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blond-yallternative · 5 months ago

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TSC boys will be TSC boys (ft. Cody, my beloved nb)

Low-stakes fanfic in which 3 backliners (Cody, Lucas, and Jean [included against his will]) bet 3 strikers (Jeremy, Nabil, and Derrick) that if the backliners can keep the strikers from making any successful shots on goal during a team exercise, then Jeremy will get his ears pierced.

Of course Jean balls out and so do the other 2 so the strikers lose.

Jeremy is deathly afraid of needles (in my head), and Nabil can't join them because he's going home to eat dinner with his family, but Pat joins in last-minute.

Pls be kind this is my first ever fanfic (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

By the time practice was over and they had all showered, changed, and dispersed to their cars, it was past six in the evening. The drive to their destination took less than fifteen minutes, and soon they were pulling into the parking lot of a low, dingy strip mall that looked like it had needed a fresh coat of paint about two years ago. The studio that Nabil had Googled for them was nestled in the far right corner under a large sign emblazoned Black Eye Tattoo. Between the second and third words, a large eye gazed out over the parking lot with a swirling design where its iris and pupil should’ve been. After they parked, Jeremy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel out of time with the pop song on the radio as he stared up at the sign. A few moments later, they spotted the rest of the boys and Cody heading towards them, and Jeremy twisted the key to kill the engine with a long-suffering sigh. He shooed Derrick off his car when he tried to strike a provocative pose on the hood, and Pat held the door of the place open for all of them as a doorbell chimed over their heads.

Jean was more than a little intimidated by the woman standing behind the counter inside. Her jet black hair hung in choppy bangs over her forehead but the rest was tucked behind her ears, making it easy to see the neon rings that stretched her earlobes to twice the normal size. Her haughty gaze didn’t change as the six of them filed through the door and crowded the small lobby space. Pat and Derrick flopped down on the low, bloodred velvet couch set against the far wall, so Jean and Jeremy leaned against the front windows. Cody and Lucas eagerly approached the front counter. The air felt near-frigid after the California heat outside, and Jean savored the sunshine warming his back.

“Aren’t you gonna go check out the options?” Derrick asked Jeremy, who cringed. “I’d rather not look at any of this until absolutely necessary,” he said, and Derrick smirked. At the counter, Lucas and Cody were explaining the situation to the indifferent-seeming woman. Jean squinted to read the cursive scrawl on her metal name tag. Cherie, with a little hand-drawn border of black flowers and vines.

“All the stones here are available for lobe piercings, organized by size,” she said, dragging her finger in a line over one section of the glass counter that separated her from the lobby. Jean listened a little closer than he normally would, but her voice carried no hint of a French accent. “All our metals are surgical-grade steel, and they come in silver, gold, rose gold, or black finishes. No difference in price.”

“What’s the cheapest option?” Lucas asked. Cherie gave him an unimpressed look that said she was sick of servicing poor college students, but she tapped a black fingernail against the glass. “This one, three millimeter cubic zirconia. $65.”

“That’s quite the chunk of change for two little holes,” Pat muttered from the couch. Jean figured he hadn’t meant to be overheard, but Cherie said, “One.”

The group looked at her. She clarified. “The $65 is for one piercing. And that doesn’t include tip,” she added, giving them a pointed look. When half the group made a sound of disbelief, Jeremy shushed them with a “Hey, guys.”

Lucas rounded on Cody. “So you’re loaded or something?” he asked, gesturing to their heavily-studded face.

Cody grinned. “My friend’s aunt owns a tattoo shop. She does mine for free.”

Lucas slapped his palms on the counter and sighed in dramatic relief. “Well, call her up then!”

“Dude, she lives in Arizona.”

Lucas sank to rest his head on his flattened hands in defeat. In the end it was decided that Jeremy would only be getting one ear pierced, but even when Cody and Lucas pooled the cash in their wallets they could only come up with $59.37. With a sigh, Pat chipped in a $20 bill to cover the rest plus tip, and Cherie swiped up the money to store it in the cash register. She surveyed all six of them now standing closer to her counter, and sighed. “You all want to come back, don’t you?” They nodded, and Jeremy said meekly, “Yes ma’am, if that’s okay.” She sighed again but tossed an impatient “Come on, then,” over her shoulder as she strode towards the back. She led them to what appeared to be the largest of the individual rooms of the main part of the studio, and bade Jeremy to sit on the black-cushioned chair in the center. There was one smaller plastic chair to the left of it, and Pat pushed Jean towards it before he could make a beeline for the back of the room. Jean sat as Cherie told the rest of them, “I’m going to need some space. Go stand in the corner over there.” The four of them obediently shuffled over and leaned against the graffiti-covered wall.

Cherie asked the room, “What’s the finish?”

“Uhhhhh,” Lucas droned, and Jeremy looked to Jean, of all people. Cherie repeated the options to him. “Silver, gold, rose gold, or black.” Jean thought for a moment, studying Jeremy’s face.

Well, it was not going to be black. But which of the other three? He narrowed his eyes, considering. Spray-painted daffodils, the Trojan statue from their first walk through campus, and a yellow cardboard dog flashed through his mind. “Gold,” he said decidedly, and Cherie nodded in agreement. Jeremy smiled at Jean, but the expression was a bit tight.

“And which ear am I doing?”

“Which one’s the gay ear?” Derrick asked, and Lucas snickered. Jeremy twisted in his chair to give them a look, but Patrick doubled down on it. “If the shoe fits, my friend,” he said with a shrug. “Cody, make them stop,” Jeremy complained, but Cody was too busy laughing along with Lucas. Jeremy sighed and faced forward again. “I’ll just do the right ear. I normally sleep on my left side.” After a beat he added, “Please don’t tell them whether or not that’s the gay ear,” and Lucas and Cody’s laughter rang out again.

He held still when Cherie commanded, and then inspected the purple dot she marked on his right ear with the handheld mirror she passed him. He turned and tucked a stray curl back so Jean could see it, too. It looked perfectly centered, so Jean nodded.

Satisfied with her preparations, Cherie swiveled on her wheeled stool to rub hand sanitizer over her hands and pull on black latex gloves. At the snap they made against her wrists, Jeremy winced. “I like your nametag,” he said randomly, and Jean heard one of the boys snicker. Jeremy continued hurriedly, “You know, Jean here is French. You two might get along.”

“Ooooh, parlez vous français?” Cody said in a ridiculous high-pitched voice. Lucas laughed maniacally as Derrick replied, “Oui oui, monsieur dumbass.” Jean looked around to see which of the instruments in the room he could use to put himself out of his misery as quickly as possible, but Cherie laughed, too.

“I don’t speak French, actually. This is just what my grandpa used to call me. I don’t even pronounce it correctly, I know, but I still like it.” The entire room turned to look at Jean in anticipation.

He gave Cody and Derrick a flat look. “I’m not going to say it.” Various sounds of protest arose from their corner, but Cherie started fixing the gold stud onto a long, sharp instrument and Jean saw Jeremy’s face go positively ashen. When she looked up, Cherie saw it too.

“Are you afraid?” she asked bluntly, and Jeremy didn’t hesitate before nodding. The boys giggled from the corner. She kept her eyes on Jeremy, her expression unchanged. “That’s not a problem. It’s better if you look away, not close your eyes.” She dug her heels into the floor to wheel herself closer to Jeremy’s right side. “Would you prefer if I counted down, or just did it?”

Jeremy swallowed. “A countdown, please.”

Jean could practically feel the anxiety radiating off him with every breath. With a sigh, he shifted his chair to be parallel with Jeremy’s, and didn’t face him as he rested an elbow on Jeremy’s armrest. He cleared his throat. He could feel Cherie and Jeremy’s eyes on him but refused to look their way, and after another second he felt Jeremy’s hand curl under his arm to grip his bicep. His palm was warm and even sweatier than Jean expected, but Jean didn’t pull away. He ignored the whispered conversation happening in the back of the room.

“Ready?” Jeremy nodded with a tense set to his jaw. Jean grimaced at the crushing grip his captain had on his arm but didn’t let himself move an inch.

“Okay. Three, two, one,” Cherie said calmly, and Jean blinked in surprise. She had pushed the needle easily through Jeremy’s ear right after two. Jeremy blinked too, then loosed an exaggerated sigh of relief and said, “Dang, that actually wasn’t so bad! Do you do that trick with everyone?” His grip slackened, but he didn’t take his hand off Jean's arm.

“Only the wimps,” Cherie said matter-of-factly, and Jeremy laughed, a little giddy. The boys and Cody peeled off the wall to come admire the stud, and Jeremy only removed his hand from Jean when Cherie passed him the mirror again. Jean tried to be subtle about rubbing the now-sweaty inside of his arm against his shirt, but Jeremy was turning his head this way and that to see the piercing from different angles, completely oblivious. Cody gushed compliments, and Derrick said, “Yeah, gold was definitely the right choice.” Patrick clapped a hand on Jeremy's shoulder in approval.

Jeremy swung his legs over to hang them off the chair and face Jean with a beaming smile.

"What do you think?"

Jean considered the sparkle of the little earring in Jeremy’s lobe, bright against his flushed skin, and met Jeremy’s eyes. “It suits you,” he said simply. And it was true.

Somehow, Jeremy’s smile grew, and the stud twinkled like a miniature star as he kicked his feet.

As they all spilled back into the lobby a staggered chorus of “Thank you, Cherie!” arose from all five of the others. Pat already had his hand on the horizontal bar of the front door when Jean realized they had all turned to look expectantly at him again. He sighed and faced the counter.

“Merci, ma chérie.”

The sweet smile that curved Cherie’s lips seemed to soften her entire hardcore appearance, and she waved them all out amidst the chiming of the doorbell and the others’ whoops of triumph.

