#this thing is riddled with holes if you stare at it too long | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cozage · 2 years ago

Note

Zoro, Sanji, Luffy, Law, and Ace with fem S/O with healing water powers. The catch is that whenever she uses those powers, she feels pain from the wounds she’s healing. And this isn’t a Devil Fruit ability. It’s sorta like water bending from Avatar.

A/N: I really debated on how to lay this one out, but I chose to have them find out about her power. If anyone wants a head canon follow up on how they act now that they know, send me an ask :) I maybe made this a bit too long, but those soft moments with each of these boys are my WEAKNESS. (Law may seem a little OOC but I truly believe that man gets tunnel vision when he sees you in pain)

Characters: F! reader x Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Law, Ace

Cw: blood, pain, injuries, angst, all those fun things. Sanji’s contains slight spoilers for WCI

Total word count: 6.3k

The Pain of Healing

Zoro

Word count: 1.2k

“It’s only five more minutes until my Haki returns.” Luffy says between pants, trying to catch his breath.

“Then I have five minutes to help you. Sit down.”

Luffy collapsed onto the ground at your command, and you examined his body as he slept. It didn’t look good. His body was riddled with scrapes, scratches, bruises, and he was bleeding out from his side. Several minor injuries could be more painful than large ones, but Luffy had a mix of both. The best thing to do would be to focus on the large ones first, and if you have energy left, fix the small stuff as well.

You guided water out of your flask and started with the hole in his side. You were used to the pain that came with healing by now, but it still made you flinch every time you started. You had to grind your teeth together to keep from crying out, not wanting to wake Luffy. He needed rest, and you didn’t want him to see the repercussions of your decision to help heal him anyway.

After five minutes, you’ve taken all of the major injuries away from his body, and you managed to take a few small ones away from him as well. You wipe the tears from your eyes before you shake him awake.

“It’s time, Luffy. Wake up.” You put on the biggest fake smile you can muster before his eyes flick open.

“Aw man, that was the best nap in my entire life! I feel amazing!” You stay seated as he stands up, your body too riddled with pain to move.

“Go get them, Captain!” It hurts to even speak, but Luffy’s already up stretching, too hyped up to notice your exhaustion.

“Thanks for whatever you did to make me feel so great! Leave the rest to me!” Luffy calls back, bounding off to finish the fight.

Once he’s out of sight, you fold your head into your hands and weep. The pain was immeasurable, and every time you helped Luffy recover, you don’t understand how he’s still alive. You sit there for a long time, crying until there are no tears left. And then you hear cheers from the village nearby, signifying Luffy has won and your work paid off. Knowing that you helped him win makes you feel a little better, and you need to see everyone again.

You stand up, ready to go meet the rest of the crew, but your body seems to disagree with your movement. Your legs shake, and when you go to take a step, you can feel your body collapsing, falling to the ground. You brace for the impact of your worn body against the solid ground, too tired to do anything else.

It doesn’t come, though. Someone catches you as you stumble forward. Strong arms wrap around your back and your legs, scooping you up and pressing you into his bare chest. Zoro.

“Easy.” His expression is stone as he stares at you, but you can see worry underneath. “You gonna tell me what the hell you just did to Luffy?”

You avert your eyes from his gaze, running the tip of your finger along the scar on his chest. “I healed him.”

You can feel his body tense with your words. “That didn’t look like healing to me. And since when do you have a Devil fruit power anyway?”

You bite your lip nervously. Nobody had caught you healing someone before. It wasn’t something you flaunted, or even something you told people about. “It’s not a devil fruit power.”

“Woman, if you don’t tell me-” he breaks off mid sentence, and you look around for any sign of danger. But there’s nobody around besides the two of you. You risk a glance up at him, and you see his face is pained as he stares down at you with a form of understanding. “You took his pain from him, didn’t you?”

Your mouth falls open from shock. You’re not sure how Zoro was able to guess something so accurate after seeing your power one time. You nod, confirming his suspicions. “He’s got an incredibly high threshold for pain tolerance.”

