#then i think mcs family is one step under or two steps?? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingsoftarnishedsilver · 19 days ago

Note

I think of mc being very protective of her friends being a orphan and all. someone says the gaunts are all dark wizards? they are in the hospital wing for two weeks under strange circumstances. someone starts a nasty rumor about why Anne really left hogwarts? The worst tripping hex gets everyone who repeats the rumor. someone insults sebastian, you better pray that mc didn't hear about it she's coming for you

The Things We Do for Family | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

oh I loooooved this concept!!!! THANK YOU FOR THE ASK, ANON. I really hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!! :')

Words: ~5,200

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor, Protective MC

There are things that Hogwarts students simply know—unchallenged truths, whispered warnings passed down from year to year.

The Forbidden Forest is dangerous. Peeves is a menace. The best snacks at Honeydukes sell out by Saturday afternoon. Don’t trust the staircases to take you where you actually want to go. Never accept Garreth Weasley’s offer to ‘test something out’.

And, under no circumstances, should anyone fuck with your friends.

It isn’t official, of course. There’s no school decree, no printed rule in the Hogwarts handbook, it's not carved into the walls. It’s just… understood.

It’s not like you’re some fearsome monster or anything.

You’re a model student, by all accounts. Brilliant. Sharp. Precise. A skilled duelist, a quick thinker, someone who turns in their assignments on time, answers when called on, and doesn’t cause disruptions in class.

You don’t start fights. You don’t pick pointless arguments. You don’t openly break the rules—not in ways that can be proven.

You play the part well.

Because that’s what you had to do.

You grew up alone. No parents. No siblings. No one to step in when things got hard, no one to defend you when the world was cruel. When you were small, scared, and helpless.

So you learned.

You learned that no one was coming to save you. You learned that fairness was a lie, that justice only existed when you carved it out with your own hands. You learned that people could be awful for no reason other than that they could get away with it.

But now? Now, you have a family. Not by blood, but by choice.

And when someone speaks against them? Bad things happen.

The Ominis Incident

It started, as most things did, with a careless remark.

A fifth-year Ravenclaw—smart but not particularly bright—thought it would be amusing to make a joke at Ominis Gaunt’s expense. A cruel one. Something about how the Gaunts were all inbred lunatics, how it was only a matter of time before Ominis ended up just like the rest of his family.

The words reached your ears in the library, drifting from a table not far from where you sat.

"You know I hear they torture Muggles for fun—it’s practically a family tradition. Gaunts don’t have hobbies, just a long history of inbreeding and Crucio."

Laughter followed, a few snickers from their table, hushed but not nearly enough. Not nearly enough to keep you from hearing.

Your quill stilled mid-word, ink pooling in place. Across from you, Ominis sat straight-backed, his expression unreadable, but you saw the way his fingers tightened around the book he was holding, knuckles whitening from the force of it.

He wouldn’t say anything.

Ominis had spent years perfecting the art of indifference. Of carefully controlled expressions, of blank politeness that masked far too much. He never reacted to comments like these.

But just because he wouldn’t didn’t mean you wouldn’t.

You exhaled slowly, carefully. Then, without a sound, you closed your book and stood.

Not a word. Not a glare in their direction. Just a smooth, effortless departure, as if you had suddenly decided the library was boring and somewhere else required your attention.

The Ravenclaws barely noticed.

But they would. They absolutely would. Because Potions class was a very dangerous place. Especially for people who talked too much.

The next day, you walked to Potions without a care in the world.

Sebastian and Ominis flanked you, deep in conversation about some essay Sharp had assigned, with Sebastian whining dramatically about how unfairly long it was, while Ominis countered that perhaps he should have started it earlier than the night before it was due.

You weren’t really listening, because you already knew what was coming.

And sure enough—just as you reached the dungeon corridor—

BOOM.

The floor trembled slightly beneath your feet. A deep, echoing explosion, the unmistakable sound of a cauldron detonating mid-brew, followed almost immediately by the frantic shouting of students.

Gasps. Choking coughs. Someone let out a screech of absolute horror.

Sebastian and Ominis startled.

Sebastian’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he looked toward the dungeon doors. “What the hell—”

Ominis twitched beside you, tilting his head, as if straining to listen.

You? Didn’t even blink. You just kept walking, calmly, like nothing was amiss, like you hadn’t been expecting it for the last twenty-four hours.

Sebastian noticed. His gaze sharpened, flicking to you with a knowing squint. “That was—”

He hesitated. Then narrowed his eyes further.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “I know that face.”

You raised a brow. “What face?”

“That’s your I-did-something-but-you’ll-never-prove-it face.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian scoffed and Ominis rolled his eyes, deadpan. “Uh-huh.”

Then the dungeon doors burst open.

A thick cloud of green smoke billowed out, sending students stumbling and coughing into the corridor. And in the center of it all, a group of very, very green Ravenclaws.

They clawed at their own skin, staring down at their hands in absolute horror. Their faces were the exact shade of an overripe toadstool, splotchy and uneven, and every time they opened their mouths, their tongues flopped out two inches too long.

Hysteria ensued.

Students gasped, some shrieked, others tried not to laugh. Professor Sharp stormed out after them, looking beyond exhausted, already massaging his temples.

“I told you,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “not to add the peppermint extract.”

“WE DIDN’T!” One Ravenclaw wailed, voice garbled from their too-long tongue. “I—I don’t know what happened! We did everything right!”

Sharp did not look convinced.

Sebastian looked at you, long and slow, a glint of admiration dawning in his eyes.

“Did you—”

“I did nothing.” You walked past him, as if the entire debacle were none of your concern. “I was with you all day, wasn’t I?”

Sebastian’s lips twitched. “Yeah, but—”

“No proof, no crime.” You gave him a cheerful smile before stepping into the classroom.

Sebastian grinned. “Oh, I love you.”

It was offhanded, thoughtless, a casual jest, but it sent a sharp, pleasant warmth down your spine.

You didn’t react, though. Just smirked, settling into your seat. Because the message had been sent.

And Ominis Gaunt would never hear a word against his name again.

The Anne Incident

Rumors at Hogwarts were a force of nature.

They swirled through the halls, slipping between whispered conversations and behind cupped hands, growing more twisted with each retelling.

Some were harmless—who was dating who, which professor had it out for which student, the occasional Did you hear Peeves stole all the ink from the Ravenclaws again? But some? Some were cruel.

And this one... this one was about Anne Sallow.

It started at breakfast, when you overheard a group of Slytherin sixth-years in the Great Hall. You weren’t eavesdropping—not intentionally—but you had a habit of noticing things, of hearing too much when you weren’t meant to.

"Did you hear about Sallow’s sister?"

"Yeah, I heard she went mad."

"Lost it completely. The curse must’ve rotted her brain."

"That’s why she left, isn’t it?"

"Yeah, I heard she tried to hex someone in her sleep—"

Your fork warped in your grasp. A slow, controlled bend beneath your fingers, the metal bending in your grip.

Across from you, Sebastian had gone still.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t react. Didn’t give them the satisfaction.

But you saw the way his jaw clenched. The way his hand curled into a fist against the table. The way his entire body had gone taut, locked in place by sheer force of will.

He wouldn’t do anything.

Not because he didn’t want to. Not because he wasn’t capable of it—because he was.

Sebastian Sallow could be ruthless. You knew that better than anyone. You’d seen it firsthand, the sharp edges of his temper, the way his rage burned hot and all-consuming, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake. You’d seen what happened when he felt cornered, when he thought he was out of options.

But he wasn’t that boy anymore. Because you and Ominis had dragged him back from the brink. Because you had looked him in the eye, years ago, when the dust had settled and the worst of it was over, and told him:

"You still have a future. Don’t throw it away."

Against all odds, he had listened. And now, this was his last year at Hogwarts and he was going to be an Auror. He was going to start over. Prove that he wasn’t just some reckless, violent delinquent one step away from Azkaban.

So no—he wouldn’t react. He wouldn’t take the bait. Wouldn't defend Anne, no matter how badly he wanted to. Wouldn’t let himself be dragged down into the same pit he’d barely crawled out of.

Sebastian was playing the long game.

But you? You weren’t.

Your revenge on Anne's behalf started small. Almost imperceptible.

The first Slytherin—the one who had started the conversation in the first place—was walking to class when it happened.

A single misstep.

His foot caught on something—thin air, perhaps—and he staggered forward, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to right himself. It didn’t work. His books went flying, parchment scattered across the stone corridor, and a bottle of ink tumbled from his bag, shattering upon impact and staining his robes in an ugly, irreversible mess of black.

A small accident. An unfortunate case of bad luck.

No one thought anything of it—until the second one fell.

In the exact same spot.

And then the third. And the fourth.

By the time lunch rolled around, all four of them had tripped at least half a dozen times each.

It wasn’t just limited to the corridor, either. They stumbled on staircases, barely catching themselves before they could go tumbling down. They walked straight into walls as if the castle itself had turned against them. One even managed to trip over absolutely nothing in the middle of the Great Hall and landed face-first into his own soup.

The snickers started soon after. The sideways glances. The poorly hidden laughter from classmates who found their sudden clumsiness far too entertaining.

It wasn’t enough to be suspicious.

Not yet.

Not until the moving staircase.

The ringleader of the group had spent too much time lingering in the courtyard after lunch, chatting up a group of girls who barely tolerated his presence. He realized too late that he was running behind and bolted toward Charms, racing up the moving staircases with zero grace and even less caution.

And then his foot caught.

There was nothing there. No loose stone or shift in the staircase, nothing at all to explain why he suddenly lost his footing.

But he did.

He stumbled backward, arms flailing wildly, fingers grasping at empty air as the momentum carried him too far—

And he plummeted.

Three flights.

A blur of robes and limbs, a crash of bone against stone, and then a sickening thud as he landed in a groaning, crumpled heap at the bottom.

A hush fell over the corridor.

Then—

Shrieking.

His friends rushed down to him, voices panicked, eyes wide with horrified realization as they took in his bruised, trembling form.

A girl ran to fetch Madam Blainey.

By the time she arrived, he was whimpering, clutching his arm like it might’ve snapped.

Hospital Wing. Immediate bed rest.

No one could explain what happened. No professor could find a cause. Some students claimed the stairs had shifted unexpectedly. Others swore that they saw nothing—no trick step, no loose stones, just an unseen force pulling him down.

It didn’t matter.

The moment he was carried off, you finally allowed yourself to smile.

Not a smirk. Not a grin. Just the smallest, most satisfied twitch of your lips.

Sebastian caught it. Because of course he did. He had been standing beside you the whole time. Silent. Still. Watching from the moment that asshole Slytherin stumbled earlier that morning to the moment he was carted off for medical attention.

And now? Now, he just exhaled, long and slow, shaking his head as his mouth curved into something unreadable.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice low.

You hummed, tilting your head in faux curiosity. “Am I?”

Sebastian turned fully then, facing you. His gaze searched your face, for guilt perhaps. For remorse. For something that might suggest you hadn’t meant for it to happen.

But there was nothing.

No trace of hesitation. No flicker of shame.

You were calm, collected, an completely unapologetic. Because nobody talked about Anne Sallow like that without consequence.

Sebastian blinked. Then, to your absolute delight, he grinned. Wide. Slow. A sharp, wicked thing.

“Yeah. You're very dangerous” he said, almost in awe.

Your stomach twisted. You ignored it. Instead, you just shrugged, voice as casual as ever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian’s grin deepened.

The Poppy Incident

Poppy Sweeting was one of the best people you knew.

Kind-hearted, patient, and too good for the world, really. She spent more time in the company of magical creatures than she did with most people, and honestly? You couldn't blame her.

Because people could be cruel.

You first heard it one afternoon in the courtyard. A group of girls whispering amongst themselves, giggling behind their hands. You hadn’t been paying much attention—until you heard her name.

"Honestly, she’s weird."

"I know, right? It’s like she’d rather date a bloody Hippogriff than an actual person."

"Wouldn’t be surprised if she actually has."

Laughter, sharp and mocking. Like Poppy Sweeting was a joke. Like she was less than because she chose kindness over cruelty, creatures over people who didn’t deserve her time in the first place.

You turned your head and watched as one girl—a Hufflepuff, ironically—rolled her eyes, shaking her head in exaggerated exasperation.

"Beast-lover," she muttered, nose wrinkled like the word itself was distasteful. "It's unnatural, really. No wonder she doesn't have any friends outside of her precious Mooncalves."

Something cold and sharp settled in your chest.

You had no doubt Poppy had heard it. She was standing just a few paces away near the fountain, hands clenched tight at her sides.

She didn’t react. Didn’t turn. Didn’t say anything. She just exhaled, slow and quiet, like she was forcing herself to let it go.

You wouldn’t.

The next morning, that very same Hufflepuff woke up covered in fur.

Not all over, just her face.

A thick, fluffy coat of golden-brown fuzz, soft as a Puffskein, sprouting in wild patches across her forehead, cheeks, and chin.

According to Poppy, the screams started immediately, and the entire girls dormitory had woken up to it.

The girl, who turned out to be a fifth-year, had flown into a hysterical panic, shrieking as she bolted for a mirror, hands frantically scrubbing at her face like she could rub the fur away.

She couldn’t.

It was a very specific hex. One that lasted exactly one week.

Professor Ronen was baffled.

Madam Blainey was thoroughly fascinated.

And Professor Howin, bless her, had cooed over her like she was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. You had a front row seat to the entire thing during Beasts class.

“This is truly fascinating,” she’d said, holding the girl’s chin and turning her face slightly toward the light. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen transfiguration manifest quite like this! And so soft—feels just like a Kneazle’s coat, doesn’t it?”

The best part? It wasn’t harmful. It wasn’t painful. Just… humiliating.

You considered it a job well done.

When Howin had dismissed you for lunch, Poppy pulled you aside. She didn't say anything at first. Just stared.

You blinked at her, tilting your head. “Everything alright?”

Poppy squinted. Narrowed her eyes slightly. Huffed.

"You did that, didn’t you?"

You blinked again.

Because Poppy—sweet, gentle, pacifist Poppy—did not accuse people of things. Which meant she was completely certain.

You just smiled, giving her your most innocent expression. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Poppy just sighed, shaking her head. But then—just for a moment—she smiled.

Small. Subtle. Grateful.

Like she knew exactly what you’d done. Like she knew there was no use arguing, no point in telling you not to go to such lengths for her.

And then, without a word, she reached out and squeezed your hand.

The Natsai Incident

You had never liked Callum Thorne.

Seventh-year. Gryffindor. Arrogant. Loud-mouthed. The kind of person who had never been told no in his life and walked through Hogwarts like the world owed him something.

You’d tolerated him for years, mostly because you hadn’t needed to interact with him much. But this? This was different.

You were starting the day with Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Hecat had yet to arrive, leaving the class unsupervised and giving Thorne the perfect opportunity to make a scene.

Natty was speaking with Poppy near the front of the room, voice calm as she explained something about the Ministry’s policies on magical creatures in Africa compared to Britain. She wasn’t being loud, wasn’t even arguing, just explaining.

That’s when Thorne scoffed.

“Merlin’s sake, Onai, give it a rest,” he sneered from the back of the room, tossing his quill onto his desk with an exaggerated huff. “Do you ever get tired of standing on that bloody soapbox of yours?”

The room went still.

Natty turned, slow and deliberate, her expression unreadable, regarding him with that same poised, unshaken calm that made her such a force to be reckoned with.

“I was simply having a discussion,” she said smoothly. “No one is forcing you to listen, Thorne.”

“Right,” he drawled. “Except you never shut up about it. Always talking about ‘justice’ and ‘change’ like you think you’re going to fix the whole bloody world.” He smirked. “News flash, Onai—no one cares.”

A few of his friends chuckled.

Your fingernails dug into your palm.

Natty didn’t react—not outwardly, anyway. She just exhaled, slow and measured, and turned back to Poppy like his words had been nothing more than an inconvenience.

You? You were already plotting his downfall, and luckily, Callum Thorne was a creature of habit.

He always stayed out after curfew to flirt with whatever unfortunate girl he had chosen that week, and he always went up to the Astronomy Tower afterwards with his friends to play cards and drink whatever contraband alcohol they’d smuggled into the castle.

Which made him the perfect target.

That night, as the seventh-year tidied up the cards, stretching and yawning, likely already thinking about his warm bed waiting for him—

His legs froze in place. Not a Full Body-Bind. No, this was different.

A soft, subtle hex. A slow, creeping sensation, his feet adhering to the stone beneath him, then his calves, then his thighs.

By the time he realized something was wrong, it was too late.

He tried to step forward—failed. Tried to yank himself free—failed.

And then—with agonizing slowness—his entire body began to lift off the ground. No warning. No control.

He drifted upward, weightless, helpless, arms flailing as the stone ceiling came closer and closer—

And then, with a soft thump, he was stuck. Face-down, body pressed flat against the Astronomy Tower ceiling.

His screaming started immediately.

Loud. Panicked. A complete meltdown.

His friends, who had started their walk down the tower came bolting back up the stairs at the sound of his shouting.

“What the—?” one of them started, eyes wide as they gawked at the ceiling.

“Thorne?” another asked, dumbfounded.

You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back laughter as you hid beneath your disillusionment charm.

“GET ME DOWN!” Thorne bellowed, arms and legs flailing uselessly against the stone. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?”

His friends stared, uselessly waving their wands, muttering counterspells that only resulted in Thorne spinning in slow circles, howling in distress.

When they realized they were utterly helpless, panic completely set in.

“What do we do?” one of them asked, looking between the others with wild eyes. “Should we get a professor?”

Thorne snarled. “NO! DO NOT—”

But it was too late. Because at that very moment, the Astronomy Tower door swung open once again, and a very tired, very unimpressed Professor Shah stepped inside.

There was a long, painful beat of silence.

Shah took in the scene.

The stack of contraband firewhiskey bottles on the table. The panicked seventh-years, wands still drawn, looking entirely too guilty. And Callum Thorne, still face-down, circling against the ceiling, hissing every curse word known to wizardkind.

She sighed, long and slow, as if she had simply had enough of this entire generation of students. Then, with an effortless flick of her wand, she cast a single spell.

And gravity returned. All at once. Thorne plummeted like a sack of bricks.

The landing was spectacular. A glorious, sprawling heap, limbs tangled, robes askew, one shoe missing entirely. His friends didn’t even try to catch him.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then—

“Hospital Wing,” Shah said simply, rubbing her temples. “Now.”

Thorne was half-carried, half-dragged down the tower steps, groaning the entire way.

And you?

You slept soundly that night.

By morning, half the school had heard the story.

"Did you hear about Thorne? Got stuck to the Astronomy Tower ceiling last night."

"He was crying by the time they got him down."

"Serves him right—bloke’s a complete asshole."

And you? You sat perfectly composed at breakfast, casually stirring your tea, listening as his friends panicked about who could have done it.

Sebastian, of course, knew.

He sat beside you, arms folded, lips pressed together, shaking with the effort not to laugh.

Finally, he exhaled, tilting his head toward you.

“You are actually unhinged,” he murmured, utterly delighted.

You simply sipped your tea. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Across the hall, Natty smiled.

Soft. Knowing.

The Sebastian Incident

You had been careful.

For years, you had woven your revenge into the shadows, never once leaving a trace of your involvement in the strange misfortunes that befell those who dared to insult your friends. You were precise, patient, undetectable.

But everyone has a breaking point. And yours? Yours was Sebastian Sallow.

It happened in the Great Hall when Scorpius Malfoy decided to idiotically open his big fucking mouth.

You hadn’t been paying attention to him at first. Why would you? People like Malfoy had never mattered to you. He was just another spoiled pureblood, another self-important waste of a surname who thought his words carried weight simply because he could afford to say them.

But then his voice cut through the din, and he said Sebastian’s name.

"No family name worth a damn, no money, no influence. Honestly, I don’t even know why the professors still put up with Sallow. And he’s an orphan, isn’t he?"

One of his friends nodded, grinning like this was some kind of joke. Like Sebastian Sallow’s entire life was nothing more than a punchline.

Malfoy snorted. "So he's got dead parents, a dead uncle, and a crippled sister who’ll probably never set foot in the wizarding world again. Wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up rotting in the same gutter he came from."

The words landed like a curse.

Sebastian had been mid-conversation with you, fork in hand, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he teased you about something inconsequential—some throwaway joke that would have normally earned him an eye roll and a shove.

But now? Now, he wasn’t moving. Not speaking. Not breathing. Just silent.

Rigid.

Like the weight of those words had turned him into stone.

And something inside you snapped.

It was almost funny, in retrospect, how much effort you had spent perfecting the art of subtlety.

Every step you had taken over the years had been measured, every spell carefully woven into the fabric of coincidence, every act of vengeance so meticulously placed that no one had ever been able to definitively trace it back to you. You had built a flawless reputation, balancing on the razor’s edge between brilliance and menace, justice and mystery.

But now? Now, as you rose from your seat, you weren’t careful at all.

You didn’t move like a shadow, didn’t cloak yourself in misdirection or the comfort of silence. No. This time, you wanted them to see you.

And the moment you stood, the Great Hall stilled.

Students stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped moving altogether. The clatter of plates and goblets faded into a thick, suffocating silence, as if even the walls of Hogwarts itself were holding their breath.

Your voice came out low. Cold.

"Say that one more time, Malfoy."

Scorpius turned lazily, like he hadn’t a care in the world. Like he hadn’t just spat on Sebastian’s entire existence for no other reason than because he could.

And he smirked. Merlin, he smirked. Like you were some insignificant thing, an insect buzzing too close to his ear.

“Oh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “Touched a nerve, have I? Which part got to you, I wonder? The fact that Sallow’s got no family? Or the part where I pointed out that he’s got no future either?”

You took a step forward. You could hear Ominis hissing at you to stop, to think about what you were doing before you got yourself deep into shit, gut you couldn't. Not when it came to your friends.

Not when it came to Sebastian.

Especially when he still hadn't moved. Hadn’t reacted. Hadn’t so much as breathed.

Your hand tightened around your wand, the weight of it comforting, grounding, an extension of the fury curling in your chest.

"You should tread carefully, Scorpius," you murmured, your voice smooth, edged with something lethal. "I know you think you're clever—that you can say whatever you like without consequence, just because you were born into the right family."

Your head tilted slightly, gaze sharp, cutting straight through him.

"But you should know something about me by now."

Malfoy’s smirk faltered just slightly. And then, before he could open his mouth again—

You flicked your wand.

Hard. Fast.

Malfoy's goblet exploded.

A concussive blast of magic sent shards flying, the remnants of his beverage splattering across his pristine uniform like spilled blood. A jagged edge of glass sliced across his hand, thin but deep, and he flinched, eyes snapping down to it with genuine shock.

"If you're going to run your mouth about my friends," you said coolly, watching him clutch his bleeding hand, "then you should be prepared to suffer for it."

Your next spell came before he could react. Before anyone could stop you.

A sharp twist of your wrist, and his mouth was gone.

Not silenced. Not muffled. Just… gone. Smooth, unbroken skin where lips should be, like his voice had simply been erased from existence.

The realization hit him immediately.

His hands shot to his face, clawing at his skin, a muffled scream—horrified, panicked—rising in his throat. He lurched backward, knocking into one of his friends, fingers digging at face like he could carve his lips back into place.

But you weren’t done. Not yet.

You needed something that would etch itself into the bones of this castle, into the minds of every single person watching in stunned silence. Something that told the whole goddamn school that if they so much as breathed wrong about Sebastian again, you would ruin them.

A simple hex would be too merciful. A standard jinx—something temporary, something easily countered—wouldn’t send the right message.

No, you needed something else. Something only you could undo.

Your wand rose, fingers tightening around the handle.

A familiar thrumming sensation curled through your bones, crackling at your fingertips, humming beneath your skin like a storm about to break. Ancient magic—the power that had followed you since the day you first stepped foot in Hogwarts, the magic that had made you different. You had never used it publicly. Never allowed yourself to tap into it in a room full of hundreds of witnesses.

Until now.

Malfoy’s body lurched.

Not by his own will, but by yours, by the ancient, crackling force curling through your veins.

The entire room gasped as he was wrenched upward, his robes twisting violently around him as though an invisible hand had grabbed him by the throat and hauled him into the sky.

He thrashed, or tried to, but the moment he moved, the spell struck.

A jolt of electricity tore through his body.

Not enough to kill. Not enough to cause permanent harm, but enough to make him scream. Or at least, he would have screamed—if he still had a mouth.

Instead, a choked, garbled sound tore from his throat, half agony, half suffocated panic, his limbs seizing as the current snapped down his spine, through his arms and legs.

And you let them watch, let the entire Great Hall bear witness as he hung there, suspended like some grotesque marionette.

And the moment he tried to move again, tried to scratch at where his mouth should be or flail his limbs, another arc of lightning danced across his body, snapping against his skin like a promise that any attempt to fight this would only make it worse.

And he knew. They all knew. He wasn’t getting down until you allowed it. But your arm didn’t waver, you held your wand high, like an executioner delivering final judgment.