#tsc #aftg #exy #aftg fandom #all for the gay #jeremy knox #jean moreau #cody winter #nora sakavic #the sunshine court #this is such a weirdly specific idea but pls humor me i love these boys more than my life rn #it was in fact the gay ear

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maya-caffrey · 7 days ago

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hi hi hi writing request if you're up for it: can i get a neal caffrey x reader where they're undercover posing as a couple and things get too real too quick? fluffy angsty whatever, full creative liberty. thank you x -🌻

anon i would love to

This ain't the Chelsea hotel

pairing: neal caffrey x fem!reader words: 4.3k song: I'm writing this inspired by ttpd as you can tell, specifically the lyric "At dinner, you take my ring off my middle finger And put it on the one people put wedding rings on And that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding" summary: an undercover mission brings up some unresolved feelings a/n: this is sorta inspired by johnny and dora from Brooklyn 99, and there's sort of an angst ending i am sorry but it will get better soon i promise

"Neal and (Y/n), you’re going in as a couple.”

Peter’s voice was calm, authoritative, as if he’d just assigned them to file paperwork instead of infiltrating a high-society gala crawling with millionaires, con artists, and, somewhere in the crowd, an international art thief.

(Y/n) froze, mid-sip of her coffee. “I'm sorry, what now?”

Neal, of course, leaned back in his chair, smirk firmly in place. “I mean, it makes sense. Look at us—irresistible charm, devastating good looks—who wouldn’t buy it?”

“You forgot insufferable ego,” she shot back, slamming her cup on the table. It was aggravating to be around Neal Caffrey, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t love every second of it.

Peter held up a hand, cutting off the argument before it could spiral. “Enough. You’re the best fit for this assignment. The mark likes power couples, people who look like they’ve got secrets. Neal’s the smooth-talking art expert, and (Y/n)—you’ll play his fiancée, a curator from an old-money family.”

(Y/n) groaned, glaring at Peter. “You know this is going to go to his head.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Peter said dryly. “But you’ll manage. You always do.”

Neal turned to her, his smirk widening. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll go easy on you.”

"That's okay baby, I can handle you." No, she can't. This could end badly.

"Oooh, competition? you're gonna lose, you, know?"

"Hey, if I'm going down, I'm taking you down with me, Caffrey."

"Right, and one last thing. (Y/n), try not to fall in love with me."

"Won't be a problem."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"And you're promising, that this is strictly work?"

"I swear, Moz! It's not like that," Neal replied, pacing the length of his apartment, the small box in his hand feeling heavier than it had any right to.

"It's hard to believe that when you're holding a real diamond ring in your hand," Mozzie argued, incredulous about Neal's intentions in this case.

"It's for authenticity"

"Right, because the suspect would definitely notice if she wore a cheap American zirconia."

"Mozzie. It's not like that."

"I believe you"

"I don't think you do."

Mozzie didn’t respond, simply giving Neal a pointed look before taking a long sip of his wine.

Neal let out a sigh, his grip on the box tightening. He was done trying to convince Mozzie, who always had a knack for cutting to the heart of things Neal would rather not think about. Because as much as he repeated the words it was just for the case, a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t.

His gaze dropped to the ring, the glint of the diamond catching the light. It was just for authenticity. No ulterior motives.

Right?

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"Alright. The moment we enter that room we're on high alert. Peter and the team are in the surveillance van two blacks away to remain inconspicuous. He's usually after wealthy power couple types so we need to be really convincing. Got it?"

“Uh-huh. Yes,” Neal replied, nodding a little too quickly. His words were automatic, half-hearted at best, because his attention was decidedly elsewhere.

She looked stunning—more than stunning, really, though he would never admit it outright. The soft glint in her eyes caught the streetlights at just the right angle, making them sparkle for a fleeting moment before fading again. The dress she wore was elegant, understated, but perfectly fitted to the role they were about to play. Neal found himself momentarily mesmerized, the lines between the act and reality blurring just a bit more than they should have.

(Y/n) shot him a suspicious glance. “Neal. Focus.”

“Totally focused,” he said, his trademark grin sliding into place to cover the fact that he had absolutely not been paying attention to anything she’d just said.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but after a beat, she turned back toward the building looming ahead. “You’d better be. The second we step into that gala, we’re in character, and I’m not carrying this assignment on my own.”

“Of course not,” Neal quipped, following her lead, his voice taking on the smooth confidence he wore so well. “I’ll be the perfect fiancé. You’ll swoon. Just wait.”

She shook her head in surrender and walked towards the door before she felt a delicate hand pull at her wrist.

"Wait, I almost forgot," he said, taking out the velvet box that made his pocket weigh heavier than it should have.

"What?" she asked, completely oblivious.

"This," he said, flipping it open to reveal the princess-cut diamond ring inside. The sharp sparkle caught the light between them, but it was nothing compared to the flash of surprise in her eyes.

Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

He swallowed, his heartbeat thrumming loudly in his ears as he took her left hand in his, the warmth of her skin making him falter for just a moment. His fingers brushed hers, gentle but deliberate, as he slid the ring onto her finger.

No break in eye contact.

Her gaze locked with his, questioning, searching, unsteady. The seconds stretched long, heavy with something unspoken, as his thumb brushed against the band, settling it into place.

Still no break.

The moment lingered, charged, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of them under the streetlight. His breath hitched, his confidence—usually so bulletproof—wavering under the weight of how utterly real this felt.

Neal shifted, suddenly nervous, but he didn’t step back. His eyes flicked to her lips, then back up to meet hers again, the line between fiction and reality blurring with dizzying speed.

Finally, he broke the silence with a soft, almost uncertain laugh, a hint of tension bleeding into his words. “For authenticity, right?”

(Y/n) blinked, the spell broken. Her lips curved into a small smile, but her voice was quieter than usual when she replied. “Right. Authenticity.”

But neither of them moved for a moment longer, caught in the fallout of something they couldn’t quite name. If this was just pretend, why did it feel so real?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They entered the grand ballroom arm-in-arm, the weight of their roles pressing against them. Neal’s hand rested lightly at the small of (Y/n)’s back, his touch electric even through the layers of fabric.

“You’re tense,” he whispered, lips brushing her ear, sending shivers down her spine. She instinctively closed her eyes and let it linger before remembering she had to respond.

“You try wearing a dress and pretending to be in love with you all evening,” she shot back, her voice sweetened by a practiced smile for the benefit of their audience.

Neal leaned closer, the humor in his tone giving way to something deeper. “You’d be surprised how easy that could be.”

"The dress or-"

"The last part. Obviously the last part."

"Just making sure," she responded, stifling a laugh. Remembering why they were here in the first place, she quickly scanned the room, she found their mark in the middle of the dance floor.

"Neal, 2'o clock, dance floor."

"Yeah, I see him. You ready?"

"Do, I have an option?"

Neal extended his hand, a devilish glint in his eyes as he slipped seamlessly into his role. “In that case, (Y/n), may I have this dance?”

(Y/n) smirked just for a moment, his outstretched hand a reminder of the precarious game they were playing. She placed her hand in his, his fingers warm and steady as they led her toward the dance floor. “Let’s get ourselves a criminal,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

The music swelled, slow and haunting, wrapping around them as Neal’s hand slid to her waist. His fingers pressed against the fabric of her dress, firm but careful, like he was afraid to break something fragile. His other hand cradled hers, his thumb brushing the back of her hand with maddening lightness.

“You’re holding on a little tight there, don’t you think?” she teased softly, her voice catching when his eyes locked on hers, warm and unflinching.

“Just making sure you don’t get away,” he replied, his words playful, but his tone laced with something heavier.

They moved in sync, the world around them dimming until it felt like the music existed just for them. Each step brought her closer, the space between them dissolving until her chest almost brushed against his. His breath was warm against her temple, and her head tilted slightly, just enough for her to catch the faint, intoxicating scent of his cologne.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“It’s just part of the job,” she whispered back, though her words wavered under the intensity of his gaze.

“Right,” he said, his hand slipping a fraction lower on her waist. “Just the job.”

Her pulse quickened as his fingers tightened slightly, drawing her closer still. Their faces were mere inches apart now, his eyes flicking to her lips for the briefest of moments before returning to hers. The tension between them was almost unbearable, charged and unspoken.

(Y/n) swore he was about to say something—something real, something that would tip this balance they always stalled on—but his gaze shifted over her shoulder.

“(Y/n),” he said abruptly, his tone cooling as his eyes fixed on something behind her.

(Y/n) blinked, the spell breaking as she followed his line of sight. Their mark stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching them with quiet intensity.

“He’s noticed us,” Neal said, his hand loosening its hold on her waist.

“Good,” she replied, her voice steadier than she felt. “That’s the idea.”

And just like that, they were back in the game, palpable tension vanishing into thin air.

As the song came to an end, the mark stepped toward them with his date, a woman dripping in diamonds and disdain.

“Charming performance,” the mark said smoothly, offering a practiced smile. “You two must be new faces around here.”

“Guilty as charged,” Neal said with a grin, slipping effortlessly into his persona. “We’ve just been admiring the company.”

“Why don’t you join us on the rooftop?” the mark offered, gesturing toward the glass doors that led to a private terrace. “It’s quieter. Easier to talk.”

Neal and (Y/n) exchanged a quick glance before following. On the way, Neal caught her glancing at her hand, her thumb brushing lightly over the diamond ring he had slipped on earlier.

“Admiring your fiancé’s taste, sweetheart?” he teased under his breath, his voice tinged with both humor and something sharper.

(Y/n) jerked her gaze away, her cheeks warming. “Just making sure it looks convincing,” she muttered, but the way her hand lingered over the ring betrayed her words.

Neal leaned closer, his smirk softening. “It looks perfect. You look perfect.”

The heat in her cheeks deepened, but before she could respond, the doors opened, and the crisp night air swept over them. They stepped onto the terrace, the stakes of their mission suddenly more palpable than ever.

The mark led them to a table on the edge of the terrace, a private spot where the city lights shimmered below. He took a seat, his date following suit, and Neal and (Y/n) joined them. The air was cool, and the tension in the space was almost tangible. The mark’s eyes flicked between them, his gaze assessing, calculating.