“How are you still alive?” Zoro shakes you a little when he asks the question, which causes you to groan in pain. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll be more gentle. Do you want to sit? Stand?”

The thought of being upright makes you dizzy. “Can you just keep holding me for now?”

He nods, and returns to questioning you about your mysterious power instead. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Yeah.” It hurt to talk honestly, but you didn’t want to tell Zoro that.

“How often have you been doing this?”

“Only like three or four times for Luffy, I think.” You're certain it’s been more than that, but you can’t tell Zoro that right now.

“Three or four times?? For Luffy?” You can feel him trying to figure out the meaning behind your cryptic words.

“There’s been a few other people I’ve done it for too.”

“Have you done it for me?” He's scowling at you, like he already knows the answer you’re going to give and he's waiting to scold you for it.

“Maybe once or twice,” you lie, and you feel your cheeks burning. He squints at you, and you know you’ve been caught in the lie. But he says nothing, he just readjusts you in his arms to hold you closer.

He had been walking for a few minutes, and you had almost fallen asleep. He had managed to keep you mostly still while he walked through the destroyed city, and you were too tired to care if he was lost or not. “It’s a neat power,” he finally comments. “You gonna tell me more about it? Or do I need to keep asking questions?”

“Can I tell you later?” You mumble into his chest. Between the safety of Zoro’s arms, the warmth of the sun on your face, and the exhaustion that’s set in from all that pain, it's hard for you to stay conscious.

Zoro doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and you struggle to stay awake while you wait for an answer. He was never one for mindless chit chat, but you could tell that something was on his mind, so you decide to indulge him.

“It’s not a devil fruit. I was born with it,” You start, and you feel a heavy weight lift off your shoulders with those few words. You’re so relieved that you can finally tell someone about your secret now. “I was never supposed to let anyone see it being used. If the World Government knew…” You trail off, thinking of how the Navy would turn you into a weapon. You shutter at the thought, and continue on in your explanation.

“The power isn’t perfect, though. I feel the pain of whoever or whatever I heal. It’s not permanent, but if it’s too much for my body to handle at the moment, I might die. I’m really not sure, I’ve never tried to heal a fatal wound before.”

Zoro is looking off into the distance with a faraway look in his eye. “Just like Kuma.”

“Who?”

“Back on Thriller Bark we met a Marine named Kuma,” Zoro begins to explain, and you focus all your energy into listening to him. “He took all of Luffy’s pain and told me if we wanted to save Luffy, I had to take his pain upon myself. It was just after his big battle with the warlord Moria, and the pain…” he trailed off, and you knew he was reliving the moment in his mind.

“Does he know about your sacrifice?”

Your question brings him back to reality, and he looks down at you. He chuckles at your question, and bends over to kiss your forehead. “Does he know about yours?”

Sanji

Some light spoilers for WCI arc

Word Count: 1.2k

You didn’t realize that your ability was keeping Sanji up at night.

Anytime he had a cut, or a burn, or any other kind of injury, you waited for him to doze off before you pulled out some water and healed his hands. The injuries were never serious, and after a few times, you barely noticed the pain.

You didn’t mind, and you knew how much your boyfriend valued his hands. It was your silent act of love to him, something you wanted to give him but could never tell him about. One morning after you healed a bad burn, you found him sitting up in bed, staring at his hands.

“Is something wrong, Sanji dear?”

The cook was examining his hands thoroughly, flipping them over again and again. “I could’ve sworn I had a burn here yesterday.”

Your cheeks tinted at the thought of being found out. “Oh, well maybe you just have superhuman healing powers!” You laugh it off, trying your best to act natural.

“Yeah, maybe…” You could tell something was bothering him, but he didn't say anything further.

You caught him staring at his hands throughout the day, as if he was waiting for a bomb to explode. At dinner you noticed a particularly bad cut on the topside of his hand - a cut he must’ve gotten while chopping vegetables - and you made a note to heal it that night.