Because this? This was a declaration. A statement. A message carved into the very bones of Hogwarts itself.

You do not speak against Sebastian Sallow.

You wondered if he realized that you would have done this a thousand times over. That you would have burned the entire goddamn world for him if he asked.

But before you could do anything more—before you could decide how far you were willing to take this—

A thunderous voice shattered the moment.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!"

The spell snapped. Malfoy dropped. His body crashed onto the table below, sending plates and goblets scattering, silverware clattering to the stone floor. He lay there, twitching, gasping, pathetically small as the last of the magic flickered out of his limbs.

And then—

"You."

Phineas Nigellus Black’s voice was pure ice.

You turned to face him—not a shred of regret, not a flicker of guilt in your expression.

But the Headmaster was raging. His hands were clenched at his sides, his teeth bared in fury.

The entire room was still. Waiting. Holding its breath.

"My office." His voice was low, lethal, like the words themselves were a curse. "Now."

A sharp inhale from someone at the Ravenclaw table. A hushed whisper from a terrified first-year.

No detention. No points docked. Just a direct order from the highest authority in the school.

But it was worth it, because now they knew. Every single person in this room knew.

And as you turned on your heel, heart still pounding with the remnants of power buzzing in your veins—

You caught Sebastian’s eyes one last time.

Still watching, still frozen in place, yet looking at you like you were the most devastating, impossible, extraordinary thing he had ever seen.

And then? The slightest smirk. The most faint, devastatingly admiring grin.

Like he had never, ever wanted anyone more.

196 notes · View notes

aventurineswife · 3 months ago

Note

can you do under the mistletoe with the side characters too please? maybe with luke as a platonic parent/son one? ty!!!

All I Want for Christmas is You

Tags: Side Characters x Reader [Diavolo x Reader, Barbatos x Reader, Solomon x Reader, Simeon x Reader, Luke x Reader (PLATONIC‼️), Raphael x Reader, Thirteen x Reader, Mephistopheles x Reader], Romantic, Platonic (Luke!), Christmas, Mistletoe, Kisses and Hugs, Winter Special, Affection, Sweet Moments, Playful Interactions.

Diavolo

You and Diavolo are standing by the grand Christmas tree in the Demon Lord’s castle, both admiring the beautiful decorations. The soft glow of the lights flickers, and a mischievous smile crosses his face as he looks up to see the mistletoe hanging just above you both.

“Ah, it looks like we’ve found ourselves in quite the festive situation,” Diavolo says, his voice warm with amusement. He steps closer, his hands gently cupping your face, his golden eyes sparkling with affection. “I can’t resist the chance to share a kiss beneath the mistletoe, not when it’s with someone as wonderful as you.”

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, savoring the warmth of the moment. “This is the best part of the holidays, don’t you think? Sharing special moments with you.”

Barbatos

Barbatos, ever so graceful and composed, stands beside you in the lavish dining hall. The room is filled with laughter and the sound of cheerful conversations, but your eyes are drawn to the mistletoe above you both.

Barbatos smiles, the faintest glint of playfulness in his eyes. “It seems we’re at a crossroads, my dear. Mistletoe, after all, does have a magical way of bringing people closer.”

He gently takes your hand, guiding you toward him as he leans in. His lips meet yours in a delicate kiss, soft and tender, as though savoring the moment. “Merry Christmas,” he murmurs after the kiss, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the utmost care. "It would be impossible to celebrate without you by my side."

Solomon

The holiday festivities are in full swing at the Purgatory Hall, and as you wander through the halls, you find Solomon waiting under a sprig of mistletoe with a roguish grin on his face.

"Well, well, it looks like fate has decided to intervene," he teases, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I’d say it’s practically a sign that we should share a kiss, don’t you agree?”

You laugh, shaking your head at his playful attitude. Solomon steps in, closing the space between you, and plants a soft, teasing kiss on your lips. “Consider that a Christmas gift, my dear apprentice. Who knew your teacher could still surprise you?”

Simeon

Simeon watches you with a fond smile as the two of you walk together through the peaceful garden, where Christmas lights twinkle like stars. His expression softens as he notices the mistletoe above you both.

With a gentle chuckle, Simeon holds your gaze. “I suppose we have no choice, do we?”

He steps closer, cupping your cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing across your skin in the most tender of gestures. He presses a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips, his heart warm with love. “Merry Christmas, My Dove. I hope this season brings you all the joy you deserve.”

Luke

You catch sight of Luke, the little angel, near the mistletoe hanging in the hallway, looking up at it curiously. When his eyes meet yours, his face lights up with an innocent smile.

“Hey, MC! There’s mistletoe above us!” he exclaims excitedly. "That means I have to do something, right?"

You chuckle, squatting down to his level, and he hugs you tightly. “I may not be old (physically and mentally) enough to kiss anyone yet, but I can definitely give you a big hug!”

Luke wraps his small arms around you in a warm, sincere hug. “Merry Christmas, MC! You’re like family to me.”

You smile, giving him a gentle pat on the back. “You’re like family to me too, Luke. Merry Christmas.”

Raphael

Raphael is walking through the halls of the Purgatory Hall, lost in thought, when he notices the mistletoe hanging above you both. His brow furrows slightly, but there’s a softness in his gaze as he looks at you.

“Well, this is a bit unexpected, but I won’t complain.” he says with a rare, shy smile.

You can feel the warmth of his touch as he gently takes your hand, guiding you closer. His lips brush yours in a gentle, tender kiss, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he savors the closeness. “Merry Christmas, MC. You’ve made this season truly special for me.”

Thirteen

Thirteen’s chaotic energy fills the room, and you can hardly keep up with her constant bouncing around. As you walk under the mistletoe, she suddenly stops, eyes gleaming mischievously.

“Well, well, well, looks like the mistletoe has spoken, huh?” she grins widely, all teeth and sparkle. “I guess we should make it official then, shouldn’t we?”

Before you can react, she grabs your face and pulls you into a kiss, her energy infusing the moment with a playful spark. When she pulls away, she winks. “Merry Christmas, MC! You’re the best!”

Mephistopheles

Mephistopheles stands by the fireplace, a glass of wine in hand as he watches you approach. His lips curl into a sly grin when he sees the mistletoe.

“Well, this is quite the festive sight, isn’t it?” he says, his voice smooth like velvet.

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can respond, he’s already closing the distance, his fingers grazing your arm as he leans in. His kiss is slow and deliberate, full of a smoldering intensity that leaves you breathless for a moment. When he pulls away, his grin only deepens.

“Merry Christmas, MC. I’ll be sure to make this a holiday you won’t forget.”

Posting this a month before Christmas 🫣🎄

223 notes · View notes

tsukii0002 · 7 months ago

Note

hi! So I had a little not really little fic that has been on my mind when I got home from school…

Imagine mc and the brothers were working at fall, dressed up as bunny boys again we love em and the manager suddenly put a special ‘fan service’ on the menu, basically if you brought the fan service on the menu you could interact with one of the workers like they will flirt with you, compliment you, kiss on the cheek maybe, etc…but because the brothers were not too comfortable with that except asmo but we don’t talk about him so it is only for the customers to interact with none other the our majesty..MC! mc is the energetic and says risk it for the biscuit type of person when they are taking a risk of getting their soul stolen or whatever, so they literally have no problem taking the place, flirting, kissing the customers cheek and being all affectionate besides, it’s okay right?……right??

I can imagine the brothers being all jelly jelly haha…especially Levi.

it is alright if you’re not interested in it! <3

I love the idea! I hope I can capture it well, again thanks for the suggestion 🤗! Thank you again for your patience and sorry for the grammatical errors.

"It's bunny season and at "The fall" you'll be able to find high quality services"

In this way they announced again the presence of the brothers on the site (this family gets into debt too often), with the novelty of the, never seen before, fan service option. The brothers were not very comfortable with this service but, as always, a fearless soul was ready to solve this problem. Mc entered the room in a costume apparently more provocative than the others, they didn't look as uncomfortable as the demons, they were ready for anything.

‘Don't worry, from this moment on I'll take care of this service’

And with a wink, the human began to work as if nothing had happened.

Lucifer

The customers looked at the avatar of pride with sparkling eyes "Show them the menu in a provocative way" they had asked him. They were really taking advantage of the situation, but, who the hell had made these suggestions?! "That's tough" Mc had appeared behind him, carrying several menus under their arm and that smile he knew so well adorned their face. With an overly sensual step they approached one of the customers and sat on her lap, opening the menu to show her. The demoness began to blush as she searched for the words to speak, Mc chuckled in a charming way as they pointed to the most expensive dessert in the shop "I think something this sweet would be perfect for someone as sweet"

It took him a while to react. Why did this human always have to rush forward without hesitation!?

He felt his pride shaken as he saw how all the customers focused all their attention solely and exclusively on Mc… his Mc.

He is able to do his job perfectly, but he would try to keep Mc busy with other tasks, not approaching the customers. Until the manager caught his eye.

He will be proud to see Mc being the most popular, but this would clash with jealousy, Mc is his and no one should forget that.

Eventually he would relieve Mc, he would rather work with all that nonsense than let his human become a celebrity desired by all.

Mammon

Mammon didn't know where to look, his cheeks were more than flushed when he was asked to "serve the demonus in a naughty way", What the hell did that mean?! The demon opened the bottle hesitantly, this time even the debt wasn't his fault, he didn't want to do that when Mc took it out of his hands, they winked confidently and with unexpected dexterity poured two glasses, splashing their fingers in the process. Nevertheless, they licked them in a very sensual way, as they innocently batted their long, long eyelashes. The breathless customers were even more petrified when Mc sat down between them and held out the glasses with a big smile "We should make a toast, shouldn't we?"

What he had seen was real? Since when Mc have such a naughty and sensual side… and, Why weren't they doing that to him!!?

Not happy with the situation, if he got paid for being jealous he would never worry about debts again.

After that he would not talk to Mc, first for embarrassment and secondly for jealousy, they should only do that with their first…

He'll try to do those jobs so Mc wouldn't have to do them, it's his human, only his. It didn't work out too well.

Unable to work well knowing that Mc does such jobs. Sometimes he would leave his post to tell customers that Mc don't cover that part of the menu.

Levi

He was about to faint. "Do an adorable bunny greeting" How could they ask such a thing to an anti-social otaku?! Surely they wanted to make fun of him and his hobbies. Suddenly he felt a pat on his back, it was Mc with their trusty smile "Leave it to me". Mc quickly adopted a magical girl pose with their hands imitating the ears of a rabbit, and as a deadly attack, they waved them while making an adorable gesture with their cute little face "Kyuu~" x1000 damage. The customers started to clap their hands blushing vigorously. Was Mc so powerful or maybe they were otakus too? They got even redder when Mc sat next to them saying "What can this bunny do for you?"

His face went through five shades of red before he could react. Did Mc just do what they just did?

How had he missed the opportunity to record it?!!! so adorable, so cute…. But other people had seen it!! That gesture was addressed to other people!!!!

His envy took over him completely, he had always dreamed of that kind of service, and on top of everything else Mc?!!!! It was every demon's dream!

He is not able to concentrate, since he only mumbles words of self-deprecation, the clients feel at some point afraid.

He would never be able to do those jobs, so unfortunately he drowning in his envy as he watches his Mc doing things he always dreamed they would do to him.

Satan

Satan was about to explode when he heard about this fan service, and when he was asked to "Shower them of praise and admiration" was the straw that broke the camel's back. He couldn't fake admiration, let alone when his anger was about to take over. He was about to head to the table when Mc took his place, giving him a knowing look. The human put their hands on the customer's shoulder and cupped their chin, looking at the (now paralysed) demon with eyes full of apparent admiration. One praise after another, one compliment followed by another and another, the kind words kept coming accompanied by the most adorable expressions from the human "I really am a lucky bunny to have come across such a magnificent customer"

He can't find the words, he can't describe how it feels to see Mc praising other demons in such a way.

He is full of wrath, but it's not the usual wrath, no, it's jealousy.

I would try to divert the attention of the customers by bringing up topics of conversation, talking about Devildom news and advising them on drinks and desserts from the menu, so they don't notice the fan service option.

Since that doesn't work, he would try to get Mc to quit the job, but they both know that if that happens they would never earn the money they need.

He would try to do the jobs himself, but he would do it in an artificial and dry way, he couldn't let Mc praise people like that, at least not people other than himself.

Asmo

At first he liked the idea, but the customers kept asking for more and more, to the point that when he heard "Feeding them adorably" he felt a shudder. A squeeze on the hand calmed him and Mc with their charming smile stepped forward like an epic hero. Carrying a tray with a large ice cream, they carefully sat down between the two customers who looked at them with wide eyes. Mc took a spoon and filled it, and after putting their hair behind their ear, shyly, they turned to one of the customers "Say ahhhh" The demoness's pupils turned into hearts when she saw Mc's blush with a tender smile, she opened her mouth and took the bite about to faint, while Mc filled the spoon again "Maybe the customers want to feed this little bunny next?"

Omg MC!!! how lovely and spicy, wait… How lovely and spicy with other demons!!!!

Asmo is not usually jealous, but seeing an unknown aspect of Mc makes him jealous, not because of the act itself, but because it was not directed at him.

He knows how sensual Mc can be, but it was the only thing he wasn't willing to share with the world. He tries to keep smiling but is not able to be his usual charming self.

He would follow Mc to every table to make sure they never did that to anyone but him again, and no one would complain, two for one, but in the end he would get scolded.

He would do everything he could to divert the attention of customers, both from the fan service and from Mc. And he is probably the only one who can do it.

Beel

Beel was always willing to do any job if there was food involved but "Holding a pocky in the mouth while the customer bites into it" was too much, he didn't like that sort of thing. However, the box of pocky had disappeared from his hand, Mc was at his side "Don't worry". With agility they sat on the couch under the attentive gaze of the customers, and with a sinuous slowness they took two pockies and bit them forming a V while they looked at a customer with a mocking smile. He didn't know which was redder, the customer who tried to bite it or the demonus spilled from his trembling hands. Mc laughed sweetly as they put the candy in the customer's mouth "Has the bunny got your tongue?"

He didn't know how to act, or exactly what to feel, the only thing that was clear to him was that he didn't like it, he didn't like it at all.

Mc was a kind person, but sharing food was too personal, a thing of the two of them. So he couldn't help but feel jealous…

He felt a sensation in his stomach, which was not hunger, as if it were shrinking. Every time he saw his human smiling at another demon in that way he liked so much, his stomach would shrink even more.

He intimidated the clients by looking at them, even though he was unaware of it. He is so focused on Mc that he is not able to do his job properly.

Although he wanted to do his part to keep Mc away from the clients, he couldn't, and every time he saw a group call out to his human, he felt he had failed to protect them.

Belphie

"Wear a ribbon you get as a present" was a pointless and annoying thing he wasn't willing to do. It could be worse, it could, but that strange service was awkward, yet buying a ribbon was an extra expense so it was impossible to take it off the menu. He lazily walked over to one of the tables when he felt his waist being grabbed, it was Mc. They smiled at him and walked over to the table in his place. Mc sat down and immediately several hands held out different ribbons, the human put on a flirtatious and hesitant expression as they looked at the different ribbons. The customers blushed as Mc slowly and smugly placed the ribbons on their bunny ears, on their neck…. "I think this bunny needs even more bows don't you?"

He didn't have to think long to know that jealousy was eating him up. How dare they even look at his human?

The jealousy showed in his expression, everyone could see it. He was on the verge of kidnapping Mc and hiding the two of them together for a nap.

He tried to make customers lose interest in the human, telling them Mc was unpleasant or clumsy, but when the demons ignored him, they could hear teeth gnashing.

There was no way he could offer anything better than Mc to the clients, so he tried to play the lovable demon card to make Mc not work.

He wouldn't try to do the job, instead, he would just sit there looking at the customers in a bad way, and make it everyone problem.

I've finally been able to come back!! the truth is that I've had so many things together, among them a horrible creative block, a burn out, the thesis... I will try to get into a rhythm little by little and answer everything I have in my mailbox. So if you have come this far, thank you very much🩷.

272 notes · View notes

jazjelspen · 2 years ago

Text

leaving on wild charted waters [pt.3]

(what if our mc just got tired of Night Raven College and it's inhabitants?)

(how would some of our NRC students react to this?...)

(includes each house leader +ace and deuce! as requested!<3)

(also includes lots of angst!/mention of blood but not a lot/ angst angst angst angst angst--/not proofread/may be ooc and inconsistent in some places(in both the second part and this part) my apologies!! T-T/mention of book7 overblot/did I mention angst?)

it's been over two weeks now, two weeks in RSA.

so far you've met the headmaster of the school, Ambrose LXIII, with the guidance of Rielle. the headmaster understood your circumstances and talked to you about how he'll try his best to find a way back home for you, and to ease up any of your doubts and concerns he even said he'll promptly ask a student to hand you a report from him of any progress he's made to ensure a safe passage back home for you!

even without having to be an official student or enroll they let you stay in the same dorm as Rielle with your own dorm room as a temporary stay here... and your dorm room was actually nice and well set up! like a hotel room... you were relieved you didn't have to worry about the ceiling cracking and falling on your face for the rest of your nights here.

and to your amazement the headmaster kept his word, unlike Crowley. any report of progress was mostly driven by research but he did mention a lot of Twisted Wonderland's history to connect to any potential gateways back to your world... and this felt way better than whatever Crowley was doing so it was like a breath of fresh air.

finally for the first time ever you've been able to feel like you’re several steps closer to seeing your friends and family back home!... every time you'd think about it you'd get goosebumps of excitement.

during these past few days you've met an enormous amount of friends! most of them being Rielle's while others were outside of the inner social circle but still all of them were friendly or just got along in some way or form, it seemed almost magical. aside from Rielle one of your other closest friends was this boy of green eyes and long, and I mean long blonde hair that usually either dragged behind him or was in a huge braid, he was actually the one who healed your broken arm and wounds with his magical healing powers from his hair! and now you're able to be more active again!

Raps is his name, and he was usually always called upon and under strict supervision by his father whom was a professor there... but you weren't sure if they are related by blood or not since the professor had dark black curls and grey eyes rather than the yellow haired boy's more bright features, but you never really bothered to ask or wonder much. in the end you two got along well and actually had a bit in common! mostly due to the fact that you both can relate to the feeling of being trapped, restrained.

in the end you absolutely loved your temporary stay here so far, you hoped no overblots would ruin your experience... so you never really let your guard down but nonetheless it was relaxing.

we wouldn't be able to say the same for Night Raven College and everyone you left behind though!

Meanwhile in Night Raven College....

it was after classes ended on this cold and grey day when five particular freshmen and a student robot of NRC have been grouping up after school for the past week for one particular reason only...

"where could they be?? we've searched everywhere! the halls, the classrooms, the garden, forest, the shore... it's like they disappeared from thin air!" exclaimed the ace, Ace Trappola to be exact.

"we've looked everywhere Ace, what also irks me is that even Vil has been harsher on the entire dorm since they disappeared." the apple of the group, Epel Felmier, sighed in frustration on the brink of snapping.

"...but could they have been taken, kidnapped?... I'm sure Grim would've heard of any struggle but we haven't even heard from the cat." spoke the wolf of the group, Jack Howl.

"no.. Grim has been avoiding us like the plague and even managed to sneak away from us several times. not sure where he could be hiding now aside from the old ramshackle dorm but-- even yet he always manages to slip through our hands!..." the spade spoke worryingly, Deuce Spade was deeply concerned for your safety and confused over Grim's actions.

"that human!! they've been driving the young master mad! all he's been talking about is where they could be and if they are alright!!... and every time I come back to him it's like the sky and his excellence himself just keeps getting worse and worse!.." the loudest knight of Malleus Draconia, Sebek Zigvolt, exclaimed loudly with worry for both the prefect and his young master... but more worried about the young master's train of thought with how worse the clouds have been getting with the most terrible rain and thunder when each day goes by.

"my big brother hasn't been sleeping at all.. way worse than when he has his game marathons. he's constantly looking for any digital footprint they could've left or even trying to hack into their location but it always overrides somehow... it always says that the device is dead or nonexistent." the younger of the shroud brothers, Ortho Shroud, is seen stressing over you and his big brother, Idia Shroud. "with the amount of information my big brother has been trying to look through it could possibly even make me short circuit."

the entire group was at a frustrating dead end for any clue of your disappearance aside from all your everyday items being left behind and your last known scent to be in the ramshackle dorm and at the very edge of the sea. other than that no one has much of a clue.

well they have been hearing from students that a ship appeared as quickly as it disappeared in the night/very early morning before anyone was up, and that one rumor caused other different kinds of rumors to spread like wildfire. some say you were abducted by pirates, stolen by mischievous pixies, suddenly teleported back into your world without warning, or even... that you have finally left on your own. everyone acknowledged the rumors but they didn't want to think about the reality, the cold hard truth, that you really could've left.

if only they knew how terrible their house leaders took it too.

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

(requested characters)

Ace: the ace, one of the first people you've met. he's always been a funny and childish friend, sometimes he made you laugh and cry of joy from his terrible yet funny jokes and antics while other times said antics would get you in trouble. he didn't want to accept that he could be part of the reason why you're gone, which is why he tried to convince himself and everyone else around that you were taken instead of leaving voluntarily... he wouldn't be able to handle the guilt and heartbreak to accept that you truly left. he loved you, he truly cared for you and your well-being-- he knew he had a hard time to express these feelings but you were his best friend! of course he cared for your health! but... he couldn't handle the fact that maybe just maybe... he wasn't there for you enough to stay with them a little longer.

he could still remember the first day that you were gone, you weren't in any of your classes-- the teachers didn't even call your name when taking attendance anymore. it was utterly bizarre. Grim was still in his classes yet he sat far away from any students that knew you and disappeared after every class ended.. it was as if he was hiding something. and he was, but Ace and Deuce had no idea what it could be aside that they knew it was about you.

in the end, Ace is left heartbroken knowing that he didn't make sure to do enough to help you even when you asked for it from them. he knew that all he and deuce gave you was pure and utter trouble.

and he couldn't accept the fact, so now here he is having his friends look for you when he knew that you were long gone without even saying goodbye.

Deuce: the spade, one of the first people you've met alongside the ace, a passionate yet slow boy with a heart of gold. as much as he cared for you too the way Ace did he knew that even he wasn't helping either. he knew they should've done more or at least what you asked of them. but now you're gone, and just like Ace it seems as if he too is in denial about their part in your disappearance. he truly wants to believe that you didn't leave on your own even if all evidence was starting to slowly point to that possibility.

unlike Ace though, he seemed to be accepting it faster than him. he still followed along with the story that you were taken but he knew that after all the trouble, all the overblots, all your injuries-- he knew you just couldn't handle it anymore. after all it was clearly written on your face the day when you awoke from losing consciousness in the last overblot that you were ready to move on and make proper progress to get home.

he just...truly wishes that at least wherever you are that you are at least taking care of yourself with more helpful and reliable friends by your side, something he knew that he and Ace weren't able to do.

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

(your dorm leaders)

Riddle

inside of the dorm with pampered red roses adorning every corner was the queen of hearts of the Heartslabyul dorm completely and utterly tearing his dorm room into shreds in pure red rage.

Riddle Rosehearts was fuming, heartbroken, and betrayed on so many levels that he hasn't felt in a good while. hearing from Cater and Trey about your disappearance and then hearing from other of his dorm students about the ship that sailed here as quickly as it left in the late hours of the night/very early hours of the morning.

he immediately assumed that you were kidnapped and in danger! he even marched to the headmaster's office to report your disappearance with other dorm leaders!... well actually-- surprisingly they all came at the same time without planning. but in the end when approaching Crowley with this question of 'where is the prefect?', the headmaster was calm, horrifyingly calm, and said a phrase that shook him on many levels with his fellow dorm leaders beside him.

"they parted ways with us to find other opportunities at finding their home! they felt too bad to tell you all so they just left."

"but they will be coming back to say goodbye before they go back home-- if they find a way back home... right?" spoke the leader of Ignihyde, for the first time out of his room.

"unlikely!" exclaimed the headmaster with a smile.

that one first phrase that headmaster Crowley told them was all that he needed to hear, in the moment of processing what he's heard everything was basically fading away as he also slowly but quickly ran back to his dorm room, in tears.

he was so angry, so furious, so emotional, so... he felt as if his own heart had been grabbed and thrown out of his chest. 'why couldn't you at least say goodbye??' he'd think.

he has never thrown so many books, ripped up so many letters he's written for you from himself that he never dared to send or give, and cut up then stepped on so many bouquets of roses in his room with your name on the tags.

wait...

oh, those roses.

he stopped dead in his tracks with tears streaming down his face as he pathetically dropped down to his knees at the sight of all the five sad 'bouquets' of fresh red roses he planned to give you, now all had their petals and stems broken, torn, shredded, and crushed.

he then realized he didn't have his gloves on anymore... his palms had small yet prominent holes that were dripping red, red as the roses he destroyed. seems like the roses had thorns.

ahh..he remembers now...

those roses were meant just for you.

