneath them, clearly unimpressed.

Standing in the doorway were Sakura and Oliver, each holding iced drinks and absolutely beaming.

Oliver, phone still raised, grinned like he’d just summoned photographic proof of Bigfoot. “Awwwwww.”

“Are you kidding me?” Roland groaned, scrubbing his face with one hand.

“You guys are literally spooning,” Sakura said, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “On a dragon.”

Yunjin blinked, looked down, and then looked up again, horror blooming across her face. Roland’s arms were wrapped loosely around her waist. His chin had apparently been resting on the top of her head.

“Oh my gods—” she scrambled backward and fell off the dragon with a dull thud, her coffee cup clattering nearby.

Roland sat up straighter, arms awkwardly hovering midair like he wasn’t sure what to do with them now. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

Oliver snorted. “It looks like trauma bonding but make it romantic.”

“It’s not—” Yunjin started, brushing her hair out of her face and shooting a glare that could curdle nectar.

Sakura was already sending the photo to someone.

Yunjin hissed, “Do not put that on CampNet!”

“I won’t,” Sakura said sweetly. “But the group chat is gonna eat this up.”

Roland sighed, glaring at Oliver. “You couldn’t have knocked?”

“We did,” Oliver said. “Twice. But you two were cuddled up like a Hallmark special and Ureni wouldn’t let us through. Dragon was guarding your nap like it was sacred.”

“Traitor,” Roland muttered to the spirit dragon, who just blinked lazily and tucked his tail around himself.

Yunjin crossed her arms, cheeks still flushed. “This never happened.”

Oliver grinned. “Sure. Just like how you and Roland ‘don’t like each other.’ Right.”

Yunjin turned to Roland. “Say something.”

Roland, still looking half-asleep and a little betrayed by reality, shrugged. “I said ‘stay on your side.’ You didn’t listen.”

“You could’ve pushed me off!”

“How could I? I was asleep?.”

Yunjin groaned, muttering curses in three languages as she grabbed her drink and stormed off to the hallway. “I hate everything.”

Sakura waved after her. “Love you!”

Roland sighed again and slowly slid off Ureni’s back, dusting off his hoodie.

Oliver patted him on the shoulder. “I give it a week before one of you snaps and confesses.”

Roland didn’t answer—but he did glance toward the hallway Yunjin had fled down, expression unreadable.

Yunjin leaned against the cool marble railing, arms crossed tight over her chest. The mountain breeze nipped at her cheeks, but it didn’t account for the flush burning there. Her jaw was clenched, eyes fixed on the horizon as if sheer force of will could erase the last hour from existence.

Sakura stood beside her, sipping lazily from a cup with obnoxious pink glitter lettering. She wasn’t even trying to hide her grin.

“So…” she began, voice lilting with faux innocence. “You gonna tell me how spooning your favorite nemesis felt, or do I have to pull it from your dreams like a memory spell?”

Yunjin groaned and pressed a palm to her face. “We were asleep. It was an accident.”

“Right. And you accidentally memorized his weapon stats, combat stances, and his go-to battle playlist.”

“That’s called being prepared.”

“It’s called being compatible,” Sakura sing-songed, bumping Yunjin lightly with her hip. “You two are like yin and yang. Chaos and precision. Punch and flourish. Enemies to lovers with extra trauma.”

Yunjin opened her mouth, then closed it again. She didn’t argue, but her silence was telling.

Sakura tilted her head, smile softening. “You’re the only one who talks back to him without flinching. You challenge him. He needs that.”

Yunjin’s voice was quiet, thoughtful. “He’s frustrating. Arrogant. Thinks he’s always right.”

“And maybe you’re into it?”

Yunjin shot her a sharp side-eye. “I will literally summon a crocodile spirit to chew your glitter straw in half.”

“Please do. I’ll just tell it how you melted into his arms like marshmallow fluff on a summer bonfire.”

Yunjin groaned again and covered her face. “We were tired.”

Sakura chuckled and took another sip. “Look, all I’m saying is—maybe it’s time to stop trying to out-alpha each other and just… see what’s there.”

Yunjin peeked through her fingers. “What are you suggesting? That I just walk up and ‘tame’ him like some mythic beast?”

“Exactly.” Sakura’s grin turned impish. “Tame your rival. Or at least make out with him and get it over with.”

Yunjin scowled. “You act like this is simple. Like we’re the same.”

“You are the same. You’re both magic users, you both perform in battle like it’s theater, you both refuse to lose even when it’s stupid to care.”

Yunjin gave her an offended look. “I am not a loser.”

Sakura rolled her eyes. “Competitive loser, then. Just like him. And the way you two argue—it’s practically flirting with swords.”

Yunjin didn’t deny that.

Sakura leaned closer. “He hasn’t dated anyone. Not once. Girls are intimidated by him, and let’s be real, he doesn’t let anyone close. But you? He lets you in. You match him. Musically, magically, emotionally.”

She paused. “You could take him to a Carti concert and he’d actually go. That’s soulmate stuff.”

Yunjin blinked, momentarily stunned by Sakura’s sincerity.

Sakura nudged her shoulder. “Tame your rival, Yunjin. Or admit you want to.”

At the same time Sakura chats with Yunjin. Oliver and Roland Char over Polished blades glinted beneath glass displays as the light filtered in through the high windows. Roland stood near one, arms crossed, staring at the floor like it might offer answers. His dragon-shaped bracelet glinted faintly on his wrist.

Oliver leaned against the wall beside him, arms loose, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.

“So,” he said casually. “You and Yunjin finally crossed that line, huh?”

Roland snorted, low and dismissive. “We fell asleep. That’s it.”

“On a dragon. Wrapped around each other like a campfire cuddle pile.”

Roland didn’t look up. “I was exhausted. She happened to be there.”

Oliver raised a brow. “You say that like you don’t gravitate toward her every time she enters a room.”

Roland’s jaw ticked. “It’s not like that.”

“She challenges you,” Oliver said, his voice dipping lower. “Keeps you honest. You don’t perform around her the way you do with everyone else.”

Roland didn’t respond, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Just be careful,” Oliver continued. “It’s easy to confuse rivalry with something more. Adrenaline makes everything feel intense.”

“You think I’m just… projecting?”

“I think she’s the only one who’s ever matched you beat for beat—and that’s addictive. But don’t chase a spark if it burns everything else down.”

Roland looked away, eyes thoughtful now.

Oliver waited a beat, then added with a knowing smirk, “But… if it is real, maybe don’t wait for another three-headed hydra to force you to admit it.”

A faint, reluctant smile tugged at Roland’s lips. “I’ll think about it.”

Yunjin tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, lips pressed together in quiet conflict.

Roland ran his thumb over the edge of his bracelet, the ghost of a smile fading back into something unreadable.

Two souls in separate spaces, mirroring each other—neither willing to say it, both already feeling it.

Somewhere far above, Aphrodite stretched lazily across her chaise lounge and smirked.

The Legionary Country Club courtyard buzzed with last-minute preparations for the Aphrodite statue unveiling. Volunteers milled about under strings of twinkling lights and floating pink lotuses, enchanted to hover like soft-glowing fireflies. Amid the organized chaos, two pairs worked in sync on opposite sides of the plaza.

Near the stage, Roland stood beside Sakura, adjusting the enchanted silk drapes that would pull away at the perfect dramatic moment. He held the fabric steady with a practiced grip while Sakura floated up briefly on a shimmer of magic to secure the top hooks.

“You know,” she called down, “this is the quietest you’ve been all day. Are you actually enjoying this or just plotting a dramatic escape?”

Roland smirked faintly. “Just trying to focus. These enchantments are finicky. One wrong pull and the whole thing explodes into glitter.”

Sakura floated back down and landed lightly beside him, brushing imaginary dust off her leggings. “Wouldn’t be the worst outcome. Glitter bomb from you? Iconic.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t hide his grin. “You just want to see me suffer through sparkles.”

Sakura's eyes crinkled as she smiled mischievously, “You say that like it’s not true.”

They laughed, and for a moment, their rhythm was natural—comfortable. Roland relaxed, cracking a small joke about the statue’s overly romantic design, and Sakura teased him about finally participating in something “fluffy” that didn’t involve smashing monster skulls.

“You’re more of a softie than you let on,” she said.

“Yeah? You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Roland muttered, carefully fluffing the drapery with surprising precision. “Besides, it’s for Aphrodite. If I screw it up, she’ll make me fall in love with a cereal box.”

Sakura burst out laughing. “And it’d probably still treat you better than some of the exes I’ve had.”

Across the courtyard, Yunjin was helping Oliver arrange the floral enchantments and shimmer lanterns surrounding the statue base. Her sleeves were rolled up, fingers glowing with subtle light as she guided the charms into a perfect symmetrical halo.

“Hey,” Oliver said, handing her another bundle of flowers. “You’re being awfully precise. What, is Aphrodite a Virgo?”

Yunjin gasped. “She actually gives major Leo energy. But this whole event? Clearly Virgo-coded. It’s the presentation, the details, the drama.”

Oliver chuckled. “You know I have no idea what that means, right?”

“Don’t worry. You just smiled through three rising sign breakdowns last week. You’re doing great.”

“I live in fear of Mercury retrograde,” Oliver deadpanned.

Yunjin laughed and shook her head, placing another lantern down. “You should. It messes with tech and communication—honestly, I’m not convinced the war with the Giants didn’t start during one.”

Oliver gave her a sideways glance, fond and amused. “You know, for someone who can literally summon a celestial cobra, you’re very concerned about star vibes.”

“Balance,” she said simply. “And vibes matter. Speaking of… how do you feel about Roland?”

Oliver blinked. “That was subtle.”

Yunjin shrugged. “I’m just asking. Friend to friend.”

“I think he’s complicated. Quiet because he thinks too much. Intense because he feels too much. You’re the only one who doesn’t tiptoe around that.”

Yunjin bit her lip. “Do you think that’s… good?”

“I think he needs someone who won’t let him sink into himself. And you,” Oliver tapped her on the forehead, “are a walking sunbeam who also throws metaphysical punches.”

She smiled, slightly embarrassed. “I just don’t want to mess anything up.”

“You won’t,” Oliver said, gently. “Just don’t hold back. Not with him.”

Back at the stage, Sakura elbowed Roland lightly. “Yunjin looks good today.”

Roland grunted noncommittally.

“She’s glowing.”

“She’s holding a lantern.”

Sakura gave him a look. “You’re hopeless.”

“Or patient.”

Sakura snorted. “Same thing in a romantic comedy.”

The two pairs, working in mirrored harmony, didn’t notice how often their glances strayed. Didn’t notice how much they already moved like a unit. But everyone else did.

Wonyoung and Kazuha were facilitating bets as to who would break first.

Kazuha bet that Yunjin would kiss Roland first while Wonyoung asserted that a yelling match would turn flirty at the drop of a hat. Unbeknownst to them there was an intruder in their midst. Aphrodite who watched their "will they won't they" was doing her best to make a "they will"

As Sakura and Oliver finished the last little touches Roland and Yunjin went into the crowd to watch. Yunjin of course was surounded by friends and other demigods, and Heroes, while Roland stood vigilant at the edge. Occasionally her gaze would wander over to him as he watched the Procession with a focused and clear gaze.

Eventually, a groan from Sadie Kane would push Yunjin out of these little glances she would steal,

"Huh?" Yunjin asked.

"Jen I have been trying to tell you about this new spell I wanted to teach you but you keep looking at Tall dark and handsome over there. Just ask him out," Sadie said

"What are you talking about?"

"OH please we all know about your little cuddle sesh with Dragon of the Southwest over there, Just ask him out and be done with it," Sadie said with an exaggerated British accent.