He stayed awake later than usual that night, and he seemed more wound up with anxiety than normal. You peppered his face with a few kisses, trying to get him to relax some.

“Sanji, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” He sighed, pulling you into his chest and laying down to finally get some sleep. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

He fell asleep quickly with you pressed into him. His slow, even breaths signified he was finally unconscious, and you pulled out some water to cover his wound. It stung you a bit as his flesh stitched back together, and you let out a low hiss in pain, and you froze as Sanji stirred slightly in his sleep. This wound was deeper than his normal cuts and burns; he must’ve been really distracted when he hurt himself. He wasn’t usually so careless around knives, but you knew whatever was bothering him would be revealed when he was ready to talk to you about it.

With his wound healed and Sanji’s breath returning to normal, you curled back into place against him, and fell deep into sleep.

You woke to a string of curses falling out of Sanji’s mouth, his body tight and tense against yours.

“Hm? Sanji?” You rub the sleep from your eyes and open them to find him staring at his hands again. “Sanji, what’s wrong?”

“That’s impossible,” he mumbled, speaking mostly to himself. He looks panicked, staring down at the place where his cut was yesterday. “That’s not humanly possible.”

You feign innocence as you have in the past, but you can’t ignore the nervous look in his eyes. “What is it, Ji?”

“I had a cut here yesterday. It was deep.” His breathing quickened, and you could see that he was scared for some reason. “It couldn’t have healed overnight. It’s not…It can’t be…”

“I’m sure it’s just-”

“You don’t understand.” He cuts you off mid-sentence, something he’s never done before, and it takes you aback. He gets out of bed abruptly, his eyes never leaving his hand.

“Sanji?”

“I need to go. I need to get out of here.” He’s pacing the room now, his stress overflowing into the space between you.

“Go where? Sanji, calm down. Talk to me-”

“I can’t be here! I can’t endanger you! Or anyone else, for that matter!” His face is contorted with such pain you’ve never seen before. You don’t know what’s going on with your boyfriend, but his reaction to such a small cut is starting to scare you.

You jump out of bed and stride over to him. When you reach him, you clasp his face between your hands, forcing his eyes away from his hands and up to your eyes. His eyes are wide with pure fear, and his breathing is rapid and shallow. You can feel his body shaking as you hold him.

“Sanji.” You push down your own fear and speak to him in a soothing tone, trying to bring him back to you. “Talk to me.”

“I’m a monster, Y/N.” Tears fill his eyes, threatening to spill out as he speaks. “If my body is regenerating like this…I’m a threat to you all.”

“You’re not,” You whisper. “You’re not a monster, Sanji.” You stand on your tiptoes to try and kiss the space between his eyes, but he pulls away from you.

“You don’t know.” He backs away from you, fear returning to his eyes again. “I am a monster. And now that I’m-”

It’s your turn to cut him off now. “I healed you, Sanji.”

His brows furled in confusion, but his eyes looked less panicked now. “Wha..?”

“I have this power,” you explain. You walk back to the bedside table, gathering some water from a cup and suspending it in the air. “I can heal people with water. I’ve been healing your small injuries for a while now. I wanted to make your life easier, I swear. I’m sorry I kept it from you. I just…I wanted to help.”

You see him relax the more you explain your powers, which was not the reaction you were expecting. He watches you move the water through the air, and tears finally flow from his eyes.

“Y/N-chan,” he sobs, running over to you, embracing you in a hug. He’s holding you tight, smothering you into his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why did you hide it?”

Your face burns against him, embarrassed that you had kept it from him for so long. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, and I knew you wouldn’t want me hurting myself for you, but-”

“Hang on.” He pulls back from you, peering down at your face with a frown of concern. “You’re being hurt?”

“Just when I heal people,” you rush to explain, seeing his frown deepen. “I just feel the pain of the injuries I’m healing, it’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” he corrects, staring at you disapprovingly. “Promise me you won’t do it anymore.”

“Sanji-”

“Promise, Y/N.”