“So,” he began, his voice smooth, “tell me, how did you two meet? I’m always curious about these stories."

Neal leaned back in his chair, putting on his best charming smile. “It was one of those chance encounters, really,” he began. “I was at an auction, looking at some early Renaissance pieces when she walked in—just like that.” He snapped his fingers, his eyes glinting. “She had this aura about her—class, confidence, and this fire in her eyes that made me want to get to know her. I knew the moment I saw her, I’d never let her slip through my fingers.

Y/n) raised an eyebrow, a little taken aback by how smooth he was. “Not exactly how I remember it,” she replied, her tone light but sharp. “He was chasing after a piece of art that had already been sold. I caught him, and after some back-and-forth, we ended up negotiating a deal. And well, the rest, as they say, is history.”

The mark chuckled, intrigued. “So, love at first sight then?”

Neal and (Y/n) exchanged a glance, both knowing that this was the moment they had to sell it. Neal leaned forward, his voice dropping a notch as he spoke to the mark.

“There’s something about her. Something that keeps me coming back, you know?” he said, his eyes never leaving (Y/n)'s face. “She’s strong, sharp—doesn’t take crap from anyone. And that’s something you don’t find every day.”

(Y/n) turned toward him, her heart beating a little faster at the raw honesty in his words. She wasn’t sure if it was part of the act or something real underneath it, but the heat between them flickered for a second.

“And what do you see in him?” the mark asked, his tone now laced with genuine curiosity.

(Y/n) hesitated for a moment, unsure how to answer without giving away too much of her own feelings, but when she looked into Neal’s eyes, something clicked. They were here together, playing a part in a dangerous game, but the way he was looking at her made her forget that for a second. She could feel the weight of his gaze, the vulnerability he was letting slip, just for her.

“I see someone who challenges me,” she replied, her voice softer than usual. “Someone who pushes me to be better. And, you know, someone who’s got this charm that… well, it works on me. I’m not proud of it.”

Neal’s grin spread, his eyes flashing with something unreadable. “Works on me too,” he said, his voice lower now, as if the words were meant for her alone. “We balance each other out. When I'm with her, I feel complete, you know?”

The mark seemed satisfied with their answers, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You two really are a convincing pair. Almost makes me believe in the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing," he laughed. His date, lost in her phone, barely seemed to notice, leaving the moment to hang between them.

Neal glanced at (Y/n), an almost imperceptible shift in his expression as he studied her. There was something different in the way she held herself tonight. She was usually the composed one, but now… he couldn’t quite read the look in her eyes.

“So, what happens next?” the mark asked, his voice smooth, as he leaned back in his chair.

Neal tilted his head, his smile never faltering. “Now? Now we enjoy the view.” He gestured out toward the city lights that sparkled beneath them, a million possibilities flashing in the distance. “What’s a good evening without a little bit of beauty to go with it?”

(Y/n) nodded, her fingers tracing the edge of her wine glass absently. “And a little danger, I’d say,” she added, her voice laced with a quiet challenge.

The mark raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Danger, huh? What’s dangerous about a couple like you two?”

Neal chuckled, but it was a touch colder this time, more calculated. He turned his eyes on (Y/n), watching the way she tilted her head, as if she was on the edge of saying something important. Then, with a glance that felt almost too intimate, he spoke again. “We’ve got a history, you know? We don’t talk about it much, but we both know... some things you don’t just walk away from.”

(Y/n) blinked, her breath catching at his words. She hadn’t expected him to go that far with the act. The sincerity behind it—whether it was all for the mission or something more—hit her unexpectedly. But she kept her face neutral, answering with equal weight. “Yeah. Some things... they follow you.”

The air between them thickened, the words hanging heavy in the space. The mark watched them, an unreadable expression on his face as he exchanged glances with his date. It wasn’t quite suspicion, but something deeper. Curiosity, maybe. Or recognition. But before anything could be said, the mark stood, taking a step toward the edge of the terrace.

“You two are something else,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m going to grab another drink. You stay here.”

Neal and (Y/n) exchanged a glance, one that said everything without needing words. As soon as the mark and his date were distracted by the bar, they slipped away. It wasn’t much—just enough of a gap for them to make their move. They walked quickly, low and quiet, blending into the flow of people.

They passed a row of velvet curtains and slipped behind them, into a hallway that led to the back stairwell. The sound of voices echoed from the main room, but it was the sound of a briefcase being handed over that caught Neal’s attention.

There he was—the mark, shaking hands with someone in a dark suit. The transaction was swift, almost too clean. Neal’s eyes narrowed.

“Something’s off,” he whispered to (Y/n), barely audible.

But before they could pull back into the shadows, a shift in the mark’s posture had him looking their way. Neal froze, his gaze locking with the mark’s. There was a flicker of recognition in the man’s eyes, followed by a narrowing of his gaze.

In that moment, they both knew they had been spotted.

Neal didn’t hesitate. He grabbed (Y/n)’s wrist, pulling her in close. “Trust me on this,” he muttered, his breath warm against her ear.

Before she could even respond, his lips found hers in a kiss that was far from gentle. It was urgent—desperate, even, and as their bodies pressed closer, the danger of being caught only made it more intense. Their kiss was a cover, an act. But damn, it felt real. The mark was approaching them now, too close for comfort, but Neal barely registered the thought. He pushed her against the nearest wall and "got carried away" as he traveled towards her neck. Her hands found his hair, gently playing with them, for the act, of course.

(Y/n)’s heart raced as the world around them seemed to blur. They were acting, but in that moment, there was a sense of something more—something raw beneath the surface. He left her neck and locked her yes in a gaze, before returning back to her lips. Her pulse thudded in her ears, and when Neal pulled away, her lips felt like they were still burning from the kiss.

The mark was now standing just a few feet away, his brow furrowed in confusion but not yet suspicious enough to call them out. Neal, ever the charmer, quickly recovered, a half-smile spreading across his face.

“Sorry,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Got carried away. But you know how it is, right?” He gestured to (Y/n), his hand slipping possessively around her waist as he spoke directly to the mark, hoping his calm demeanor would sell the story.

The mark studied them for a beat, a silent assessment passing between them. Finally, he shook his head, smirking. “You two really are something else, huh.”

Neal’s grin stretched wider, eyes flicking to (Y/n) for just a moment, as if to say: We’re good.

They turned, following the mark back into the chaos of the night, but the weight of what just happened settled between them—unspoken, but palpable.

The sound of pounding footsteps echoed through the terrace as the FBI moved in, swarming around them with practiced efficiency. Neal felt the brief rush of adrenaline still pumping in his veins, but now it was mixed with something else. He and (Y/n) had done their job, the mark had fallen into their trap, and the briefcase—the one they’d been waiting for—was in his hands, a key piece of evidence that sealed the deal.

But then, there was that kiss.

It had been... unexpected. Real. No longer just an act.

The team moved quickly, surrounding the mark, taking him into custody. Peter gave Neal a brief, knowing nod before he led the mark away. He didn’t say anything; the job was done. The mission was complete. But Neal’s mind wasn’t on the bust. He was focused on (Y/n), the way her breath had caught when their lips met, the look in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place.

Once the area had cleared and the sound of distant voices faded, he turned to her. (Y/n) was leaning against the railing, her arms crossed tightly as she stared out over the city, the glow of the streetlights flickering in the distance. There was a cold distance in her posture that wasn’t there before, a wall he hadn’t seen her put up.

Neal swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “(Y/n)...”

She didn’t look at him right away. When she did, her gaze was unreadable. “We did our job, Neal. That’s what matters.”

There was a tightness in her voice, the way she was shutting down again, retreating behind the walls she always kept so perfectly in place. It made his chest tighten.

“I know,” Neal replied, his voice softer. “But that kiss…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. He was a conman, a man who lived in deception. But that kiss—that had felt different.

(Y/n) sighed, pushing herself off the railing and turning to face him fully. “It’s part of the job, Neal. You know that. It’s always part of the job.”

Her words were clipped, but her eyes betrayed her. They were too wide, too vulnerable, like she was trying to convince herself as much as she was convincing him. Neal didn’t buy it. Not this time.

“Is it?” he asked quietly, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Because that didn’t feel like part of the job to me. It felt like—” He stopped himself, trying to find the right words. “Like something real.”

Her expression flickered, just for a moment, like she was considering telling him something—something more than what she was letting on. But she quickly masked it, her gaze hardening again.

“It wasn’t real, Neal,” she said, her voice sharp, like the edge of a blade. “It was a job. You know that.”

Neal’s breath hitched. “But what if it was? What if it wasn’t just the mission? What if we’re both—” He cut himself off, staring at her, his chest suddenly tight with a feeling he couldn’t quite shake. “Look, I don’t want to make this more complicated than it has to be. But I can’t just act like that kiss was nothing. I can’t pretend it didn’t mean something.”

(Y/n) took a step back, her jaw clenched, clearly struggling with something she wasn’t ready to face. “You’re just confused, Neal,” she said, her words laced with frustration. “We’re good at what we do. We can sell this. We can sell anything. But that kiss? It doesn’t mean what you think it does.”

Neal shook his head, his frustration matching hers. “Why do I feel like you’re trying so hard to convince me of that?”

She stepped forward, her eyes locking onto his. There was no hiding now. “Because I don’t need you to start thinking that this is something more than it is,” she said, her voice shaking just a little. “I don’t need to feel like I’m... I’m letting you in. I don’t want that. We can’t have that.”

“Why not?” Neal asked, his voice quieter now, softer. “Why can’t we have that?”

For a moment, (Y/n) didn’t say anything. She just looked at him, as if trying to find the words to explain something she couldn’t. She wanted to—he could see it in her eyes—but something held her back, something she was afraid to admit.

“Because I can’t,” she finally said, her voice trembling with something raw, something real. “Because I can’t let you in, Neal. I can’t let myself... care. I’ve spent too long keeping everything at arm's length. It’s easier that way. It’s safer that way.”