Meanwhile Roland was minding his own business.

fast forward 15 minutes and it's time to unveil the statue, Piper the daughter of Aphrodite and Yujin, a very famous legacy of Aphrodite give flowery speeches about how her beauty and power has saved countless lives, yadda yadda, etc. Meanwhile Aphrodite can't get enough of the budding romance between Roland and Yunjin. so she decides to add a little fuel to the fire.

Roland feels that bizarre warmth in his body again, as does Yunjin. however as they move further apart it becomes more irritating and intense but as the move closer it becomes pleasant but more intense. this leads to them moving throughout the speech until they end up shoulder to shoulder, and like clockwork they fall into their teasing relationship.

Meanwhile, Sakura and Oliver were handling the final touches at the grand unveiling stage—a beautiful platform beneath cherry blossom-laced archways, facing the new Aphrodite statue carved from opal-toned marble. Petals drifted through the air, catching in Sakura’s hair and Oliver’s hoodie as they adjusted the ceremonial drapery.

As the speeches began, the crowd gathered. Demigods from every pantheon, some in togas, some in battle armor, leaned in to listen.

Yunjin stood among a group of friends—her fellow magicians, charmers, and demigod heroes laughing and chatting. But her gaze kept wandering.

Roland, true to form, stood like a sentry at the edge of the crowd. Arms folded, expression unreadable, shadowed eyes fixed on the podium. Every so often, Yunjin would glance his way, catching how the breeze ruffled his hood, how his bracelet glinted when he fidgeted with it. Her chest tightened—annoyingly so.

“Huh?” Yunjin blinked as a nudge from Sadie Kane pulled her out of the daze.

Sadie raised an unimpressed brow. “Jen, I’ve been explaining this new spell for five minutes, and you’re over there making heart eyes at Dragon Boy.”

“I am not—”

“Please.” Sadie gestured dramatically. “We all heard about your little cuddle session. On a dragon. At a demigod lounge. Scandalous.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Yunjin muttered, color blooming in her cheeks.

Sadie grinned. “It’s okay. I approve. You’ve got excellent taste in emotionally repressed monster slayers.”

Roland, for his part, was very much not eavesdropping. He was doing his best to focus on the speeches. Mostly.

He’d caught Yunjin’s voice in the crowd earlier—her laughter, the rhythm of her teasing—and despite himself, his ear kept tuning toward it like a spell. He sighed, then turned his attention back to the stage, just as Piper and Yujin (the legacy, not the girl in question) stepped forward.

Piper’s voice rang out smooth and sure. “Aphrodite isn’t just beauty—she’s power. Strategy. Diplomacy. The reason countless battles ended before they even began.”

Yujin added with poetic flair, “She is the soft force behind every hard edge, the velvet glove in every armored gauntlet.”

Aphrodite watched from her hidden spot in the crowd, barely suppressing a giggle. She waved her fingers subtly—and the magic began to stir.

Roland’s chest warmed. Not a metaphor. Actual, confusing warmth bloomed in his sternum and spread outward like sun-warmed honey. His brow furrowed.

Yunjin shifted in place, tugging at the collar of her shirt. “Ugh. Is it just me, or is it suddenly—hot?”

Then the discomfort sharpened.

When they drifted apart—drawn in opposite directions by friends, distractions, or sheer denial—the heat became an itch, a prickle, an almost aching discomfort.

But when they neared—just by a few feet—the warmth smoothed out into something… oddly pleasant. Calming, even. And intense.

Roland slowly made his way closer through the crowd. Yunjin, half-distracted by the sensation and half-curious, did the same.

Until they were shoulder to shoulder.

He didn’t look at her. She didn’t look at him. But they both knew.

Yunjin whispered, “You’re following me.”

Roland scoffed. “You’re orbiting me. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I could say the same.”

“You just did.”

She exhaled, a small smirk twitching at the corner of her lips. “Gods, you’re exhausting.”

“And you’re insufferable,” he muttered—but there was no heat in his voice. Just that same strange pull, the one he’d felt every time she challenged him, beat him to a monster, or called him out on his stubbornness.

And somehow, standing there beneath a goddess’s statue and an enchanted sky, it all felt like something was about to break.

Aphrodite smiled behind the curtains.

The game was set. The trap was sprung.

And they had no idea what was coming next.

As the speech went on, the crowd buzzed with shifting attention spans—some captivated, others restless.

Yunjin and Roland, shoulder to shoulder now by some invisible magnetic pull, were quietly falling back into their usual rhythm.

“Well,” Yunjin muttered, arms crossed as she stared at the back of the Aphrodite statue’s silken cover, “at least the speech is prettier than your playlists.”

Roland raised an eyebrow, deadpan. “You don’t like passion and soul?”

“If by passion and soul you mean screaming into a void over distorted guitar, then no. I like actual music.”

“Says the girl who sings opera in dead languages,” Roland shot back. “Structured vocals in a language you don’t even speak? Yeah. Super relatable.”

Yunjin gave him a sidelong glare. “Opera is timeless. It takes discipline. Artistry.”

He shrugged. “So does not blowing out your vocal cords in a breakdown.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re pretentious.”

But even as the teasing burned low, something in Roland softened. His head tilted slightly, and he started humming under his breath—quiet, but clear to Yunjin’s sharp ears.

She froze.

“Wait… is that…?”

Roland kept his eyes on the stage but didn’t stop humming.

Yunjin’s brows furrowed. “You’re humming Gnarly. By Katseye.”

Roland said nothing at first. Then: “Catchy track. Good build. Weird bridge, but it works.”

Yunjin blinked at him, caught off guard. “You’ve been listening to it?”

“On repeat,” he admitted, still not looking at her. “Figured if I’m gonna be trapped in a musical turf war with you, I might as well understand the enemy.”

That made her snort.

Then, softer: “It’s not a war.”

Roland glanced at her, just for a beat. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The moment hung—brief, almost weightless. Yunjin looked ahead again, but the heat behind her ribs had changed. Less like annoyance, more like… something blooming.

A familiar warmth rolled through both of them again—stronger now. The crowd clapped as Piper closed out her speech, and the silk cover began to lower from the statue.

And neither of them noticed Aphrodite’s fingers subtly tracing runes in the air from behind the stage.

The magic was already pulsing beneath their feet.

And this was just the beginning.

The unveiling continued with thunderous applause. Flower petals spiraled through the air—half conjured, half natural—swirling in iridescent arcs around the statue of Aphrodite now glimmering in full view.

But Roland didn’t clap. His head tilted slightly, brows furrowing.

The warmth in his chest hadn’t faded with the speech’s end.

It was intensifying.

Not the comforting warmth of admiration or joy—no. This felt like a coil tightening behind his ribs, like something ancient pulling at his nerves. The air shimmered unnaturally. Every instinct honed from years of battle bristled with warning.

He leaned toward Yunjin, voice low and urgent. “Something’s wrong. There’s magic in the air—not ambient. This is a directed hex.”

Yunjin’s expression sobered, her gaze scanning the crowd. “From who?”

“Don’t cast anything,” Roland said sharply. “It’s reactive—whoever set this trap wants us to interact with it. It’s tethered—”

But she was already raising her hand.

“Yunjin, no—!”

A pulse of her magic flared out, brushing the invisible thread.

The trap snapped.

The marble beneath their feet glowed violently pink, veins of radiant gold pulsing through it like a heartbeat. A burst of rose-colored mist surged upward, wrapping around them in a hot, heady haze. Gasps rang out as the crowd stumbled back.

The air clicked.

Then sealed.

Yunjin and Roland found themselves inside a translucent crystal cage, humming with celestial script and pulsing enchantments. The air inside tasted like warm spice and starlight, heavy with emotion. The bars glowed faintly—not metal, not glass, but pure magical pressure shaped by repressed feelings.

“Oh great,” Roland muttered, scanning the runes. “Love trap. Aphrodite-grade. We’ve been hexed into a feelings cage.”

Yunjin started pacing, arms flailing. “This is why I don’t listen to you! You’re always so vague! If you knew it was tethered, say that!”

“I did say that!”

“You gave me one of your patented ‘doom is coming’ one-liners and expected me to interpret your brooding!”

“Because I am brooding, Yunjin!” Roland snapped. His voice spiked louder than he meant it to. “I’m brooding because I’m constantly dodging monster ambushes, god curses, and now apparently you setting off love bombs!”

“Oh please,” she scoffed, poking a glowing bar, “you’re always attracting this crap. You walk around like you’re starring in a tragic fantasy drama—of course this stuff finds you!”

“I didn’t ask to be cursed by two war gods and an underworld queen before puberty!” Roland snapped, his voice cracking from sheer frustration. “I didn’t want to become someone who flinches when people touch me or expects betrayal when someone’s nice for more than five minutes!”

That silenced her.

Roland’s chest rose and fell fast, his fists clenched at his sides.

“And you,” he growled, softer now but more dangerous, “you make it all worse.”

Her brow furrowed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“God damn it…” he spat, pacing like a caged lion, “why are you so hot?”

She blinked. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, stepping closer. “Why are you so goddamn hot all the time? Why does every fight with you feel like foreplay and war at the same time? Why are you the only one who pushes me without breaking me? Why are you the only one who doesn’t look at me like I’m broken?”

Yunjin stared, stunned.

Roland’s eyes were burning now, wide and vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed.

“I spend every day trying to keep myself together. And then you show up—loud, smart, impossible—and I forget how to act. You make me feel… right, and it terrifies me.”

For a moment, silence.

Then her heart cracked open.

Because now that she looked at him—really looked—she saw it. The stiffness in his shoulders. The way he leaned ever so slightly toward her, craving contact but holding himself back like he didn’t deserve it. Like he wasn’t sure it would be returned.

He was starved for affection.

And he didn’t know how to ask for it.

Yunjin’s breath caught.

Without thinking, without a word, she surged forward.

Her hands grabbed his collar, and she kissed him.

It wasn’t sweet or soft.

It was volcanic.

Their lips crashed together in a storm of everything unsaid, unacknowledged, and uncontrollably wanted. The kiss was messy, intense—her body pressing into his as he let out a startled sound and immediately melted into it, like he’d been waiting his whole life for someone to pull him in.

When her tongue pressed past his lips, he didn’t resist—he opened up, entirely, surrendering to her lead without hesitation. It was vulnerable and needy in a way that shattered something in her.

She could feel it in the way his hands clutched at her waist, grounding himself.

She could feel it in the way he groaned into her mouth like he couldn’t remember how to breathe without her.

God, he needed this.

And Yunjin—gods help her—needed him.

The crystal cage pulsed violently, and with a dazzling burst of rose-gold light, it exploded outward like a magical supernova.

The crowd gasped.

Wonyoung dropped her betting scroll.

Kazuha whistled low. “I win.”

Sadie gagged into her drink.

Sakura swooned dramatically onto Oliver’s shoulder, who just muttered, “…Told you.”

Aphrodite, invisible on a nearby rooftop, kicked her heels and shrieked in triumph.

Inside what was left of the cage, Yunjin and Roland kept kissing, lost in each other. His hands buried in her hair, hers gripping the front of his shirt like she never wanted to let go. They didn’t hear the laughter. The applause. The gasps.

Not until Piper cleared her throat behind them.

Loudly.

They finally pulled apart, flushed and panting, eyes wide with the slow realization.

They’d just kissed.

In front of everyone.

And still… neither of them looked particularly sorry.

The crowd was still reeling from the spectacle of Roland and Yunjin making out in a glowing love-cage. Whispers rippled through the air like a spreading wildfire. Someone dropped a goblet. Sadie Kane was still coughing. Wonyoung fanned herself.

A shimmer of pink-gold light bloomed overhead, and then—sparkles.