Leona:

"what do you mean you still haven't found the herbivore yet?..." spoke the ruthless Kingscholar lion of Savannaclaw in a low yet snarly tone "I doubt they could've swam themselves out of here with waters like the ones this place has anyway. you all are likely not even looking right." he huffed as he closed his eyes with his body on the ground of the botanical garden facing away from the hyena gasping for air due to all the running that he had to do to bring the news to Leona.

Ruggie took a few deep breathes and quick pants before speaking "...we've already got twelve other students including the Ignihyde dorm leader's younger brother and the vice-dorm leader of Pomefiore, a robot and a hunter, looking around and no one's found them! Howl already tried to sniff them out and all we came up with was nothing much but just a faint smell of them from the shore." he huffed and panted in exhaustion.

Leona just scoffed "as I mentioned before, you're all still probably not looking in the right places."

Ruggie tried to intercept but knew that even if he did it'd be fruitless and gain nothing from trying to correct Leona, yet he was frustrated too and wanted to know where you could be as well.

but unlike the freshmen at least Ruggie has been starting to accept the possibility that you really have left, forever. Ruggie was about to turn and leave to continue the search and try to sniff out any information from other students until---

"Bucchi." Leona broke the short silence with a throaty command for his attention which he certainly achieved with both of Ruggie's ears poking up to hear his next set of words.

"keep participating in the search for the prefect. If all continues to come up dry, then I'll just have to take this into my own hands."

and this time without trying to speak a single word back he nodded with a quick and stern 'mhm' before scurrying off to help the rest of the students. once the hyena was gone Leona then had his eyes look up through one of the many windows in the garden that are presenting the sky's ever growing storm. oh how much he was longing for you.

he could still remember as if it was yesterday, when Crowley told all of the house leaders the news after they all abruptly showed up at the same time.

"they parted ways with us to find other opportunities at finding their home!"

that phrase.. he remembered how taken aback he was.

Leona slammed his fists on the headmaster's table "parted. ways?? as in they left NRC?!" a low growl came from inside his throat as Headmaster Crowley contained his eerily calm smile on his face.

"Sir Kingscholar I must insist you to control your temper." he spoke in his usual annoying and irritating voice "It's what they decided and were set on, end of story."

Leona couldn't remember much else after that blow out since all he did right after that was back away and stayed stuck in his thoughts until finally he just left the room suddenly. He didn't listen to any conversations that happened after that since all he could think was 'why not at least say goodbye?'

he finished recounting the moment before he mumbled to himself "I still have too much to say to you.",

but really he hoped that somehow somewhere you could still hear him. even if you probably left them for good.

Azul:

The sea witch of the Octavinelle dorm was pacing back and forth in every corner across his office in the Mostro Lounge. He's tried his best to squeeze out any information out of any of his dorm students or employees about the prefect with the help of his left and right hand eels ,Jade and Floyd Leech, with Floyd being the most productive yet not catching much information aside from the students he's squeezed the air out of exclaiming about some ship that has left in the midst of the night way pass midnight but too early to be morning. It intrigued all three yet it made our octopus pop a few nerves with how panicky he's been.

when he first heard this rumor it made him run to the headmaster's office with the immense fear that you could've been taken. he could remember his glasses slipping off at every bounce he made with each step of his run. he could remember the moment he opened the door to the headmaster's office along with the sudden appearance of all of his fellow house leaders in the same room..(excluding Malleus as usual) he could still feel the sweat dripping down his face, the crazy and misplaced strands of hair from his usual look, his glasses lopsided, and the scarf of his uniform threatening to fall off his shoulder-- of course he attempted to fix every one of these details on the spot to look somewhat presentable.

yet the answer he got from the headmaster was nothing short of soul-crushing for him. he asked a continuous amounts of questions as to why and how but all were dodged by the headmaster and answered with a short,

"it's just what they decided."

now he's just back into his office now diving head first into his work and school. much to his dismay it only kept him distracted for a temporary amount of time and in the dark of night under his covers all he could think about is you, just you.

he truly wished he could've been a part of your world.

Kalim:

the generous sultan of the Scarabia dorm was sulking in his room with his friend Jamil sitting by his side. Kalim was heartbroken over your disappearance and he remembers how worried sick he was at first. he like many assumed you were kidnapped and he was even waiting for some kind of ransom note to appear and he would've paid full price and more... but when he and other dorm leaders came to talk their concerns all they got was the news that you left voluntarily.

he was one of very few that felt that in their hearts you'd come back. one way or another Kalim felt in his broken heart that you'd appear as suddenly as you disappeared and unlike other dorm leaders he wouldn't put it against you to the slightest. he wouldn't hold grudges or be mad at you if you ever came back, in fact he understood why you'd leave and he was all up for making everything ten times better than before just so you'd never leave him again.

"you have to be realistic here, Kalim. for all we know maybe they found a way home faster than they did here, or they found a place where they don't have to worry about the next overblot or what their next meal will be." Jamil tried to be straightforward and blunt with Kalim, he didn't want him to have hope that you'd come back and then actually never coming back. "we don't know and may never know unless some kind of obvious sign shows that they will actually come back... but just don't keep your hopes up. for your sake." Jamil stood up from the edge of the bed to walk towards the exit of the room "I'll be back, I have to make dinner so you won't go to sleep starving."

With Jamil leaving Kalim then jumped out of his bed to open his window, the sky still not clear of the grey clouds and still not dark enough for the second star of the right to show up but still hoped that his message would still be received by the wishing star.

the platinum blonde boy held his hands together under his lips "please please please please.. please.." Kalim mumbled, wishing with all his heart.

"please, may _____ be safe, sound, and happy... wherever they are.."

Vil:

in the dorm of the fairest queen was the dorm leader watching from up above behind the tallest window of his room. clenching both of the red velvet curtains in his hands as he watched a group of freshman and a robot, including one of his own, group up and talk hectically and stressfully to each other. Vil Schoenheit knew very well why this particular group of students were talking in such an exaggerating manner, after all... with what Rook has told him and what he's heard from various students around the school it was most definitely about you.

as collected and uncaring as he tried to seem right now he could definitely feel worry and a kind of anger bubble up inside him.

'could you really have left?' he thinks.

remembering what the headmaster said and all the bits of evidence he and Rook have picked up it seemed that it was certainly the case.

"they parted ways with us to find other opportunities at finding their home! they felt too bad to tell you all so they just left." spoke the headmaster.

you really did leave without saying goodbye.

he couldn't completely blame you, as silent and busy as he was he obviously knew that his and the rest of the overblots and people that surrounded you were bringing you down. it's why he invited you at times for make-overs, spa days, and everything in between to at least brighten up your spirits whenever he could.

"I suppose all of that wasn't enough for you." Vil mumbled to himself as he aggressively thrashed both curtains he held in each hand inward to close off the view of the storm clouds from the sky, to stop those clouds from taunting him any longer.

that and because he couldn't let anyone from out his window see the mascara dripping down his face.

"Roi de Poison?..." his hunter spoke in a calm and hesitant voice, noting that this isn't exactly the time to try to make conversation.

and he was right "Rook!--" Vil seemed to have jumped, immediately yet carefully wiping his mascara-filled tears with a handkerchief on him. "what is so important that you had to come in without knocking??" he exclaimed as he has yet to face his hunter.

"Roi de Posion... there is something your eyes must see to believe." he seemed to take out his phone with an image on his screen.

"Well get on with it then!" Vil exclaimed before he finally turned to face Rook in dramatic motion, eyes still a bit bloodshot even from the few tears he had.

Rook carefully approached Vil, phone in hand, once he took one last look on the screen to make sure it showed what he wanted to show the hunter then finally faced the screen towards his dorm leader with hesitance.

it was a Magicam account, someone's most recent post...from yesterday..

it was Neige.

but.. wait... that person by his side.. it couldn't be--

why were you in Neige's Magicam post?

Idia:

dorm leader of the underworld Ignihyde, has not been sleeping as much as he should be. of course he's never slept well in the first place but it's just been getting worse since the ramshackle prefect has left.

currently Idia Shroud was looking for any digital footprints he could find, trying to track your location, trying to figure out where you could be. in the end it was all for naught since for the past week or two he's found nothing and basically has given up at this point.

he leaned back against his gaming chair and with a sigh of disappointment, he didn't want to accept what Crowley told all of the house leaders in his office. he knew that there's some kind of trace of you out there somewhere, he felt like it was up to him to find the person who bothered to give him the time of day and attention that he'd never thought he'd get.

the light from his screens were causing his eyes to become dry and almost bloodshot, each blink hurting his mind and his focus. that was until a notification came from his phone.

that's strange.. no one ever sends him messages unless it's in game.

he grabbed his phone beside his keyboard to read the message. how odd, it was from the noob Rook Hunt. what would the vice-dorm leader of Pomefiore want anything with him? nonetheless Idia was slightly intrigued yet annoyed, he pressed on the notification to lead him straight to the new chat with the hunter, it said:

"Roi de Ta Chambre, I do hope this finds you well. A little bird told me that you too have been wondering about the safety and whereabouts of our beloved missing prefect. I may have the answer to your worries here."

below the message was a link to a Magicam post under the name of Neige Leblanc. he's heard of the name but was never interested in the petty and do-gooder lives of any of the RSA students. he cautiously pressed on the link to show a photo, a photo of said Neige Leblanc posing with a familiar face... a familiar face that he now wished he didn't see.

it was you, you were with an RSA student...

"tch..." Idia grumbled as he threw his phone back on his desk before he stepped back out of his chair and walked over to his bed "why did i even bother."

he fell face first into his bed and hugged one of his long yet soft pillows tightly, tears quietly falling down on their own slowly, he didn't dare make a sound in case Ortho would come barging in. he continued to cry quietly now acknowleging that you truly did leave without a goodbye, and left with RSA students no less, and with how you treated him before you left-- he dreamed that he might've had a chance with you.

but he should've known, dreams are for rookies.

Malleus:

the dragon prince of Diasomnia was a strange case, unlike every one of his fellow dorm leaders he actually knew that you left by ship. where to though he had no clue.

he remembers that he came to visit you at late hours of the night at the ramshackle dorm like he usually does except he saw you sneak out with nothing but Grim on your back. he followed you walking down to the shore to see a large ship awaiting for a passenger and what shook him a bit more was that the headmaster was there beside the ship, expecting... you. Malleus watched in confusion as you gave your beloved fiery feline a huge and long hug and some shared words with the headmaster. he was about to teleport himself right in front of you when he saw you walk up the gangplank of the ship to hop aboard but he stopped himself when he remembered about your cast.

ahh yes, how could he forget. he gave you the broken arm, the cuts and wounds, he gave them all to you when he overblotted. he knew that you said you had a chance of going back home but he didn't think it'd have you to go by ship.. and without saying goodbye.

in the end he just watched you and the ship disappear, watched Grim slowly walk back to ramshackle, and watched the headmaster disappear on the spot.

for the next few days that passed he's been mourning the loss of your presence, he's almost casted spells to take himself to you-- to retrieve you and hide you in a tower with nothing but him to protect you... to right all the wrongs he's made. he'd bring you fresh flowers every day and make sure to keep you healthy and happy, he'd do anything to have you back.

but he should've held back, every other person who's overblot you had to deal with should've held back. the headmaster should've done his job. then maybe just maybe you would've been able to be in his arms that night when you left.

in the end he was the only one who didn't ever visit the headmaster for any information about you. he had no reason after all he saw you leave.

after he gets a grip on himself though, he will confront Headmaster Crowley for any information as to 'why' he let you leave.

right now all he could ask is why... why why??.. the more he felt stuck in his thoughts the more the storm outside worsened. at this point everyone could see how he's feeling, his entourage of three tried their best to comfort him but it was no use. the prince of thorns was stuck sulking, and he didn't know how else to stop unless you were back into his arms.

he's also been taking way too many naps now, strange to his three knights yet he knew he did this because every time in every one of his dreams he had you in his arms and walked beside you. he had you all to himself in his dreams.

he saw that this was a better solution than being awake.

(THIS IS SUPER LONG and I might've messed up here and there T-T hope it broke a few hearts tho! I tried my very best in each one of their reactions!<3)

2K notes · View notes

kusanagihaku · 1 month ago

Text

and i will hold onto you

⭢ haku x mc, 9.6k

n is for new year's day. ˖⁺‧₊⟡ alphabet series | ao3 thinking always about this headcanon; also i know graduation is usually in march but like, artistic license, haha…?

The cheers in Tokyo Dome are deafening.

You watch as families stream down from the corners of the dome to the field, swarming their loved ones in congratulations as graduation caps are knocked to the floor with the force of their hugs.

There is a vague current of wistfulness in the air, amidst the celebratory cheers, as is common in most graduation ceremonies. As you stand alone looking around at all the families, you wonder how much of that wistfulness is your own.

It’s been a little over three years, after all, since you’ve entered Darkwick. Three years since the curse was placed on you and consequently broken, three years since you’ve last seen any of your family. Three years since you’ve found a new one, strange as they are, and two years since they’ve left you, one by one, to take on the world outside Darkwick.

And now it is your turn to leave.

“Honour roll,” comes a familiar voice, from behind you, and you turn, hand on your cap, to see Leo’s smirk and the camera in his hand.

Despite yourself, you laugh. “Leo.”

His smirk melts into something gentle, genuine. “Congratulations. Really. You’re free from this hellhole, once and for all.”

You dip your head at the Vagastrom captain, “Can’t wait for it to be your turn.”

“One year to go, then,” Sho says, appearing behind Leo. He grins, waving a sunflower stalk at you. “One year without our precious senpai coming to bother Vagastrom.”

“You better appreciate that one year.”

“You bet we will,” Leo says, without any real heat, and you share a laugh as Sho presses the sunflower into your hands.

Its stem is wrapped with a stiff yellow ribbon printed with the name of their house. You rub it between your fingers. “Which poor first year did you torture into doing this for you?”

Leo shrugs. “Bunch of ‘em. Said it was for the seniors, and they jumped at the chance.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, unconvinced, but before you can probe further Sho’s eyes flicker somewhere behind you.

A smile unfurls across his face, large and mischievous, and he bobs his chin to your left. “Someone’s waiting for you.”

You turn around, eyebrows furrowed – who is there left in this school who would look for you, Ritsu, Ren? – but then you see him.

He’s holding a small bouquet of sunflowers and white roses, laced with baby’s breath and bells of Ireland. There are whispers from some of the students around you, a gasp of recognition from a Hotarubi student or two as he steps forward. The purple Darkwick tie, never once worn when he was still a student, is loosely tied around his collar, slanting slightly to the right like he has tugged on it more than once under the dark grey suit he has chosen for the occasion.

You don’t notice the pinpricks in the corner of your eyes until he blurs into a mess of green and white and grey. “Oh,” you gasp, and he is there instantly, fingers brushing traitorous tears from your cheeks.

He laughs, palm still cradling your cheek, and even though you knew he was coming, the aw-shucks grin he gives you still puts an all-familiar lump in your throat.

“Congratulations, princess,” Haku says, soft and warm. “Well done.”

December 29 - Darkwick Academy Distance left to destination: 464km

It is eight thirty-four in the morning.

Haku stands, hands on his hips, in the middle of your dorm room. There are two duffle bags by his feet.

For what amounts to two years of living in the cathedral, you have fairly little belongings.

You’ve given most of your items away, of course, in preparation for your move cross-country. All that are left are your clothes, stuffed neatly into a nearly-bursting medium-sized suitcase waiting by the door, and the gifts from various ghouls you’ve accumulated over the years.

“Ready?” Haku asks. He gathers both duffle bags in one hand. In one of them is a notebook, given to you by Zenji before he, too, left.

You turn to survey the bare room. You wonder, for a moment, who the next person to inhabit the room will be like - what they will be cursed with - before you turn back to face Haku.

He is glowing, almost, in the morning light. His grey Hotarubi sweatshirt is rumpled, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms and creased slightly where his overnight backpack is hung on his left shoulder. He looks at you, head cocked to one side, fond, sleep lines from where he slept on your pull-out sofa the night before etched into the soft of his cheek.

If you haven’t already been planning this road trip for the past two months over text you’d think he came straight out of a dream.

“Ready,” you say. You pick up your winter coat and his, and sling your backpack over your shoulder. The bouquet he gave you the previous day peeks out from the top.

Haku nods. He holds the door open for you as you wheel your suitcase over the threshold of the room. The door clicks closed behind the both of you.

He takes the suitcase from you, then, carrying it easily in one hand down the rickety old staircase. The third step from the bottom creaks beneath his weight like you knew it would.

It creaks beneath your weight, too. You fish the key to the cathedral door out of your pocket as you reach the first floor. You leave it on the side table leading into the kitchen – the worker cats will retrieve it later today – and head towards the front door.

You expect something to change, then, some shift in the air that tells you your time in Darkwick is over, but nothing happens as you emerge out into the watery grey sunlight. You wonder why you expected it to.

Haku’s car is parked, slanted, on the driveway outside the cathedral. The bright yellow permission slip you obtained from Professor Hyde the week before for Haku flaps flimsily in the wind, held back by the wiper on his windshield.

He unlocks the car, loads your belongings into the trunk. The wind brushes his bangs away from his face.

It is eight forty-three in the morning. He looks at you, again, patient, understanding, like he always does.

You exhale. You look back at the cathedral, one last time.

Then you walk over to where Haku whisks you away from Darkwick, as swiftly and as kindly as he did whisking you in.

December 29 - Hakone, Kanagawa Distance left to destination: 365km

It starts snowing a little before Haku pulls into the parking lot.

Being in Darkwick for most of the year means you’ve forgotten what the weather outside is like, sometimes. The powdery snowfall encases the both of you in silence as you shake out your winter coats and trudge up the stone steps, bowing your heads as you pass under the red torii.

The shrine is deserted. Whether it is because of the snow or the time of year you’re not really sure; after all, why come out to a shrine a few days before the end of the year when you’re going to visit again on the first day of the new year?

But it is peaceful and quiet, something you have no complaints about, and before long you’ve made your way up the long stairs and are standing in front of the main hall, heads bowed in respect.

This is the reason why Haku suggested a road trip instead of taking the Shinkansen down to Kyoto – to bring you to all his favourite shrines around the country on the way down. Your stops, carefully mapped out over Wickchat and Google Maps, are few but meaningful to him, planned out so that you’ll move into your new apartment before Subaru’s first performance of the year at Minamiza Theatre.

Haku hasn’t told you the reason for any of the stops, but you can more or less guess his reason for this one; as you descend a different set of stone steps, a tall red torii comes into view, half-submerged in water. Snow drifts into the darkness swirling around the feet of the gates, blurring into the red paint before disappearing on contact with the lake. What lies beyond the gate has been shrouded in mist, a white haze obscured by the oncoming snow.

It looks like some path to the afterlife, almost. Maybe some sort of adventure into the unknown. God knows you’ve had enough adventures to last a lifetime, though.

You hear Haku exhale. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

You nod. Perhaps it looks like something out of a myth.

He points, off to the side, at a strangely shaped rock a distance away from the main path. “Remember when you asked about the scar on my knee? Scraped it right there, running away from my grandfather.”

You huff a laugh at the image of a little Haku, eyes alight with mischief, dancing out of the grasp of adults. “Didn’t manage to run too far, I guess?”

Haku laughs. He retracts his pointer to rub at his ear. “Not at all. Cried all the way back to the shrine before they bandaged me up.”

You stuff your hands deeper into the pockets of your coat so you will not reach for where his fingertips are turning red with the cold.

“I haven’t been back here in a while,” Haku continues, softer. His eyes are fixed on somewhere beyond the gates. “Not since he passed away.”

You watch as his breath clouds in the cold air. You stay silent.

He glances at you, eventually, small smile tugging on his lips and blinking the snowflakes out of his eyes. “Let’s go?”

After a second of thought you take your hand out of your pocket to loop your arm through his. You feel him shift in surprise, before he presses himself against your warmth. “Yeah.”

December 29 - Shimizu, Shizuoka Distance left to destination: 295km

It stops snowing a little after Haku pulls out of the parking lot.

The rest of the car ride to your next stop is filled with idle chatter and green grape gummies that you picked up from the general store on your way out of Darkwick. Haku keeps his eyes on the lightly frosted road as you feed him, lips barely brushing your pointer and your thumb. You keep your eyes on him.

You just finish telling him about a mission you did with Ritsu before he slows down, turning off the highway into Shimizu.

“We stopping for lunch?” You seal the pack of gummies.

He hums. “Sort of. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

You wince, and finger-comb through your hair. “I’m dressed for a car ride, not for meeting people.”

Haku sneaks a glance at you. “You’re beautiful, princess, don’t worry.”

You flush. “That- you-“

He laughs, light and warm, as he makes a right turn. “Just as easy to tease, after all this time.”

“Shut up,” you say, but his offhand compliment has already burrowed its way under your cheeks and heated them up the same way they always did back at Darkwick. Damn him and his smooth tongue.

You watch as the train stations flash by – Sakurabashi, Kitsunegasaki, Mikadodai – before he slows down next to Kusanagi Station. You glance at him in surprise. Are you heading to the Kusanagi shrine?

Before you can ask, however, he stops next to a nondescript beige building, throwing the car into park.

“We’re here,” he announces, and laughs again when you peek doubtfully at your reflection in the side-view mirror. “You look fine.”

He reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

If his fingers linger longer than they should on the shell of your ear, you pretend you do not notice. You pretend your ears do not blush, pretend your breath does not catch.

You exit the car.

There is an old, stooped lady by the restaurant counter when Haku slides the rickety wooden door open, back turned to you as she mops down a wooden table with a bright yellow cloth. All you can see is the checkered bandana resting atop a mop of curly white hair, and a faded red apron sash around her waist, wrapped tight around a stout figure.

“Miyami-san?” Haku calls out. His voice is soft, reverent.

“Ah?” There is obvious shock as she turns around. A startled delight washes over her face the moment her eyes alight on Haku, and she hobbles over immediately, hands outstretched and eyes waned into teary crescents.

“Haku, my dear boy,” she cries. She reaches forward to clasp his hands in her own, wrinkled and gentle. “My, my, you’ve grown taller, haven’t you?”

Haku half-laughs. “I haven’t grown since I last came back.”

The old lady laughs, too. “Perhaps it’s me who has grown smaller. And who’s this?”

“A friend, from Darkwick. I told you about her over the phone, remember?” Haku’s hand is warm on your elbow through your coat.

The old lady turns to you, peering kindly. “Yes, I do remember…”

You wonder briefly what Haku has said about you, but under the scrutiny of the old lady you hurriedly introduce yourself, bowing.

She claps, delightedly. “You both must be hungry, coming down from your school. I’ll whip something up for you real quick, shall I?”

“Anything you make will be delicious,” Haku intones, and he shoots her a charming smile that would have turned half of Hotarubi silly.

It works on her as well, evidently, as she pats his cheek and makes her way to the back of the room.

“I used to come here all the time to hang out with her grandkids,” Haku says, removing his coat. His eyes follow her as she disappears into the kitchen, humming brightly. “They moved away when I was fifteen, though, but I just… kept coming. She’s more like a grandmother to me than my own grandma.”

He sweeps his fringe behind his ear, and rolls up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. His earrings brush the line of his jaw. “I stay here, sometimes, when I don’t want to go back to my family.”

You blink, looking around the restaurant. There are wooden panels lining the room, black ink on rectangle blocks to indicate the menu, but little else by way of decoration. “Here?”

Haku chuckles. He points to an entrance hidden by an egg-white curtain, tucked quietly into a corner by the back. “She has guest rooms, upstairs. She usually lets them out, but there tends to be no guests, at this time of year.”

You both agree on taking your overnight bags out from the car while Miyami-san is cooking, if only to save time. Haku stands, as if to help you, but you swat his hand. “Stay here. If she comes out and finds us both missing, how will that look?”

Haku just laughs, sitting back down in acquiescence, and looks up at you, chin in hand. He looks adorable, like this, adoring, and you are suddenly filled with a desperate wish that you could capture this image, forever. “Like we ran off like a couple of hormonal teenagers?”

You flush, and leave him without a response.

It doesn’t take long for you to gather his backpack and your duffel bag from the car, and as you slide the wooden door closed and toe off your shoes you hear murmuring voices low enough to make you still before the entrance curtain.

“Are you going to show her the shrine, then?”

A pause. “They’re going to be too busy preparing things for the New Year’s ceremony.”

She hums. “That’s true.”

“Miyami-san–” Haku starts, but she hushes him.

“I know, I know,” she says. “I won’t tell them you stopped by.”

Haku laughs, then, something soft and young and grateful. “Thank you. As always.”

There is a beat of silence, and you prepare to move, but her voice sounds again. “Who is she, to you?”

You hear the grin in Haku’s voice. “Why?”

“You know… you’re of age… it’s about time you bring someone home for me to meet.”