Neal felt his heart twist. He had no answers, no solutions. He couldn’t fix this. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to.

But as the silence stretched between them, he couldn’t just let it go. “So, what happens now?” he asked quietly. “Do we just go back to being... partners? Nothing more, nothing less?”

(Y/n) looked away, biting her lip as she thought it over. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I don’t know if we can just go back to what we were before. But we have to try.”

Neal didn’t argue. He couldn’t. There was too much at stake. Too much left unsaid.

“I don’t think either of us can walk away from this without something changing,” he said, the words coming out as more of a confession than a statement.

Her eyes flickered to his again, softer now. “Maybe that’s true,” she murmured. “But that doesn’t mean we can act on it.”

Neal took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I don’t know what’s happening between us, (Y/n). But I don’t think I can just pretend it’s nothing anymore.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before meeting his eyes one last time. “Neither can I,” she said quietly, as she took off her ring and placed it in his hand.

And then, before either of them could say more, Peter’s voice echoed from behind them, sharp and thunder-like.

“Jesus Christ, what happened in this mission?” Peter inquired, leaning against the doorframe, clearly amused.

Neal shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. Peter was just being Peter. But as the moment lingered, both Neal and (Y/n) knew the truth. They had crossed a line. They’d let the job get too close. And now, whatever happened next… they couldn’t go back to pretending it was just a mission anymore.

a/n: I hope you liked it, this was my first request so I got carried away T_T, I'll make a part 2 for closure if this does well <3

#white collar #neal caffrey #neal caffrey x reader fluff #neal caffrey x reader #neal caffrey fluff #white collar x reader #peter burke #maya writes #requested #🌻 anon

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emeraldtart · 7 months ago

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TWST X Sailor Moon (ft. Amazon Trio!Yuu)

A Yuu who was part of the Amazon Trio (wait, wouldn't it be Amazon Quartet right now? There's four people), a group of villains who were animals transformed into humans.

They weren't part of the original three, but is an addition to lure out the pegasus. And as such Zirconia transformed a young black foal into a human to do so.

They're the youngest of their group, about high-school age. They are not allowed to drink alcohol, Hawk don't let them. Doesn't stop them from joining their older friends at the bar, drinking juice or milk.

After the Amazon animals were given Dream Mirrors and permanent human forms, they lived together in a small house.

Until Yuu saw a mysterious carriage pulled by horses.

Yuu came from the Equidae star, whose residents are primarily horses or animals belonging to that family.

They were separated from their mother at a young age, no thanks to Zirconia. As such when they turned into a human they immediately latch on to the Amazon Trio as they were the first ones to treat them with kindness.

They can still turn into a horse, and sometimes do it for fun.

Instead of Epel riding a regular horse during the Ghost Wedding Event, it was Yuu.

They can kick like a horse, and it will shatter concrete. Ace and Grim witnessed it firsthand.

Since each member of the trio has their own respective element, Yuu's would be earth.

During their time at the Dark Moon Circus they are the resident knife thrower.

Jamil has no idea where the extra knives went.

Since they're raised by three young men who were literally animals, they don't know how to act human sometimes.

Ever since they were enrolled to NRC against their will they began to wonder why the other three want to be human so bad. Homework sucks.

The can perfectly understand animal language, sometimes Yuu even gossips with Lucius, Heartslabyul's hedgehogs and flamingos, even the horses at the stable.

Yuu can understand Jack even if he's in wolf form. Jack appreciates it.

Is quite literally a herbivore, but please bear I mind real life horses can eat birds if given the opportunity.

Meanwhile the other three are freaking out about Yuu's sudden dissapearance. Fish Eye began to think Yuu ran away from home, which doesn't help the other two's nerves.

Yuu didn't do it because they didn't want to scare Hawk Eye.

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clownazon · 6 months ago

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Dumping thoughts on you all because I can

Gonna ramble about characters / ocs as Steven universe gems because I can — do I care about actual Steven universe? Not really unless they’re my faves — so this is gonna be strictly gems and their roles..maybe fusions , haven’t decided yet — mostly headcannon based for my own little gem hierarchy and what not BLAHNLAH IM BABBLING IM SORRY

Lottie..because of her family she’s high class/aristocratic BUT she could potentially be ‘defected’ (or the only KNOWN one). She could bee a pyrope or maybe a sapphire

Roy is a little different — he specifically gives me sapphire vibes.. he’s orange or like a Padparadscha sapphire — he also reminds me of a ruby

Carmen would also be a Pyrope or maybe a Bixbite! Very crabby and high class

Richardddd..you shall be a helidor because I say so /silly

GONNA GRAB MARCO FROM MER /silly — Marco makes me think quartz (specifically Smokey quartz or Biggs Jasper) but also surprisingly he gives me lapis vibes for some reason ?! He seems like he would love to be a lapis — controlling water and being able to fly

Regina would be a morganite or maybe a little defective zirconia! Short and stout, overcooked..

^^ Evermore would also be a ‘fake diamond’ (aka a zirconia) in that case

REGANNNN makes me think of quartz too, specifically carnelian or citrine! Maybe pyrite too would be cute :3

Rachel gives me angelite vibes !!! Or moonstone!

Corduroy O’Dile makes me think of Calcite, but then a bad accident happened where he got cracked (something to reference him losing the company)

HANNA!!! Hanna also gives me citrine vibes but I could also see her as an opal!!!!

KEVINNNN gives me Pearl vibes

UMMMMMMHMHMH THATS ALL I HAVE AT THE MOMENT

And these are the people who own the ocs smiles @merwynsartblog (Marco), @totally-not-a-tickle-blog (m!roy) , @dismissivedestroyer (Regan, Regina and Rachel), @bulldog-geckorahhhhh (Corduroy), @luzxii (Hanna)

Here’s the little custom made chart I used :3 made by @_BeeBunnie_ on Reddit

#gem au spooky month!

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arc-misadventures · 2 years ago

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What are Those?! AU: After finding out that Jaune hoards gems how many of the girls decide to try and use gemstones to try and get into his bed

Diamonds Are A Dragons Prize

Pyrrha: Hey, guys how’s it…

Weiss: I don’t care who the hell your gem grader was father! I had the, Lapidary Master himself graded all of my diamonds, and he identified that almost all of them are fake! They’re not diamonds, they’re Cubic Zirconia! Fake Diamonds! So you will bring all of our precious gems, Mom’s, Winters, yours, and even mine to, Beacon, right here, right now! Before your precious net value plummets even further then it already has!

(Beep.)

Weiss: Prick…

Pyrrha: Uhhh… D-Did I miss something…?

Blake: Oh, we learned, Jaune hoards precious gems; diamonds, rubies, and the like. So people have been giving him precious stones as a… dowery of sorts. But, Jaune apparently is super rich because he owns several mining companies that mine specifically, precious stones. So, Jaune has been inspecting, giving people prices, and proof of their stones value instead.

Pyrrha: And, he did that for, Weiss’s diamonds as well?

Blake: Yeah, for her ‘diamonds.’

Weiss: My fakes! Tens of thousands of Lien were spent collecting diamonds, and other precious gems for my family. I brought approximately 67,000 Lien worth of diamonds with me to, Beacon!

Ruby: 67,000?! You had that much money kept in a simple latch lock box in our bathroom?!

Weiss: Well the fuck does that matter now?! 67,000?! I’ve got less than three grand of real diamonds in that chest! My father bought fakes! Millions of Lien worth of fakes!

Pyrrha: Oh, so that’s why she’s so upset.

Nora: Yeah, it’d be like if I had a mountain of pancakes, and they were all foam…

Blake: That… Sounds like a, Nora analogy.

Pyrrha: She’s been having nightmares about it for the past week…

Ruby: It’d be like having a dream about eating chocolate chip cookies, and it turns they’re all oatmeal raisin…

BP: …

Pyrrha: So where’s, Yang?

Ruby: Hmm? Oh she was taking a engagement ring, Dad gave her mother foe, Jaune to grade it. She wanted to know if it had any worth to it.

Nora: Is she going to sell it?

Ruby: I think she said something about seeing if mom abandoned something else of value besides her, and dad.

Pyrrha: Ohh…

Blake: Uhh…

Weiss: …

Nora: Nice~!

Ruby: Yeah… Yang’s mom is… is something else…

Yang: And, a fucking idiot~!

Ruby: Yang, you’re back!

Pyrrha: Hello, Yang, good news I take it?

Yang: Hell yeah~! Jaune just apprised this wedding ring I have, and he gave me one hell of a price on it~!

Pyrrha: Oh, how much?

Yang: Well, Jaune described it as a: Light yellow diamond, Class Z. 3 carats in weight. Custom Cut. Valued at approximately, 30,000 Lien~!

Pyrrha: Oh my gods…

Ruby: W-W-What…?!

Nora: How many pancakes could I eat with that…?

Weiss: 3-3-30,000…?! M-My diamonds were nearly 70,000. Then, Jaune graded them, a-and it turn out most of them were fake! A-And, I only have 3000 Lien… and, you just go there with some rinky dink ring… and it’s worth ten times that?!

Yang: Yeah, pretty much.

Weiss: …

Weiss: Ah-ha…? Ha. Hahahaha! Ahh-hahahahahaha!

RBYNP: …

Weiss: AHH-haaaaaaa…

Ruby: Got you, Weiss!

Nora: Whoops, she fainted again…

Pyrrha: Again?

Blake: Yeah, she fainted yesterday when she found out, how, and why, Jaune was super rich.

Pyrrha: I best ask him about that…

Blake: Don’t touch his rocks, he’ll gut you if you try.

Pyrrha: W-What…?

Nora: So, Yang; You gonna make a pretty penny, or are you going to keep that?

Yang: Yep~! I’m gonna keep it though. There’s too much sentimental value to get rid of it.

Ruby: Are sure about that…?

Yang: I’m sure; besides if, Jaune picks me as one of his wives, I’m gonna ask him to give it to me as my engagement ring.