Actual sparkles.

Aphrodite descended atop a floating chaise lounge, reclined dramatically in a flowing gown made of sheer rose petals and sunset clouds, sipping a nectar cocktail through a heart-shaped straw. She looked radiant. Smug. Pleased.

“Well,” she cooed, voice echoing like it had a beauty filter, “that took long enough.”

Roland and Yunjin had finally broken apart, breathless and flushed. Roland’s hands were still at her waist, and Yunjin’s fingers lingered near the collar of his shirt. They pulled back like they’d been caught passing notes in class.

“W-We were hexed,” Yunjin stammered, brushing her hair back.

Roland muttered, “It was magical interference. Not our fault.”

Aphrodite arched a perfect brow. “Oh honey, no. The spell just unlocked what was already there. You two have been simmering like a slow-burn romance novel for months. I just… preheated the oven.”

Groans and laughter rippled through the crowd. Kazuha fist-bumped Wonyoung. Piper looked like she wanted to disappear into a bush.

Yunjin crossed her arms. “Okay, we get it. You’re the goddess of love, and this is your weird romcom. Can we move on now?”

“No,” Aphrodite chirped, sitting up with sudden sharpness. “You cannot. Because your denial? It’s getting on my last divine nerve.”

She pointed her cocktail straw at them like a divine wand.

“You two are clearly meant for each other. You challenge, balance, and match each other. But noooo—you’d rather argue and angst and fight the obvious. So fine. Quest time.”

The murmuring crowd fell silent.

Roland scowled. “What kind of quest?”

Aphrodite leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “You’re going to retrieve my lost relic—The Veil of Theros. It’s been hidden in the realm between dreams and memory, guarded by spirits of forgotten love. Romantic, right?”

Yunjin blinked. “That sounds… dangerous.”

“And emotionally invasive,” Roland added.

“Oh, absolutely,” Aphrodite said with a grin. “But here’s the fun part.”

She clapped once.

A pulse of magic surged out, wrapping around Roland and Yunjin like invisible vines. A glowing seal formed over their hearts, linked by a fine golden thread.

“You’re now under a spell,” she said sweetly. “Until you complete the quest together, every time you try to repress or deny your feelings—” she snapped her fingers, “—they’ll come out. Loudly. Compulsively. Publicly.”

Roland opened his mouth to protest—and immediately blurted out, “Yunjin’s lips are so ridiculously plump and kissable it makes me insane. I want her to kiss me all over—gods, why am I saying this out loud?!”

A chorus of shocked gasps followed. Sadie dropped her cup.

Yunjin looked like she was going to combust on the spot, eyes wide, jaw slack.

Aphrodite giggled like a villainess. “See? You lie to yourselves, and your hearts tell the truth for you.”

Yunjin tried to say something—anything—but all that came out was, “Sometimes I rehearse what I’d say if Roland ever kissed me again and it’s never appropriate for public ears.”

The crowd exploded.

Wonyoung screamed. Oliver howled with laughter. Piper put her face in her hands. Kazuha whispered, “Oh, this is better than Olympus TV.”

Aphrodite reclined again, sipping smugly. “Tick-tock, lovebirds. The sooner you find the veil, the sooner you can stop emotionally strip-teasing in front of all your peers.”

With a wink, she vanished in a swirl of glitter.

Roland and Yunjin stood in the middle of the stage, surrounded by demigods, heroes, and a whole lot of shocked expressions.

Neither of them moved.

Then Roland muttered, “I hate everything.”

Yunjin whispered, “I’m going to kill a goddess.”

The air was still thick with gossip as Roland and Yunjin stumbled off the stage, cheeks burning, tethered by an actual golden thread of fate that shimmered faintly between their chests like a cursed phone charger. Every time they pulled more than a few feet apart, the thread tugged with a magical ping and an uncomfortable rush of emotion that made their hearts flutter and stomachs flip.

“Okay,” Roland muttered, jaw clenched as they entered the armory lounge. “Let’s grab our gear, keep our heads down, and maybe no one will—”

“ROMEOOO, JULIET~” sang Wonyoung from the balcony above, voice full Disney princess, full volume.

Kazuha leaned over the railing, grinning. “Don’t forget your enchanted condoms!”

Yunjin groaned and dragged a hand down her face. “We’re never living this down.”

Sadie passed them a satchel of potions with a smirk. “Just be safe. Emotion-magic is intense. I once watched two cursed lovers make out so hard they knocked themselves out on a fountain.”

“Not helpful,” Roland said flatly.

“Still true,” Sadie added cheerfully.

They reached the supply wing, and began sorting through enchanted blades, travel kits, rope, celestial bronze, spellbooks, and first aid charms. But the curse didn’t wait politely for them to finish.

As Roland inspected a pack, he casually muttered, “Gonna need extra space in case Yunjin wants to shove more lip gloss in here—”

Then froze.

His face contorted in horror as the curse kicked in.

“—because watching her reapply it is basically a religious experience. It's so distracting I forgot how to zip a bag once. Gods, shut up mouth, please shut up mouth—”

Yunjin dropped the compass she was holding.

She turned toward him, pink blooming across her cheeks—and then it hit her.

“Oh yeah?” she shot back, eyes wide with panic. “Well, I stole your flannel hoodie last week just to sleep in it, because it still smelled like you, and it made me feel… safe.”

The room fell silent.

Oliver, leaning on the doorway with a protein shake, raised a brow. “Wow. Y’all are like walking Tumblr posts now.”

Sakura, entering behind him, handed them each a canteen. “This is the most romantic disaster I’ve ever witnessed, and I lived through Nico’s three-month brooding phase.”

Roland mumbled something about perishing in the woods.

Yunjin muttered about “accidentally” feeding herself to a chimera.

But the teasing didn’t stop. Wherever they went—grabbing maps from the strategy den, collecting healing salves from the greenhouse, packing snacks from the mess hall—demigods whistled, flirted, or shot finger-hearts their way.

At one point, a trio of younger campers actually started following them while humming wedding music. Yunjin shot them a death glare, which only made them giggle harder.

Finally, bags packed and tempers fraying, Roland and Yunjin ended up near the stables to check their transport—pegasi, sleek and impatient.

Roland sighed and muttered under his breath, “This is torture.”

But the curse wasn't finished.

“—because she smells like wildflowers and moonlight and I hate how much I like it.”

Yunjin closed her eyes.

Then opened them, stepped forward, and whispered, “Let’s just get this relic… before I kiss you again in front of a minor god.”

“Deal,” Roland whispered back, voice hoarse.

Their fingers brushed when they reached for the same saddle.

Neither of them pulled away.

The country club’s underground hangar buzzed with arcane electricity and the smell of engine oil, elemental fire, and coconut-scented monster repellent. Leo Valdez stood on a lift, goggles perched in his hair, tightening bolts on what looked like a massive bronze wing. His latest skyship—a sleek, solar-powered monstrosity of Valdez-brand genius—was halfway complete, hovering under gravitational runes and Leo’s unspoken stress.

Roland ducked under a hanging cable and cleared his throat. “Hey. Got a minute?”

Leo looked up, his usual smirk absent.

“Depends,” he said, tightening one more bolt before hopping down. “You here to tell me the world’s ending again, or that you need a flamethrower because Yunjin challenged you to a karaoke duel and you took it personally?”

Roland exhaled through his nose. “Neither. I’m just checking on the skyship. The one I… commissioned six months ago.”

Leo crossed his arms. “You mean the one I was building for stealth border incursions until it got held up because someone insisted on adding anti-love-magic shielding ‘just in case’?”

Roland didn’t answer. His face said it all.

Leo squinted. “That shielding wouldn’t have helped today, huh?”

Roland shifted, muttering, “Can you have it ready by tomorrow?”

Leo nodded slowly. “Yeah. If I pull an all-nighter and threaten the mana core with emotional neglect, I might make it fly by dawn.”

Then he looked at Roland more closely—really looked. There was tension in the boy’s shoulders, but something else too: the frayed edges of restraint. He was unraveling by degrees.

Leo raised an eyebrow. “You okay, man?”

Roland opened his mouth.

Did not get the chance to answer.

Because behind them, echoing from just outside the hangar bay, came Yunjin’s voice—clear, unfiltered, and cursed to the godsdamn moon:

“I want Roland to call me Mommy, despite me being younger. He’s so clearly a sub, it only makes sense. I make him feel safe and seen—so yeah. He’s definitely my good boy. And I’m definitely his mommy.”

Silence.

A wrench hit the floor.

Leo turned—slowly—and stared at Roland, blinking.

Roland, mortified, turned a full shade of crimson usually reserved for lava and romantic blood oaths. “I—I didn’t—she’s cursed too!”

Leo whistled, wide-eyed. “Wow.”

“I’m gonna hurl myself into the engines,” Roland muttered, already walking toward the ship.

“Wait, wait, wait—” Leo jogged after him, barely keeping the grin out of his voice. “So do I put a plush throw blanket in the cockpit? Or like… a throne for your mommy?”

Roland kept walking. “I hate it here.”

“Just say the word, dude. I’ll stitch ‘Good Boy 1’ into your seatbelt.”

“Leo.”

“Yunjin can get a mug. ‘Best Mom in Camp.’ We’ll keep it classy.”

As Leo dissolved into gleeful laughter, Roland facepalmed so hard his necklace nearly snapped.

The long dinner table on the terrace overlooked the lake, golden light from floating lanterns flickering off the water. Plates clinked, laughter buzzed, and the air smelled of grilled fish, lemon rice, and mint.

Roland sat stiffly between Yunjin and Oliver, trying to focus on his food and not the way Yunjin’s knee kept brushing his under the table. Across from them were Sakura, Chaewon, and her son of brigid-but-charmingly-oblivious boyfriend Django, who was animatedly telling a story about mistaking a dryad for a cosplay model.

Yunjin sipped her drink. “You thought she was doing a fan meet in the middle of the woods?”

“She had glitter on her face!” Django defended. “And a ring light!”

Chaewon shook her head. “He gave her his Instagram.”

“I regret nothing,” Django declared.

Everyone laughed—except Roland, who was staring at his fork with military-grade focus.

“Are you good?” Oliver leaned in with a smirk. “You look like your lasagna just confessed its feelings.”

Roland muttered, “This whole meal is cursed.”

Yunjin, cheeks pink, jabbed her elbow lightly into his ribs. “You act like it’s a punishment to sit next to me.”

He exhaled slowly. “It’s not. It’s just…”

And then it happened.

His mouth moved without permission. “I liked you before I even met you.”

Everyone went silent.

Roland blinked. “Wait—”

Too late.

He tried to backtrack, but the curse had latched on like a spotlight. “My first K-pop photo card was you. I kept it in my wallet because I thought you were the coolest. You had this look—like you were gonna burn the whole system down and still have time to wink at the camera.”

Yunjin froze, chopsticks halfway to her mouth.

“I hoped you’d change the industry,” he added, quieter now. “And even though you drive me crazy, part of me still hopes you do.”

Oliver clutched his heart. “Bro.”

Sakura blinked. “He’s romantic when he’s malfunctioning.”

Roland buried his face in his hands. “I hate this spell.”

Yunjin stared at him like he’d grown wings. Her voice was soft when she finally spoke. “You… really thought that about me?”

Roland didn’t answer—but the tips of his ears were red.

Then the curse struck her.

“I want to hold you after your nightmares,” she blurted.

The silence returned.

“I want to be the person you text when you think the world is too much,” she continued, eyes wide like she couldn’t stop the words. “You act like you're fine being alone, but I see how touch-starved you are. You soften like butter when someone’s kind to you. I want to be that person for you.”

Sakura made a high-pitched noise and dropped her spoon.