There is a rustle as Haku shifts around in his chair. “She’s one of the strongest people I know,” he says, slowly, “but she hasn’t had much control over her past few years. Now that she’s free of all that, I’d like to leave as much up to her as possible.”

You tense. Your heart hammers in your chest, tight and painful, as his words trip over themselves, over and over in your brain. Does he mean–

“–she’s also listening around the corner, so I refuse to say anymore.”

You don’t think your cheeks have experienced this much blood-rush in a while. You poke your head out from behind the curtain. “How did you know!”

“The door isn’t exactly silent,” Haku points out, and the three of you dissolve into laughter.

There is something light and warm, there, born in the small of the room. It expands, a golden sort of feeling that stretches beyond the four wooden walls and settles, stardust-like, in the space between Haku’s hands and yours; it collapses, cools under your tongue into a memory bright and sweet and precious.

If you don’t give it a name, you think, perhaps you can continue pretending that being by Haku’s side does not feel like home.

December 30 - Shimizu, Shizuoka Distance left to destination: 295km

There is a saying – what is a handspan away feels most like a world apart.

Haku sits, two handspans away. He is looking up at the ceiling, squinting against a lightbulb he changed prior to breakfast. It’s a different colour from the rest, a cool white against the warmth of the other, older bulbs in the restaurant, and it washes him in a faint crisp light.

“Well, at least it’s not blinking anymore,” Haku says. His elbows rest against the table.

Miyami-san sighs, forlorn. “I’ll have to write down the model number so I can buy the correct bulb next time. What time are you planning to head out?”

Haku leans over to you, taps the screen of your new phone you both spent an hour setting up last night. It lights up, displaying a blurry photo of Haku trying to take a selfie with you, overlaid by the time in white.

“In about twenty minutes? I’ll wash up before we go,” Haku insists, getting to his feet. “You’ve been more than lovely making us breakfast.”

He sweeps everything up into a pile before she can protest, and disappears, whistling, into the kitchen.

“Haku’s a good boy,” she sighs, as you watch him go. She stretches, and leans backwards. “Before he left for school he always helped me with all the odd jobs around the house. Changed all my lightbulbs for me, too.”

You laugh. “Sounds like Haku.”

She adjusts the strap of her apron. “He’s so smart, too. Made the top of his class whenever he put his mind to it.”

You suppress a smile. If you didn’t know better you’d think she was a grandmother eager to market her bachelor grandson off to the next available singleton.

“And responsible, too,” she continues. “Good thing he is, what with the shrine business.”

She peeks at you, and you quickly school your widening smile into something more presentable. “Has he told you about the shrine?”

You nod. You can hear Haku, more than a few handspans away, soft humming barely audible over the sound of running water in the kitchen. “The Kusanagi shrine.”

She hums. “He’s going to take over from his family one day. He’s going to be a better leader than his father is.”

A silence lapses over the both of you. They’re both true statements, you know, and yet there is something nagging at you about the mention of his father.

“Miyami-san,” you start, carefully. “If I may ask… what’s his family like?”

“His family?” She turns her head thoughtfully to the curtain that hides the kitchen from the restaurant, and is silent for so long you wonder if you’ve overstepped.

You are about to mumble a hasty apology when she turns back to you.

“They expect a lot from him,” she says, softly. “There’s a great many responsibilities that fall your way when you inherit a shrine. His father had to shoulder it, and his father before that, and so on. He may be running away from it now, but eventually it’ll have to be his turn, and I think in the back of their minds they all know it.”

You want to nod, but it feels like the wrong thing to do. Running away… except he isn’t, not really. Everything Haku did at Darkwick, every skill you’ve seen him practise and every responsibility you’ve seen him manage in Hotarubi, felt like he was building himself to take over the shrine – from his artifact to the research for his missions to all the summer festivals he helped manage. Even now, from what you understand of his work, it seems like what he has chosen to do is in preparation for him to take over.

“He’s more prepared than they think,” you say. “He works hard, even though he acts like he doesn’t.”

She looks at you a little more sharply, then. There is a cool appraisal behind her squint, before it melts into something like approval. “He does, doesn’t he.”

Before you can respond, though, Haku emerges from the kitchen, running a hand through his hair. “Talking about me?”

“You wish,” you say, and are rewarded immediately with the sparkle of his laugh.

He pauses next to your seat before picking up his backpack. His hand nearly brushes yours. “Ready to head out?”

You stand. Your hand nearly brushes his, a world apart. “Ready.”

December 30 - Nagakute, Aichi Distance left to destination: 175km

“Hard disagree – we turn left here – you’re only saying that because my name is Haku.”

You squint at the alleyway in front of you dubiously. It’s bathed in the last rays of evening, a dying honey from the setting sun that does nothing to ward off the winter chill, and it seems to lead to yet another street that looks oddly similar to the one you’re about to leave. “Are you sure?”

But Haku is already stepping forward, Google Maps winking into sleep on his phone screen, and so you follow behind. The thrift shop he is searching for is supposed to be a mere ten minute walk from where you left the warmth of the Ghibli Park, but you swear you’ve been wandering around for at least twenty minutes.

“Anyway, no, it’s because he’s a river spirit–“

Haku glances at you, eyebrow raised. “I’m not a river spirit.”

“-and he’s supposed to know a lot about the spirit world.” You huff at him, and he laughs in acquiescence. You reach the end of the alleyway; Haku squints against the reflection of sun on his phone and directs you to turn right.

“And he spent a lot of the movie using that knowledge to protect and save Chihiro, didn’t he?” you continue. You look down at your feet even though the evening light is no longer shining directly into your eyes. The worn grey of the road winks at you as you cross residential street. “Like you did with me.”

Haku is silent for a beat, before he says, lightly, “I think I’m much more like Howl.”

You cannot hold back your snort. “Because how he gets all the girls?”

His responding laugh is startled and bright. “C’mon now, princess. Howl only ever loved Sophie, in the end.”

He looks at you, brows raised, like there is something you are supposed to understand, but after a moment of expectant silence too laden for you to consider you swallow the whiskey-burn of his eyes and turn away.

“Is it nearby?” you ask, instead. You push the ice blocks you used to call hands deeper into your coat pockets, and push your gaze back down to the grey asphalt under your feet.

Haku unlocks his phone in response. “One more block to go. Sorry, you must be tired.”

You shake your head.

“We’ll get dinner after this, then crash out,” he decides, anyway. “We had an early start today, and we’ve done a lot.”

(You stopped earlier in the day at Atsuta Shrine to pay your respects before heading down to Ghibli Park, and briefly heard a guide explain about the great Kusanagi sword supposedly stored in the halls.

“Oh, my Kusanagi sword is great, alright,” Haku snorted under his breath; you smacked him on the shoulder and dragged him, holding back giggles, towards the exit before you got struck down for blasphemy.)

After two more minutes of sleepy residential buildings, you spot the orange signboard of the thrift store, hanging from a black rod above a shuttered flower shop. There is a chalkboard leaned against the side of the flower shop with carefully scrawled yellow letters and arrows directing you to a staircase around the back. Going up the concrete steps leads you to a wooden door with a heavy handle.

Haku tugs the door open, and gestures for you to go inside.

The store is swathed in yellow and orange, thanks to the narrow spot-light beams installed on the ceiling. The wooden shelving look old but well-cared for under carefully stacked clothes, a small contrast to the adjacent metal frames sagging with hangers of coats and jackets. There are mirrors gently leaned on the walls at strategic places throughout the store, reflecting the warm light from the ceiling and making the space look bigger than it actually is.

A man in a beanie looks up from where he is slouched over the cashier, and waves a silent welcome that you both acknowledge.

“One of my seniors told me this place has a good curation of sweaters,” Haku says, turning to study the racks. He picks up a bomber jacket in olive green, inspects it, then sets it down. “You’ll probably need more winter wear too, now that we don’t get climate control. But we’ll also stop at another place when we get to Kyoto, just so you can get some new clothes to wear around Subaru.”

You nod, and dutifully turn your attention to the racks, fingers running across the soft fabrics draped neatly on dark metallic hangers.

You’re looking at a cardigan the colour and texture of dawn clouds when Haku appears again at your elbow. “Look at this one.”

He holds up a sweater in washed out sage. It’s slightly fluffy, sleeves softly melting into a cream. When you reach out to touch it it’s impossibly softer than it looks.

“It’s cute,” you say. Its sloped shoulders are wide; you hold the pale green fabric up to his shoulders. “It looks your size, too.”

Haku hums in agreement. He takes the sweater, gently, from your fingers, and turns it around, lining the edge of its shoulders up with yours.

“I think it looks cuter on you,” he says. The honey of his eyes sparkle with mirth as he nudges you to face the mirror. “Like you’re stealing your boyfriend’s clothes.”

You feel a fire climbing up your cheeks immediately, and you glare at Haku, heatless and helpless, as he bites back a laugh. He shifts away, grinning brightly, and leaves you staring in the mirror with the sweater folded between your hands.

There is barely any evening light left over from golden hour, the last of the sun’s rays having died shortly before you stepped indoors, but the green of Haku’s hair is still dyed a soft copper by the warm lights of the store. He stands, turning glasses frames over in his hands, under a spotlight beam and the drifting strains of jazz, blurred only slightly by the fingerprints in the mirror and the irregular bump of your heart.

The scene is so mundane it feels almost unreal – this Haku, suspended in glass and glow. His long fingers are not wrapped around his flute or dusty research tomes, but between folded jeans; his movements are slow and languorous, no longer bound by the urgency of missions or threat of curfew.

You could stare at him like this forever.

It is suddenly easy, so easy to imagine him elsewhere, you think – sorting through vegetables at a supermarket, folding laundry on the floor of his bedroom, doing anything and everything far and away from the drizzle of Hotarubi.

This Haku has all the time in the world.

So do you. So do you.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“How does this look?”

The heat of his vowels slide across the shell of your ear, and you jump slightly, eyes flying open.

You are vaguely aware of a chunky grey frame, translucent acrylic that slips low on his nose bridge and blobs shadows on his cheeks, but his eyes have locked onto yours in the mirror as he leans down over your shoulder to peer at his reflection, cheek dangerously close to yours, so close that if you just turned, if you just—

It sends your heart crashing, thundering painfully, cruelly, through your throat, a weight and an untethering from the hypnosis of the moment all at once—

“You look stupid,” you say. Or think you do, anyway. You can barely hear yourself over the thunderous rushing in your ears. “Try– try this one.”

Your fingers scrabble for the closest frame on the shelf next to you, and hold them up to the mirror.

Haku laughs, a gentle huff that blows by your cheek as he lifts the frame out of your hand, and straightens back up to slip them on.

It’s gold-rimmed, this time, a thin wire frame that catches the warm spot-lighting of the store and soaks a glow into his skin. The rounded rectangular shape sits well on his cheekbones, faded gold temples disappearing into his messy green hair.

You blink, and there is a fleeting glimpse of sun-spots and crow’s feet, of salt-and-pepper hair melting into green, of laughter creasing itself into deep-set wrinkles in the corners of his smile. He is looking at you, still, in the way he always has, this old-man-mirror-Haku, and something blooms, choking and sweet, in the hollow of your ribs.

Something shifts, then.

Eddies of a future you’ve never thought possible sing like the wind through the holes in your heart; they crash into you, a merciless tangle of relief and frustration and hope that steals the breath from your lungs you didn’t realise you were holding since leaving Darkwick.

The tremble of it’s over and your curse is well and truly over courses through the map of your veins, and winds its way across where your eyes meet Haku’s through the mirror. The words crack themselves in half, split to show you a future so wide and open and yet so certain it threatens to swallow you whole – of you, alive and un-cursed and getting to grow old. Of you-and-Haku, hand-in-hand, getting to growing old together, looking up at the same sky.

“-what do you think?” Haku is saying. His eyes are crinkled up in something you think might be fondness or affection, or something equally hopeful and terrifying.

It looks good on you, your mouth moves on its own accord, you should get it, but that is as far as you get before he blurs together in a sear of tears.

Haku moves immediately, hand on your elbow spinning you around to face him. His eyes search yours in alarm and concern and confusion, but to both your surprise a laugh bubbles out of you, quiet and free.

You raise a hand to brush his bangs away from his forehead, and he leans into your touch, in spite of his bewilderment.

“It looks good,” you say again, and you mean it.

(He buys the glasses, of course, and three sweaters you said you liked. You leave the thrift shop with paper bags in hand, yet somehow feel a lot lighter than you did going in.)

December 31 - Kuwana, Mie Distance left to destination: 99km

The numbers on the dashboard read a glowing ten thirty-eight.

The highway stretches before the windshield, a wide belt that melts into the distance. It is empty, save for the occasional cargo truck Haku passes, and the glare of the noon sun reflecting off its smooth grey surface is enough to turn every travelling vehicle into a mini-oven despite the season.

Haku adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. He reaches, slightly, to wind his window down to let some of the cool winter air in, but his fingers pause before they reach the switch.

He peeks at where you are asleep, head resting on the passenger window and eyelashes brushing the soft of your cheek. He retracts his hand.

He reaches, instead, with his other hand to the air-conditioning controls, and turns the dial towards “COOL”.

The numbers on the dashboard wink into ten thirty-nine.

The packet of strawberry gummies on top of the winter coats folded in your lap crinkles slightly, then slides from where your grip has slackened. It has long since been emptied, with you taking turns to tuck the candies between your lips and his, and its lack of weight slips it neatly between your seat and the centre console.

Ren recommended them, you said, an hour back, holding one up to his lips. They’re good, aren’t they?

Haku smiled, tamped down the familiar knot that swelled with any reminder of the years you spent at Darkwick without him by your side, and nodded. They’re pretty sweet.

You grinned and tapped the large yellow zero printed atop ruby-red strawberries. No sugar, too!

No, he thinks, now – perhaps the sugar had been in the brush of your fingertips against his lips. Perhaps it had been in the glitter of your laugh as you listened to him tell you some work story or another, or in the way the sun had bounced off the dashboard and lit you up all over, all soft glow and contentment as you slipped another gummy between the pink of your lips.

For a moment, he wonders if you will taste like strawberry, if the curve of your smile will be just as sweet as it looks when pressed against his own–

He shakes his head, to clear it.

Haku is a patient man. Ceremony is in his bones; he is good at waiting his turn, good at calculating consequences, good at following the rules.

Except for when he isn’t. Except for when he texted you, midway through your last semester, to ask which branches of the Institute has offered you a job in hopes that he can persuade you to take up some position near his own. When he asked you, two months before graduation, to drive down to Kyoto with him instead of taking the train, just so he gets three days with you by his side after so many days apart.

When he took one look at you, that night on the train from Kisaragi Station, and took your hand and held it all the way to Darkwick.

Maybe it is selfishness, maybe it is impulsivity. Maybe it is irresponsibility, and maybe it is the reason why, try as he may, they will never deem him ready to take over the shrine, but oh, when he looks at you–

He is a patient man. He will be a patient man. He has waited two long, excruciating years without you, and he will continue to wait, for as long as it’ll take until you’re ready.

The numbers on the dashboard wink into ten forty-three.

Haku reaches over, again, to turn the air-conditioning dial further down.

His gaze brushes against the new air freshener you bought him the day before at the gift shop. It smells of “clean” and “fresh”, whatever that’s supposed to mean, and he can barely catch its scent, but you unwrapped it the moment you got into the car and hung it neatly on the rearview mirror, and he cannot help but feel some fondness for something that brings you joy. Even if it’s just a small piece of cardboard with a white dragon and a girl printed on it.

He would have chosen a different one, himself. He would have picked the one with Howl and Sophie - someone who learns how strong she really is, and someone who has waited a lifetime to love her.

You stir in your sleep, shifting slightly so your head is no longer pressed against the passenger window. The numbers on the dashboard wink into ten forty-four.

Haku takes the next exit off the highway, and wonders if you remember that in the movies, Chihiro saves Haku, too.

December 31 - Uji, Kyoto

Distance left to destination: 21km

“Haku!”

The guy that emerges from the shrine’s prayer hall has a smile only one shade dimmer than the sun. He waves energetically at Haku and you, hands padded in red gloves a stark contrast with his navy blue haori, and bounds over to you.

“Thought you weren’t coming back for another two days!” the man says, beaming. “We’re prepping the omikuji right now, like you told us to.”

Haku chuckles, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “That’s good. I’m not back for work, though, I’m just here to show my friend around.“

The man looks at you curiously, and he looks so oddly familiar you could have sworn you’ve seen him somewhere before. He tilts his head to one side, like he’s working through the same puzzle you are, before it clicks–

“Honour student!” he exclaims, and claps his hands. “Didn’t expect to see you here!”

Haku laughs, and shifts closer to you. “Darkwick just had their commencement ceremony, so I’m helping her settle into her new apartment soon.”

Koji – the name comes to you in a flash, a vague impression of a Hotarubi general student floating to the top of your mind from when he helped Haku on a mission once – wiggles his eyebrows. “Will it be near to us?”

Haku looks at you, thoughtfully. “The Institute put her in Kyoto, near Subaru, but I suppose…”

Before he can finish the thought, however, a soft holler comes from an open window in the back of the sales hut. “Oi, heartbreaker!”

A man sticks his head out of a back door. He looks pleased to see Haku, and disappears for a few seconds before emerging from the wooden doors, wrapping himself in a warmer coat.

He waves a sheath of papers at Haku as he walks over. “We’re more or less ready for tomorrow, but I need you to sign a couple things–“

Haku moves over immediately, head bent over the documents, and leaves you in company of Koji.

“Heartbreaker?” You murmur, and Koji beams.

He nods his head, fluffy hair bouncing in his enthusiasm. “That’s Haku! Didn’t he tell you? When he first joined, half the local girls who came up to pray during Lunar New Year instantly fell in love and we had to barricade the shrine and defend ourselves with swords so our Haku wouldn’t get overrun–“

“Koji,” the other man says, severely, “stop making things up.”

Koji pouts, and you have to bite your lip to keep from smiling. “Anyway, he’s built up quite a following among the locals. It’s good for business, though.”

“I can imagine,” you say, and you can–

Haku, looking out the sales window next to the shrine, chin in hand and head slightly tilted as people come up to buy omamoris. The way the honey of his eyes will crease, slightly, as he smiles at their approach. The soft of his hands as he counts out their change, and wishes them a good day.

Haku, head bent over a candle box before he reaches in to select an appropriate one. The curl of his long fingers over theirs as he presses the candles into their palm, a blessing, a benediction, conferred with intent. The soothe of his voice as he comforts them, wishes them well, after.

Haku, this Haku that belongs to the people, whose heart swells with their aches and whose words are carefully chosen to quell them. This Haku, who works for the people by day, and works for them still by night.

Haku looks up from where he is flipping through documents, pen in hand, and grins as he meets your eyes. “Maybe we should spread word that my heart already belongs to someone else.”

Your cheeks burn immediately, and you open your mouth to stutter out a reply, but Haku’s senior beats you to the punch.

“Disgusting,” he mutters fondly, barely louder than Koji’s awww, then flips a page for Haku. “Sign here, then get out of my sight. Word from HQ is that you’re on four concurrent missions in January, so make the best of your break.”

Haku groans. “Best go pray for my own damn safety, then.”

His senior rolls up the freshly signed document, then raps him smartly on the head. “No cursing on shrine grounds. Come on, Koji, you’re still not done with the omikujis.”

Haku grins, rubbing his head where he got tapped, then turns to face you as Koji is dragged, mumbling in protest, back to the hidden back doors. “Shall we?”

The rest of the shrine is fairly quiet. Sunlight dances through the bare branches as you cross the courtyard and duck around some gates to the main shrine. There are rabbits printed on cream-coloured lanterns attached to the gates, faded slightly by the elements and swaying in the wind. They look like they are dancing in greeting as you pass them.

The main shrine Haku comes to a stop at is up a set of steep stone stairs. It is covered with wooden slats, painted warm by the noon light. If you didn’t look too closely you’d think the structures inside were glowing by themselves.

Haku fishes out coins from his pocket, and hands one to you. He leans forward to shake the thick rope after you toss your coin into the wooden offering box, then you both bow and clap twice.

You have so many things to wish for that you almost don’t know where to start, but the words flow out of your heart faster than you can think, afloat with intent and hope – for Haku to be safe. For Haku to be happy. For all the ghouls you’ve helped and been helped by to be happy and healthy. For all the anomalies they’ll run into to be a little less fatal, for the anomalies themselves to be safely captured and treated well. For all their futures to be a little less perilous, a little more secure.

For your future to be a little less dangerous, too. For your future to hold warm soup and cosy evenings, for your days to hold laughter and ease and familiarity, for your nights to hold home and sighs and moonlit dances across the kitchen floor with Haku–

Your eyes flutter open, and you bow, quickly.

Best to not hope for too much.

You sneak a glance at Haku. His head is still bowed, hands still pressed together. He is washed in the bright of sunlight unshaded by winter’s branches, and in the silent sun-stirred dance of dust motes around him he looks almost like a painting.

His bracelets shine a radiant translucence as they catch and absorb the sunlight, nearly covering most of a scar underneath. Your heart twinges slightly – you were there when he got injured.

It was to save you, really, some tiny anomaly or another changing directions and hurtling towards you with a vengeance. If Haku didn’t knock it off its trajectory with the back of his hand… you can’t imagine what would have happened.

Instead, you’d brought him home to Hotarubi and carefully cleaned his cuts and wounds, and stayed with the soft glow of his smile and the even softer glow of his words, well into the night. He’d murmured gentle reassurances into the quiet of the night, thigh pressed up against yours as you sat side by side and looked out onto the still Hotarubi gardens; yet the feeling of guilt has never gone away, cementing itself into the cracks of all that you owe him.

I’m sorry, you said, again, for the fiftieth time that night. If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t have gotten injured.

He had laughed before a ghost of pressure landed against your temple, so soft you think to this day you’d imagined it. Anything for you, princess. Stop worrying about it.

It sent your heart racing, back then, his words wild fireworks popping in your throat.

The same way his words send your heart racing, now.

Maybe we should spread word that my heart already belongs to someone else.

You exhale. Haku has never hidden his affection for you, not really – whether it was proclaimed in front of a beaming Zenji or murmured into the drizzle of Hotarubi, the flirtatious comments you once believed were just part of his personality or simply lavished onto everyone you eventually realised were only ever directed to you.

And you understood it, back then, the same way you understand it now. Haku has never been shy about you. How much of it was guilt over bringing you to Darkwick and a burgeoning sense of responsibility for your curse, you will perhaps never know, but this is what you know now, after two years of turning the thought of Haku over and over in your mind:

That you never agreed to start because you were always afraid of the end. That you perhaps wished he would forget about you after his time at Darkwick, if only to make things easier for him after your transformation into the Kyklos; that you wished to forget about him, too, after his time at Darkwick, if only to avoid the real possibility of Haku finding someone else.

But now your last page has been ripped out, a future of a curse torn out by your very own hands and shredded into the wind… now that you’re out and free (albeit still working for the Institute) and ready to rewrite your own ending…

Haku looks up from his hands, and bows. He turns to you, smile fond and sweet, and extends a hand to help you down the steps. “Ready?”

You take his hand, lace his fingers into your own. The word on your tongue turns into a candle turns into a lantern turns into the sun. “Ready.”

December 31 - Uji, Kyoto Distance left to destination: 19km

You cradle your hot cup of tea in your palms.

The cold of the bridge railing beneath your elbows seep past your coat and into your bones. The last of the sun’s rays cast a glow on the trees on the opposing shore, turning them into a sea of reddish-gold, but they do little to warm you as you watch the sun sink below the horizon.

Haku rests, one handspan away, identical cup nestled between his hands.

“This is my favourite place to watch the sunset,” he says. “You can see the train tracks and the Uji Bridge from here.”

A train rumbles by in the distance as he says it, slicing the scene in half. It takes a few seconds before the sky meets the river again.

“I think about bringing you here, all the time,” he says, quietly. He shifts the cup to his other hand. “I come here after work sometimes, and stay until the sky is dark and I can see the stars. Then I wonder about whether you’re looking at the same stars, too, in Darkwick.”

You both watch the sun creep steadily downwards, meeting its wavering counterpart in the water.

Haku exhales. He does not look at you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

His words wrap around you, hushed and gossamer. How much you’ve thought about him, too, looking up at the night skies as you dragged yourself back to the cathedral.

Whenever you walked out from Hotarubi, shutting your one-person umbrella and looking up at the moon, you’d think of him.

The way he’d walk you back, shoulder to shoulder as if you were still sharing an umbrella. The way he’d look at you, moonlight tangled into his eyelashes and the arc of his hands, the way he’d smile like the night was a secret only the two of you shared. The way he’d sit you down on the campus stone benches to talk about your missions with other houses, the way he’d reassure you, again and again, that whatever you were doing was enough. That you were enough.

The memories twist themselves onto your tongue. You do not look at him, either, when you say, “Me too.”

The last sliver of sun slips away, and then it is gone.

The conversation turns to seeing Subaru on stage in two days and what flowers you plan to get him, then to your new Institute-funded apartment, a small place buried near a Galaxy Express station, and the furniture you plan to get.