“No! Let me do this for you!” You’re pouting now, but you know Sanji won’t cave on this matter. You know he can’t let you hurt yourself at his expense.

“I appreciate that you want to help,” he says sternly. You can hear the love in his voice as he speaks, and you know you’ll have to agree to his request. “But there are other ways for you to help me without hurting yourself. Please-”

“Fine. Promise.” You give him a fake pout, but when he pulls you back into his chest and holds you tightly, you melt into him. “Are you sure you’re okay, Ji? You seemed scared earlier.”

“I’m fine, really.” He rests his chin on the top of your head, drawing in a long breath before he says more. “I just thought my past was coming back to haunt me again, that’s all.”

You all stand there for a long while, just enjoying eachothers closeness. You only break apart when you hear Luffy screaming for breakfast, and you give him one last kiss on each of his hands before you let him go.

Luffy

Word Count: 1.1k

“Stay still, idiot.” You held Luffy down, looking at his wound in his foot.

“I can’t! It hurrrtttssss!”

“That’s what you get for wearing sandals in the jungle!” You could tell from the way the stick speared through his foot, Luffy wouldn’t be able to walk easily, and you still had another half mile before you made it back to the ship.

You knew you weren’t supposed to heal people while they were conscious, but this was Luffy. He was the love of your life, and the Strawhats were your only family. If you couldn’t trust them, you deserved to be locked up anyway.

You sighed, pulling water out of your flask in soft, flowing movements. Luffy was still writhing in pain on the ground, overdramatic in his reaction to his current impalement. It was possible that you might be able to heal him without him even realizing it.

You surrounded his foot with an orb of water, and imagined the wound being stitched together, just like your mother had taught you. You saw his rubbery skin begin to mend together, and braced yourself for what came next.

Your grip on Luffy’s ankle tightened when the pain came. It was sharp and fast, and it took the breath out of your lungs. You squeezed your eyes shut, but kept your focus on the wound and the pain that came with it.

“Wooooahhhh!” You could hear Luffy’s sigh of amazement, and you knew he had caught you healing his wound. “That’s so cool! The hole is just closing up!!”

You didn’t speak, afraid that your voice would betray you. The last thing you wanted Luffy to know was that you were in pain because of the healing process. You could hear him freaking out about how cool it was that his injury was healing before his own eyes, but you did your best to ignore him and focus on the healing process. You kept your eyes closed the entire time, using the level of pain to guide how much longer you had to fix his injury. Finally, the pain dulled, and then disappeared. You dropped his foot and opened your eyes again, trying to ignore the lingering effects that your body was dealing with.

Luffy was examining his foot closely, looking at it from all angles to see if there was any damage. He stood up, putting all of his weight back on his foot, and jumped up and down a few times.

“It’s like brand new!” He shouted with glee. He came over to you and wrapped you in a hug. “You’re the best, Y/N!”

Over the next few weeks, Luffy offered up your services to others throughout the ship. You knew that Luffy was incapable of keeping secrets, and you had never explicitly asked him to keep that information to himself. You never minded healing your family though, and the injuries were always minor. Luffy sent Ussop to you when he got a burn on his hand, and Franky when he got a bad cut on his face. Chopper sent Zoro when he had a sprained wrist. It wasn’t until Nami came to you with a nasty cut on her shoulder that the secret of your healing was revealed.

You smiled when she asked, and pulled water out to start the healing process. You coated the wound in a bubble of water, and clenched your jaw to prepare for the worst.

You were aware of Nami’s eyes watching you. Everyone else watched their own wound magically heal, but her eyes remained on your face, watching for any signs of discomfort on your end. You had a feeling that she was suspicious of your powers already. She had been the most interested member of the crew from the start, asking about the stipulations and origins of your power from the moment she had found out about it.

You kept your eyes on the gash, trying your best to mentally steel yourself for the pain that would come. You knew it wouldn’t be easy to hide the pain, but you were determined to make it look natural. When the feeling of pain ripped through your shoulder to match her wound, you gritted your teeth and kept your smile, but you could feel your muscles involuntarily twitch.