“Okay, this is happening,” Chaewon whispered, nudging Django, who blinked in awe.

Oliver sipped his drink like this was the best theater he’d seen all year. “This is the most unintentional confession dinner I’ve ever attended.”

Roland finally looked at Yunjin—really looked at her—and despite how red his face was, his voice cracked with something fragile.

“I want that too.”

She smiled, small and real, before muttering, “Gods, I hate how much I like you.”

They stared at each other.

Sakura slammed the table. “JUST DATE ALREADY.”

Django raised his glass. “To cursed love!”

Everyone laughed—except Roland and Yunjin, who just kept sneaking glances at each other, hearts pounding, walls dissolving one dinner course at a time.

The table had cleared, and the soft murmur of conversation still lingered in the air as the group began to make their way toward the preparation area. Roland was stretching his arms over his head, feeling the subtle tug in his muscles. He had barely had a chance to stretch before dinner, and now, with the weight of the day still hanging over him, he needed a moment.

As he leaned forward, trying to get a good stretch in, his eyes happened to flicker to Yunjin's legs. She was adjusting her boots, sitting cross-legged on one of the stone benches nearby. His gaze lingered a fraction too long, and then—his mouth worked before his brain could stop it.

"God, I want you to choke me with your thighs."

Yunjin, without missing a beat, raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You would like that, you little sub."

Roland froze mid-stretch, his hands still hovering over his feet. "I am not a sub."

Yunjin let out a soft laugh, the sound unexpectedly light and teasing. "Please. I could feel the way you melted into that kiss. And if it weren’t for Piper, my tongue would still be down your throat.”

Roland let out a frustrated grunt, looking away. "Well, obviously you're the first girl who's matched my freak. Of course, I’m gonna be submissive at first."

Yunjin leaned back, crossing her arms with a knowing smile. "Sub or not, you can’t deny that when I kissed you, you were all in."

His eyes narrowed as he shot back, “You think I’m submissive because I gave into a kiss? That was a magical kiss, you were hexed.”

“Oh, please,” Yunjin said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “We both know you liked it. Don’t make me get the crocodile spirit out again.”

Roland groaned, rubbing his temples. “You’re impossible.”

Sakura, who had been quietly watching them from the side, shook her head with an exaggerated sigh. “I can’t believe my boyfriend is missing all of this. He was the first one to say you two work really well together. But of course, he’s too busy with work to be here for this. Just my luck.”

Chaewon, ever the supportive friend, grinned and nudged her. “You know, Sakura, maybe this is exactly why they work. There’s no middle ground with these two. It’s all or nothing.”

Sakura let out an exasperated laugh. "They really need to get it together."

Meanwhile, Roland and Yunjin were still bickering like they hadn’t just shared one of the most intimate moments of their lives. Roland shot a glance at Yunjin as she gathered her things, his eyes lingering for a beat longer than necessary.

“You’re still not getting me to admit I’m a sub,” Roland grumbled.

Yunjin snorted. “Yeah, sure. Keep pretending. It’s cute.”

The curse was bubbling under the surface again, a silent but overwhelming force as their emotions swirled around them like a storm. Every time they exchanged glances or snapped at each other, the energy between them thickened, crackling in the air.

Roland sighed heavily, as though frustrated with the emotional chaos. “I can’t believe this is happening. Why the hell does Aphrodite have to make everything so complicated?”

“Maybe because you two are so complicated,” Yunjin retorted, her eyes narrowing in playful challenge.

“Maybe you’re right.” Roland straightened up from his stretch, shooting her a half-smile. "Still doesn’t mean I want to be a sub.”

Yunjin just rolled her eyes, smirking. “Whatever you say, Roland.”

Sakura shook her head, turning to Chaewon and Django. “Do you see this? They can’t even admit it to themselves. And they're so damn stubborn about it. I can’t deal with this.”

Chaewon smiled knowingly. “They’ll figure it out when the curse decides to do its thing.”

“God, I hope they do,” Sakura mumbled. "I mean, I’ve seen it from the start, but this… this is gonna be a wild ride."

The night air was cool as Roland and Yunjin stepped out of the country club, their footsteps heavy with the lingering tension that had followed them all evening. Despite the curses and emotional undercurrents, they still couldn’t get rid of the underlying frustration and the undeniable pull they felt toward each other. As they walked to their separate cars, Yunjin shot Roland a quick glance, eyes flickering with a mixture of annoyance and something else.

“You’re still mad about the whole ‘sub�� thing?” Yunjin teased, clearly enjoying the push-pull dynamic between them.

“Wouldn’t you be?” Roland shot back, opening his car door. “You’re insufferable.”

Yunjin rolled her eyes as she got into her own car, revving the engine with a sharp twist of the keys. “If you’re not going to own up to your sub tendencies, that’s your problem.”

“Don’t even start,” Roland muttered, already pulling out of the parking lot. “We’re both cursed, and I’m getting tired of the way you twist everything.”

“Yeah? I’m getting tired of the way you won’t admit anything,” she countered, pulling away in the opposite direction.

The drive to their places should have been easy—just a short distance—but every turn, every shift in gears seemed to increase the tension in the air, as if the space between them was becoming charged with something far deeper than just a rivalry.

The closer they got to their respective homes, the more Roland felt the burn in his chest. His thoughts—his desires—were no longer his own. He tried to focus on the road, to ignore the strange warmth spreading through his limbs. But it was there, in the back of his mind, crawling into his thoughts, turning his focus to her.

He glanced at the rearview mirror, but it wasn’t her car that drew his attention. It was the heat creeping through his veins—the magnetism of her presence, even when she wasn’t nearby.

Rolling down his window, he tried to shake off the heat. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

The strange, suffocating need only intensified the closer he got to home. His chest felt tight, and his mind couldn’t seem to focus on anything but her. That fucking kiss—god, that kiss—and everything else. Every thought turned toward her in a way he couldn’t control.

Finally, with a deep exhale, Roland made a snap decision. He pulled into the driveway and parked, then immediately grabbed his phone.

“Get over here.”

It didn’t take long for the response.

“On my way.”

#k pop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #le sserafim smut #yunjin #huh yunjin #percy jackson fanfiction #pjo fanfic #pjo smut

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cirtusmistress · 1 year ago

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Hurricane

Authors Note: I wrote this about two years ago and posted it to AO3, and never cross-posted it to Tumblr. But given I want to get back into writing, I may as well start by posting what I got! So enjoy my first fic, two years late.

Ship ~ Brahms Heelshire x GN Reader

Tags ~ Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader is Competent, Storm prep, Brahms is Scared of Storms, Touch-Starved Brahms Heelshire, Reader Replaces Greta Evans, Minor Injuries, Doll Brahms Heelshire, One Shot, Gender-Neutral Pronouns

AO3 Crosspost

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“A storm? Like, a thunderstorm? Or is it worse?” You asked. You’d been working for the Heelshire’s for around two months now. And though they’d left you with very detailed instructions on how to care for their beloved son, they had never brought up things such as house care. Honestly, you hadn’t planned on staying this long. Not into Autumn.

“A full on hurricane.” Malcolm answered, setting the last of the grocery bags down. He continued, “The worst one we’ve had in years apparently. They’re predicting outages and downed trees. I can help you secure the windows and doors if you’d like?” He offered. A sweet gesture. An olive branch of friendship. But you knew better than to take it.

During your short time at the Heelshire estate, and caring for Brahms, you’d learned a great many things. The most crucial being that whenever someone stayed around too long and stole your attention away from the doll you cared for, there was hell to pay. In one instance you found the dining room in complete disarray after simply inviting Malcolm in for tea, during a rare social moment for you. The worst case was when a friend of yours stopped by. They were a globetrotter, and seeing as you already had residence found it simpler to just stay with you. A mistake. One night was enough to send Brahms into the worst tantrum you’d ever seen. Multiple rooms destroyed, a window had been broken, and he had stolen your friend's passport. Your friendship didn’t last long after that. After all, who was to believe that a doll could cause so much harm?

“Thank you, Malcolm, but I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with a few storms in my life, I’ll manage.” You replied. Malcolm studied you for a moment. Likely trying to read you, sniff out any signs of dishonesty. But, there were none. Just that warm smile that could melt anyone's heart. He gave a sigh of defeat and nodded.

“If you say so. Just give me a call if you need anything. I’ll come check on you when the hurricane passes.” With that he gave you a wave and headed back to his truck. You muttered a soft thanks, finally returning to your chores.

Brahms sat in the kitchen where he’d been waiting. Like he was listening to your conversation. You’d grown used to this odd job of yours. Caring for a doll as if it were human. Though you’d always figured there was more to this situation then most believed. You’d heard of people using dolls to cope with loss, the concept wasn’t lost on you. But for a couple well into their later years? And there were just.. Too many small things. Even in the rules. Playing music loud, reading in a loud clear voice, leaving food in the freezer. Food which you knew was going missing.

But the biggest tell was an accident. It had been about a month into the job. You’d actually begun to believe Brahms was a child's spirit trapped in the doll. What with him moving around on his own, and leaving you little offerings, and once saying your goddamn name when he was upset. But then, just by accident as you were putting Brahms to bed, you hit your foot against the wall. It had hurt so badly you thought you’d broken a toe. But what stood out in your mind even now was the sound the wall made. It didn’t make the thud you knew from stubbing your toe time and time again in youth. The wall sounded hollow. There had been an echo. Now you knew some older houses had hollow walls. Normally the cavities between the two layers were used for insulation. But that echo.. That wasn’t a normal hollow wall.

After that you’d started paying closer attention to the house and Brahms as you went about your day. Watching and listening. Countless nights where you’d lay in bed and just listen. You’d hear shuffling, the rare footstep like someone had stumbled. Once you swore you heard breathing. You noticed how many rooms had large paintings or cabinets, your size or larger. For a while you thought you were going mad. There was no way in hell that an elderly couple had been keeping their son in the walls for twenty years. But then you learned of the Heelshire’s deaths. Suicides. So many things pointing to something you didn’t quite know how to feel about. On one hand, you were now basically the sole guardian of a doll who was actually a stand-in for the hypothetical twenty-eight year old man in the walls. On the other, Brahms was now completely alone after twenty years of isolation. Alone, save for you. Sweet, kind, loving you who treated a porcelain doll like a real boy. Who read to him every night and tucked him in with a kiss. You couldn’t just leave him. No matter what Brahms was.

“We’re in for a storm, Brahms. I guess that means we’re having a slumber party downstairs tonight.” You cortled, putting the last of the groceries away. You took note of how little perishables Malcolm had dropped off. Thinking ahead. You wouldn’t be able to cook for however long the power was gone, if it did go that was.

You turned back to the doll, scooping him up and taking him with you. You figured the downstairs office would be the safest place. The windows were relatively small and were less likely to break. It would do for your purposes. You sat Brahms in the corner and got to work moving the desk out of the way. You’d have to lay down blankets and things to sleep on. You doubted the old fashioned Heelshire’s were going to have something like an air mattress.

You spent a good hour doing basic storm prep. Dragging some old blankets and comforters out of wardrobes and laying them down on the floor. Filling up buckets and the tubs with water. Getting crossword puzzles and cards. By the time that was all done, it had begun to rain outside. The calm before the storm you supposed. The last thing on your storm checklist was lanterns. This was an old house, you were certain that the Heelshire’s would have oil lamps somewhere. Naturally the first place you wanted to check was the attic.. But you knew better. After all, if your theory was right you didn’t want to scare the poor man by invading his space. So you settled on checking the cellar first.

Only issue was, you really couldn’t bring Brahms. You knew he was never meant to be alone but taking a fragile doll into a dark cellar was too risky. He’d have to stay upstairs. You were hoping he wouldn’t be too upset.