Ruby: Oh, that��s ni… Wait! Y-You want become, Jaune’s wife?!

Yang: Well, one of them, I don’t really mind sharing.

Ruby: But, why? Why do you want to marry, Jaune?

Yang: I’ll admit it, I’ve always had a thing for, Jaune. He’s cute, caring, supportive, handsome, and just a really sweet person… I wasn’t going to act on my feels, I was going to let them fade away because, Pyrrha had claim on him, and I’m not the kind of girl to steal another girls man. But, since he’s more, or less open game because of the harem thing… Well, I’ve decided to throw my hat in the ring. Unless… You don’t want me to, Pyrrha…?

Pyrrha: Shoot… I owe, Nora fifty Lien…

Nora: Whoo! Pancake money!

Yang: Wait, did you make a bet on me?

Pyrrha: On whether, or not you liked, Jaune. I bet against, and lost. I just though he wasn’t your type.

Yang: Well, he is! So… Do you mind…?

Pyrrha: Not at all, I wouldn’t mind you joining us at all.

Yang: R-Really?!

Pyrrha: However, it’s his choice to make not mine. So, good luck winning him over.

Yang: Sounds fun~! So, speaking of you, and Jaune~!

Pyrrha: What about it?

Blake: What was it like?

Pyrrha: Oh, that? Well, do you really want me to tell you what happened, or do you want to find that our yourself~?

Yang: Mmmmm… Nooo… I rather be surprised really…

Blake: But, since he put you out of commission for a while; I’d like to know what to expect.

Ruby: Well I don’t! Bye!

(Slam!)

Yang: Good. She’s not ready for such things…

Pyrrha: Well, you know about his tongue, and how long it’s is~!

BY: Yes…

Pyrrha: Well, lets just say he can get it really deep inside of you: Really deep~!

Blake: How deep…?

Pyrrha: Oh, you’ll feel how deep he can get it~!

Blake: And, what is it like, is it more human, or is more faunas…?

Yang: Faunas?

Blake: Depending on the faunas, they sometimes have more… animal bits.

Yang: S-Seriously?! I thought that was some sort of racist talking point?!

Blake: Yeah… There’s a bit of truth to every stereotype. We don’t like to talk about it, because its… It’s just uncomfortable to talk about for all of us.

Yang: I-Is, Jaune like that…?!

Nora: Nope! It’s a perfectly normal human penis!

BYP: …

Yang: H-How do you know that…?

Pyrrha: Nora, likes to peek on us in the shower…

Yang: Oh, okay… So, uhh… what is it like?

Pyrrha: I’ll just say this… He’ll ruin you for all other men, forever, and you’ll love it~!