If Nami noticed, she said nothing. When you finished, you looked back up at her and let out a shaky breath, smiling. She eyed you suspiciously, but thanked you politely and left you alone. Once the door swung shut, you collapsed back onto the couch you were on, desperately needing a nap after that performance.

Luffy was awoken by a smack on the head.

“What?” He asked groggily. “Are we at the next island?”

“Are you some kind of sadist,” the tangerine-haired girl scolded, shaking her finger at him. “Or are you just a moron?”

“What are you talking about, Nami?”

Nami rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, staring daggers down at Luffy. “Y/N’s power.”

Luffy rubbed his head, wondering if you could fix headaches. “What about it?”

“She feels pain when she heals people, you idiot. She probably feels whatever pain she’s healing.”

Luffy’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that she just healed my shoulder. And she was in some serious pain while she was doing it. She hides it well, but I could tell she was hurting.”

Luffy bit his lip, trying to think back to when you had healed him in the forest. But he had been so amazed at watching his own wound heal, he hadn’t noticed your reaction while you were doing it.

“She seemed kind of tired after mine, but that’s it. I felt great though, so I carried her back to the ship!”

“So you are just a moron!” Nami punched him again. “No more free healing! Stop taking advantage of her!”

You woke up from your nap to rubber arms wrapped around you and Luffy’s round eyes staring at you intensely.

“Good morning,” you groan, trying to pull away from him to stretch.

He let you go enough to stretch out, but kept a tight grip on you. “Does it hurt?”

You freeze mid-stretch, silently cursing Nami for her hyper awareness. “It just makes me tired.”

“You’re lying.” He knows you so well. You move your fingers up to his hair, twirling his locks around your index finger.

“Yeah,” you sigh the word out. You’re painfully aware of his gaze, transfixed on your face.

��“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because Luffy, it’s not that bad.” Your eyes move back to his finally, and you can see the hurt and confusion that is held within them. “And I like doing what I can to help my family.”

He nods, accepting that answer, and snuggles up into your chest, holding you tightly against him. You let him lay there for a while, twirling his soft strands of hair around in your fingers. There are few quiet moments between you and Luffy, and you cherish every moment you can get like this.

“Nami said no more free healings, by the way.”

You laugh and give his forehead a quick kiss. “Guess I’ll have to charge you double.”

Law

Word Count: 1.2k

“Fuck.”

Law’s breath was ragged as you pressed into his stomach wound. Blood coated your hands as you tried to stop the bleeding, but it didn’t seem to be working very well.

“I just need to...” Law coughed, and you could see red staining his lips. A small blue orb began to form in his palm, but it flickered out quickly. He was too weak to use his devil fruit powers.

“Fuck.” You repeated. There was only one thing you could do now. It meant exposing your secret and showing your captain your biggest weakness, but you’d do anything to save him.

You pulled away from his wound, and let your hands guide water from your flask, maneuvering it through the air. “Don’t freak out,” you say, and you cover the wound in water. You let it sit for a moment, and then begin imagining the wound healing.

It started as a dull, throbbing pain in your stomach. You began to think you were getting used to the pain, but then it began to grow, turning sharp and stabbing. You flinched at the sudden change in pain, but held your focus.

Law watched you work for a few moments with wide eyes, unsure what was happening or what he could do. You wanted to scream from the pain that was growing rapidly, but you held your tongue, hoping he didn’t notice your facial expressions contorting into pain. Tears filled your eyes, and you finally felt Law move into action, his hand gripping around your wrists.

“Stop,” he demanded, trying to push your arms away from his wound. You ignore his demand, keeping your arms locked against him, continuing the healing process at your expense.

“Stop! Y/N-ya, Stop it!” His voice rose in pitch, and you could tell he sensed your pain. His efforts to push you away are getting stronger, proof that his energy is returning to him. You feel relieved in the fact that he is healing, even if it is exhausting you in the process.