“Brahms, I’m headed to the cellar. I’ll be quick, I promise.” You hummed. With that, you headed down alone. You had been right, it was dark and musty and damp. You started to wonder if there was mold down here. You flicked on the old dingy light which surprisingly still worked. You began digging through the clutter. Old things like furniture, clothes never worn since the sixties, even some art pieces. It was like a time capsule. You didn’t have time to walk through history though, you needed to find anything that could give light without the use of electricity. Lower and lower you went through the piles, until finally you found something. A pair of old oil lamps and a small can of oil to go with it. You muttered a soft thanks, pulling them out from beneath wicker chairs. But what was behind them gave you pause.

The bricks were singed. Dark burn marks that showed age. Your eyes followed the marks. The furniture in here had covered them, but now they were exposed after your rummaging. They flowed over the bricks going upwards. They almost looked beautiful. But that beauty hid a tragedy that plagued this home. You knew why they’d been hidden with so much clutter.

Your thoughts were interrupted when something crashed behind you, making you scream and jump. When you turned you saw one of the mirrored vanities stored away had been smashed. The mirror shards now littered the floor. And on the steps sat the Brahms doll, staring you down. It took you a moment to catch your breath, realizing your error. Brahms didn’t want you uncovering his painful memories. And he’d made sure you knew that. Gathering yourself, you pushed the lamps aside and began to put all that you’d moved back into its place. Covering those painful memories back up, letting them remain hidden and forgotten. Once finished you picked the lamps and the can up and approached Brahms. Kneeling to his height you gave an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry Brahms,” you spoke with such a genuine tone of sincerity, “I shouldn’t have snooped around. But look! I found the lamps we’ll need!” You held up the lamps, jostling them a little so they clinked together. Of course the doll remained frozen. But just faintly, almost missable under the sound of rain pouring down, you heard panting. Like someone coming down from a rage.

“I’ll clean up the shards, then we’ll head back upstairs, okay?” You’d started speaking to Brahms out loud more after you’d learned about the walls. Feeding your own delusions some would say. You held your word, starting to pick up the larger shards and resting them on top of the vanity. The smaller ones you just brushed away with some loose fabric you found. You didn’t really plan on coming back down here anyways, not after that outburst.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You always found time moves slower when there was a storm. The day seemed to drag on as the storm became worse and worse. The wind had picked up and those raindrops just kept getting larger. It was loud, even on the bottom floor. You had settled on just simple sandwiches for dinner, making sure to put a ‘spare’ in the freezer. And after that you’d just settled in to do a crossword. It was.. Probably the first time in weeks where you felt safe. There was something about the dim lighting and blankets that just felt right. Secure. Warm. Brahms sat under the covers and you’d even given him a crossword book of his own. Slightly cruel, knowing he couldn’t move with you there with him. But at least you’d been talking to him. Funny, you always struggled talking with real people. But this doll turned you into a chatterbox. Maybe it was the simple fact no one was attempting to speak over you. Like someone was actually listening.

Your tranquility was disrupted by a large gust of wind, followed by a crash that made the manor shake. And what sounded like a scream. It had come from upstairs. Something inside you just knew. That crash was in the attic. You were running upstairs before you even had time to think. Up the stairs, and finding the attic ladder down. You were unsure if it had come undone itself or if someone had moved it. That didn’t matter as you climbed up. It was your first time in the attic but you didn’t get a chance to explore. A branch had flown off a tree and crashed through the wall, opening it up to the elements. You could only act, no time for clear thoughts. You grabbed a nearby blanket and started to desperately try to cover the hole, but another gale blew you back. There was nothing you could do to patch it right now, not unless you wanted to risk injury or worse, death.

Your rattled mind returned to the scream you had heard. Or at least you thought you had heard. Looking around you didn’t see a body but there was a bed up here. A tv, a sink.. Someone was living here. You didn’t have time to celebrate your theory being proven. Where was Brahms? Your eyes flitted around, finally landing back on the ladder. Somehow you had missed the very clear bloody handprint on it during your panic. But if Brahms was bleeding.. Oh God, how badly was he injured? Quickly you descended the steps, trying to find any sign of him. You were too panicked to even fear this man who was hiding from you for so long. All you knew somewhere in this house he was hurt and bleeding.

“Brahms?” You called, starting to check every room. Could he have climbed back into the walls? Fearing you discovering him? You checked everything on the top floor and worked down, calling his name in a more desperate tone with each exclamation. But finally you found him. Turning the corner back into the downstairs study. There he sat, in place of the doll. It wasn’t what you expected to see. The mask was shocking at first glance. You were momentarily stun locked. He was bigger than you anticipated, even sitting down. Finally you snapped out of it when he looked at you, and held out his bleeding hand. It had a sizable gash across the palm.

“It hurts,” He spoke in a child-like voice. The voice you’d heard months ago. His head drooped a touch as he spoke, “Can you fix it?” He asked. Finally, after another beat, you nodded. Your mouth felt dry. Too dry to speak. In the kitchen you found the first aid, and took it back with you. He hadn’t moved from his place on the makeshift bed. You knelt beside him, and carefully took his hand in yours. Up close you could see the burn scars that ran along his entire right side. Suddenly his outburst in the cellar made much more sense.. Carefully you applied some rubbing alcohol to the cut. That made Brahms whimper and pull his hand back. The look in his eyes behind that mask was murderous.

“I’m sorry, Brahms, but I have to.. To clean it.” You choke out. Your mouth is still far too dry. You hold your hand out for his again, giving him those warm eyes again. He would trust you wouldn’t he? After all, you had been the one to care for him all this time. He looked at your hand, then back to your face. For a moment Brahms almost seemed entranced by your eyes before conceding and resting his hand back in yours.

“Good boy..” You said, starting to clean the wound. He made a noise akin to that of a moan at your praise. You supposed you were the first person to touch him or give him praise in years. He was likely touch starved. Once the cut was clean, you grabbed the bandages and began to wrap his hand. He kept watching you. His breath was heavy behind that mask.

Finally you were done, and you let his hand go. Brahms examined your work, how carefully you’d wrapped him, and the cute little bow you’d tied it off with. As he studied his hand, you studied him. Despite the childish voice he put on, he was very much an adult. You could see his beard poking out from beneath the porcelain. He was actually rather handsome, you’d admit. The rain picked up again, and the lights began flickering. Brahms jumped and quickly moved closer to you. Before you knew it his head was hiding in your lap. Apparently he was afraid of the storm. Made sense, it had attacked him after all. Carefully you began to stroke his hair in an attempt to soothe him.

“We’ll be okay. Just a little wind and rain, that’s all. Maybe we can play cards? Or I can tell you a story?” You offered. Just trying to find anything to distract him from the weather outside damaging his home. Slowly he nodded, not lifting his head from your waist. Actually his grip seemed to grow tighter. You could feel him inhaling a little too deeply, and his hands started to squeeze your thighs as he held tight. You felt bad thinking how unsurprised that made you. But he had lived in the walls for twenty years.. And you were likely the first person he’d had stick around.

You settled back on to the makeshift mattress, Brahms never letting you go. He shuffled up a bit, so his face was resting against your chest. You kept stroking his hair, picking your brain for a story to tell. Something romantic as you had a wild feeling that was right up his alley. You recounted the story of Pride and Prejudice, not skipping any details of the classic story. Brahms seemed all too enthralled by the tale. He even began to kick his feet in the air when you recounted the climax between Elizabeth and the beloved Mr.Darcy. Just before you could finish though, the lights finally gave out. Brahms tensed up against you and again hugged you tight against him. You let out a wheeze. You needed to get the lamps but he seemed content just smothering you until the lights came back themselves. Finally you managed to sit up as he continued to cling like a baby koala.

“Brahms, sweetheart, I need to light the lamps.” You manage to get out. But that seems to make his grip tighter. He shakes his head, face pulling your shirt back and forth.

“No. No lamps. I don’t want any fire in the house.” He whimpered. Your heart broke a little. That night seemed to have never left Brahms.. You stroked his back soothingly before trailing your hands to cup his cheeks.

“Brahms, we need light. It’ll be okay, I can work an oil lamp-” You were cut off as Brahms slammed you back down against the floor. Even with the cushioning it knocked the air from your lungs. Your hands fell from his face beside yourself as his own gripped your shoulders.

“No fire in the house. Never again.” His voice was no longer that high falsetto. Instead it was deep, aggressive. He sounded his age. You gasped for air, before nodding. Tears had pricked your eyes. You felt a twinge of guilt as you questioned whether or not he’d hurt you.

Finally you found your voice again, “Okay Brahms. No lamps, I promise. Do you want another story?” You asked in a feeble attempt to calm him back down. Lucky for you it seemed to work. Brahms grip on your shoulders loosened, and he returned his head to your chest. He nodded and urged you on to tell your story.

A shaky sigh escaped you. You thanked your lucky stars that you could calm him so easily. As you began telling another story, the rain and wind outside crashed into the manor. You knew Brahms would never harm you. Not you. Not his caretaker. But you began to wonder. How long would this storm last? Suddenly, in the dark, the room no longer felt secure.

#brahms heelshire x reader #horror x reader #slasher x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #sfw fanfic #comfort #minor injuries #canon typical violence #tw violence #one shot

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apoemaday · 1 year ago

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The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac

by Mary Oliver

1. Why should I have been surprised? Hunters walk the forest without a sound. The hunter, strapped to his rifle, the fox on his feet of silk, the serpent on his empire of muscles— all move in a stillness, hungry, careful, intent. Just as the cancer entered the forest of my body, without a sound.

2. The question is, what will it be like after the last day? Will I float into the sky or will I fray within the earth or a river— remembering nothing? How desperate I would be if I couldn’t remember the sun rising, if I couldn’t remember trees, rivers; if I couldn’t even remember, beloved, your beloved name.

3. I know, you never intended to be in this world. But you’re in it all the same.

so why not get started immediately.

I mean, belonging to it. There is so much to admire, to weep over.

And to write music or poems about.

Bless the feet that take you to and fro. Bless the eyes and the listening ears. Bless the tongue, the marvel of taste. Bless touching.

You could live a hundred years, it’s happened. Or not. I am speaking from the fortunate platform of many years, none of which, I think, I ever wasted. Do you need a prod? Do you need a little darkness to get you going? Let me be urgent as a knife, then, and remind you of Keats, so single of purpose and thinking, for a while, he had a lifetime.

4. Late yesterday afternoon, in the heat, all the fragile blue flowers in bloom in the shrubs in the yard next door had tumbled from the shrubs and lay wrinkled and fading in the grass. But this morning the shrubs were full of the blue flowers again. There wasn’t a single one on the grass. How, I wondered, did they roll back up to the branches, that fiercely wanting, as we all do, just a little more of life?

#poetry #mary oliver #the fourth sign of the zodiac

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lalathemediterraneanmermaid · 5 months ago

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Saligia kingdoms as real life countries Pt.2

Good day, my esteemed Concordians. I trust this moment finds you in good health and high spirits. Here I am, once again with the last part of the lesson about how "The Creator" copied has taken inspiration from the Earth and created Saligia. I'm not going to take attendance today, so let's get started my dears.

Kingdom of Avari - Japan

Avari, Land of Fire. Home of our beloved Guy who couldn't care less for his fanclub lol. He is a mood. Back to the kingdom, settled by an ambitious people who are blessed by the abundance this volcanic land provides. Rich with underground resources, this is a powerful kingdom. Many veins of valuable ore run through the land, which makes Avarians excellent metalsmiths and crafters of magical weapons. Their most famous export is red coffee.