BY: NICE!!!

~~~

Ruby: Hey, Jaune!

Jaune: Hi, Ruby.

Ruby: How goes the gem collecting?

Jaune: I’ve found some interesting gems, like this one.

Ruby: Whoa… That’s beautiful… What is this…?

Jaune: That is a, Moss Agate Opal. One of my sister’s likes to wear these, so I got it for her.

Ruby: Aww, how sweet of you.

Jaune: I may like my stones, but I love my family even more…

Ruby: You don’t sound so certain on that.

Jaune: Depends on the stones…

Ruby: Okay…

: Excuse me, would you take a look at this?

Jaune: Oh, of course! Allow me to… Well hello there~!

Ruby: What is it?

Jaune: Oh, aren’t you a beautiful little thing~!

Ruby: Is that a sapphire?

Jaune: Hmm?! No! No not even close.

Ruby: Then what is it?

Jaune: While it may appear like one, but this isn’t anywhere close to a sapphire.

Ruby: Then what is it?

Jaune: Tanzanite, one of the rarest gems you can find. It doesn’t have the same value as a diamond, but they can only be found in one place, hence the rarity. And, considering where that is, they tend to hoard them.

Ruby: Where’s that?

Jaune: Menagerie. Isn’t that right, Miss…?

: Sienna, Sienna Khan, High Leader of the White Fang.

Jaune: Hmmm. Well, this is certainly one fine introduction letter. So, what can I do for you, Miss Khan?

Sienna: Oh so many things, my King. Oh so many things~!

#rwby #jaune arc #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #nora valkyrie #pyrrha nikos #weiss schnee #ruby rose #sienna khan #jaune x yang #yang x jaune #pyrrha x jaune #jaune x pyrrha #rwby arkos #rwby dragonslayer

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ofdarkestdesires · 1 year ago

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Baelz when Bast comes back.

“You stole the book, left no message—I swear, I was this close to smashing down Caine’s front door to start searching his Castle for you—do you even know how worried you made your mother and me?!”

“Darling, don’t bring me into this.”

#the zirconia family

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freeusemuses · 1 year ago

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Pyrrha: It's not my fault that your father's and my genes fit together like chocolate and peanut butter.

Zephyr: Wait, is that why you call us your "little peanut butter cups!?"

#chat #rwby #oc #pyrrha nikos #zephyr zirconia #the zirconia family #dbz abridged

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freeusemuses · 2 months ago

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Lyanna: [dressed like a little knight, astride Alpha's back] "Onward noble steed!"

So Raven, Kali, are there any other grimmlings running about the castle courtesy of your union with Zephyr?

Raven: (chuckles) “Oh did we ever—oh!”

(two blurs rush past Raven and around the corner, followed by an utterly massive Grimm)

Raven: (huffs) “Not again—Jackdaw! Robin! Get back here!”

Kali: “Oh, let the boys be. They’re not going to get into much trouble with Alpha following them.”

Raven: “You say that, but I saw your daughter on that beast’s back, so—”

Kali: “Oh dear!” (hops up to rush after them) “Lyanna! Lyanna, don’t ride Alpha indoors!”

#the zirconia family

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sylver-drawer · 4 months ago

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The Abandoned Princess [WMMAP x TAE]

Original Fic written by Helxium | Rewrite/Continuation (with permission) by SylverDrawer

“In desperation, Jennette revealed herself at the ball only to be cast aside, spiraling a fight between him and Viscount Patterson. After her world shatters, Anastasius sends Jennette away with his dying breath. When she wakes up, however, she finds she is no longer in the empire of Obelia—but the empire of Castina. Thrust into a world of strangers far from what she once called her home, perhaps she may come to know what it truly means to be a family.”

(1/?) Chapter One | And so, the world crumbles apart.

The first thing Jennette felt was warmth. Not the warmth she longed for—that fuzzy feeling that bloomed in her chest like the first flower of spring, or the delicate touch of a hug—but warmth. A scalding heat, like boiling water left on an ignited stove, splattered onto her cheeks and all she could make sense of was the sight of red. Fingers fitted too tightly between flesh, right between the ribs, and the brunette can only see the god forsaken crimson of those fingers coated in blood. Had she not collapsed already, her knees would have given in. It soaks quickly, seeping into the finely sewn fabric of the embroidered velvet lined with gold thread—but it’s not nearly as gilded as the two royals’ hair, blessed like the sun. No, it is a dull oxidized and tarnished gold, more so resembling the hair of the man in front of her. Yes, the man who she thought she knew well, yet never at all. A man who’s eyes, dimming by the second, mirror a similar diamond shine to the two royals behind him.

Perhaps the man’s golden strands of hair and jeweled eyes were not as pretty as the Emperor and Princess’, murky and clouded, like a gemstone that failed to be polished properly. But why—why is it only now that she sees how clear they are when they reflect her?

Jennette’s lips tremble as they freeze like the first snow, face paling while unconsciously shaking her head softly. And so her words come out, cracked, and fragile.

“Wh… why?”

The Emperor’s curled fist forced between the man’s ribs, pulsing with a flickering aquamarine blue veil that scorched away the flesh and bone around it, twisted out roughly. With such intensity, it’s no wonder the man’s body falls, dark red spilling from his lips down to his chin. He falls against her, strands of his golden flax hair tickling her neck as the nauseating scent of metal stings her nose. Jennette can’t help but raise her trembling fingers against his chest as he weakly heaves into her shoulder, her blue zirconia eyes slowly rising to meet the Emperor’s.

The blood of Viscount Patterson drips onto the disgustingly pristine ballroom floor from his gloved fingertips. They’re mocking her—Jennette. Silk white gloves, dirty, yet the hands inside remain clean even when blood is spilled so cruelly. And those jeweled eyes—a diamond dust storm, with a frostbitten sharpness, as if submerged in venom—stare back apathetically.

“You dared to call me your father with that uncouth mouth of yours? Well. Here’s your real father—a traitorous reprobate, doomed to damnation…!”

Jennette’s eyes began to sting, her vision glossing over as her fingers trembled, clinging on to the Viscount—no. Clinging on to her father. Her father, who the Emperor had just stabbed a hole into. Her father, who was now bleeding out against her shoulder. Her father, who’s breath was getting weaker by the second, his body, cold.

As she felt her dress grow heavy, soaking in her father’s spilled blood, Jennette couldn’t understand. She just couldn’t understand it. All her life, it was all she ever wanted—this simplest, little thing. Ever since her first breath, she longed for a family. A father who’d smile at her warmly, a bright little sister who she could spoil rotten and adore—even if it took an eternity, it was an eternity she’d wait for. But this—the girl she thought of as such, avoiding her gaze with a knowing guilt, and the man she thought of as her father, hands dirtied with her actual father’s blood—just what did she do to deserve this, this cruelty? From the moment she was born, she wasn’t even allowed her mother’s warmth—and now her father will perish, coddling her with all the warmth he has left.

The eyes of the princess she thought she knew are avoidant. It was just the other day when those jeweled eyes twinkled in excitement at the chocolates and milk tea she had made for her. Ah. Jennette sees the truth now—she was being deceived from the very beginning. There was never a chance of them becoming family from the start. As a bitter darkness creeps into her throbbing heart, Jennette wonders if their friendship was also a lie. Did the princess have fun telling Jennette those “I love you”s and “I miss you”s halfheartedly? Did the princess enjoy taking advantage of her naivety, placating her love-starved self with festival whims? Did Athanasia enjoy watching her cheeks warm at the slightest affirmation, stringing her along while fully intending for that affection to remain unrequited?

As something inside of her cracks, the stinging heat of Jennette’s tears fall. It was true after all—that Athanasia was Claude’s daughter, for only a child could be as cruel as her father.

Jennette’s eyes wavered to the magician, arms extended protectively over the gilded princess, whose gown was decorated in the best satin ribbons and most expensive jewels. He told her once, the only time she spoke with him, that he despised nobles like her. Yet there he was, shielding the highest woman in the empire all while condemning her—a girl whose gown was soaked in her father’s freshly spilled blood. It was comical, and she wondered if he thought so too—that it was only natural she ended up this way. Jennette was ‘dirty’, after all from what he announced to the world only a moment ago, demented and monstrous. If this pain that pricked at her heart like his dear Athanasia’s beloved rose thorns was inhuman, what would he call himself—he, who rejects humanity with his venomous apathy. She once thought him a boldly honest individual, but she sees now he is a feeble hypocrite, just like the nobles he so despises.

And to the other side of the princess, was Ijekiel. Her Ijekiel—no, she supposed he was never hers from the beginning. Always a soft and gentlemanly disposition, satiating her childish whims, but Jennette knew all along. Those amber eyes never once reflected her. Ijekiel was no actor, yet those recited smiles and false pleasantries could’ve fooled anyone. Anyone, but her. Fifteen years together, but she can’t bring herself to call it the end. After all, how can you end a relationship that you never had? Jennette loved him, that cruel kindness, those false smiles, and the hand he held out that always felt cold. She wanted them to be something, for her to be something to him. He’s watched, all those fifteen years, in that cage-like mansion, all of her tears whilst cupping her loneliness—but in those fifteen years, he dare not relieve it, nor spare her even a fraction of the warmth he gave to her.

She’s spent her whole life, snuffing any of her desires and suffocating her loneliness all for the happy family he and the Duke promised—and it all crumbled. Jennette would not have longed so strongly for such a lie had she been loved by the Alpheus’ normally. Even if it were for just one moment, she would have been content with that. Everything she resolved to, everything she worked hard for—it never existed in the first place. Even now, at her lowest point, Ijekiel’s wavering and always passive eyes—eyes that always, always, always watched—are motionless for her sake, yet so ready to act when beside the Princess.

And there, the closest in proximity, yet the coldest of all—the Emperor. Claude. Jennette thinks back now, to their first meeting. It was just over a year ago, wasn’t it? Vividly, she remembers her feelings of that night, overwhelming in which she held close to her heart day after day. The Debutante Ball, so dazzling it was, full of lily-like laddies and finely groomed men. She could almost smell the marbled floral perfume, wafting in the air as nobles danced the night away. And in the midst of the garden of sparkling flowers, they danced most brilliantly—a pair of gilded royals, with eyes of jeweled starlight. Under the chandelier’s glow, they shone like the sun, blindingly so, with eyes full of love and warmth.

But from the very beginning, she was never spared that same warmth, isn’t it so? How the princess’ twinkling eyes dimmed and faltered as if frozen in place as she held that primrose ribbon the royal had dropped—how Obelia’s deity-like ruler’s gaze iced over, devoid of amusement or interest—she knew both of them were cold, but she thought she could melt that icy wall separating ‘them’ and ‘her’. Jennette thought she could find her way into their hearts, like they easily already nestled into hers. She dared to hope, dared to believe.

How foolish she was. He knew from the beginning didn’t he? They all did.

Jennette’s eyes sting, a cold panic enshrouding her hiccuping chest as if being thrown into a frozen lake. It’s painful. Frantically looking around to the nobles standing idly by, bystanders, witnesses to the girl’s inquisition, a sinking sensation fills her chest. Just moments ago, she was greeted with smiles by her peers. As everything crumbles apart, their eyes show a certain twisted apathy, as if they were looking upon an animal who had snuck in, wearing a human’s flesh. Were the wizard’s words true? That she seduced others with her ‘black magic’, like some devil? The reality in which all the kindness, all the smiles and all the warmth you’d offer even a stranger, was fabricated in the end? Such a fact was painfully clear to Jennette, now—that in this cold ballroom littered with people, there was no one who would care to keep her warm. It crept in, in bits and pieces, gradual, until the fear of being alone devoured her completely. The brightly adored Athanasia, the omnipotent Emperor, and her beloved Ijekiel—from the very beginning, she was being used and deceived without a care.

“Is that such a sin…?” Jennette manages weakly, her cold and dry lips trembling. She casts her gaze up, as if staring into the face of god, himself. Her revealed zircon eyes shook, glazing over like the polished facets of a jewel. “Was wanting a family such a sin, deserving of such cruelty? To crave the love between parent and child, sister and sister—unconditional love that everyone takes for granted… is that really something I can never have?”

The Emperor is so close, only a mere few feet away, yet his eyes are so distant—so detached, when he takes his bloodied hand and reaches for the sword at his hilt. The handle is impractically gilded, as if it were more closely a decoration than a weapon with purpose. Smoothly, it slides out from its golden sheath, and Jennette sees her reflection in it. It's thin and dull with a matte finish like poorly tempered chocolate, cheaply obscuring her image. The Emperor would never take an actual sword to an imperial gathering, but even with an unpolished blade, it would certainly kill her—though flimsily breaking after one use. Ah. Such a thing, it’s just like her, isn’t it?