You wonder out loud how long the Galaxy Express would take to get to Uji if you and Subaru were to come visit, as compared to taking the regular train from Kyoto Station. It’s already a very short distance, you think, but maybe it’d take half the time.

“It takes sixteen minutes from Kyoto’s HQ,” Haku says. He taps the top of his now-empty cup with a long finger. “Or twenty-two, if you count the time it takes to walk back to my apartment.”

“Damn, these cats really know how to run a railway line.”

Haku laughs, quiet and breathless, before he says, “Move in with me, instead.”

You pause, cup halfway lifted to your lips. You lower your hand.

“It’s only a slightly longer commute,” he murmurs, “and you won’t have to buy new furniture.”

He looks at you, eyes full of morning sun. You read in them something that feels a lot like a future.

You won’t have to spend your nights alone in a drafty old room anymore. We will not have to untangle ourselves at the end of the day, and pretend we do not want to stay. Now that I’ve spent three whole days with you I don’t know how I’ve ever managed without; it feels like I’m never going to be able to go back.

You exhale.

This is how it has always been - this is how the two of you are - him building a bridge between you both and reminding you that if you ever want to cross it, if you ever need to cross it, he will always be on the other side, waiting.

He waits, now.

For a moment, you think you are brave.

Ready?

But the moment passes, and the words that have swelled up on your tongue are familiar and terrifying and comforting and too heavy and mean too little and too much, all at once, and you swallow the waves that rise up in your lungs, and you close your eyes, and you pretend you are not in love with him, have not been in love with him since he held your hand in the dark of a train carriage three-odd years ago.

“Imagine the paperwork,” you say, instead, and Haku leaves it at that.

December 31 - Uji, Kyoto Distance left to destination: 16km

Haku’s apartment is small, but homey.

It is much more modern that you expect it to be, and feels infinitely more Haku than any Hotarubi dorm could. The kitchen you step into is tiny but sleek, with just enough space to fit a boiler, a tea set and an induction cooker before ending at a large fridge. The green glow on the microwave tucked onto a shelf a bit higher than eye-level reads eleven forty-two.

He lucked out on the Institute lottery, he tells you, setting his keys in a bowl on the kitchen island and flicking on the kitchen lights – where others only get a studio apartment he at least gets a bedroom attached to the living and dining area. Ghoul perks, perhaps.

Where you expect a kitchen island is instead a mountain of books, shuffled neatly into piles not unlike what you used to be greeted with in his old dorm, bookmarked full with post-its covered in his chicken-scratch writing.

You pick out a barely-used blue post-it pad from a pile of neon-yellow ones, and run your thumb over the winking tanuki in the background. “Is this the one I bought for you, back on that shrine mission?”

Haku peeks over your shoulder. His laugh brushes your ear, soft and warm, before moving away to roll your luggage into the living room. “Yeah. I can’t bear to use it much, though. It feels as though I should treasure it.”

You snort, looking up at him. “I can always buy you another one.”

“I’m not opposed to that.”

(You’d buy him one set everyday for the rest of his days, if he’d let you.)

Haku tucks your suitcase next to a soft grey sofa set opposite a plain white wall, and sets your duffle bag on a small wooden coffee table in between that looks like it hasn’t been dusted in years. “There are fireworks bound to start in about fifteen minutes. Wanna watch those on the balcony?”

You blink – you’ve almost forgotten that today is New Year’s Eve, what with all the sightseeing you’ve packed in today around Uji.

Haku tugs the pale blue curtains apart, revealing glass doors to a small balcony overlooking residential neighbourhood. The night is quiet, still, buzz of the city conspicuously absent from the streets despite the celebratory date and even though most households have their lights on and curtains pulled open in anticipation of the fireworks, you don’t hear much beyond the whistling of the wind when you step outside.

You settle against the railing on his balcony. “It’s so nice, here.”

Haku joins you. “When everyone’s lights are off, at night, you can see the stars.”

You tilt your head up. Haku’s apartment is high up enough the street lamps that you do not have to shield your eyes from their orange glow, and as you peer up at the heavens you see constellations slowly starting to take shape. “Wow.”

Haku shifts, closer. His shoulder is pressed up against yours. “Any New Year’s resolutions yet?”

You laugh. “Other than learning how to survive outside Darkwick?”

“That’s enough,” Haku says, softly. “Sometimes surviving is tough enough, on its own.”

You bite your lip, and look down at the street below. A stray cat dips in and out of the shadows.

“I’m going to be brave this year,” you tell him.

I’m going to be brave enough to face what’s coming. I’m going to be brave enough to decide what I’m going to do with my life, instead of obeying missives from a corrupted Academy and existing at their beck and call. I’m going to be brave enough to tell you what I really want to say, to build my own side of the bridge, to finally meet you on the other side.

Haku tilts his head to look at you, then. He raises a hand from where his arms have been crossed on the railing, long fingers tenderly tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

It sends daylight swirling down your spine, leaves you breathless and August-warm when you catch his gaze.

“I think you’re already plenty brave,” he says, quietly.

Before you can respond, however, the street explodes with noise. Windows are pulled open and chanting spills out onto the street, a clamour of three, two, one–

Tiny lights hang themselves across the sky, a mere flash before tightly packed colours dazzling as the sun explode across its inky canvas. Brilliant reds and blues and yellows and greens burst into bloom over and over again; they paint everything on the street with their glow. The distant booms and whistles of their journey travel through the neighbourhood, wind their way through the festivities and laughter and cheer.

It is at once so extraordinary and normal, this celebration of the Earth making its way around the sun yet again, that you find yourself giddy, smiling, joyful. You turn to look at Haku, tinted a faint red from the vivid glows in the sky, only to find he is already looking at you, gaze warm, fond.

You learnt once, on a mission with Jabberwock, that firecrackers and fireworks set off during New Year were as much meant to scare away the bad things as they were to celebrate the good.

I think you’re already plenty brave.

In the bright of the night his words soak into your skin.

Perhaps you are.

You lean up, and press a small kiss to the corner of his lips. This is me, building my side of the bridge. This is me, ready. “Happy New Year, Haku.”

His palm catches your cheek as you pull away. The spread of his smile, wide and bright and delighted, sends stardust settling into the hollow of your throat, sets its own fireworks off within the hollow of your ribs, pulls a smile onto your own cheeks. The gold of his eyes shine with something more than the pyrotechnics, something full of devotion, full of beginnings.

“Happy New Year,” Haku says, and leans in to kiss you again.

#tokyo debunker #haku kusanagi #tokyo debunker x reader #bangs pots and pans LONGFORM ROAD TRIP FIC IS HERE #SORRY this was meant to be in time for new year's but like #in my usual fashion im late lol #so have this in time for lunar new year #warnings i guess for canon divergence - mc doesn't die from the curse! as u can tell from the blurb asdjlkjsa #also i am AWARE this is my second haku fic in the alphabet series but like . i love haku can u rly blame me #also (lmao i have so many postscripts) this was written specifically with that one line in mind from new year's day #'don't read the last page but i stay when you're lost and i'm scared and you're turning away'#me with my haku lens on: idk i think it's very haku!#lin writes #anyways this is less a relationship pining fic than it is just me expounding on why i love haku #alphabet series

103 notes · View notes

themagicafox · 2 months ago

Text

Hogwarts AU: Slytherin Rafayel and Sylus Headcanons

I'm not a professional ficwriter, I’m just having fun

English is not my first language; sorry for the grammar mistakes

Maybe I`ll do part 2 if someone likes it and wants more

@peacedreamer14 I promised drawings but I am busy at uni right now and don't have enough time, but it’ll come!!

I hope someone will like it \ (•◡•) /

Sylus

Smug, calm, and prideful, but never seeks fights with others—he’s too above it. He doesn’t care about the common rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin unless it affects him directly. But no one wants to fight him anyway

He is an excellent student. Favorite subject is Defense Against the Dark Arts. He also mastered the Apparition spell at a young age

Sylus can cast spells without a wand

Mephisto as his companion animal that can mimic speech. Sylus takes great pleasure in watching people jump in fear when Mephisto speaks in a devilish voice out of nowhere

Has declined every offer to join the Quidditch team

His favorite activity is annoying Rafayel

“Oh no, your girlfriends ran away,” he said after releasing toads from Rafayel’s terrarium

Once, he changed Rafayel’s hair color to pink by adding a potion to his shampoo in the bathroom

“What? It suits you, charm boy”

He would never admit that Rafayel is his only friend actually

“Friend? I barely remember his name”

Sylus has sensitive eyes. During a duel with Xavier, he almost lost due to a surprisingly strong light spell

“Professor! That’s cheating, oi!”

“Hey, don’t embarrass me”

“You’re the only one embarrassing yourself and Slytherin. Get up and beat him like you know, jerk”

Sylus goes to bed only after everyone else is asleep. He often sneaks into the Restricted Section of the library, which leads to frequent arguments with Ravenclaw prefect Zayne, who always catches him

“I thought I told you not to roam around at night”

“Sincerely sorry, but I don’t believe I’m under your command. Anyway, I was already heading to my room”

Sylus is a mystery. No one knows much about him. Is he pureblood? Who is his family? How rich is he?! (His entire demeanor screams “beyond rich”)

No one gets close to him except for Rafayel and MC

Sylus and Rafayel often fall asleep in class due to their late-night antics

He absolutely hates Zayne and Xavier because they’re too close to MC

“You know, even you don’t annoy me as much as those two,”

“Mutual”

After working together perfectly on pranks or mischiefs, they instantly start fighting again

“That’s enough teamwork for today with a sly half-blood crow”

“Come again, mermaid misunderstanding”

Rafayel

Very popular among students, Rafayel comes from a famous, wealthy pureblood family

Naturally talented in magic, his favorite class is Transfiguration

He despises worn books, cheap clothes, and people who don’t take care of their appearance

His custom wand cost as much as a new brand car, but he insisted on designing it with mermaid hair and black pearls

He helps restore Hogwarts’ old paintings in his free time

Once, Rafayel saved a group of first-years from mermaids in the Black Lake

“Idiots! What were you thinking? Ugh, I think I’m dying. Now you owe me your lives until graduation”

Rafayel spends way too much time in the bathroom, which annoys Sylus, who also likes his showers

There’s endless competition between him and Sylus in everything: academics, wealth, and even MC’s attention

He once bought the entire Slytherin Quidditch team new brooms just to show off in front of Sylus

MC often has to step in to prevent their heated arguments from escalating into full-blown duels in the common room

Rafayel gets visibly irritated whenever MC compliments someone else’s skills

Extremely protective of Slytherin’s honor, he’ll often team up with Sylus (if he is in the mood, of course) to humiliate Gryffindor or Ravenclaw students who insult their house

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Give me a minute; I’ll get closer,” Sylus says, lifting a student he’s just transfigured into a rabbit up to his ear. “Still nothing. Rafayel, care to try?” Rafayel approaches with an exaggerated, theatrical expression, nodding and humming as though he understands the rabbit’s trembling squeaks

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus #lads sylus #sylus x mc #lads #rafayel #l&ds rafayel #lads rafayel #rafayel x mc #hogwarts au #slytherin #lads fanfic

54 notes · View notes

devildomditzy · 3 months ago

Note

Mammon/Asmo would object to a wedding. They might not even know the people, they just like drama

Who's Most Likely to... Object at a Wedding?

That would be Asmo and Mammon

(And oh my god you gave me a great idea)

Link to the masterpost

"I object!"

Gasps resound around the crowd at the shrill voice that erupted from somewhere in the group. Well, one side of the crowd. Namely your side, your relatives and friends all shocked by the scene unfolding in front of them. As for the demon's side - well, groans accompanied by eyerolls fall over the section, all as everyone in the room looks to Asmo, standing from his seat with his hand raised to the sky, puppy dog eyes making direct contact with yours.

"Oh come on!", Mammon yells next to your side, letting go of your hand in favor of facing his brother and pointing accusingly in his direction.

"Whaddya mean you object!"

Asmo glares back with a smirk, hands flying to his hips. "I mean MC should be marrying mwah! Not some scummy idiot with a gambling addiction!". He folds his hands together, bringing them to his face, tilting his head, looking at you as if you were an injured kitten. "Poor thing."

"Hey! Why dontcha say that to my face, ya self-obsessed air head!", Mammon calls back in response, beginning to step off the alter. You give Barbatos, who was officiating the ceremony, your most apologetic smile as you grab Mammon by the back of his collar, preventing his tirade further.

Your family exchanges worried glances, with murmurs of "What's going on?" and "Someone do something!" echoing through the room.

"I already did!', Asmo giggles, smiling as he looks om at his brother. "And so, I object."

"W-Well, I object to your objection!", Mammon yells, still raring to make a run at his little brother.

You swear you hear Lucifer audibly groan among the commotion.

"It's not up to you!", Asmo sing-songs, taunting him.

"It's not up to me? I'm their groom for cryin' out loud!", says Mammon, increasing angry. He shakes loose from your grasp and starts his march towards the fifth born.

"Mammon, don't make me-", you begin before Asmo cuts you off.

"Yeah, Mammon, don't make them choose! Why don't we just swap places? I'm sure they'll be much happier with me!"

"Mammon!", you call after him, but its no use. You can tell when your first man is seeing red.

He makes his way through the aisles, grabbing Asmo by the collar.

"Oh my~", he coos in response.

You've just about had it with this mess, and it seems you're not the only one. Barbatos clears his throat from next to you where he stands at the ready.

"MC, I do believe its time to do 'the thing' that you were mentioning."

You sigh in annoyance, handing him your bouquet momentarily. You face the two pain-in-your-asses causing a ruckus and clear your throat, balling up your firsts at your side.

"STAAAAAYYY!!!!!"

Both boys suddenly fall to the floor. Hard.

In fact, all the brothers fall to the floor.

"Whoops."

There are moans from the seats behind where Mammon and Asmo now sit on the floor.

"Oww", Levi whines.

"What the hell was that for?", complains Belphie, who sits up, rubbing the side of his head.

"No, it was necessary", Lucifer sighs as he stands, brushing off the front of his coat, looking up at you. 'They're all yours."

Everyone's attention now snaps to Mammon and Asmo, who look up at you pathetically from their positions.

"You!", you say, pointing at Mammon, "need to learn to recognize when Asmo is just trying to get under your skin. Seriously, how do you not know by now? You've known him for what now? A gajillion years? And why would you think for a second I'd leave you for anyone else? When I'm literally standing next to you trying to become your lifelong partner!?"

"And you!", you shift yourself, pointing at Asmo now, "know I love you. And I know you love me. But we both know that love is strictly platonic! I get you like to mess with Mammon, but did you have to do it on my wedding day?"

"Sowwy!", Asmo baby talks, knocking himself in the head lightly with his fist. "But this is just the rehearsal, right? I'd never do this during the real thing, silly! But I thought that the mood was so drab that we could use some drama!"

"Are you fuckin' with me right now!?", Mammon stares at his brother in disbelief.

"Not right now, no. I was 'fucking' with you about three minutes ago", Asmo winks., before continuing.

"But, sorry Mammon. I didn't think you'd take it that seriously. I mean, we all know you two were made for each other. Why would I really have a shot with MC anyway? Why would any of us?", Asmo looks sheepish as he crosses his arms, shaking his head.

Mammon blinks heavily and looks back to you as you stick out your arm, helping him to his feet. Asmo smiles as he watches.

"I mean, do you see the way they look at you?", he questions, prompting Mammon to blush deeply as he looks into your eyes.

You smile, walking backwards as you lead Mammon back up to the alter.

"Sorry!", you apologize brightly to your family. "It's always something", you shake your head, laughing.

"Now, may I...", Barbatos asks you, searching both of your faces for acknowledgement to proceed.

"I do!", Mammon blurts out, red as can be.

"Mammon, we already said I do", you giggle, grinning brightly at him.

"R-right. Yea, alright", he says, barely paying attention as he turns to Barbatos. "C'mon, can I kiss them now?", he asks, pointing at you.

Barbatos makes a small sound of defeat as he stops his speech, opting instead to smile. "I don't see why not."

For the first time today, the crowd is filled with cheers instead of startled gasps as Mammon grabs you and - of course - dramatically dips you, sealing your lips with a kiss.

He pulls back and smiles.

"I can't wait to do that to ya again tomorrow."

128 notes · View notes

numinousher · 6 months ago

Text

CHANTAJE! (xxiii)

SUMMARY: being under the watchful eye of the media and your fans, your managers are in desperate need of regaining back your popularity after other influencers who hate you cause mayhem to your life. what best way to do so by having you pretend to be in a relationship with the popular 7 who are known to be intensely wealthy and stoic? will you be able to regain their trust or will they go with their promise of damaging your reputation even more?

WARNING(S) FOR LATER: gore/blood/murder, harassment/bullying, mental health talks (nothing badly triggering), child endangerment (mc was a child actor, again nothing badly triggering. if there is, there will be a warning)

NOTE: if you read this late… you’re stinky

TAGLIST (CLOSED): @parapiop7 @an-ever-angry-bi @softforyoongles @thenaverse @chansatlan @juju-227592 @skyys-universe @carolinexkpop @reallysparklychaos @namjooncrabs @savagemickey03 @drunkzseok @svnbangtansworld @2ne1unni

“I can’t stand this.”

Taehyung grunted out between punches, ignoring Namjoon’s stare on his back due to the fact he beating up a man that had said things to you online and offline.

Now, Taehyung was never one to resort to violence. He was always the calm one alongside Yoongi, but the thought of someone hating on you and threatening to do things to you to “shut you up” was enough for him to see red. So, he here was, having chosen a guy on your comments out of thousands, and beating him up until the skin of his knuckles tore.

“Taehyung, I understand you can’t come to terms with your own feelings, but leave the poor guy alone,” Namjoon said, though he didn’t mean his empathy. He did not care at all. He just didn’t want to cover up another dead body just because Taehyung couldn’t handle his emotions. “Taehyung.”

“I mean, she’s going to be gone in a year once her contract ends,” Taehyung continued to huff out. He stopped for a second to glance at the two men over his shoulder—Yoongi was there, too—before looking at the man hanging. “She’s going to be gone and here I am wanting to kiss her. Is that a bad thing?”

“N-no, sir,” the man stuttered out with blood coming out of his mouth.

Taehyung hummed, though he didn’t waste another second to go back to hitting the man again. “I mean, it’s not fair. What if after the one year contract ends, she leaves and we never see her again? I feel like I won’t be able to handle that, mentally.” Punch. “Am I going fucking crazy?”

“I have never seen him this beat up over something like this,” Yoongi muttered, running a hand over his hair. Namjoon hummed in agreement. “Should we be offended?”

The (still) pink-haired man shook his head. “I can speak for all of us that falling for another person was not in our cards.”

“Were we ever like this with one another?” Yoongi asked, eyeing the way the beat up man stopped fidgeting. His mouth was drooling out blood, face swollen, and nose bleeding. Yoongi knew so many would look at them crazily for not feeling sorry at all, but the man was not only spewing out such hatred words to you that it scared you, he was a dedicated troll online and would comment such absurd things to those of the other gender. “I know we were a bit like that because we didn’t even know much about relationships with more than one person.”

“All I know is that it’s more than just lust with Y/n,” Namjoon breathed out, a frown etched in his face at sharing his thoughts. He wasn’t one to be good with his feelings. He never liked sharing the story about his family, he never liked telling others he had a bad day, so for him to openly talk about you and how he felt about you was a little confusing. “I don’t know. I didn’t intend to fall for her at all. I have to put your guys’ feelings before me so I could step in if her feelings are nothing but a ploy for dragging down our reputation. Now I can’t even think and I can’t even form my own thoughts, my own opinions, without thinking about her.”

Yoongi could hear the slight defeated tone in Namjoon’s voice.

He understood the feeling too well.

Though Yoongi was the quietest of the seven, he loved being able to show his feeling through gestures. It’s a reason why he took care of you the most because he saw something in you that he saw in the 7; to be understood without being questioned.

“Taehyung, stop,” Yoongi demanded with a stern voice, passing him a handkerchief Jin had specifically created to get rid of blood stains. Yoongi glanced at some of his workers there that were specifically aimed to clean up after their mess. “Get rid of the body.”

“Yes, sir.”

The three walked away from the scene, simultaneously thinking about you.

What will happen in a year after the contract ends? They don’t know, but they hope you will still be there with them. If not as a lover, then a friend. You were pleasant to be around.

“Miss, they’re here,” Min-seo announced, opening your bedroom door.

You had been in bed for a while now and you blamed it on Hyung-min who didn’t want to take you downstairs. Jae had told him to do so and even threatened to carry you herself, but he didn’t budge. He was too scared to do anything to you in case he hurt you again (Namjoon scared him).

“Let them in.”

“Yes, miss.”

Namjoon, Yoongi, and Taehyung admired the rest of your house as they went up the stairs. They hadn’t seen much considering they were always in a hurry and were so busy to come bother you, but they loved seeing the decorations you had up. They especially loved the pictures of you as a child holding onto awards, a bright grin plastered on your face, clearly happy and satisfied for getting an award that showed your hard work. You were just a child.

“Really?” You raised a brow once they came into view. “Are these daily visits going to stop once I’m healed?”

“No,” Namjoon answered, voice soft yet stern. He sat on the edge of your bed, his hand going up to run the pad of his thumb over your swollen ankle. His brows furrowed for a second before it vanished in a blink of an eye to look at you. “How are you?”

“Im doing much better,” you said with a small smile.

You glanced at Taehyung and Yoongi, their facial expressions not changing and giving you a clue as to what they were feeling. You slightly puffed out your cheeks before humming.

“What is it?” Yoongi asked, moving from his position beside Taehyung and coming to stand next to you. You waved him off. At noticing some white papers on your nightstand, he grabbed them, and read over the information given to you from your doctor. “You have low Vitamin D?”

“I don’t get enough sun,” you shrugged like it was nothing. “Before you three freak out, as soon as my ankle feels better I’m going on walks.”

“You should go with Jungkook and Namjoon on walks,” Taehyung piped in to suggest. “Jungkook takes his dog out for walks and Namjoon just like smelling the air.”

Namjoon scoffed at Taehyung’s words before turning to you. “It gets tiring being holed up in the office and a bunch of annoying workers just pestering and pestering. I need my walks.”

“I’ll go then,” you agreed, nodding your head. “Though, it’s been a while so if I get tired easily… not my fault. I usually love walks and you know, being able to be in my mind a lot more, but I’ve been feeling a bit lazy.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” Namjoon reassured you, maintaining eye contact. You smiled at him and he gave you one, too. He sighed a bit and stood up to let his eyes run over your body to see if you had any more hidden injuries. Once he came to find nothing, he nodded. “Hyung-min called me.”

“Is that why he looked scared when he came to visit me?” You asked, arching a brow. Namjoon looked at the others and softly chuckled, not saying “yes” but not denying it either.

“We talked and he took my words wrong,” Namjoon answered with a shrug. “Not my fault.”

“Mhm, totally not your fault,” you echoed back to him, sarcasm dripping from your words. “But he has apologized. He has apologized to me, he didn’t do it on purpose, and that’s what should matter. Don’t go pestering him, either. He’s Jae’s boyfriend and Jae is my best friend so if you hurt him, you hurt her, and you hurt me. You wouldn’t want to hurt me.”

Yoongi felt the end of his lip curl up. “Oh, you’re good.” You smiled sheepishly at this words. “We won’t hurt him, Y/n. Just tell him that if he does something stupid again we won’t be so nice to him.”

“You mean, like, insulting him to hurt him, right?” No answer. “Right?”

“We’re going to be leaving,” Namjoon said, dodging your question. He stuck out his wrist to glance at this watch. “Yoongi and I have a meeting with some directors to talk about our project.”

“Do you really have to leave?” You breathed out that your words almost sounded like a whine. Namjoon stared at you.

The directors can function not having them there, right? No. They’re a bunch of idiots that just spewed a bunch of bullshit, and Namjoon did not trust them to go over the project he and Yoongi have been desperate to finish.

“As much as we’d love to stay—”

“I can stay,” Taehyung spoke up. He gave you a side glance. “I don’t have anything to do so if you want, I can keep you some company.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words. “That would be nice, Taehyung.” You turned to look at the two. “Are you going to come tomorrow with Jungkook and Jin? They want to cook something—”

“You do not want Namjoon there,” Yoongi said with a chuckle. Namjoon rolled his eyes. “He might be good at everything, but cooking is where we cross the line.”

“Are you that bad?” You winced at the idea of burnt overcooked and under cooked food.

“I burnt eggs one time and put a lot of salt, and suddenly it’s the end of the world,” Namjoon grumbled under his breath, putting on the blazer he had taken off and placed on his arm. “Anyway, we’ll try to come over tomorrow. But, just enjoy your time with the two. I know Hobi wants to come but he’s been busy with his work.”

“Oh, I know,” you said. “We’ve been texting.”

“You text?” Taehyung asked.

You nodded. “Yeah! He got worried and he apologized for not visiting me a lot, but that he’s busy with work, so we agreed to meet up sometime this week.”