So why Japan? Japan is a volcanic archipelago with abundant mineral resources and a history of expertise in metallurgy, especially in the crafting of swords and tools (like katanas). Additionally, although coffee culture is relatively recent, there has always been a strong tradition of beverages such as tea and sake.

Kingdom of Luxure - France

Luxure, just hearing the name of this kingdom makes you go bankrupt. Luxure, you would think is the Land of Luxury, but nope, it actually is the Land of Lakes, and home to our favourite womanizer/maneater Fenn (even his name sounds luxurious). Anyway, back to the topic, selected for its vibrant landscape, this land is favored by those that seek pleasure. The fields of art and entertainment flourish in this kingdom, which is also known for its unique attitude towards love and marriage. Here, any one person can be married to multiple other people at the same time. The local specialty here is blue wine.

And what does Luxure has to do with France? Well, actually A LOT. France is known for its vibrant artistic scene, its liberal approach to love and relationships (being a culture open to diverse forms of expression in love), and its tradition of high-quality wines. Similar to Spain, France is another nation with a great sense of fashion, being directly the birthplace of haute couture. All these characteristics have endowed France with unparalleled popularity on a global scale. Fenn would LOVE this place.

Kingdom of Voleri - Italy

Voleri, Land of Plenty. This fertile region was chosen for its ability to feed its citizens' voracious appetites (we have seen it with Rio). This expansive land is known for its agriculture, producing the most food of any kingdom in the magical realm. However, Volerians lack economic trade agreements, which puts them at a disadvantage power- wise. Famous products include Volerian wheat.

Okay, this is another case of a difficult kingdom to identify on Earth, It could try to mimic Argentina. Argentina is a country with vast fertile lands, known for its agricultural production, especially cereals like wheat, and it has faced economic challenges despite its natural wealth. BUT, in my opinion, Italy is the best match for Voleri. Italy boasts vast farmland, rolling green hills, and fertile lands that produce wheat, grapes, olives, and more. Regions like Tuscany and Puglia stand out for the natural beauty of their rural landscapes, where agriculture lies at the heart of the economy and culture, much like in Voleri. Additionally, Italy is renowned for its love of food, with a cuisine that celebrates fresh, local ingredients. Italians are also known for their hospitality and their cheerful, open nature, doesn't that reminds you of our beloved Rio?

Kingdom of Ira - Arabia

Ira, also known as the Land of Deserts. An indignant people opted for this ideal battleground from which to win every fight. An indignant people opted for this ideal battleground from which to win every fight. Surrounded by desert and with few natural resources, the Irian people have focused on enhancing their military might. They have little exportable products, keeping their kingdom afloat through mercenary work instead. I mean, I'm sure it's a beautiful kingdom, but it does sound kinda scary (the mercenary work part took me out).

Now, what does Ira has to do with Arabia? Both Ira and Arabia are defined by vast deserts that create a harsh and challenging environment. These lands are tough, arid, and demand great resilience to survive, symbolizing the strength of their inhabitants. Additionally, Arabia has historically held strategic importance due to its geographical location. So yeah, they are pretty similar.

Isle of Colde - Malta

Finally, our pretty little island. Isle of Colde, the Keeper of Peace. This island was formed in hopes of never bringing war and tragedy to the magical realm again. The Royal Academy of Concordia is located on this politically neutral island. Each kingdom must send their princes here to this microcosm of the magical realm, which serves as a symbol of peace.

And you know what? Exactly! This island has also been pretty difficult to summarize in just one country, but I tried my best. Okay, essentially, it resembles Switzerland more closely. Switzerland is famous for its political neutrality, its focus on peace, and for being a meeting point for diplomats and international students. The idea of a "microcosm" where people from different places gather also mirrors Switzerland as the host of international organizations. Furthermore, its role as a symbol of peace fits perfectly with the image of a neutral and safe place. However, aesthetically, one could say that the best comparison for Colde would be another island, this time called Malta. Malta, as a small island in the Mediterranean, has a long history of serving as a meeting point for various cultures, which aligns with the concept of a neutral place. Malta has been a melting pot of European, Arab, and Mediterranean cultures, and although small, it possesses a unique beauty with its coastlines, historic architecture, and colorful landscapes, making it an ideal location for diplomacy.

And well, that’s all, dear ones. I hope you’ve enjoyed this masterclass about our world and its foundations. Now, back to your studies, you wouldn’t want to end up in section C and get expelled, would you? Bye-bye! Kisses!

Author's note: Again, obviously, none of this information has been confirmed by the developers and creators of the game; it’s just the opinion of a girl who’s way too bored, despite having too many things to do.

#court of darkness #avari #luxure #voleri #ira #colde #guy avari #fenn luxure #rio voleri #lance ira #lou

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mosneakers · 5 months ago

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List 5 facts about a favorite sim of yours, and send this to 10 simblrs whose sims you adore! 💌

Hi! Thank you for the ask, lovely! I have lots of favorites, but since I did Coraleye last time—I think I'll switch it up a bit; and go with Norvis Specter! (Without giving away too many spoilers!)

Norvis Specter

—aka Nervous Subject, aka Nyon Specter, etc etc.

This sim has been near and dear to my heart since I was child, discovering his mysterious and horrific story while spending countless hours exploring Strangetown and finding new ways to save him from the merciless torture of the dreadful Beakers. Like plenty other simmers I'm sure, we essentially grew up together ♥

The name change- Norvis's name was decided before Life & Death was released and "Nyon" was ever a thing. I always knew when I approached his story, that I'd have to give him a "real" name, clearly Olive wouldn't call her son "Nervous Subject" and that was a moniker given to him by the Beakers. I wanted something that sounded similar to Nervous, and also allowed him to keep his initials "NS", as well as something that sounds like a loving mother might bestow onto her beloved child. I had an entire list of names that I bounced around before finally landing on Norvis. I like having my own name for him, too. It feels more like I have the opportunity to make this character more my own unique OC than just him being a premade.🖤 His appearance, however, is a mixture between my middle-aged version of him and EA's Life and Death's Nyon.

Norvis hasn't really had much of a canon presence in My Darling so far yet. Other than a brief appearance here, a mention here, and if you look carefully, he can be seen in some picture frames here. He's made a few appearances in some renders I've done, but the canon-ness? of those I've left a bit ambiguous. HOWEVER that's going to change really soon and I'm SO excited because he's getting a pretty major role in season 11 🤗

Norvis was born and raised in Strangetown, NOT Ravenwood. Don't care what EA says lol in my timeline that's the only canon!

Norvis gets a trusty pet crow (pictured above) to help him with work. His name is Devin. He's such a dick :)

Since childhood, Norvis's favorite toy/activity/art tool/treat of choice- glue. He loves glue.

#ts4 #5 facts challenge #OC challenge #character facts #Norvis Specter #maxispremades

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mxrcusflint · 8 months ago

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some old flintwood wip

i know where home is flintwood my beloved

Marcus had spent the better part of the past six years making up for the brunt of his father’s sins, and then the added weight of his own. It was a thankless job. It didn’t matter that he’d never cast an Unforgivable, or that he’d kept his head down — people still cut a wide berth around him, and he preferred it that way. If he barely said ten sentences a day, if he retreated back to his flat after every day, ate a dinner hastily cobbled together, and spent the night with his knuckles wrapped, then it was for the best.

He’d cut everything off with Wood a year before the brunt of the war, before the worst of his moral failings. It was hard, at the end of it all, not to look at Wood and detest his goodness, his rising star, the naive innocence of an unburdened bloodline. At twenty-one, Wood had been summoned to first string and the pitch had fallen in love. Scotland had made it a known bet that they’d be knocking on Wood’s window for the regional team once the World Cup came back around. It was on the eve of that dinner meeting that Marcus had called everything off. He’d justified it — they’d been contentious bed mates at most, sparring rivals at best, meeting with no particular cadence to fall into bed together.

Marcus was smart enough to know that whatever similarities they had, the core shade of their beings was different.

And so. The war.

He had nightmares often — of blue-black woods, of snaps and running so hard his chest hurt. There was a small subset of people Marcus had ever held in high esteem, and they’d splintered, one by one. Bole, Higgs, Warrington, Derrick, Urqhart: Snatcher, casualty, marked, killed in action, marked. It had become a horribly easy list to recite. Slytherins of their age didn’t make it out often.

The Flint name had long fallen from grace, that much was clear. His father, his older brother — two marked wizards who’d died in the war. Marcus couldn’t hold space for that. He had a business to run, and that was all he could think about without losing it.

If it weren’t for Montague, he’d have never come to a Puddlemere game. They were the last two strongholds of their old team, and he’d conceded because he’d seen the empty space over Montague’s shoulder where Cassius should’ve been, and after that he’d been unable to say no.

He hadn’t thought all of it through, to be frank. He couldn’t pay attention to anything else; not the roar of the crowd, nor the referee’s contentious calls — Wood was glowing, brilliant in front of the hoops. Marcus couldn’t tell what was worse: the deep, deep jealousy for the first stringers, or the ache of watching Oliver at his best.

The quaffle finally flew from a Ballycastle player’s hand to get past Wood’s outstretched fingers.

“Good contenders for the cup, yeah?”

Marcus merely nodded at Montague’s statement, too occupied with how the familiar stubborn, frustrating tilt to Wood’s mouth made him claustrophobic.

Wood had gotten better since the last time Marcus had seen him play — a scrimmage between Puddlemere and Falmouth that still surfaced in his memory no matter how much he steeled himself against it.

“They’re probably going to get beaten out by Tutshill,” Montague continued, voice filled with longing, “But their chaser line is looking strong.”

Montague could no longer play, not after war injuries and a trip down a Vanishing cabinet, but he was an avid enough watcher that they traded observations and statistics over a meal on occasion. Marcus kept an arms-distance between himself and most people who’d known him, but it was hard to say no to Graham, not when he still struggled with recalling memories, things that Marcus knew he should’ve remembered cold.

(Winning the Quidditch cup, being made Prefect, the odd crushing disappointment that plagued them all when Warrington hadn’t been selected for the Triwizard’s cup.)

Puddlemere won in a landslide, which they needed. They were trailing Tutshill and Ballycastle by 100 points and the season was drawing to a close. Marcus allowed himself a moment to appreciate the sight of Wood in the middle of a dogpile of happy Puddlemere players, before excusing himself from Montague. There was no point in lingering in the stands, and both men knew that they would see each other at some point anyways — pureblood circles ran small nowadays. No point in causing public concern over gatherings when it was easier to lay low.

The impulse to dive into the inner labyrinth of the pitch grounds was one that Marcus didn’t try hard to fight. He rarely got energy like this where he lived. The sheer amount of adrenaline was enough to make anyone dizzy. Post-matches were a gaggle of players, of staff and press junkets, and he was one of many, many bodies weaving in and out. He allowed himself to drink in the bustle, the hum of excitement from Puddlemere supporters, and it was a nice contrast to the quiet of the shop.

It was, in hindsight, an idiotic idea, because —

“Flint?”

It was a voice that plagued him in his sleep, one he’d held onto during the deepest, darkest winter months during the war. Marcus would know it anywhere. He had never wanted to hear it again.

Wood had the trained reflexes of a professional Keeper, and so his hand was already on Marcus’ shoulder by the time he’d made up his mind to walk away. There was nothing else to do but turn around and face the man.

“Good game,” Marcus said, and he shut his mouth before anything else could escape. There was likely nothing coherent he had to say, because this was the closest he’d been to Wood in three years, and he’d never been able to rid himself of this weak spot.

“Thanks,” Wood said in a carefully neutral tone, “I never expected to see you at a Puddlemere game.”

It wasn’t a direct attack, but Wood’s eyes were cool, appraising. Even when they weren’t strangers, Marcus made it a point not to attend, albeit for different reasons.