“Fool.”

It’s just one word, and it feels like the end of the world. His Majesty says it with such resolute firmness, unfeeling, as if she wasn’t even worth pity or hate. She was nothing.

“There is no future where a wretched creature like you, born from a curse, could ever be happy. Your existence will breed misery to all in which you know. It is your fate to be unloved.”

Cheap metal drags against the marble, scratching the surface. The blood from his hand drips down onto the blade, and Jennette sees her distorted reflection covered in blood. This can’t be. Is this really it? Is this really her fate—to die loveless and alone, just as she’s lived? Thick iron floods her nose, putrid, and her father’s body against her is stiff. He’s truly gone now, and she is all that is left.

“Since you claim to want your family so much—“ The Emperor lifts the sword, staring down the blade and into the pitiful girl’s cracked zircon eyes with cold venom. “—shall I send you to hell with him?”

Jennette clings to the stiff and cold corpse of her father, and sobs, choking on her own tears while slowly shaking her head.

“No. No, I—“ she rasps. “I don’t, I don’t want to die…!”

Even after everything—after a life plagued with only despair and loneliness, longing for something that never existed, the girl still believes. Even as her only family, the only one who would willingly give his life to protect her, is dead—Jennette wants to believe. That someone in this cruel and twisted world, or even someone outside it, will love her.

The Emperor’s jeweled eyes narrow, a sheen upon them. For the first time, the corners of his lips upturned—wickedly amused, in cruel disbelief. A low scoff.

“You don’t want to die?” It’s then when Claude raises the dull sword, a shadow cast on his face as his eyes glow dangerously. “As if you had a choice.”

Jennette thinks she hears the princess’ voice yell out before the sound of cut air pierces her ears. A high pitched ringing resounds in her head, hazy and distorted, a darkness born of desperation swirling in her heart as a tear falls down her stained cheek. It happens oh so quickly—she feels her world begin to tremble, every emotion inside her in disarray, and all the walls she’s built up for fifteen years crumbles away. Her blood rushes backwards, her head filled with some sort of pressure as a feverish blaze overwhelms her chest and fills her lungs. Every finger begins to ignite, a tingly sensation vibrating within them as she clutches the terrifyingly cold body against her. A chill washes over her flushed skin, and she can barely make sense of the loud and intense beating of her heart, thumping erratically like a rampaging storm. All her senses are being overwhelmed, so much static and noise reverberating in her ears, and all she wants is for it all to just stop.

Dark gusts of wind spew from her, spiraling from her collapsed feet, forcing Claude to step back and shield himself. The darkness pours out like a broken dam in the form of numerous tendrils and limbs, reaching out mindlessly like a child’s hand that was never held.

The hurricane of black magic lashes out—slicing marble pillars, clawing at the walls, tearing and pulling at the curtains—and the crowd of bystanders break out into panic, nobles in their fancy gowns and tight suits pushing and tripping over each other selfishly. Cracks form in the walls, pieces of it crashing into the previously unblemished flooring. Concentrated mana breaks the glass, tightly fitting through and reaching out of the windows like a bird forced in a cage. Imperial guards on standby try to calm the nobles, guiding them outside the hall under the Knight of Crimson Blood’s orders.

Claude’s formal attire is nicked at, littered in frayed slashes and ruined, but no blood is drawn. He peers behind him—his rose, the beloved princess—protected behind a makeshift barrier with the Wizard and Son of Alpheus. He makes eye contact with the magician, livid red eyes boring holes into the royal. The wizard murmurs something; a command, sharply under his breath, and Claude understands—kill it.

He turns his gaze back to it—the Chimera—spawned from his bastard brother and that whore. Claude’s hand grappling at the cheap decorative sword twitches, his fingers growing itchy, and he takes a moment to think through it properly. Multiple layers of mana drenched in darkness cover its heart—the main body deep within, captured in some sort of trance—and the corpse. How useless, protecting something that’s already dead. He’ll have to get past the limbs lashing out, as well. Had he brought his imperial sword, he wouldn’t even have to think and could rip into it easily—but this crappy thing is flimsy and weak, it’ll break before he reaches the core.

To finish this quickly, he’ll have to use his fist as he did before—though the darkness is irritating and burning his skin gradually. He wanted to avoid doing so messily as it seemed his daughter was still fond of that thing somehow, but her safety takes priority.

Just as he takes a step forward, his diamond eyes slightly widen.

“… foolish.” The scattered bits and pieces of Jennette’s mind come together as the bloodied hand of the corpse cups her cheek softly, weakly, directing her to him. His skin is pale, a grimy gray that shouldn’t belong to a human being, with thin and bloodied lips. Flaxen hair with strands of gold stick to his cheek and forehead because of the dried blood, but she can see it—his aquamarine eyes that always reflected her, and the weakest of a smile. “How foolish, the both of us.”

In her chaotic state, she can see the bits of his mana and life force holding on, though the body has long given up—the mana and soul of her father—fighting death itself for her. Jennette’s lips tremble and she holds his weakened hand, so cold and stiff to the touch. He coughs up more blood, blood that splatters into her neck, and panic is added into the chaos.

“Don’t—!” Jennette sobs, more hot, stinging tears, staining her face. “Don’t—don’t move, I’ll, we’ll make it out together so…!”

Flickering hope and desperation—the slightest, slightest possibility they’ll live and be happy together—grounds her. Nevertheless, the light in his eyes grow dim—dying, withering like a decayed leaf in autumn—and her heart palpitates in her chest as he slowly shakes his head, an almost soft yet regretful smile etched into his lips.

“—No,” he rasps. “Not together.”

In the dark storm of black mana that surrounds them protectively, pulsing thick like oxidized blood, a different color of mana mixes in. A white light, pure and gentle, one you’d expect to clash with her mana, instead melds into it as if guiding her instead. It’s alien to her, different from the ‘kindness’ the Princess and the others have offered, yet so heartbreakingly comforting and warm that it makes her eyes well up with tears. All sense of feeling in her limbs begin to fade as a prism of colors, shimmering with whimsical whirls, envelop her.

Meeting Anastasius—her father’s—fractaled eyes, Jennette chokes out a barely audible “why?”.

“Why…?” He echoes, his eyelids faltering as he fights to remain awake just a little longer. A ghost of a smile remains on his face now, a bit mysterious with the slightest bit of amusement. “Why, indeed.”

It’s the last thing she sees, burning the image and carving it into her soul—her father’s smiling face, knowing and true—before her vision ripples with light and a symphony of quiet, incoherent murmurs whisper in her ear. The world disappears beneath her feet, and everything goes white.

—♢♦︎♢—

Silence encaptures the ballroom, now mostly empty if not for the royals and their companions left within. The dark storm, filling the place with black mana, had completely settled, the only thing left being the damage it had caused. In the center, neither the Chimera or the Corpse remained. A dark trail, like charcoal shavings, lead to where they once sat—but otherwise, their bodies were gone completely, as if they were never there in the first place.

Claude puts the sword away, back in its sheath at his hip. A useless thing—couldn’t even use it in the end, he supposes. The Emperor turns his body, casting his gaze to his daughter as the magician’s barrier slowly fades away.

“What,” the young lord, of snow white hair and amber irises, speaks first, a cautious and conflicted expression upon his face. “What just happened…?”

“Whatever the hell it was,” the irritated magician, ruby eyes and long obsidian hair, responds. “It’s over. They’re gone.”

“Gone…?” It’s all Athanasia mutters, feet stiff as if they were planted roots, digging deep into the pristine royal ballroom floor. Her diamond gaze doesn’t leave the place the girl once stood and, one by one, flashes repeat in her mind. Jennette’s sudden reveal of her lineage and gemstone eyes with Duke Alpheus quickly behind her with a shocked and dreaded face, Ijekiel slowly following behind with one of resolute confidence without the speck of regret—and then just as Claude rejected Jennette, casting her aside after she threw herself at him, he suddenly appeared. That man that had been lingering around the Alpheus mansion who resembled her dad so much, whose charcoal locks dispersed into a gold similar to theirs with eyes of jeweled luster, abruptly charged toward her. If Lucas and Ijekiel hadn’t leapt to her side to defend her, she didn’t know what would have happened.

And then Lucas began letting everything out, his irritated temper getting the best of him. About the spirit that resided alongside that man—who was apparently her uncle—and about Jennette, the truth of her identity and origins and what she was, that Athy had kept hidden as well. She watched, as with each word Lucas had spilled, how the girl’s face fell and began to swell up with tears, crying out in denial.

At some point, they locked eyes—Jennette and Athanasia, as if pleading for her to deny it. And all she did was look away in a drifted off stutter, guiltily.

Jennette collapsed to her knees, alone. The lovely princess, who should’ve been showered in love and spoiled to perfection, was alone. As her father strided toward the brunette, all Athy could think about was how she stood to the sides, protected by Ijekiel—who was supposed to be by Jennette’s—and Claude, wearing a cruelly cold and unfeeling expression as he firmly denounced her. There the lovely princess was, collapsed to her knees without a single luxury of love or riches, and a cruel thought went through Athy’s mind as she watched the mirror of herself—how glad she was, that she wasn’t in Jennette’s place.

And then the bloody scene unraveled, freezing Athanasia in her place as her warm father cruelly stabbed a hole into her uncle, who had leapt to Jennette’s protection. Athanasia glanced over to the pool of blood that still remained, and the dripping red coating Claude’s fist. The moment he appeared, she expected death—Athy couldn’t lie to herself about that. But it scared her a bit, the brutality of her father that she had never seen before—the most powerful man in the empire, who could’ve used his magic to do the job as he always had before, but instead used his bare hands—as if he wanted to feel the man’ life slip away himself.

But when Claude started walking towards Jennette with a blade in hand, a fear crept inside of Athanasia. The sight of Jennette sobbing on her knees, prostrated before him as Claude told her how unloved she would forever be—Athy couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread. It was familiar—familiar because this had happened to her. A painful realization grappled at Athy’s heart, that if she stood there and let Claude kill her, she would be no different from the people who let Athanasia get executed. The people who let her get executed, after living a lonely and loveless life.

So she couldn’t help but call out in protest—but it was too late. Before she knew it, there was chaos, blades of black magic clawing at the walls, destroying everything in sight, suffocating the room with mana to where Athy could hardly breathe—and then nothing. Nothing at all remained of the two.

Nothing was left. Jennette’s bashful smile haunted Athy’s mind, flushed cheeks and fingers fiddling with the cheap string bracelet she had bought her on a whim, and a rush of emotion overwhelmed the gilded princess.

“… find them.”

Lucas looked over to the princess’ mumbling. “Hah?”

Athanasia’s diamond eyes gleamed, and she jumped at the magician, grabbing at the collar of his robes.

“I said—find them! There has to be a magic trail—or something, right?! So find them! Find…” The brightest, warmest, joy-filled smile she had seen, with soft brunette locks outlined by the glow of bursting fireworks. Athy trailed off, fingers loosening as she gazed into Lucas’ eyes, and he huffed.

“Fine! Wait here,” he grumbled, gently tearing her hands away from him, and stepping unevenly toward the room’ center. Ijekiel watched Athanasia cast her gaze toward the center, desperation and guilt laced in her usually sparkling jeweled eyes, and he looked back toward his father—who had been knocked unconscious halfway, laying against one of the walls. Among all of the cracked and slashed concrete, the area above his father’s discarded body was unusually untouched—as if Jennette couldn’t even hurt him in her blind outburst. A mellow feeling enveloped Ijekiel’s chest—preparing for when his father wakes to the disappearance of the girl he had raised for nearly two decades.

Lucas approached the center, following the charred trail and where it stopped. He crouched down, a pale hand against the marble with a scrunched up nose in disgust—as if he had touched something dirty. He grumbled to himself, huffing as he focused his great mana. The longer he let his mana analyze the trace of the remains, the more his narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows began to raise.

“… hah? It’s not here.”

“I know she’s not here, Lucas, so go find her—“

“No.” The magician's firm, deadpan response silenced the princess. “The Chimera isn’t here, nor is the spirit or the corpse. Their magic just… stops.”