“Yeah, he was looking forward to the dinner,” Namjoon noted, now knowing he can text you. “But, that’s done and you don’t need to worry about that.”

You snorted. “I won’t.”

He and Yoongi leaned over to hug you goodbye, whispering they’ll visit with Jungkook and Jin, but to not get disappointed if they don’t.

As they left, you turned to Taehyung who was quiet. He was always quiet and you wished to see the talkative side that was always on the news.

“What happened to your knuckles?” You softly asked, grabbing onto his hand rather carefully to not weird him out.

Taehyung extended his hand to display his fingers and softly scoffed. “I was boxing with Jungkook. Never again.”

“Thankfully, it doesn’t look too bad,” you mumbled under your breath, inspecting his bruised knuckles while tenderly touching them to see if he would react to that. “You need to ice them.”

Softly chuckling, he shook his head. “I didn’t know that staying here meant that I would get my personal doctor.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting his hand away so he could feel the sting on his wounds. “I’m not helping you anymore then since you’re complaining.” You could hear the small laughs escaping his lips at your dramatics. “No. Go away now.”

“I’m kidding, Y/n,” Taehyung said, wrapping a hand over your bicep to bring you closer. “Act all doctor to me. Wrap my wound and kiss it better.”

You gaped at him after hearing his words. “Where has this Taehyung been? You were so quiet with them.”

“I get nervous talking to you around the others,” he admitted with a shrug. “I enjoy watching you interact, too, so I just love watching instead of butting in.”

“I love the fact that you are much more teasing like this,” you said with admission because you did like seeing this side of him. You had expected Yoongi to be the quietest, but he was very chatty with you and could maintain conversation. Taehyung was the quietest—around you—and you always wished you could see the side he showed to the media. “Also, do you not have boxing gloves? I feel like it could’ve prevented this terrible tear of skin.”

Taehyung blinked. “I just wanted to use my fists more in case I came to a situation where I need to use my bare hands. Either way, it’s not the first time I’ve taken boxing lessons without gloves.”

You stayed silent and he looked at your face to find an answer.

“You’re surprising me today, Taehyung.”

He stayed with you until 2 AM, much to your surprise.

It wasn’t that you begged him to stay, none of that. He just had trouble leaving you alone when you couldn’t even stand on your own two feet without stumbling away. What if someone broke in? He knew you had guards outside your home, working hard, but what if one of them accidentally fell asleep and left you vulnerable? Hell, no.

He couldn’t shake his concerns away even when he made it home.

“Did you beat up someone else?” Yoongi mused as he watched Taehyung walk pass his office.

Taehyung stopped in his footsteps at being talked to and turned to head inside Yoongi’s office. He sat in front of him, a sigh escaping his lips to depict his emotions. Though, Yoongi couldn’t identify what he was truly feeling.

Taehyung wasn’t one to let his feelings be shown very easily.

“We ate together and we watched a movie,” he breathed out in a hushed voice, almost as if talking loud would wake everyone in the house. “We laughed, we talked, I took care of her, and she took care of me.” He felt his throat clog up a bit due to the overwhelming feeling of falling deeper for a person he knew would be gone in a year. “You should’ve seen her, Yoongi. I have never seen her laugh as hard as she did when we were watching her favorite movie and it just… It brought me such happiness at hearing that.”

Yoongi stayed silent and watched him struggle to form his thoughts. He smiled. “You need to process you’re in love with her.”

“But, she’ll be gone.”

“Unless we let her slip away from us that easily,” Yoongi said in hopes to reassure him. “We have enough time with her, either way. We have months—”

“It’s not enough,” Taehyung shook his head.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi started, clasping his hands together to have a serious conversation with the raven-haired boy, “you need to stop letting your past get to you into thinking someone you get close with is going to abandon you. Even if Y/n doesn’t like us then guess what? She’ll be our friend. She’s not the type of person to just leave. Get to know her and when the time comes, then we’ll talk to her about our feelings, okay?”

“Our feelings?” Taehyung frowned with glossy eyes.

Yoongi shrugged and looked down at his phone.

“She won’t leave.”

< before - after >

114 notes · View notes

jerzwriter · 16 days ago

Text

The Hissing Booth

I found this little guy online, and I knew exactly what needed to be done. I'm forever grateful to @dr-colossal-pita for inspiring me to create Pietro!

Book: Open Heart (Post-Series) Pairing: Tobias x Casey Carrick (F!MC) Featuring: Samantha Carrick (F!OC), Pietro (Original Cat) Words: 418 Rating: General Summary: Samantha has a Valentine's Day activity planned for her and her father, but little Pietro is not excited about it at all!

Participating in @choicesficwriterscreations Valentine's Day event

It took thirty minutes. Just thirty minutes, a stack of construction paper, and two red markers for Tobias and his three-year-old daughter, Samantha, to transform a basic cardboard box into a Valentine's Day “Kissing Booth.”

It was her idea, and little Samantha couldn't have been more excited now that it was completed. Her curls bounced as she clapped her hands, squealing with glee. “Now we need Pietro!”

Pietro, the family cat, jumped up and flicked his tail upon hearing his name. He was a safe distance away at the moment but could sense impending doom.

Tobias chuckled as Samantha waddled toward the feline, her arms open wide. “Uh, Sammy, sweetheart… I don’t think Pietro wants...”

Too late. Pietro took one look at the tiny human running in his direction and bolted.

“PIETRO!” Samantha cried, lunging at him as he retreated under the couch with a hiss.

“Sammy," Tobias said, taking his daughter's hand. "I don't think he's interested in the kissing booth."

Samantha pouted, her little hands landing on her hips, but she wasn't about to be defeated. "I know what to do, Daddy!" she smiled. "Let's make it a hissing booth!”

Tobias chuckled. “A hissing booth?”

“Yeah,” she said, grabbing a marker, and, with Tobias’s help, the K became an H, and within moments, they had what was likely the world's first hissing booth.

"Pietro," Sammy hollered, bending over to peer under the couch. "Come out, Pierto!"

After showing no interest, Pietro suddenly emerged and sauntered over to the hissing booth, stepping inside like he owned the place.

Samantha jumped up and down. “It worked, Daddy! It worked!”

Casey, who had come in from the kitchen, rested her head on Tobias's shoulder as his arm encircled her waist. They laughed together as Pietro stretched out in the box, declaring it his own.

"It's almost like he can read," Casey smirked.

"Yeah," Tobias smiled, kissing the top of his wife's head. "I'm sure it had nothing to do with that piece of salmon you put in the box."

"Tobias!" Casey gasped in mock horror. "I have no idea what you're talking about. But when Sammy takes a nap, why don't we turn that back into a kissing booth?"

"Oh, yeah," he grinned, raising a brow. "How much are you charging? Because I may need to run out to the ATM."

"Oh, baby! It's Valentine's Day! Kisses are free all day!"

"Then I say we get Sammy and Pietro down for a nap... fast."

@openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

#open heart #open heart choices #choices open heart #open heart fanfic #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #tobias x case #pietro the cat #choices #choices fanfic #playchoices #playchoices fanfic

33 notes · View notes

matchavellichor · 1 year ago

Note

Hi, I hope your day is going well when you read this!! I know you said you were currently taking a slight break from writing due to school, and first of all, I'm wishing you the very best of your studies! But I thought I would send a request just in case you do resume writing fics in the future, but feel free to ignore this! This seems a bit plain, but I was wondering if you could write an ominis x fmc where mc is terribly shy and avoidant to no one but ominis due to her feelings for him? Over time, though, Ominis observes her personality when interacting with other people, becoming fond of her but is left conflicted seeing how nervous she is around him, leaving him to wonder if she hates him or not. Since Ominis can’t see MC staring at him or how her cheeks go red around him, we could perhaps have Sebastian take note of this and act like the typical tease-playing wingman to set Ominis and MC up? It’s a pretty fluffy request, but you can lead it down any road you want, whether it turns out suggestively or not.

A/N: hi!!! tysm for the kindness <3 uni is still kind of hectic at the moment unfort, but i LOVED this idea sm so i decided to write a lil something anyway. ty for the request, hope you enjoy!

Great Expectations

Ominis x f!MC - Fluff - 3k words

Summary: Urged on by Sebastian's insistence that the reason for MC's evasiveness is that she harbors a secret crush, Ominis decides to take Sebastian's advice and find this out for himself.

Tags: Miscommunication, Wingman Sebastian, Clueless Ominis, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Banter, First Kiss

"Some light reading?"

Ominis can sense the way she startles, nearly dropping the tall stack of books balanced carefully in her arms.

“Oh, uh…hello, Ominis,” she greets as she rights herself, voice oddly tight. “I hadn’t realized you were here.”

“Always am. The library’s practically my second home at this point,” he smiles warmly, making some attempt at small talk.

There’s an awkward pause before he clears his throat to break the silence. “I uh, I hadn’t realized you were such an avid reader yourself,” he tilts his head, waving his wand over the topmost title in her pile. “Ah, and you have taste! Dickens is brilliant. I’d love to pick your brain sometime about—”

“I apologize, if—you’ll um, if you’ll excuse me,” she suddenly interrupts, eyes trained at her feet, before she’s brushing past him in the tight corridor of shelves and exiting towards one of the more populated corners of the library.

Ominis frowns, brows knitting together in confusion and what’s beginning to morph into genuine offense at this point.

“Was it something I said?” he mutters under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ever since they had become acquaintances, any attempts at amicability on his part had been met with brisk dismissals, curt replies, and her avoiding him like the plague. At first he thought her simply timid, but after observing her behavior with the likes of Sebastian or Garreth or any of her other friends, Ominis had been seriously considering some innate character flaw of his own.

He had thought he had made some progress in their relationship at the last gathering they had frequented, a weekend get-together in the Slytherin common room, but it was quickly becoming apparent that he’d been sorely mistaken.

Was he really so unapproachable? Dreadfully unlikeable? Did she simply have no interest in befriending him?

Ominis tries to pretend his ego isn't bruised by this notion, but fails miserably when his brain wanders to more woeful reasons as to why she would want nothing to do with him. His family’s notoriety and the rumors surrounding his person that are frequently pedaled around the castle undoubtedly have already reached her ears.

Filled with a strange sense of defeat, Ominis abandons any of his original plans of reading in favor of sulking in the common room alone. Less than two steps towards the library exit, however, and he’s bombarded by Sebastian.

“Ominis, you sly dog, don’t think I didn’t see you two warming up in the back shelves,” he grins, poking his friend in the ribs and waggling his brows.

Ominis frowns, swatting at the brunette’s hand. “Warming up is certainly not the term I would use. She despises me.”

“Despises you? Are you blind?”

“...Yes?”

“I refuse to believe you’re that blind,” Sebastian amends, scoffing. “Don’t tell me you really haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed what? The way she can’t bear to spend longer than a minute around me?” Ominis grumbles. “Trust me, I’m well aware.”

“Oh Gods, you’re just as hopeless as she is,” Sebastian groans, deeply pained. “She doesn’t despise you, she’s head over heels, Ominis,” he leans in with an all-too smug tone. “Take it from a man who knows the ladies.”

Ominis turns his head over his shoulder as if in search. “And, pray tell, where is this man?”

He receives an indignant smack on the arm. “I’m serious! Trust me, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes. I mean, why do you think she’s always so nervous around you?”

“She probably thinks I’m going to curse her or something,” Ominis mutters. “My reputation isn’t exactly the nicest, Sebastian. Are you forgetting who my family is?”

Sebastian barks out a laugh. “I’m sorry, Ominis, but anyone who takes even a second out of their day to speak to you will know you’re incapable of harming a lacewing fly. Trust me on this, she likes you.”

Ominis pauses for a moment, considering the possibility that had never before crossed his mind before. An involuntary warmth spreads over his skin, surfacing all kinds of unbidden feelings he doesn’t have much experience in handling. Noticing his contemplative silence, Sebastian peeks at the blonde.

“Oh, Salazar, you’re blushing,” he gasps, no small amount of delight seeping through his tone. “You know, for a while I was half-convinced you were incapable of it. Me and Garreth actually had a bet that were half-vamp—”

Ominis scowls, pushing Sebastian’s fingers away from where they were currently trying to prod at his flushed cheeks. “I am not blushing. Look, this whole notion is ridiculous, even for you, Sebastian. She can barely tolerate me, much less harbor some crush on me.”

“Fine,” Sebastian shrugs, feigning acquiescence. “Then flirt with her. See what happens, and if she truly despises you as you say, then no harm, no foul.”

Ominis sputters. “I will not flirt with her, don’t be absurd.”

“Why not? If you already believe she hates you, what do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? My already maimed ego? You’ve seen her in Defence against the Dark Arts, if we’re being realistic I’m probably in risk of breaking a couple bones as well—”

“Ominis, just try,” Sebastian groans, looking ready to rip his hair out. “If you don’t, I’m marching right back into that library and flirting with her for you.”

Immediately, memories of Sebastian’s past trysts with women and the sheer amount of crudeness in even his most tame chat-up lines come to mind. Ominis panics. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, we both know I would,” Sebastian grins, stopping in his tracks and turning back towards the library doors. “Remember that one boiling cauldron line Garreth taught me? I’ll go up and tell her you begged me to use it for you—”

“Stop, stop, alright,” Ominis grits, fisting a hand in the back of Sebastian’s robes to pull him back. He sighs. “I’ll….I’ll speak to her, alright?”

Sebastian claps a hand over his shoulder, pleased. “That’s the spirit.”

As much as Ominis would have liked to postpone the inevitable as much as possible, fate was not on his side. He had the misfortune of running into her while on his way to the Great Hall for dinner, and with Sebastian by his side, he would have no chance of escape.

After urging his friend on with not so friendly threats, Sebastian made himself scarce, though undoubtedly somewhere within earshot so he could listen to disaster unfold.

“Just the person I was looking for,” he greets with as much warmth as he can manage, though his nerves are broiling a storm in his gut. “Have you gotten in any good reading today?”

Once again, she seems startled by his presence. “You were…looking for me?”

“Well, yes. I was wondering if I might accompany you to dinner?” he smiles. “Would give me a chance to bore you with my fascination with muggle literature.”

“Oh,” her eyes widen, looking almost excited before it’s washed over with anxiety. “I’m sorry, I uh, I wasn’t…going to dinner.”

“Oh,” Ominis frowns, noting how close they were to the Great Hall. “Where were you heading then?”

“The library,” she blurts out and Ominis tilts his head in confusion.

“But the library’s in the opposite direction,” he nods over his shoulder. “And haven’t you just come back from there?”

“I–I have to go,” she says, suddenly swiveling in the other direction and brushing past him. “Apologies.”

Once again, Ominis is left perplexed, and increasingly hurt. The only thing the interaction has done is given him a bigger headache, her behavior irrational in the face of Sebastian’s theory. Ominis finds himself even more convinced she hates his guts.

As if on cue, Sebastian ducks out from behind a tapestry shielding an alcove, an almost pained sort of grimace on his face.

“That was…bad.”

“Understatement of the year,” Ominis groans. “Do you see what I mean? She clearly doesn’t like me, Sebastian. All I’ve done is made a bigger fool of myself.”

“She’s nervous, Ominis. She was blushing the entire interaction. Look, maybe try being more direct? Girls like confidence! Tell her you will spend time with her and that you won’t take no for an answer.”

Ominis blinks at him. “Are you trying to get my bollocks hexed off?”

“While that would be deeply amusing, no,” Sebastian assures. “Look, she’s clearly just too shy to let herself spend time with you, that’s why she runs away. You can’t give her a way out, hell, incarcerous her if you have to.”

Ominis looks genuinely concerned for any women that have had the terrible misfortune of being the objects of Sebastian’s romantic interest. “How you’ve not found yourself in Azkaban yet amazes me.”

“Oh, shush,” he scowls before suddenly snapping his fingers, metaphorical lightbulb lighting up his face. “I’ve got it! Remember how Sharp gave her detention this weekend for sneaking ingredients for Garreth? Just muck something up tomorrow in Potions, and done! She’ll be forced to spend a whole evening with you.”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“It’s brilliant,” Sebastian grins, far too proud of himself. “Everyone knows detention is the best place to snog.”

Ominis chokes. “There will be no snogging—”

“Oh, got bigger plans in mind, have you? Ominis, you dirty little devil—”

The tips of his ears burning bright-red, Ominis pushes through the entrance doors to the Great Hall before Sebastian can get another word in, thanking Merlin she’d foregone dinner tonight.

While sprinkling some erumpent horn powder in Sharp’s cauldron during a practical demonstration was easier than he’d thought, actually having to go to detention the upcoming Saturday evening was not.

Pacing his dorm room anxiously while he counts down the hours until he has to make his way down to the Potions classroom, Ominis can’t help but be besmirched by his own stupidity at how he inevitably let Sebastian talk him into this.

Like the devil, Sebastian pokes his head through the door, not even bothering to knock. He plops himself down on one of the beds, eyeing the blonde with poorly-concealed bewilderment. “What are you so strung up for?”

“Not helping,” he glowers. “What if she runs away again?”

“Relax, would you?” Sebastian rolls his eyes, standing to walk over and muss the blonde’s hair. Ominis scowls and swats at his friend, but Sebastian is nothing if not stubborn, pulling at Ominis’ neatly folded uniform tie until it drapes messily around his neck.

“Perfect,” he grins, standing back to examine his work.

Ominis frowns, attempting with great futility to smooth his hair back into place. “I look like a delinquent.”

“How would you know?” Sebastian raises a brow. “You look great. Girls like a bit of a bad boy, you know. And after your stunt in Sharp’s class you’re certainly starting to build a reputation.”

“You were the one who told me to do it!”

“I told you to get yourself detention, not cause a minor explosion.”

Waving a wand over his wristwatch to check the time, Ominis’ pulse doubles when he realizes he has to be in Sharp’s classroom in a few minutes.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Sebastian is dragging him out the door, blabbering terrible advice as if he’s sending his friend off to a first date and not detention with a grouchy Potions master.

“—And most importantly of all, compliment her, Ominis. I know you’re not very expressive, but for the love of Merlin, tell her she looks nice,” he practically shoves the blonde through the common room door, adding a final, “have fun! Use the contraceptive charm!”

Ominis is promptly left alone in the dimly-lit corridor, a heat involuntarily rising to his cheeks, praying some greater force will strike him down before he has to humiliate himself any further.

The classroom is empty when he finally arrives a few minutes behind schedule, except for where he inevitably finds her scrubbing cauldrons in the back of the room. She tenses when he approaches, but doesn’t startle when he greets her this time. Ominis wonders if he can put it down as progress.

“Sharp asked me to tell you we’re not allowed to use magic,” she nods towards the stack of cauldrons perched on the workspace. “And, um that we’re only to bother him if someone’s bleeding, dying, or dead.”

Ominis nods, pointedly taking the space beside her and dragging one of the soot-covered cauldrons towards him to begin working.

There’s a tension between them that Ominis can’t ignore for the life of him, only the sound of scrubbing to cut through the painstaking silence. After a few unbearable moments, he clears his throat, remembering Sebastian’s advice.

“You look nice tonight,” he attempts, though his voice sounds oddly thick with nerves.

The sound of scrubbing stops. “Sorry?”

“I said you uh, you look very nice,” he attempts with more firmness, though his hands are white-knuckled around the edge of the table to stop himself from bolting from the mortification.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“What?” he asks perplexed, forgetting momentarily a crucial reason as to why the compliment would seem absurd coming from him. “Oh dear Merlin, no, no that’s not how I meant it all.”

“Very funny, Ominis,” she takes in a sharp breath, dropping the brush with a dull clatter into the cauldron before she crosses her arms and faces him, all timidness suddenly replaced by a glaring frustration in her tone. Ominis isn't sure if it's an improvement, but at least she’s talking to him. “Did Sebastian put you up to this?”

“Sebastian? What? Of course not,” he sputters, desperately trying to amend. “I— Look, I’m—I’m sorry. Can I start over? Please?”

She raises an expectant eyebrow.

“You don’t look nice,” he tries, trying to suppress the wince that washes over his features. His only consolance is that Sebastian isn’t here to witness any of it. “I’m sorry, no—that’s not—I meant, I’m sure you do look nice, not that I would…know, but,” he runs a hand over his face, certain that if she didn't hate him before, she certainly does now. “I meant, you smell very nice. That I can tell, you…you smell very lovely, actually.”

There’s a long pause where she simply stares at him before her frustration inevitably only seems to double. “Is this what you find entertaining?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re taunting me,” she seethes. “You obviously know what I feel for you and now you’re making fun of me for it, aren’t you? You’ve been doing it all week.”

“What? Salazar, no, that’s not it at all—”

“Truly hilarious,” she scoffs, shaking her head. “Very mature. Maybe try being more subtle—”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“You can stop pretending you want to hang out with me all the time now—”

“Will you listen? I’m not—”

“Next time, if you don’t feel the same way, then simply—hmpph!”

Despite the blaring alarm bells that should be going off in Ominis’ head for doing something so painfully impulsive to someone who could hex his entire bloodline in the time it takes her to take out her wand, his mind blanks out into a puddle of warmth as he crashes his lips to hers.

She freezes, mouth unmoving against his in the time it takes awareness to seep into her brain and for her to realize he’s kissing her.

To his relief, when the realization does set in, she kisses him back.

She seems to melt just as much as Ominis, her body instinctively leaning into his, hands going slack at her sides before they instinctively come to hold at his forearms where he’s cradling her face so she can’t pull away.

Ominis pulls him towards her, and then, urged on by some coiling heat inside of him he’s admittedly not too familiar with, he crowds her against the workspace. He nearly topples over several cauldrons in his franticness to deepen the kiss, muttering sheepish apologies through heavy breaths, but he’s far too consumed to feel embarrassed.

His lips on hers are clumsy and impatient, and maybe far too hungry for a first kiss, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her hands come up to thread through his hair, to drag down his scalp, and Ominis couldn’t stop the groan that leaves him if he had all the composure in the world.

He’s so far gone he doesn’t even care about all the soot they’re getting on each other, too preoccupied with trying to keep his knees from buckling, to press his body even more against hers as if it’s the greatest offense known to history that they’re not physically molded to one another. When he slots a thigh between her legs and she lets out a little noise against his mouth, he thinks he might just collapse.

Ominis skin feels hot to the touch, nerves prickling with want, with the urge to touch and taste and grind until he goes numb. She finally breaks the kiss, panting heavily against his mouth, eyes glazed over with just as much raw need. Though the loss is almost physically painful, Ominis is grateful for small mercies, because he was a few seconds away from tearing through her uniform top.

“You’re…” she swallows, trying to clear the breathlessness from her voice. “Uh, very committed to the bit, I suppose.”

Ominis can’t help the laugh that escapes him.

His shoulders shake, forehead dropping to meet hers, and when he glances back up he smiles, lips still raw and undoubtedly kiss-bruised. She returns his grin, until he can feel her smile against his mouth when he leans down to press his lips to hers again, because he simply can’t help himself.

They barely register the sound of the door to the professor’s office swinging open. Only when he clears his throat do they finally tear apart, and Ominis wonders if it’s possible to drop dead from sheer mortification.

Sharp lets out a long-suffering sigh, as if he’s accustomed to walking in on much, much worse by now and his hardly fazed.

“Just get the cauldrons clean,” he grumbles, grabbing a few texts on one of the adjacent tables. He hobbles back to the door, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. “Bloody teenagers and hormones, don’t get paid enough for this shit…”

He ducks his head out before closing the door, pointing a stern finger in their direction. “And not on my tables.”

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x mc #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #ominis x you #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis x reader #fluff #hogwarts legacy fanfic

297 notes · View notes

kii-nami · 1 month ago

Text

WHITE COMET'S DESCENT | IL CAPITANO

You never state for what reason you are holding him back, but it is already obvious. The Commander of the Khaenri’ahn army went missing with one swift strike of the starbound ice. You don’t seem to think of people as disposable yet cannot bring yourself to warm the snake’s nest willingly. Thrain shares the sentiment: he has never been a fan of holding his enemies closer than his friends. And despite your peculiar character, this is definitely something Thrain cannot fault you for. Queen [Name] Einherjar is incapable of trusting even herself. He fears that one day it can become your downfall. He accepts the position with no hesitation, yet it does not save either of you from damnation.

CW: 9K WORDS; PART TWO OF TWO; FEM!MC; MADE-UP KHAENRI'AHN LORE; OCS MENTIONED; PART OF A WIDER GENSHIN AU BY ME AND MY FRIEND; INCLUDES A NECESSARY MAVUIKA NERF; IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS FEEL FREE TO ASK, I NEED TO RANT ABOUT HOW THEY BUTCHERED NATLAN

His lady cannot die, as she buried her own mortal flesh under the Sea of Flowers at the End a very long time ago.

It takes five years of your companionship and the watchful eye of the Crimson Moon for Thrain to learn that you do not deem yourself a living being. You have died twice and twice you’ve been reborn as someone else in a corpse of the white comet long faded. And now, the rapidly evaporating ice that makes up your body is all they can ever have.