“Montague wanted to,” Marcus replied. He didn’t elaborate; Wood didn’t need to know that for some odd reason, Warrington had had a soft spot for the middling team.

“I see,” Wood said, though his tone of voice indicated that he didn’t, not really. “Well. What did you think?”

Marcus shrugged and made a non-commital noise.

Wood stared at him for a beat, before scoffing. “Man of few words still, huh?”

“I’ll be heading out then,” Marcus said, though it came out more harshly than he’d wanted it to, on account of his words getting stuck in his throat.

“Sure,” Wood said, and he released his hold on Marcus’ shoulder. Marcus took the opportunity to hightail out of the stadium, and though he managed to apparate back to his flat without splinching himself, he didn’t manage to shake off the phantom touch of Oliver’s hand for the rest of the night.

#flintwood #erinwrites #oliver wood #marcus flint #hp #WILL I EVER FINISH THIS WHO KNOWS THIS IS LIKE #3+ years old now

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h50europe · 6 months ago

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Happy hamster wheeling with Uncle Buck...

I had to empty my brain after catching up with 9-1-1 Lone Star season 5. So bear with me, or scroll past it. Thanks. xoxo

9-1-1 LA—It can be incredibly frustrating when a series loses its initial magic and starts to become formulaic or predictable. Character-driven stories often resonate more because they delve deeper into the characters' emotional and psychological aspects, making their journeys more relatable and compelling.

The depth of character development in 9-1-1: Lone Star comes across better and makes the narrative richer and more engaging. It's a shame when another series, presumably from the same creative team, doesn't have the same quality and emotional depth.

On the other hand, 9-1-1 LA has shifted focus, which is disappointing as beloved characters and their stories are sidelined. An overemphasis on a metaplot and less engaging characters like Brad detract from the overall experience. Finding the right point where the action doesn't overshadow the character-driven story but enhances it was not on TMs bingo card so far.

The OS writers should take note of the feedback from GA and fans alike and bring the series back to its roots. The intricate details of the characters and their evolving relationships often leave a lasting impression, even in the chaos of an emergency. Season 8A was a dumpster fire in more ways than one.

What's with the romantic element that was so prominent in all the post-Season 7 interviews about Buck and Tommy's relationship?

Well, that part of Oliver's interview for Gay Times hasn't aged well.

It ended traumatic, or am I wrong? Tommy's traumatized, though it was never addressed why. What happened to him that he pulled the plug (pun intended) on their relationship? And yes, he threw all the biphobic tropes at Buck he could muster.

At this point, I'm mourning the loss of Lone Star and Tarlos. While I would be okay with 9-1-1 OS being canceled. I'm sure I am not the only one feeling betrayed. It's not just Buck back hamster wheeling. We all are.

As the plots become repetitive and foreseeable, there are two possible scenarios for Maddy's kidnapping: 1) she is saved, and the baby is okay. 2) She's saved but loses the baby. Pick a base. Plus, given the preview, the serial looks like a woman (if the hair we see isn't a wig).

If you already know that TM isn't going to off one of his mains, where is the thrill? Instead he is busy axing everyone else whose name isn't Brad. I am still determining what I should look forward to... Maybe I will be enlightened. Anyway, thanks for coming to my pep talk.

On a side note, wouldn't it be great if they would at least release the cute scene in the car Lou mentioned in one of his recent interviews?

Or they could recycle it in an upcoming episode as a flashback or a dream sequence for Buck. Who knows... Recycling has been one of their favorite things lately. If there was an award for it, they would be runners-up!

#bucktommy #tevan #tommy kinard #evan buckley #lou ferrigno jr #911 on abc #tim minear #no plan #how to throw away a potential fresh storyline #911 lone star season 5 #911 lone star

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lou-struck · 8 months ago

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Prize Winner

Wakatoshi Ushijima x reader

Flufftober Day 8: Pumpkin Contest

W.C: 1.4k

~At your insistence, Wakatoshi takes his prized pumpkin and enters it into the city’s annual largest pumpkin contest.

Damp yellow leaves stick to the sides of your boots as they crunch along the gravel path leading into the large and extremely well-maintained backyard of Wakatoshi Ushijima. Although your boyfriend is one of the nation's top athletes, he still takes the time to diligently tend to his ginormous garden. In the height of the summer, his backyard was overflowing with green abundance, and he enjoyed spoiling you with harvest baskets and farm-to-table dinners regularly.

But now, as the weather turns colder, his beloved plants are yielding that last of their fruits and vegetables, and their vines begin to wither, making the space look rather dreary. You find the 6'3 wing spiker underneath one of his impressive plant trellises, plucking the little red and orange fruits from the fading vines. He has a small, content smile on his face as he places them into the wooden harvest basket you bought for him at the farmers market not too long ago.

"Oh Y/n, you're early," he says, noticing your presence. Despite his reserved words, you can tell by the joyful light in his olive-colored eyes that he is overjoyed to see you.

"I am," you say with a smile, "I thought you could use an extra hand in the garden before it rains tomorrow."

"Well, thank you, I appreciate the extra hand." He gently presses a kiss to your chilled forehead and looks around the thinning garden in thought, not wanting to stick you with some sort of terrible task. "I suppose if you would like to you could plant some garlic in this bed I have cleared out."

You nod, thankful for the task, "I'd love to." Curiously, you try to peer into his basket with little luck, "What do you have there?"

He frowns and shows you the basket, "The last of the tomatoes. It's strange that only a month ago, I was struggling to keep up with picking them all, and now this is all that is left out here."

"That is crazy; what are you gonna do with them?" you ask; despite his disappointment, there is still a decent amount of tomatoes in his basket.

"I was thinking of making us some soup for dinner," he says thoughtfully, "would that be something that you would like?"

The idea of some garden-to-table tomato soup makes your mouth water, and you find yourself agreeing with him. You start to walk over to the empty planter box when something large and bright orange catches your eye.

With his garden mostly clear, you realize that you had never checked the back corner of the lot, where there are large green vines still growing strong from the ground. And sitting atop the lives is the largest single pumpkin you have ever seen.

It looks like something straight out of a magazine cover, and you have to reach out and touch the cold, dewy, surface just to confirm that it is, in fact, real and not some oversized Halloween decoration.

"I see you found my pumpkin patch," Wakatoshi says, coming up behind you. "I really tried to grow some, but this one here was the only one that grew because it took up all the space."

"It's amazing," you murmur, your eyes never leaving the large fruit. "I've never seen one so big. Have you ever thought of entering it in one of those Big Pumpkin Contests?"

He shakes his head, "It has never crossed my mind, if I am being honest."

"Would you?"

It's contest day, and after loading up the pumpkin that Tendo affectionately named the Big Orange over Facetime last night into the back of his truck, you have arrived at the square for the city's harvest festival. People flood the square dressed in warm-toned flannels, looking like they just popped out of a Hallmark movie.

"Do you really think one of my pumpkins could win a contest like this? Wakatoshi asks, staring down at the application you had just filled out for him earlier today and thrust into his hand.

You nod. You may not know much about pumpkins, but you do know your boyfriend; he cares deeply about his plants, and he works hard. He has a natural tendency for greatness that you wish others could see applies to more than just volleyball.

Not to mention, the winner of the contest would win a trip for two to a spa resort in the mountains and that would make for a pretty sick getaway.

You watch as your sweater-clad boyfriend grabs one of the faded blue wheelbarrows set aside for the contest. His cheeks are a bit pink from the cold, but he looks genuinely happy to be there. He easily slides the orange monstrosity onto the metal cart with his near-inhuman strength, and you stare at him in wonder. Without so much as a grunt, he begins to push the wheelbarrow into the square.

"Where do you think we take it?" you ask, struggling to keep up with his long strides. He notices it and slows down a bit, despite having to carry such a heavy load with him.

"I'm not sure," he says, "but I think I know who to ask." He walks over to a man with short light grey hair tipped with black, wearing a bright orange lanyard.

The vaguely familiar man notices your approach and politely smiles up at your boyfriend.

How is it that you can hardly keep up with him even w

You run into someone who looks vaguely familiar, but you don't know who they are. "Ushijima, what brings you here today?"

"Kita, Hello," he says, gesturing to you and the wheelbarrow he is pushing. "My partner and I wish to enter our pumpkin into the contest today."

He nods, "I see, that is an impressive pumpkin. The two of you must've put a lot of hard work into growing it. Sign ups are over by the yellow tent. Good luck in the contest."

He walks away, and you look at your boyfriend. "He seemed nice; where do you know him from."

"Volleyball," he says after a moment. "I believe he was captain for Inarizaki in my third year."

"I see," you check the time on your phone. "We better get signed up; the contest will be starting soon." He nods and follows behind you as you lead your way through the crowd to the tent.

A kind-looking older woman runs the tent, greets you with a smile, takes your completed paperwork, and explains that the pumpkins will not just be judged on size but weight as well. After which she instructs you to pin a number to your wheelbarrow and leave it next to her tent so the committee can pick it up for unbiased judging.

After abandoning Big Orange at the booth, the two of you enjoy the festival, and although the contest doesn't seem to cross his mind, you can't help but wonder how the pumpkin will score.

"What do you mean we got last place?" you ask in disbelief, looking down at the rows of pumpkins. Big Orange sits at the very beginning of the line, meaning that out of all the entries, it was the smallest.

"I believe it means that all the other pumpkins were both larger and heavier than ours," he says, taking your last statement a bit too literally. His unintentional sense of humor makes you feel much better about the whole thing, and you find yourself laughing.

"Aren't you at least a little disappointed?" you ask him teasingly.

"Why would I be disappointed?" he answers. "Pumpkins can't train or intentionally build muscle; they can only grow depending on their genetics and how diligently they are nurtured."

His answer is logical, but you can't help but feel there is more to it than that. There is no way someone as naturally competitive as Wakatoshi Ushijima would just give up after one defeat.

"That being said," he continues, looking at you as passion and intensity light their usual fire in his normally steady gaze. "I do not wish to lose this competition again, so I would like to ask the other farmers what they did to produce such superior fruits." He starts to walk down the line of pumpkins only to stop and realize that you are still standing in front of not-so-big orange. And hold out his hand.

God, you love him.

You rush to take it as a smug smirk tug at your lips as you realize you may have just created a monster.

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @ambiguouslady42

#wakatoshi ushijima #x reader #wakatoshi x reader #haikyuu ushijima #ushijima #ushijima x reader #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader

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remembrancer-of-heresy · 8 months ago

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The Bloody Trio (Headcanons about main characters)

AU Reverse Therapy

Author's Note: In this post I decided to tell how I came up with the characters and some facts about them.

Tag List: @kit-williams, @druidwolf21, @pluvio-tea

Character: Malina

*collage pictures: 1, 2, 3, 4

Age: was kidnapped saved when she was 23

Height: 5,74 (175)

Description: dark brown eyes, dark shoulder length brown hair with bangs, olive skin.

Distinguishing features: none.

References: I love the Yellowjackets series and Lottie Matthews is my favorite character. This is exactly how I imagined Malina. One day I just rewatched one episode and thought that Malina definetly has the same Bambi eyes. + the actress also starred in Mad Max (an amazing series of films). It is not surprising that this is the image that appeared in my head.

Name: name Malina is a female name of Greek origin meaning "raspberry". By the way in some slavic names a word "malina" literally can be translated as a "raspberry". But this name is also a short version of a hebew name Magdalena (which means “tower”, “soothing” and also “raspberry”). I chose this name because Luka thought it sounded sweet and innocent. The girl is loved by the Space Marines, but it's a very dark, obsessive and unhealthy love. They gave her the name as if she were a pet. The heroine has a real name, but it was not mentioned because the girl had to get used to her new home. And for that, she had to become Malina.