Lucas stands up, focusing the reach of his mana and extending it. His eyes glow, filled with crimson red mana that sparks around him.

“Teleportation would still leave some trace. With how unstable both of their mana was, something would’ve been left—and they wouldn’t have been able to go far anyway.” The red light fizzles out, extinguished like a flame, and he turns toward Athanasia—whose eyebrows are raised in shock and confusion. “They’re gone. Like they were just sucked up by some void.”

“Then…” Athy’s jeweled gaze wavers, lowering to the ground. On the ground, by her heel, is a little pendant—thin and weak, rusted, made from a cheap metal—but one she recognizes, a small frayed purple thread stuck onto the loop. “Where… did she go?”

—♢♦︎♢—

Something funny is hanging from one of the trees of the Rass estate.

A strange storm, the biggest in over a decade they say, happened. It lasted from yesterday morning to the ungodly hours of last night. The second son of De Rass was out practicing his sword training when it happened—some murky clouds and a few drops of rain, but sudden showers weren’t too unusual. And then an emergency announcement from the temple came out, and he was ushered inside right before it got worse. Unpredictable, apparently the priests were making a fuss about it, his father mentioned during dinner. Claims of the world ending, that Vita has forsaken us, a premonition of some great blessing or calamity—yadda yadda, not really Carsein’s problem. The biggest issue was that he was holed in all day yesterday because of it—an onslaught of hail knocking on the rooftops, the outdoor training grounds littered with frozen sleet, constant flashes of lightning splitting the sky that could probably give his uncle a heart attack at his old age (no disrespect to his majesty though), booming thunder and the noisy pitter patter of rain practically washing the walls and windows—it was honestly a miracle he slept through most of it. Either way, by the time he woke up at the break of dawn, everything had gone back to normal. The gravel of the training grounds were barely damp, but no longer frozen thanks to Castina’s predominantly warm weather. The walls and rooftops were dripping a bit, but overall there was not really any damage—well, besides the single window that broke during the storm.

Otherwise, normal. The clouds parted quickly, and a beautiful sunny day was born. Good. He could continue his training from yesterday.

At least, that was his plan until his mother—her mystical, sky blue hair that neither he or his brother inherited combed neatly over her shoulder, and equally glass-like blue eyes sharply narrowed—held him back.

“Something doesn’t feel quite right, yet,” she murmured.

“Feels fine to me…” The Duchess glared pointedly at her youngest before letting his shoulder go.

“You can go, but be alert. There’s still something out there.”

Which is how he found himself staring up this tree. ‘Something’, indeed. It was an ordinary tree, an older oak with moderately dark ribbed bark and little colonies of lush moss climbing up the base. The roots were a bit bulbous, digging neatly into the grass and disappeared under the dirt. In opposition, its thick limbs split into numerous smaller branches that reached up into the sky, shadowed by the bushels of leaves. Like he said, an ordinary tree, just outside of one of the Rass gardens on the way to the training grounds.

The only not-so-ordinary thing was probably what caught his eye. Among one of the higher branches, sturdy with a thicker base, was something swinging. It was light—the fabric of what he thought was a dress anyway, swaying softly like freshly aired out sheets. That was the first weird thing. A drop of water lands right above Carsein’s eyelid, and he forces that arctic blue eye shut out of instinct. The tree is still obviously wet, as well as the ground. That fabric swaying in the wind? An ornate pattern involving marguerite flowers with gold embroidery curling around the waist, an addition to a fine and silky material with delicate lace and ruffles. There’s a large dark stain trailing from her shoulder to the dress skirt, but he’s not one to question a stranger’s clothing choices. Either way, Carsein doesn’t know much about dresses, but he knows what wet clothes look like. That dress is dry.

Carsein looks to the ground, and finds a tattered ribbon. Crouching to pick it up, he stares at the fabric in his hand and compares it to the person in the tree. There’s more torn pieces of cloth higher up, and that combined with the pieces of branch at his feet, you’d almost think she fell from the sky. That’s impossible though, so Carsein dismisses the thought immediately.

Upon closer inspection of the ribbon held up to the person in the tree, it’s a very nice dress, too. Or, at least it was. He’s been to his fair share of balls and social events, as well as gone out to town with Tia once or twice, so he can tell the difference between decorated gowns versus day-to-day casual outfits. The second weird point, he guesses—what’s someone doing at the Rass estate wearing a formal ball gown? He'd be less surprised to see a sword smuggled in the tree.

The mop of tangled messy hair, is brown. Nothing to make note of, pretty ordinary in itself, some kind of chestnut. It wasn’t the signature bold red of the Rass family, or the snow white of the Monique’s. His name escapes him—Allen? It’s not a spring green like his family’s either. In addition, not even close to the blue of the royal family’s hair. So, it’s a plain and ordinary hair color you could pretty much find on anyone. That being said, Carsein doesn’t really recall any family friends with this kind of chestnut brown hair. With the shadow of the tree and the leaves stuck in her hair, he can’t really make out her face either. He tilts his head, eyes trailing her folded over figure to her legs, where a shoe is missing—the other, nearly falling off. After doing a vague glance nearby, he doesn’t see its pair. The redhead laughs nervously to himself—third, how did she get up there with only one shoe?

“Hey,” Carsein calls, brash, with a hand next to his mouth to project his voice. The lady doesn’t move. A peckish feeling starts creeping up on him, some kind of nervousness in his gut. This is a real girl, right? And not a ghost? He looks back at the fabric in his hand, and clutches it. Get a hold of yourself Carsein, that’s stupid. Carsein casts his gaze up again, his shoulders dropping in a sigh. He’s not going to be here all day trying to wake her up, right?

Carsein pauses, running his hand through his hair, the cogs in his brain turning. Her clothes are dry, even though it was just storming out, which means she must’ve arrived recently right? Carsein’s eyebrows furrow, thinking back to the horror stories Kaysian told him of noble ladies who admired him too much, and the lengths some would go through to get his attention. This isn’t one of them… is it?

“Hey, if you’re doing this to get attention, cut it will you? It’s dangerous up there…” The young redhead calls out again, louder. No stir. Carsein scratches his head. The boy starts weighing his options, the different possibilities, and comes to the conclusion that it’s too complicated to dwell on it any longer. He should’ve just followed his gut from the beginning.

So the definitely refined young gentleman, second son of De Rass, kicks the tree roughly like some brute.

“I’m being serious here. Come down, or I’ll…” The oak tree rumbles, the leaves and flimsy branches shaking as a result of his act of violence. He shouldn’t be surprised—really, he shouldn’t—but he is, when the hanging figure begins to slip. Carsein’s turquoise eyes widen, catching a sliver of sunlight from between the leaves as he faces the consequences of his rash actions. As the figure’s weight shifts, toppling more toward her lower half, she slides off of the branch like some potato sack and it’s then when Carsein faces the reality—the girl’s actually unconscious.

In a perplexed panic, he steps back, hot adrenaline pumping through his veins trying to predict where she’ll fall. It happens quickly—her softened jawline scratches against the bark, her fingertips leaving the branch’s edge, and Carsein reaches out, arms extended with a wide and grounded stance.

This isn’t a romance novel, so she falls inelegantly, in one fell swoop, and Carsein doesn’t catch her like a gentleman should. There isn’t a flutter of the heart, unless you count the teen’s pulse palpitating out of head racing panic. The figure’s only heeled shoe that was left falls, hitting the ground and he hears it disturb the dirt with a muffled flop. What he comes in contact with first is her waist, and he hates how his first thought is how small it is, before he grasps the rest of her torso and pulls her close. Everything above her neckline hangs over his shoulder, her toes limp as he just barely lets them touch the ground. Carsein’s hands scramble against her back, knotting his fingers clumsily into her tangled hair and losing his balance a bit, but regains it just as quickly. She’s light, dangerously so. He could probably say he’s held swords heavier than her—some exaggerated thought, but it really does feel like it. Her bare feet drag against the path, and he lowers himself slowly to his knees to readjust his hold on her more comfortably.

She’s a frail little thing, fragile in his arms, and it reminds him of when he saw Tia for the first time—a weak thing she was, with a gloomy disposition at the back of the room, decorated in pretty clothes like some doll. That’s just what this girl is, Carsein thinks, examining her figure. Doll-like, with pale, porcelain-like skin that’s cold to the touch—frozen. An uneasiness builds in his chest, fearing he may have just discovered a corpse, before catching the barely noticeable rise and fall of her chest.

A long sigh, and the immediate release of tension. She’s nothing like the array of crazed women his elder brother described—who would be much older—to his relief, though quickly grumbling to himself about his stupid paranoia. Her figure is that of a growing girl’s, long and thin limbs more petite than Tia’s, but he can tell she’s closer to his age than hers. Carsein stares with a pointed look in contemplation, before shifting the arm that wasn’t supporting her, to move the incoherent and messy chestnut strands from her face. When he consciously intertwines his calloused fingers through them, the first thought he has is that they’re soft. Despite the tangles and speckles of bark from the oak, her brunette strands are fine and thin like a spider web’s thread. Moving her bangs, cut bluntly like a fan, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t speechless for at least a second.

He’s not an idiot, so he knows she’s pretty. That’s not quite it though—she’s pretty, but not beautiful or gorgeous in any way. His mother, for one, is gorgeous—at least that’s what his father says—sharp cat-like eyes, fine eyelashes, higher cheekbones, thin lips, etcetera, etcetera. Tia is also beautiful with her feathery locks like fresh snow, twinkling eyes like polished amber that seem to set ablaze the moment she holds a sword, a sharper jawline accompanied by soft cheeks and fuller lips—not that he’s looked at them, definitely not—but they’re all different somehow in a way that Carsein has to think hard about. The girl here though, she’s a wishy-washy mix. Her cheeks, a little plump with baby fat, are softly rounded and feel like rose petals. There’s remnants of something familiar on them, a bit crusty and brick colored, but he can’t really tell what it is exactly. Her upper and lower eyelids are puffy though, practically the only color in her body, rosy and flushed as if she had been crying all night. Weird. Carsein’s eyes travel from her closed eyes to her slightly parted mouth—short eyelashes and thin, dry lips, practically devoid of color.

“Hey…” Carsein is irritated now, shaking her shoulder roughly. She may not be a stalker of his brother’s—or maybe she is, who knows how crazy girls his age are—but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s creepy. “Hey, you, wake up!”

He sees her lower lip tremble, and one of her eyelids twitch as she stirs. The girl’s thin eyebrows furrow, pressure building between them. Her eyelashes flutter open, finally, and—oh. The girl, so doll-like—her eyes open only a sliver, but that’s enough for Carsein’s breath to lodge up in his throat. He’s never seen such a myriad of colors before—a vivid marbled aurora trapped inside a prism, how the sunlight dances in them, glittering like the intricately cut facets of a jewel. Her eyes are reminiscent of diamonds, the finest jewel known to man, but even that almost feels insulting. The fractaled light caught within them spirals with rainbow-like hues, so much more brilliant than the simple luster of a diamond. It’s honestly more disturbing than beautiful to the redhead, yet he can’t seem to look away.

The girl’s eyes waver, unfocused—at least, he thinks so, since he assumes that darkness in the middle is the pupil—and she breathes out. Her breath is a bit raspy, like a wheeze—oh, her throat is probably dry. Crazy, since she was in the middle of a storm—or maybe not since her clothes aren’t wet in the slightest. Her lips seem to move, trying to form words, but nothing comes out. After a moment of struggling, the eyes she had barely managed to open, flutter shut again and her neck goes slack, drained of whatever energy she had. Carsein kneels there, uncomfortable, until he sighs of relief when her chest softly rises and falls again.

The boy looks up to the sun peeking between the leaves, and grumbles to himself. Putting his weight onto his feet, he straightens his legs and stands up securely. The redhead thinks to himself about the weirdness of this situation, and what exactly this means for the future, as he begins walking back towards the manor, the mysterious and weird young lady comfortably carried in his arms.

One thing’s for sure—Carsein isn’t getting any practice today.

#who made me a princess #wmmap #suddenly became a princess one day #sbapod #wmmap au #wmmap fanfic #the abandoned empress #abandoned empress #wmmap jennette #wmmap athanasia #carsein de rass #crossover #crossover fic

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