Not that they will have anything at all for much longer.

You entrusted him with Saga’s life. Ordered to accompany her, Lumine and Alice through the collapsing terrains to the closest gate that can take them up above. Whatever is in the box the witch forced him to carry, Thrain doesn’t know and does not dare ask. Not that he is able to complete his mission, as halfway through their journey Alice, startled by Skirk’s sudden appearance, orders him to immediately return to the palace. In all honesty, Thrain has no right to comply with Red Witch’s demands; your word will always weigh more especially under such circumstances. Yet something in the way their hushed, tense conversation seems to be moved more by the inconspicuous glances than the careful choice of words that makes Thrain stop questioning Alice’s choice.

Lumine departs with him, lips tightly pressed together and strained muscles stonier than usual. They never truly got to know each other, so the silence is a bit overwhelming right until the point Twilight Sword appears, barricading their path. Distraught and somehow guilty, Dainsleif tries offering his side of the story. Lumine unsheathes her sword without much of a word, just throwing a nod towards the desolate, floating island to the west of the royal palace. Then she strikes first.

Whatever happens next Thrain does not know. Those closest to you wish for someone to return to your side no matter what, and if it so happens that they can’t do so anymore, then he will become that person in their stead.

When Thrain arrives at the Einherjar family’s burial grounds, his platoon is already waiting for him. Anxious and horrified, they scurry to let him pass to the entrance of the building. The air of the royal tomb is dry yet heavy, the marble and diamond follow his every step, vacant eyes of the statues watching him pass by. You are nowhere to be found but the dull light flickering at the end of the dimly lit corridor is guiding Thrain in the right direction. He stops at the heavy doors, creaked ajar just enough for a person to barely slip in and slides it fully open.

“Princess Saga has departed safely, along with Lady Alice and the box.” Thrain enters Lady [Name]’s crypt without announcing his presence. You can hear his footsteps, for better or for worse, and he guesses there isn’t much time to abide by etiquette now that the sky is falling.

As if expecting him, you are already facing the entrance with your misty eyes gazing right through him, “I am glad.” You say, hastily turning away. “What about Lumine?”

The Bough which crowns your head looks particularly heavy when you take it off and place it on Lady [Name]’s tomb. No headpiece and no extravagant braids, no diamonds woven into your hair and no flowing silks or sheer tulles clinging to your skin. You look more like a soldier than a royal, yet something in the way your shoulders quiver under the weight of your cape prevents Thrain from forgetting that you are, in fact, a queen. His lady. Now and until the memory of this world fades away.

“The last I’ve seen of her, she deserted…” Thrain cuts himself off, picking and choosing what is better suited to say to you in this moment. Watching your hand trembling on top of the stone of the first princess’ tomb, Thrain is sure that any careless word will surely send you spiraling. “To engage in battle with the former Captain of the Royal Guard, my lady.”

He must have made the right choice for once, and you huff. “Whatever helps her sleep at night.” Unclasping your cape, you throw it mindlessly onto the marble casket and face him once more, this time focusing on Thrain instead of the horrors hiding behind his back. A second of silence. Then another. With unblinking eyes, you unapologetically stare at Thrain as if you were seeing him for the first time in your life. And when you address him at last, there is a foreboding sense of finality laced into your tone, “Commander, I wish to formally dismiss you from your duties. You and your platoon may leave this place for good.”

Thrain expected as much. It is evident in the way you sent all those dear to you away long before the ground started shaking. It’s not even a bit surprising now that everything is done you are trying to push him away as well. And Thrain is a knight first and foremost, he was taught to never question any orders and follow them with no complaints even if it is only death that waits him when it’s all over. Yet here you are, relieving Thrain of his duty so he can preserve his life. A life that is not of equal value to that of a queen. A life that to you is far more precious than that of your own self.

Hands crossed over his chest, Thrain rewrites fate of this world for the worst, “I am afraid I must decline your offer, my lady.”

It is not something Thrain says after weighing all his options, but something that happens on its own, with not much thought yet with all the urgency of the collapsing ground below your feet. Your death would mark the loss of the Plane of Fólkvangr, and with the world as he knew it no longer existing, there is no point in preserving his life if the souls in his restless heart have no place to return to.

“That is not a suggestion, that is an order, Sentinel Knight.” Your voice is firm and icy, leaving no room for arguments. “Abandon Khaenri’ah, there is no hope left here.”

Only it is not an argument, never was and never will be. Thrain is a man of honor before he is a soldier, or a knight, or even something as primitive as a simple human. Abandoning you to fight on your own means abandoning the code of honor. Abandoning his beliefs means abandoning the memories of those whose will Thrain is carrying with him wherever he goes. And you are right, people like you and him are not allowed to forget.

“I am afraid I cannot do that, my lady.” Thrain declines once more, this time more deadpan than the last.

You huff, exasperated, accusatory finger pressed against the metal armor of his chest plate, right where his heart is. “Why, of all times, it is now that you decide to be difficult with me, Thrain?”

“I have never been exceptionally easy for you to deal with, my lady.” It is not the best of ideas to prolong this conversation. The world is quaking, the crimson skies burn with celestial blight, and your game of chess has finally come to its end. You always knew something that others didn’t, and you still hold something up your sleeve even with all your cards spread on the table. And if this something is your third death, then this time around it would be not as lonely as those two that came before. “Nobody should ever die alone.”

“Nobody will die.” You snap, knuckles knocking against the metal with a thud that oddly resembles drums. “You will live to fight another day.”

Your lies, as impressive as they usually are, fall flat this time around. Thrain reaches for your hand; some lines have long been blurred enough for it to seem like the only appropriate thing to do. Even with the leather separating your skin, you are freezing. Colder than you have ever been, as doomed as the time he saw you for the first time: dripping blood and diamonds, with no future ahead of you except the one that spells your death date in the slowly fading stars.

Somewhere on the mainland an explosion convulses the realm just as he lifts the palm of your hand to press a chaste kiss on top of the black leather covering it, “I never thought you for a liar.”

“Then you have never thought of me enough.” A joke, as amusing as it could have been at any other time, is still a lie no matter what. “Please don’t make this harder for me.”

And Thrain is sure he should have thought of you a bit less than he did, it would have been more appropriate that way. It would not have gotten him here, however, so Thrain cannot regret the thoughts that crossed his mind in those long five years of knowing you.

A woman of no shortcomings, you never weep. Yet as you hesitantly lean against his chest, face once again hidden from the world you love more than life itself, Thrain can’t help but wrap his arm around your shoulders carefully. Allowing you a moment of weakness before your final endeavor of resilience may be the only thing he can offer you, but what is that if not his duty?

Your breathing is erratic, you shiver every time you hear another slab of ground collapse into abyss, yet you never shed a tear. You move away from him on your own, only when some warmth seeped into your bones, and the sorrow on your face is so unbounded, Thrain finally understands why you hide yourself so. You’ve finally given up.

“What is our next course of action?” It’s just you, Thrain and the platoon he ordered to stay back to protect you, not trusting a single person from the royal guard after the reveal of Dainsleif’s betrayal. It is nowhere near enough to protect everyone, but neither does he expect to do so. Defeat is inevitable; now it is simply the matter of how you meet your end.

You frown, still clearly apprehensive about his disobedience, yet answer anyway, “I will cleanse as much of abyssal corruption as my body can allow. Then I shall engage the demon gods. So you must leave.”

The desperation in your voice is almost enough to convince him. Were Thrain anyone else, he probably would have abided by your final wish. He isn’t, so he doesn’t. With countless souls in the crevices of his modified heart, he met death face to face more times than he can count. He isn’t afraid of dying once more, this time by your side. Maybe this way you all can reach the Plane of Fólkvangr together.

“Put your trust in me to watch your back.” Thrain wonders if anyone ever told you that you have done well with what you were given. Whether your bloodied efforts and sleepless nights were appreciated. If someone ever reminded you that there is more to life than that tall wall of ice you have built to separate yourself from this world. If so, they did a poor job. If not, then he shall be the first. “You’ve done more than enough.”

Arms limp at your sides, your mismatched eyes still begging him to leave, “What kind of queen would I be, willingly letting her people walk into a decade long plan of treachery instead of shouldering it all by herself?”

You don’t get it, but Thrain can’t truly blame you for it. He too, is used to perceiving his life as duty. For those like you and him, who are strong, it is easier to embrace the burden than let another, weaker person, carry it for you. But he wasn’t born into a lie and neither did he choose to live in it willingly, Thrain knows how to trust his people. You, despite all your efforts, never truly learned how. And that is precisely why you couldn’t see Dainsleif’s true intentions. For you never really trusted him, so you never truly knew him. And he took full advantage of it.

“The one which knew her people stood with her till the very end.” The answer is simple, and even if you think your people despise you now for letting the skies catch fire, Thrain knows it to be false. “A human one.”

“I am a weapon.” You defend your lies with teeth bared and winds raging.

“You are a woman.” Thrain’s truth is as harsh as the cold radiating off your body. “You loved him, and he betrayed you.”

Shaking diamonds of your pupils, you take a guarded step back. You must realize who he is talking about, because your manic laughter forces all the air out of your lungs until tears pool in the corners of your eyes. “Oh, how scandalous.” You muse, a teasing lull to your vowels, “You have learned all about court drama, haven’t you?”

“Only what you taught me.” And you taught him a lot, so Alice has no way to cling to his poor choice of words. Assured Gold can never hold anything against him even with his life being all but in the palm of her brilliant hand. You’ve blinded Vedrfolnir and colored Thrain just the right shade of royal grey for Surtalogi to find him unappealing. You may have dragged him into the life of danger far greater than even that of a demon god, but you have never left him to fend for himself with only the voices of the dead ringing in his ears. That alone is worth a lot more to Thrain than you could ever truly grasp. “I will stay. Whether you want it or not. That’s my duty, not as the Commander but as your trusted friend.”

“I asked you to make things easier for me, not to complicate them even more.” You sigh, heavy and breathless, then you close your eyes. When you gaze at him once more, Thrain knows things will never be the same again. “Those of us who have already escaped will see the sun; those who remained will meet their forever end under the Crimson Moon.” Whatever you decide to do next, it won’t change the outcome of the game you’re playing. Death is unavoidable. Yet as you extend your hand to him, Thrain can’t help but hope. And hope is a thing far too misleading. “Come, my friend, the nation only falls when the last of its people is dead. Khaenri’ah will live in their memories.”

The six eyes follow your every move as you step out of the crypts. Not even once do you spare the Shade of Death a glance. Head held high, you move ahead to your final resting place. And as the ground beneath his feet trembles with god-made quakes, Thrain crosses the line once more.

“What has she done?” A question so innocent in nature, it could tear the veil of sin all over again.

“Complicated things.” The crimson of celestial retribution clings to your body as if it met someone it dearly missed. You welcome it into the Blade of Fólkvangr, the sharpened edge pointed at the skies, “And I am about to exploit that.”

The horizon burns with a peculiar kind of flame Thrain has never seen before. You march there with conviction of someone who has nothing to lose. The transparent crown above your head is shimmering with the glow of a thousand stars. When he notices the protection of your unwavering will is extended to him as well, it is already too late.

It is the last time Thrain thinks of death as a punishment.

La Innamorata masks her true intentions even under the watchful eyes of those most ignorant of the truth.

A lot can change in 500 years, yet nothing can uproot your masterfully disguised sorrows. There is something hopelessly disheartening in the way Thrain, too, learns to hide the truth behind the most mundane of conversations.

Although it is only Thrain and Saga who seem to be exempt from volunteer work, recently you’ve taken a liking to forcing the Harbingers to do some meaningless manual labor.

The old man Alberich is tasked with carving some chess pieces; a pointless thing it seems to be as you never end up satisfied with the finished project. The nameless puppet, rescued from the grasp of the crazed Doctor, is forced to look after the stray cat you took in on a whim one day. Zandik himself, is exiled into his lab with a pile of your journals.

Even now Rosalyne is rearranging the bookshelves in the precise way you instructed her to; she is rightfully confused about your ever-growing collection of fairytales but never dares to complain. Peruere, the unwilling recruit in the place of late Crucabena, is trying to tend to your flowers although her success rate isn’t all that high. Artificially made they may be, yet they die as any other. Although you don’t look all that burdened by the loss of your hard work.

“They died today.” You state absentmindedly, bringing his attention from the empty flowerpots back to you. “The winter is particularly harsh this year.”

Peruere throws you a quick glance, most likely the culprit behind the wilted flowers. The girl, as much of a blank slate as she may seem, is extremely sensitive in the most disconnected of ways. A survivor of the Crimson Moon dynasty; she’s young, misguided, and extremely powerful. A combination which you favor and are not afraid to use to your advantage. She may not be young enough for you to raise into the perfect heir to your ideals, but she is old enough to understand that those who have nothing to lose are the most terrifying.

In Thain’s opinion, you seem to baby her a little too much. But then again, isn’t love both one’s strongest weapon and their greatest weakness?

“Your sorrow wilts those flowers, my friend.” He plays along, Peruere’s shoulders relax just enough for her to not be stone stiff under the pressure of failure.

“I do not weep for that which I do not yearn for.” You examine the black obsidian pawn in your hands – one of Alberich’s creations that you deemed not suitable enough – and finally finish setting up the board. “And I am not particularly attached to windwheel asters, Thrain.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it, [Name].” Thrain takes it as his cue to make a move, carefully taking the white marble piece in his hand. “What happened in Natlan that made you return empty-handed?”

From the other side of your office, Rosalyne is watching your reflection in the mirror. For as long as Thrain knew her, she was always a fan of gossip. Something like this definitely caught her eye, and despite it not being an official discussion meant for her to hear, you indulge her in it. Something tells Thrain that you pity the woman. Something, if true, won’t surprise him one bit. Considering she became what she is now as a direct cause of Teyvat’s meddling with Khaenri’ahn practices long abandoned even by those strong enough to withstand them, you must feel responsible for her in a way. Which always spells trouble.

If you aren’t careful, your soft spot for humanity might just be the end of you. It was once. It will happen again.

As if proving his point, you give Thrain a pointed look. “We are better than those who took our home away from us.”

Or what would have been a pointed look if he could actually see your face at all. No diamonds or tulles, just ancient moon's remnants and the divine nail rabble melted together into a mask you almost never take off. Not that Thrain himself is any different. Ronova’s wrath latched onto the two of you for reasons he can never dare bring up. What is the point of rubbing salt on the wounds most tender?

“I am well aware.” The words come out a little more deadpan than he intended, you pretend like you don’t notice. “That doesn’t explain your oppressive melancholy.” Rosalyne’s skeptical brow is hard to miss, but she cannot see you the way Thrain does. And it’s only natural for humanity to question what they don’t understand. “Does her way of dealing with this hinder your plans?”

You sigh, a little hopelessness lingering in your breath. “She is a good woman, Thrain.”

Despite it being your words, Thrain doubts the validity of such claims, even if he never truly met the Lady of Fire. He, however, witnessed the scorched inteyvat fields and the utter devastation of Natlan’s terrain, completely abandoned by its human god in favor of committing pointless act of genocide. A good soldier should never question orders, a better one would never lift a weapon against those who cannot protect themselves. All in the matter of perspective, yet you never truly tried to convince each other to change your mind.

“Your unconditional love for humanity utterly blinds you.” Thrain indulges in a bad habit of reminding you of your flaws. Things that pose a clear distinction between the divine weapon you wish to be and the stubborn human that you are. It’s just as entertaining as it is necessary, and if nobody else wishes to extend such kindness, then Thrain shall be the first to do so. “Not that you can see much as is.”

You huff, half annoyed and half amused, “I liked you more when you remained tongue-tied and lost around me.”

“You mustn’t lie.” He chastises you. “Peruere might think it’s okay to be dishonest.” At the mention of her name the girl – long abandoned the flowers in favor of the terrarium full of poisonous spiders – lifts her head to look over her shoulder at you.

“She already does.” You counter with a light smile tugging on the corners of your lips. “Let that child breathe.”

“Will you answer me, or should I pry it out of you again?” The scandalized expression on usually stony face of Rosalyne is almost as delightful as the day you received those from the royal maids in the palace. If only it were that simple even now.

A tired shake of your head and strain to your jaw, you finally speak, “Their ley lines are in a terrible shape, way worse than we initially thought.”

Not seeing anything of worth to observe, Peruere returns to her spiders. With no more gossip for her to feed on, Rosalyne resumes her task. Thrain knows better than to remain on the surface level. You must have found no alternatives to whatever it was you were looking in the ley lines, and with his own journeys proving fruitless, you have finally exhausted your options. You never grieve that which you do not hold close to your heart. Yet somehow it doesn’t pacify his worries. How heart-wrenching it must be, discarding such a burdensome task on someone else’s shoulders just to give everything up to a gamble with fate in the process.

“This makes them easy to access, although there is no way for an ordinary human to restore them naturally unless a divine miracle occurs...” The directions are clear, and the confirmation is there even when it is not. The game ends with a checkmate. Your obsidian king cornered with no way of recovering, just like you planned it to. Natlan must be truly following Khaenri’ah into abyss. “Not that we need to worry about it right now.” The pieces rearrange themselves; the game begins anew. “There are more pressing matters on our board, my dear friend.”

“Which is?” A foolish question. One that can move mountains in its wake.

“We are about to enter the era of change.” You smile, replacing the bishop to king’s left with a shining golden piece. “In ten years’ time, the fourth descender will awaken.”

A divine miracle indeed. Yet not the one you are looking for.

[Name] Einherjar is the embodiment of humanity’s will to transcend the limits of this world.

You are not a particularly sociable person but when it’s beneficial for you, you have a way of making people trust you. Thrain doesn’t know much about your history with Haborym, but she seems to believe that you will help her out free of charge. Something that is simply impossible. Being born into a thousand-year-old deception made a liar out of you, Thrain needs to accept it eventually. And he did so a long time ago, only hoping you haven’t been too dishonest with him. Not everyone has as much insight on the inner workings of your mind however, so they tend to trust your lies as if they were the only truth they’ve ever known.

“I don’t usually question your decisions, especially considering stuff like this, but we do not have much time.” Xilonen’s ears twitch, tail swaying impatiently behind her. “She won’t be quick enough to install the barrier. Even with the Waypoints it takes ages, Mavuika.” Albeit not to such a dire extent, she too, just like you, is distrustful of everything. In a way it’s a good thing, especially for the people of Natlan. Right now, however, there is simply no time for doubt.

Opposite of her companion, Mavuika believes you a little bit too much, “Trust her.”

Once again, a frown crosses Xilonen’s face, “You can’t blame me for being apprehensive. She’s a fatua–”

Mavuika interrupts her before Xilonen can finish her sentence, “Do you trust me?”

With a heavy sigh of defeat, Xilonen gives up her pointless fight, “Yes, Mavuika. I do.”

The Lady of Fire sees it too, somehow pleased to win this stubbornness contest, “Then continue with your tasks as planned.”

Despite it being a proper waste of time and breath, this conversation served as a good distraction from the fact that Xilonen’s doubts, in fact, had merit. Thrain trusts you because he knows you and what you are capable of. Mavuika’s convictions stand on shaky ground at best, yet even with sky corrupted by the tumor of abyss, she still believes you will carry out your self-imposed task as planned.

“It is never a matter of time but of human will.” Thrain reminds it to himself more than he intends to explain it to the rest of the group. “We shall aid you as promised but you must trust her.”

Xilonen’s frown deepens even more, a little sliver of disgust clinging to the corners of her mouth, “I never asked for your opinion, Harbinger. You–” her rant is put on hold by another earthquake, and she lifts her head to the sky where the swirling depth of abyss is looming over the horizon. Only Xilonen doesn’t find what she expects to, “What in Xbalanque’s name is she doing?!”

The ground trembles with each step you take closer to Gosoythoth, until you stand face to face with the imposing abyssal eye. As if imagined the quaking stops, you look over your shoulder and though Thrain knows you cannot see them from all the way up, it still seems like you do. Or at the very least you can hear him.

“Don’t worry about me.” Your voice is a distant echo that only those under your protection can hear. Then you turn away, outstretched hand itching closer to the tumor until almost all of your arm is swallowed by the dark blue matter. “Carry on as planned.”

Despite his better judgment and more out of habit than necessity, Thrain nods, and goes on to relay the message, “She said to proceed.” As skeptical as always, Xilonen purses her lips in contemplation. “I shall depart at once. Lady Brighella should be at her assigned location already. Despite what you think of us Fatui, we do not wish ill upon you. At the very least not us. I cannot speak for the likes of the Doctor.”

Leaving no room for arguments, Thrain leaves to continue the fight that does not belong to him but to those who he’s carrying in his heart. Not long after, the sun of Mavuika’s doing lights up the sky and casts a blinding glow upon the people with a promise of protection. You stand, still and unwavering, even when the abyssal corruption starts to slowly creep up your arm and latch itself into the rest of your body. Whatever you want to do, Thrain doesn’t know. Sometimes even he is left in the dark about your schemes.

In a way, it’s better for you to be up there than on the ground. The battle is too reminiscent of the fall. Thoughts clouded, spirit restless, there is way more at stake right now than when it was just the two of you and your almost failed trick to turn the tables on divinity. Now it’s countless souls in his heart and the lives lost before his eyes; the past not lived, and the future not yet dreamt. The mark of the sun brightens; for the first time in a long while Thrain catches himself on the thought of treacherous doubt. The favor of your will may be unmoving yet purifying abyssal corruption has always weakened you more than you dare admit. This loss might spell the end of all things as he knew them.

“[Name], you must get down at once.” A whisper that may be lost along the wind, but it is enough for you to hear. The battle seems to put itself on hold for a moment. Even the creatures of abyssal mimicry freeze in place, watching the sky as it readies itself for the third death of the white comet.

“Just a little more.” Desperation never truly suited you, but Thrain knew more of you than to think of you as anything other than shamelessly desperate. “Just a second more.” Even Mavuika’s warnings of an upcoming attack on Gosoythoth are lost on you as well. “This body matters not, so fire at will.”

Traveler – the descender you have waited so long for, is searching for a way to change your mind. There is none. Not when it’s your whose will they’re trying to shake. Your voice is deafening in the silence brought by death. It’s clearer than it has ever been, even back home where you were the strongest. So much so, that even those who cannot possibly hear you cover their ears.

Mavuika must have heard you too, as the glow of fire blinds his vision. Her trust in you to survive this is misplaced, Thrain decides then. He is not the one to doubt your ambition, but Thrain is sure to question Ronova’s hatred. What is stopping her from tricking you into complacency just to remove you from the equation? Not much, yet your love for humanity is not a learned trait but the one you inherited with your mother’s blood. So should he trust the one who cursed you all to care?

“With my own two hands I shall carve the new dawn of humanity…” Your breath stutters as the sky cracks open. “And let your light awaken the destiny of your own forging…”

It’s quiet as the flames slowly die out, only to reveal the shattered plates of the fake sky. You are nowhere in sight; the only visible thing is the corpse of the moon scattered around behind the firmament. To his relief, your blessing is still hanging over his head, so Thrain dares not lose hope.

White noise in his ears, your heavy breathing is rippling at the edges of his mind with the drums of someone’s erratic heartbeat. Mavuika is hesitant to descend from her spot, the residue flames flickering as she carefully approaches the breach to glance inside the vastness of that which is forbidden. She never gets a chance to gaze upon the darkness beyond the false sky, the glow of starlight almost blinding her completely. Thrain watches the woman turn away suddenly, hiding her face in the crook of her elbow until the radiance subsides enough to not burn her eyes.

“To transcend the limits and descend upon this world with the power of my own will…” Everywhere, all at once, your voice is the sea engulfing the manmade cities of days long gone. “Mo–”

Shaken, the Lady of Fire extends her hand for you to take, you never get the chance to do so. The crown above your head is flickering in and out of existence; a small step in her direction, you fail to find the foothold in thin air. Something dimly glowing all around you, you tumble to the ground with the trail of shimmering ice following your descent. Without hesitation, Haborym abandons everything to catch you.

Whatever happens next is undetermined. But against all odds, the white comet was reborn once more.

His dear friend drowns in guilt like in the sea of stars.

Drop by drop, it sinks you deeper to the bottom. Yet with lungs full of shimmering moonlight water, you stand your ground. Ronova doesn’t appear to appreciate your efforts. She didn’t enjoy your wits 500 years ago and she definitely doesn’t enjoy the irony right now as well. It must sting, the idea of being outsmarted by someone so insignificant. So much so, in fact, that she casts her gaze at you the moment she finds nothing else to say to refuse Yohualtecuhtin’s decision to continue serving humanity even in the wake of destruction.

“The wayward daughter of flowers, what have you schemed this time?” Her fury quakes the ruins of Ochkanatlan, the descender’s worried eyes never leaving you all the while.

With your back turned to him, Thrain cannot tell your expression, yet something in your voice is painting a particularly smug curve of your lips, “Are you telling me all those eyes of yours are for naught?”