Facts about character:

The girl grew up on the agri-world of Astarte in the Segmentum Obscurus sector. The planet was home to about 300,000 people. Most agri-worlds are polluted places, the sky is orange, and people are forced to work in gas masks. But most does not mean all. On Astarte, the sky is blue, and the atmosphere is not polluted. The planet's main export is fruits and berries.

During the Thirteenth Black Crusade, the Maelstrom merged with the Great Rift and the Red Corsairs have now been sighted further from their home than ever before (from Lexicanum). It was for this reason that the Red Corsairs attacked Astarte.

In fact, her uncle did not find a copy of the book about the Sister of Battle and the Imperial soldier. He was the one who wrote it for his beloved niece. It was the original, there were no copies. He always had heretical thoughts, so it is not surprising why he joined the Chaosites. He believes that his entire family perished under the rubble of the building.

Malina wears rather simple clothes, although made of good quality fabric (the space marines bring her new clothes from looting). Long skirts, shirts, and sometimes dresses of a simple cut, but with cute patterns (she doesn't know that sparkles are literally gold). And of course, she constantly throws a shawl over her shoulders. Malina generally likes to bury herself in a blanket up to her head or hide in Luka's or Virgil's shoulder.

Even after she has finally come to terms with her situation, she still reads religious books. Luke and Virgil very rarely, but still sometimes allow Saint Ignatius to come "to visit" so that Malina can pray with him. This lasts for 15 minutes at most, but that is enough for the girl. However, now she cannot say for sure whether she really believes in God-Emperor or prays because it calms her down like lullabies in childhood.

As her uncle used to say, the girl is very resourceful. She has a rather mediocre education. But considering that many inhabitants of the Imperium do not have it, she stands out significantly. She can read and likes it (especially fairy tales and romance novels). Malina has a sense of humor. And the fact that she jokes with a serious, and sometimes innocent, face makes it even funnier and cute (at least in the eyes of Luka and Virgil).

Malina loves Luka and Virgil. She forced herself to become attached to them, receiving a bit of tenderness from the Space Marines. Besides, it was better than being outside the quarters. She began to behave more freely with them, jokes and sometimes climbs up to the men for hugs. But even so, Malina is still afraid of them, because she understands that they are kind only to her. And other mortals suffer from meeting them.

Character: Luka The Angel

*Collage pictures: 1, 2, 3, 4

Age: around 30-35

Height: 6,98 (213)

Description: blue eyes, beeline honey hair, pale skin, snub nose.

Distinguishing features: has a one scar on the left eyebrow and freckles on the cheeks and nose.

Wears standard Lamenters armour, with the symbol of Chaos Undivided painted on his belt and the symbol of the Red Corsairs on his right shoulder pad.

References: I think Luka's appearance and personality appeared in my head thanks to the art of Natalia Kikicheva. Blood Angel (in the centre), and two lamenters. And I'm also sure that I was also impressed by Varial by @kit-williams and Theo by @pluvio-tea. And Luka's image was slightly influenced by such a character as Raleigh Becket from Pacific Rim.

Name: The name Luka is thought to mean “bringer of light” or “man of light”. The name Luka is derived from the Latin word “lux”, which means “light”. The same name had Luke the Evangelist. Malina sees Luka as her savior while her planet is being torn apart by heretics. He was supposed to be a beacon of hope for humanity as the Lamenter, but he ended up being a traitor.

Facts about character:

Luka had a loving family and always wanted to be a hero. He was one of the most promising Lamenters. Just 2 years after becoming a Space Marine, his first mission became his last as a Loyalist. On one of the death worlds, his small squad was abandoned by the Lamenters as they were considered dead. Due to the extreme conditions, Luka literally ate his comrades. Some of them were still alive.

Luckily for him, the Red Corsairs were passing by. Bacchus didn't even have to persuade Luka, as he said he would go with them when they met (the worst part is that he was smiling at the time, finishing off his brother's head). At first, he lived with three other Space Marines, but later ate them. Bacchus considered them trash, so he didn't care much about it. After that, Luka was handed over to Vergil, who was supposed to be the Lamenter's mentor.

Luka considers Virgil his best friend. He is much easier to talk to and he doesn't even want to eat him. The Lamenter is obviously one of Bacchus' favorites due to his obedience and incredible combat skills (and he was only a neophyte recently). Therefore, he is forgiven for a lot. In particular, because of his character. Even Eurydice can't stay angry with him for long.

One of the few Space Marines who did not change his armor. He only added a couple of insignia to distinguish him from a loyalist. However, it is warriors like him who are the best strategy for boarding. Since the Imperials who see loyalist traitors are immediately confused.

Luka suffers from cannibalistic desires. Lamenters do not suffer from the Black Rage as much as other sons of Sanguinius. However, after the death world, Luka constantly suffers from bloodlust. But it is because of this that his "failure" (if this is not an Imperial myth) disappeared and he became more successful. After he met Malina, he began to suffer from Blood Thirst even more and ate more and more mortals (he also started to eat children which makes him really sad). But thanks to such a sacrifice to the Chaos Gods, he will never be able to harm the girl and she will live with him forever.

Luka sacrifices and performs rituals to the Chaos Gods like all Red Corsairs out of necessity. He does not despise Chaos Undivided, he simply does not care.

Before, Luka was much kinder for a heretic. He constantly saved children and dragged them to the ship. Although his previous neighbors eventually abused the children, which upset him very much (that is why he eventually ate them). And also after the reverse therapy, he began to "court" girls. Or rather, kidnap them. But all his attempts turned into failures. 5 girls died by "accident" (fucked to death, drank too much blood, another space marine killed), but he tortured 3 himself because they behaved badly.

After he found Malina, he did not care about all the mortal girls. He is literally obsessed with her and worships her, which has never happened with any other mortal. Because of this, he has become even more deadly and effective on the battlefield. Now Luka himself leads the warriors to boarding and commands the squad. Luka is extremely emotional and behaves almost like a child. He can be very nice to some people. But at the same time, he is also cruel to others. Luka is unstable and extremely dangerous chaosite. And this is coupled with his angelic appearance.

NSFW Facts:

Luka always wants to see Malina's face. To watch her face twist, her eyes water. To see how she finally starts to quietly make sounds from unprecedented sensations. Not seeing her face is taboo. And he also likes her small breasts. He thinks they look charming.

That's why most often, when it comes to bed, it's the missionary position. Or she sits on his lap, resting on his chest. He just adores how she clings to him. As if he is the only person who will protect her. As if HE is her God-Emperor.

He gets an erection EVERY time Malina calls him "Angel". This is Luka's favorite nickname. But he also loves to hear Malina praise him. That he saved her, how noble and handsome he is. How she gently touches his shoulders, cheekbones and cheeks. Looks into his eyes.

And if this happens during sex, it is harder for Luka to restrain himself. The Lamenter would also like to say something to her, but he is too delighted and obsessed with her at such moments. Therefore, he only moans and growls like an animal. His pupils dilate, and drool flows from his mouth. And the whole process is really rough. The girl is always terribly scared and Luka later has to apologize to her for a long time and wipe away her tears.

But after sex, he hugs her and kisses her entire face, saying how lucky he is. How wonderful and gentle she is. How he will take care of her. Always. That he will kill for her. He is ready to drown everything in blood just to get her a beautiful dress or feed her with berries in chocolate. And yes, if he said so, then he would do it.

Character: Virgil

*collage pictures: 1, 2, 3, 4

Age: more than 650 years

Height: 7,44 (227)

Description: red eyes, bald, grey almost white skin, white eyebrows, shark-like claw teeth, long black tongue.

Distinguishing features: Has several scars on the face. The largest ones locates along the nose. And the second one on the lip to the cheek on the left side of the face.

Has a armor of Red Corsars with the sign of Flesh Tearer on the left shoulder pad. On the belt is a cut piece of human's skin. Has a three stakes with skulls behind the back.

Reference: I think Virgil's appearance came to me spontaneously. I just imagined a typical Chaos Space Marine. But when it comes to his personality or history, I remember this meme. And I think I was also partly inspired by Immortan Joe (more from Furiosa, not Fury Road). If I had thought up Malina and Luka a long time ago, then Virgil’s character and personality were finally formed while I was writing him.

Name: The character was named after the Roman poet Virgil. Or to be more precise, in his image of the guide from Dante's Divine Comedy. Only this Virgil does not embody the human mind. And he is not just a guide in Hell and Purgatory, he literally lives there. And no, in Warhammer our flesh tearer and Chapter Master of the Blood Angels did not meet.

Facts about character:

Virgil had been fighting for the Imperium for quite some time. He was a rank-and-file Flesh Tearer, no different from his brothers. Virgil was not a sociable person, always hiding in the shadows. And in truth, he defended the Imperium as if he was following a manual. He was born an orphan and decided to become a Flesh Tearer in order to become a warrior. He only cared about war.

He did not consider the Black Rage a curse of Sanguinius. More like a gift. Moreover, he suspected that the Red Thirst was a manifestation of Chaos. Virgil always had contempt for mortals. So it is not surprising that at some point he decided to join the heretics. It was a conscious decision after 150 years of service to the Imperium. In his opinion, Chaos could give him more strength and power. And then he met the Red Corsairs.

If Virgil did not stand out in the ranks of the Flesh Tearers, then after serving under the hands of Bacchus, he quickly rose through the ranks. He enjoys power, although he does not seek to take Bacchus's place. He is much happier with his current position.

Although when he was given Luka to look after, he was not at all happy about it. But in the end he got used to the puppy, even finding him funny. But he can't call him a friend, because he never had any friends. For Virgil, Luca will always be a puppy that needs to be looked after, even if he became his leader in an alternate universe. In addition, it was thanks to him that Virgil got Malina.

The Flesh Tearer did not stand on ceremony with girls, simply raping them, and sometimes killing them during the process. But Malina calms him down and Virgil unexpectedly for himself became very attached to her (although, unlike Luka, at the very beginning he saw her as just a pretty face). Now he really does care about her in a genuine way, which is still new to him.

Virgil is constantly angry and almost always irritated. Although, unlike many Space Marines, he behaves more calmly. Therefore, it is very important for him to relax. Because of this, he often uses drugs and constantly goes to apotecary Baphomet for a new injection. Since he no longer tries to control the Blood Thirst, he can now drink blood whenever he wants.

NSFW Facts:

Virgil wants his partners quietly during sex the most. But suddenly, after Malina appeared, he realized that he liked the way she slept.The way her eyelashes flutter, the way her whole face relaxes. The way her lips open just a little. They are so wet with saliva. She is so relaxed. And if he also gets her drunk or uses the right drug (but only a safe one), then her body is more like jelly.

He loves to please her. Virgil thought that the Gods of Chaos gave him such a long tongue to better feel blood and the taste of drugs. Maybe, but now he uses it to devour her pussy. And he is very skilled at it. And if Malina is on her period that day, he can do this for 2-3 rounds. And considering that he forbids Luka to lick Malina, he practically works for two.

He is very slow and careful. Virgil does not want Malina to wake up. And sometimes that is exactly what he wants. After all, Malina is a good girl, she will be quiet. She will try not to make sounds and will even try to fall asleep again. And if she cries quietly, Virgil will get even more excited and will start licking her tears. Because of them, he wants to take care of her.

After Virgil finishes, he looks at the girl for a long time. And is silent. And this process lasts quite a long time, which makes Malina feel uncomfortable. Because it looks very creepy. After that, Virgil lies down on his bed. Very rarely, he kisses the girl on the forehead goodbye.

#oc: luka the angel #oc: vergil #oc: malina #the bloody trio #my ocs

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