The Shade of Death still doesn’t get the humor. “Do not be smart with me, child.” Or maybe she is still coming to terms with the fact that for the third time in her long, pathetically restricted life, she has been outsmarted by a mere human. And two of those are your doing.

“I am always smart, not just when you’re around.” You wave her off in a manner that has Haborym questioning your sanity. Evident by the light flickering in her dull eyes for the first time since she and the Traveler returned from the Night Kingdom. It seems walking out of this with her life intact was not enough to return her will to fight, but your reckless distaste of divinity is just barely enough to ignite a spark. “Your eyesight must truly be losing its sharpness, Ronova.” You point at your mask, the dull thumping of leather against metal resonates through the ruins. “Don’t you remember when I said that with these very hands of mine, I shall forge humanity’s new destiny?”

Your cleverness is lost on the ruler of death, her omniscient gaze seemingly closer than it was before your shameless provocations, “Your will is as weak as that of an ant.”

Arms crossed over your chest, you let out a humorless chuckle, “You underestimate the evolution of human spirit, Shining Shade of Death.”

“Have you any shame, child?” Scandalized sneer may not be visible to the human eye, but even in this form Thrain could clearly picture the appalled expression on Ronova’s face.

“No.” Deadpan and straight to the point, you turn your back on the divine which abandoned you first. “I have no right to interfere with the expression of human will. Especially right now.”

“As defiant as always.” The ground shakes. The crimson skies almost seem like they’re bleeding. “And to think immortality taught you absolutely nothing.”

Ronova acts like that curse she placed upon his people was closer to Celestia’s gracious blessing than the greatest punishment for the betrayal which most were not aware of. Divinity was always a little bit delusional, and despite his disdain for the Shade of Death, Thrain almost pities her entire existence. Immortal and shackled, she is forever forced to watch over the rules of the world she despises.

This freedom to choose your own fate must fill her entire being with envy. And what is the best way to deal with something that you can never possess, if not take it away from those who are lucky enough to have it? And what is a greater punishment than having all the time in the world, yet not being able to do anything with it? Thrain can’t think of any. Neither can Ronova, herself.

“Do what you must, Yohualtecuhtin.” Not quite resigning, Ronova gives up her fight. Cornered with by her own rules and with no loopholes to use against you and him, she must endure yet another triumph of humanity over the laws of the gods. “This world is of no interest to me now.”

She lingers. Looming and unwanted, watching his every move. Even when Thrain gets down on one knee before you, hand over his heart, the feeling of Ronova’s many eyes watching his back never leaves. You are stiff, rigid fingers gripping your own forearms as if you are trying your best to keep yourself anchored in this dream. Even right now, Thrain cannot see your face. It’s truly a shame, he almost forgot what your eyes look like. If only the memories of you and him from 500 years ago were as fresh as the last moments of those who died yesterday.

“May I request to be relieved of my duty, Your Majesty?” It’s simply an obligation. A necessary pleasantry to sell the centuries old lie, yet Thrain is almost taken aback by how his own voice is laced with the bittersweet finality of a last meeting between… whoever the two of you are.

“You may.” You nod, looking straight ahead and never at him. “You’ve done well, Commander. May inteyvat guide you.”

“It has, and it will.” Thrain can admit that you were right, in a sense. Despite never making it easy for you, he sure knew how to complicate things when it mattered the most. “Farewell, my lady.”

You say nothing. Just step away and stare at the void of death while it stares back at you. Until the glaciers cover the ruins and the glow of the stars dies completely, with only the crimson of sin clinging to the tips of your fingers. Until the omnipresent daze of death leaves this doomed world to never witness it go up in flames but to return to its last embers flickering in the dark. Until the one whose will can rival the world grazes your mortal flesh and it falls apart under his careful touch.

The brightest morning star calls out to you in the most tender of ways. Hand on your shoulder, he is ignored in lieu of your unwavering devotion to the void. The long-lived shaman, Citlali, shakes her head in some sort of almost-disappointment and insists on leaving you be. It’s for the better if they do, yet Traveler’s hesitation to abandon you in the height of your most bitter loneliness makes him unwilling to walk away. Ororon, always the outsider even in his own domain, advises Traveler to listen in his usual politely shameless fashion; yet when his words change nothing, the young man hastily hides behind Citlali, his hood tugged over his eyes.

It’s admirable in a way, Traveler’s devotion to those he deems his friends. Yet sometimes the worst thing one can do is to meddle with matters they cannot resolve. Even Mavuika sees it, tugging the golden-haired heir away from you. He is almost ready to give up when you finally break your silence. All eyes on you, you finally abandon the void to let it fester on its own.

“Have I ever told you how much I love humanity?” You ask.

“500 years ago. You did.” Mavuika’s brows furrow, wandering gaze searching for something she will never find. “What is this about?”

“Our will to strive forward in this never-ending dream is truly the most precious thing.” You continue, disregarding her question. Human or not, you never planned on answering any, and thus you are not about to start. Be it Furina, or Mavuika, or even Bronya herself who questions you. “That’s why I admire you, Mavuika. The power of human will is shining especially bright in you.” The Lady of Fire doesn’t get it, even from his temporary realm of the evernight, Thrain still understands you more than most. “That being said, even if life slumbers peacefully with the knowledge that it will eventually wake up and face reality, some get complacent. You, too, are not exempt from delusions of grandeur. I guess it just proves how human you truly are. Makes it all the harder for me to stay rational.”

“What are you talking about?” A careful step back. A guarded one as well, Mavuika may not truly comprehend it, but her body reacts to danger before she can even force it to. “[Name]?”

You move forwards, the crimson pools under your feet in the shade of alchemical Rubedo. The one which served the heavens yet the one which was never truly the final stage of the magnum opus Khaenri’ah was always striving for. Discarded for the golden glow of Citrinitas, Rhinedottir tried to replicate the power of the unrivaled will, yet even with half of your soul ripped away from your body and forced upon Thrain’s unsuspecting heart, she still failed to do so, leaving only mayhem of stardust in her wake.

And now that the omniscient is finally blinded by its own prison of light; now that the Blade of Fólkvangr can never cut through time and space ever again; now that you’ve given it all up for Thrain to return it to the ley lines, weakened enough to be successfully tempered with; now that everything of true value is guarded by Thrain’s own ambition and Yohualtecuhtin’s devotion to serving humanity, nothing that remains in this world can stop the crimson moon from engulfing your body in all-corrupting flame. And so, your flesh is forever swallowed by the eclipse’s shade, awaiting the day the white comet dies for the fourth time.

“Haborym.” The pleasantries are no more. Humanity is done negotiating with the gods, and no compromise can be accomplished. “It was truly a miracle that you walked out of this with your life intact. Yet while you get to save your life and your people future, I have lost one of my most trusted men.”

You’ve lost way more than just one man. The freezing cold of the glowing stars abandoned you once and for all; there is no way for you to return to how things used to be. From this moment onwards the Plane of Fólkvangr can never exist again. All of homeland’s memory is gone, sacrificed for the dream of the future that is yet to be dreamt and what is left of it in Thrain’s heart must find solace in the afterlife of the foreign land. Mavuika does not know this, she can never know this. And this alone makes the exchange as unfair as the contract between mortals and the divine.

“The exchange is nowhere near being fair,” Despite your efforts with Gosoythoth proving fruitful, you cannot hear him now that Thrain abandoned his eternal life in a pursuit of the favor of the dead, but it still feels like you do. “And no good deed ever goes unpunished.”

“Fatui always collect their debts.” Mavuika agrees solemnly, yet she’s quick to refuse you, “I’m sorry, unless you wish to duel me in the arena, I don't think I can give you what you wish for.”

“I fear you are mistaken, Kiongozi Mavuika.” Names have power. Titles mean nothing except the ink spilled carelessly over the parchment. The crimson seeps from your tear ducts, running down your cheeks in such potency it almost seems black. It drips on the white silks of your blouse, soaking in and spreading all over the fabric like blood stains. “I don't blame you. Being a human occupying a heavenly throne, you forget where you stand. Yohualtecuhtin did not lie. God or not, your life is meaningless in the grand scheme of things. It is not with your own efforts that you won, but with the unshakable will standing by your side.”

Betrayal flickers in Mavuika’s eyes. History tends to run in cycles, and it is only natural for the betrayed to deceive the one who trusts them the most, “After all we’ve been through together, you're threatening me?”

“Just because my subordinate is a righteous person, it does not make me one.” You state, the crimson smeared over your skin seems to spread all around you like a contagious disease.

All unyielding flames, the Lady of Fire steels her resolve, “If we were to fight, you would lose your life.”

“Ego the size of the sun. It suits you, Haborym.” One step forward, two steps back. Traveler, apprehensive and cautious, reaches for his blade. Old and weathered, that thing is still sharp only due to his will. Hesitant to use it against you, Traveler is still weighing all his possibilities. The choice, however, has never been his even when he makes up his mind to interfere. Firm grip on Traveler’s cape, Ororon tugs him back to where Citlali is waiting. The woman, disheartened and oddly silent, simply shakes her head.

Mavuika, for all of her talk, still refuses to draw her weapon against you. Crimson is the stone all around you, crimson is the sky above your heads, bleeding is the heart that cannot ever find peace. Your feet never truly touch the ground when you move, and when you stop at the precipice, the crimson slates pave you a path right into the void. The fall is inevitable, but so is the descent.

You ask, the crimson pathway under the two of you shifts and morphs into a staircase. Finally, eye to eye with your first betrayal, you remove the mask from your face. It slips from your grasp, and you let it fall to the ground, to remain forever lost in the city which became its own grave. Mavuika’s face contorts into a pained expression yet never once does she divert her gaze. Deluded and delusional, she remains a faithful friend even in the wake of a collapsing world.

With the only truth you are willing to grant Mavuika no longer being yours alone, you lean down to whisper in her ear, “What can a human god do against a divine weapon?”

You move away before she can do it for you, although her hand catches yours before you can put any more distance between the two of you. “I truly pity you, [Name].”

“You shouldn't waste your sorrows on the likes of me.” You mutter, letting her intertwine your fingers together. A second, maybe more. When Mavuika lets you go, you are uncharacteristically hesitant to walk away. “Thank you. And please don't hold it against him and do not condemn yourself for your weakness. You are only human, and he knew nothing of my schemes. It would have been too exhausting to explain a plan dating 500 years back.”

Held up in the air only by your own will, the Lady of Fire lifts her head to the sky, “Ronova, she called you–” A stutter to her breath, you do not let her ask any questions. The crimson of Khaenri’ahn sins stains the golden brown of Mavuika’s skin. You wipe it carefully with your own sleeve until it’s gone as if it never existed.

“Natlan will be safer without it, Mavuika.” Your hands drop limply by your sides; the crimson morphs once more and you leave her standing there alone amidst the bloodied sea of wilted inteyvat flowers. “Besides, I am not the only one pulling strings from the shadows. Right, Aether?”

At the mention of his true name, the golden-haired traveler almost falls over the edge. Whoever you are talking about, he most likely understands it very well but all his desire to know more is cut at the root by a steady hand on his shoulder. Mavuika, casting one final glance your way, heads for the stairs that will take her down and away from the ruins of Ochkanatlan. With no choice but to follow, Traveler decides to ask you about it another time, not knowing that there won’t ever be one.

The crimson turns to stone, it cracks and breaks, and the harsh winds carry the dust away from the Throne of the Primal Fire. The silks are still soaked, and your cheeks are still wet when you drop yourself on the top of the stairs, right next to the throne which will serve as Thrain’s temporary resting place. His mind and soul may be disconnected from the mortal flesh, yet the phantom bite of chill grazes him still when you lean your head against his knee.

“I wonder if you still think me human even now, or have you given up on me at last…” Your whisper should be lost in the void, yet it still reaches its destination.

Cradled in the palm of your hand is the pyro gnosis. The corpse sizzles, glowing and warm, awaiting with bated breath the moment you deliver it to Bronya’s chess board where it finally reunites with the rest of its body. Only Thrain knows better than to believe it will ever leave your possession.

[Name] Einherjar trusts no one, not even herself. So when the other six parts of the corpse appear from the thin air, circling your palm with a magnetic pull that forces the pieces apart, Thrain is not even a bit shaken. You drop them to the ground too carelessly for something you so painstakingly hunted all this time, mismatched eyes forever scarred by abyss refusing to look at the remains any more than necessary.

“If I were a better person, I would’ve found another solution. I am not, so here we are.” Voice strained with emotion, your lashes drip with starlight. You do not weep for that which you do not yearn for, yet with the way tears dilute the crimson staining the skin of your face, it is hard for a heart to not ache in return. “But aren’t you proud of me, Thrain? For finally relying on someone else? It only took me 500 or so odd years…”

Swallowing harshly, you wipe your face clean with the same sleeve you cleansed the baleful blood from Mavuika and dart to your feet. Knee perched on the throne and one hand on his shoulder, you lift the helmet and place it carefully next to your feet. Then you lean down impossibly close. So close, one would be able to feel the warmth of breath on their skin. Neither of you is truly breathing, however, so the only thing that retains any warmth is the palm of your hand in which you held the pyro gnosis.

“You’ve waited a long while for me, so take your time. All the time you need. It’s my turn to wait.” Ear pressed right over his heart, you hear nothing. No heartbeat and no echoes, the void is the only thing that remains constant. “And when it’s over, I will welcome you back into the remnants of the old world with open arms.” Somehow the knowledge of this being just a beginning does not quench your misery, in turn, your tears grow only stronger. “But I am sure you know that already. You were always good at seeing me…”

The wind picks up again. The ashes and dust floating in the air serve as a reminder that the Thousand Winds of Time follow your every endeavor with a blessing which Death would never grant you. You shiver, the stained fabric of your glove slides off your hand with ease. Winds pick it up and carry it somewhere far away and you will never go searching for it. Your fingers swipe along the surface of your bottom lip, and then you do the same for him, fleeting touch yearning to linger for more than allowed. The phantom cold has never felt more like home than in that moment.

You distance yourself with a bitter chuckle, stained sleeve covering your face from the world, “How scandalous, some court ladies would have been devastated…”

Thrain is sure it would have been the case, yet there is no way of proving you right by causing outrage in the royal court of your memories. Fate was cruel, and it continues to prove to be the worst kind of tyrant even when you rebel against it.

“I’ve always–” You interrupt yourself, shaking your head to remove whatever improper thoughts crossed your mind. As if it could get any more inappropriate. “Never mind. It can wait for when I see you again.” Then you place the helmet back and gather the scattered gnoses, hiding them back in the Blade of Fólkvangr for safekeeping. “Till we meet again under the kinder moon, my heart and I.”

Thrain is aware this is your final farewell. You turn around and vanish to never come back to him despite your tear-stricken promise. His beloved is a distrustful liar, and when he sees you at last, you are a white comet descending upon the flaming remains of this old world. Burning bright to unite humanity in hatred just to die by the Holy Blade through your chest and the nails through your limbs.

This new world better be worth living with your blood staining his hands.

Thrain will decide when he gets there. For now, the white comet smiles just as beautifully as the day he lost her.

#genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #capitano x reader #capitano x you

45 notes · View notes

ellewritesalright · 1 year ago

Text

Second Best - Part 2

Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Part 1 --- Masterlist --- Part 3

A/N: Started at school again so updates will probably be even more infrequent now. Once again, I hope this part is coherent enough :) also, I gave the mc reader a last name :)

Synopsis: When you were a child, the Lantsov king and queen arranged for their second son to marry you, a rich Ravkan noble family's only daughter. After many years, after all the destruction of the war, and after Nikolai was crowned king, Nikolai breaks off the engagement. But the complications of your past and your strict parents make it a nightmare to find a new fiance, so Nikolai promises to help you, yet he slowly realizes the mistake he's made.

Warnings: strict and mean parents, very slight self-image issues because of said parents, mentions of illness and death, me not knowing how to write sciencey things, kinda confusing and purposefully ambiguous details that will be important later in the story (bear with me please)

Word Count: 1840

..........

The day after the king visited, a letter addressed to you arrived at the Antonov house in Os Alta. You never got letters.

You grew up in the isolated countryside, surrounded by acres and acres of land and a household of servants who were under strict orders not to speak with you. When you were five, the only friend you had died during a small outbreak of pox, which was around the same time your parents started to restrict who came near your estate. Because of this, no one back in the countryside would be writing to you. Perhaps an old school friend sent you a rare letter, though they wouldn’t have the address for the city house, only the country estate.

There was no reason for a letter to arrive addressed to you. So when the butler handed you the letter at the breakfast table, your mother gasped and plucked it out of your hand before you could even open it.

Her eyes narrowed on the wax seal. "It's the double eagles."

"What does the puppy prince want now?" Your father looked over his morning paper, vaguely interested in the contents of the letter as he sipped at his morning tea.

"He's the king, father," you quietly chided. He just waved you off.

Your mother cracked open the seal and started reading. You wanted to grab it back from her--seeing as it was your letter--but you merely stood from your seat and hurried to her side of the table so you could read over her shoulder.

"He was serious about helping her find a new fiance," your mother said as she read.

You glanced at the first few lines, confirming her information. Then she gasped and set down the letter. You craned over her shoulder to understand what had scandalized her.

I wish to discuss what exactly you are looking for and to get to know you better before I help you find a match. As such, I would like you to have tea and luncheon with me in the Grand Palace on Saturday at noon. But only you--I do not wish to hear your parents’ talking.

"He's invited her to the palace. Alone."

Your father set down his cup. His eyes flitted up to you.

Your mother tsked, looking at him. "She can't go. She'll ruin us if she goes. She'll let it slip, I just know she will."

"I won't tell him." You swore, eyes pleading with your father. "You know I won't."

"Look at her, she'll crumble and tell him everything," your mother said, her face tensing up as she glared at you.

He paused in consideration, crossing his arms. You stepped closer to him.

"Father," you said calmly. "It's my reputation on the line as much as it is the family's. I won't tell him or anyone else for that matter."

He scrutinized your eyes a moment longer, then he returned his attention to his newspaper. "You can go. But be back by two o'clock. No later."

Your mother sat up in her seat, seeming like she wanted to say something, but a glance from your father made her think twice. You grabbed your letter and envelope from in front of her and waltzed back to your place at the table. You quickly hugged your father's shoulders on the way to your seat.

……….

The last time you were at the Grand Palace, you were twelve and terrified. Your spine was as stiff as granite as Lord and Lady Antonov guided you into the throne room. You'd been lectured from this way to that as you got ready that day all those years back.

"Keep your hands folded, and your mouth shut," your mother said as she fussed over your hair that morning. "Don't give yourself away by speaking commonly, girl. Be a proper lady."

You could still remember how her hands threateningly tightened in your hair as she started to braid it.

"The saints will pity you if you are not believed, daughter, but they will pity you more for what I will do to you if the royal family sees through you."

That was many years ago. But despite how the time had ticked, despite how you had grown and gone across the sea and back since then, you still felt like a nervous kid as you stood in the Grand Palace.

You stared at a painting in the palace's main drawing room. It was just a study of a vase packed with flowers, yet your eyes eagerly traced the purple petals and green leaves. You tried to imagine painting such a thing, although you’d never had an iota of artistic ability. You were only desperate to distract yourself from your impending meeting.

Suddenly the doors to the drawing room opened and Nikolai stepped inside.

"My apologies for being late. I was in the Fabrikator lab and there was a small crisis to be dealt with." He gave a suave smile. "Fire's out now, though."

"You started a fire?" You raised a brow.

His nose scrunched as he chuckled, "Well, not intentionally. Please, sit."

You smiled and sat down on one of the couches. Nikolai sat across from you, pouring two cups of tea.

"Sugar? Milk?" He asked as his hands hovered over the tea tray.

"Three sugars and a splash of milk, please," you replied.

"You like your tea sweet, then?" He glanced at you, making your eyes flit down to your lap.

"I didn't have many sweets growing up. Tea was always the one place I could get away with adding as much sugar as I wanted. And now my taste for tea is permanently skewed sweeter than everyone else I know."

"Nonsense," he smirked as he handed you your teacup and saucer, "everyone else's tastes are just too bitter and boring. Personally, I go for one sugar and as much milk as will fit before overflowing. But truth be told, I much prefer coffee to tea."

"Me too," you smiled a bit. A thought came to you, and you spoke, "There was this coffee shop at the university of Ketterdam that served the best coffee. It was sweet and light all while keeping a rich flavor; I still don’t know how they accomplished that."

Nikolai sighed contently as if imagining the taste of what you've described. "Yes, Kerch coffee is leagues ahead of what we make here in Ravka, isn't it?"

"Must be the high demand of all their bankers and businesspeople," you remarked, making Nikolai chuckle softly.

"Must be."

The conversation lulled for a moment, and you noticed a bit of ash on Nikolai's otherwise pristine jacket cuff.

"So… that fire that you didn't start intentionally?" You inquired with a light tone.

He scrunched his nose again. "Yes?"

"Were you looking at some Fabrikator invention in their lab when you accidentally made it catch fire?"

"No, actually," he chuckled. "The Fabrikators were helping me work on an idea I had for a thermal converter, something that could be implemented throughout Ravkan homes to help heat houses in the winter.”

“That’s an admirable invention.” You furrowed your brow and paused for a moment. “Would it work independently of a fireplace?”

“No, it would work in tandem,” He explained. “There would be pipes connected to the fireplace that would then run along the house either on the walls or beneath the floorboards.”

“Tungsten pipes?”

“Yes. Tungsten or–”

“Nickel.”

He blinked at you. “Exactly. How did you know that?”

“I studied advanced physics at the University; we had engineering classes where we had to design and build different inventions. I designed a motorized plough but the machinations kept burning through the metals so I needed to find the best metals. In my research I found that Nickel and tungsten have high melting points. Ergo, nickel and tungsten can withstand the heat of your pipes.”

He watched you for a moment, smiling. You watched back.

Men are frightened by smart women. Your mother’s words echoed in your mind.

But Nikolai wasn’t frightened. He wasn’t put off by your intellect. He sat there smiling at you for a second longer, then he set down his teacup and leaned forward in his seat.

“Two things,” he said with a bright glint in his eye. “One: did that machinated plough of yours work?”

You nodded. “Quite well, actually. I've tried to get my father to implement it on our estate and in our region’s farms, but he’s reluctant. He thinks it’s a fool’s tool.”

“Well Lord Antonov must be wrong. I can’t imagine anything you make would be worthy of such low-esteem. If you still have the designs, I would love to share them with the Fabrikators.”

You smiled. “I have the designs.”

“Excellent.”

Again, he watched you for a second, a light expression on his face.

“What was the second thing?” you asked.

“Oh, yes,” he grinned. “Two: would you like to come see the Fabrikator workshop?”

"Absolutely." You grinned back.

……….

The workshop was its own slice of heaven. All the machinery and pending inventions called to you as Nikolai and the Fabrikators gave you a tour. You could have stayed in the workshop for hours on end, but it was nearing two o'clock, and your parents would be livid if you weren't home by then.

Nikolai walked you back through the Grand Palace to where your carriage would be waiting for you.

"We never discussed my offer of assistance, did we?" He spoke as the pair of you walked through the main entry hall.

"I suppose we got a bit distracted," you smiled guiltily.

"Shame on us," he said with a lopsided grin. You reached the front doors and two servants opened them. Nikolai stopped in the doorway and turned to you. "So, you will accept my offer?"

"To help me find a fiance?" You asked softly.

"Yes."

You glanced over at the waiting carriage. Then your eyes found his again. "Yes. I'm sure you will find a better match than my mother will. She's already written to every eligible suitor that I am back on the market."

He let out a soft laugh. "Saints, that woman works fast."

"Tell me about it," you grumbled.

He stepped towards your carriage and held his arm out for you. You took his arm and his help into your carriage.

"Thank you," you smiled gently at him from the open window. "For everything."

He shrugged. "Of course."

"Truly, I am grateful that you are doing this. Saints know what sort of person my mother would force a match with. I have faith that you will offer me options with real merit."

He gave a small laugh. "High praise."

"I'm just being honest."

"I know," he nodded as he looked up at you.

His eyes were so intent on yours. A hazel colour was so perfectly spun in his irises, and his stare felt warmer than any you'd ever seen before.

"I'll send you a list soon enough," he smiled at you. His eyes lingered for another moment, then he backed away from the carriage. "Goodbye for now, my lady."

Your chauffeur rode off, and you watched the Grand Palace slowly shrink away.

..........

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment if you want to read more, I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in the other parts of this series or to be added to the Nikolai taglist please comment on this part or send me an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Masterlist

Part 3

Taglist:

@xceafh @rhaenyrakryze @thecrowsgambit @nghtwngs @hauntedenthusiasttragedy @stuffyownswrld @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @angie-likes-to-read @take-me-to-ny @historianthesecond

Nikolai Taglist:

@sweet0pia-uwu @notoakay @naushtheaspiringauthor @liter4ti @marchingicenotes7 @eyeofthestorm

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov x you #grishaverse fanfic #nikolai lantsov fic #second best

200 notes · View notes