He finally succeeds in pushing you off him, and you fall backwards to the ground and lay there, dazed and stunned from your work. He quickly straddles you and pins your arms to the ground to ensure you’ve fully stopped whatever you had started doing to him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Law stares down at you, angry and scared of what you’ve done.

You know his rage is out of fear, and you give him a small smile, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. “You okay now?”

He stares at you, baffled at your question. He has energy now, and his wound in his stomach is almost completely healed. He knows it’s due to you, but he doesn’t know how you’ve managed to heal him so quickly. Fear. Betrayal. Anger. So many emotions run through him all at once. He has so many questions that he doesn’t know where to start.

He tightens his grip around your wrists, keeping you pinned down. “Explain.”

“It’s a power I was born with,” you say, closing your heavy eyes. “I can heal other people’s injuries through water.”

Law watches you carefully, certain that you’re hiding something. He squeezes your wrists tighter until you finally open your eyes again, looking anywhere but at him.

You can’t make eye contact with him or you know you’ll tell him everything. You can’t afford for him to know your secret, it was bad enough that he knew this much.

“You were in pain.” He says it as a statement, not a question.

You squirm from underneath him, trying to get free, but his grip doesn’t let up. He’s determined to get to the bottom of what you just did. He needs to protect you. He needs to keep you safe from all harm, even if that means protecting you from yourself.

“Let go.” You say, still trying to get free. His grip is starting to become painful, and you try to pull your arms away from him again. “You’re hurting me, Law. Let go.”

His eyes stare down at you, unmoving from his current position. The more you squirm, the tighter his grip gets, and you know he won’t let go until he has an answer. “Y/n-ya, why were you in pain?”

“It’s a side effect!” You cry out in frustration, finally giving in. You suspect he knew the moment he saw it. “I feel the person’s pain as I heal them.”

In his shock, Law’s hands loosen their grip, and you finally pull free from him. You try to turn away from him, but he’s still sitting on your stomach, and you don’t have enough energy to push him off. You rub at your wrists, trying to get the sting from his grip out of your body.

Law is frozen, staring down at you with wide eyes. He grits his teeth, watching you massage your wrists. “I’m sorry,” he says, reaching for your hands again, more gentle this time. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

You let him grab one of your hands, and he begins massaging your wrists gently, whispering apologies to you. You close your eyes and try to forget that you’ve broken your number one rule about your power: telling other people. You focus on his wrist massage for a while, his own way to apologize for his outburst.

“Y/n-ya?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you save me?”

You sigh, opening your eyes again. This time, you meet his gold eyes, radiant against the sunlight. “You never want anyone to save you, Captain.”

“It’s my job as a ca-”

“I saved you because I love you, you idiot.”

You can see Law’s eyes twitch in surprise; his hands freeze against your wrist.

“You don’t get to decide what sacrifices I make for you,” you continue. “You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do to save you. That’s my decision. You’ve made many sacrifices for me, some extremely painful ones. Remember the incident at Low Sand Creek?”

Law doesn’t respond, but he slowly starts to massage your wrists again, which you take as a sign to keep talking.

“I don’t get to criticize your decisions on sacrifice. And you don’t get to criticize mine either. I love you, and I know you love me. Do I want you to risk your life for me? No. But that’s just something I have to live with. And so do you. Okay?”

Your captain says nothing, and you can tell he’s sulking over your lecture. It wasn’t uncommon for you to have to do this with him. Law was one of the smartest people you knew, but relationships weren’t really his strong suit. It resulted in you having to do a lot of explaining and voicing your needs.

“Law, do you understand?” You insist, needing to stand your ground. He had a tendency of not responding when he didn’t agree with something.

He huffs out an irritated breath. “Okay.”

You scrunch your face at him, shooting him a semi-fake glare.

“I understand, okay?!”

You twisted your hand to intertwine with his, and grabbed his other hand with your free one so that both of his hands were now holding each of yours. You locked eyes with him, and you could see there was something else there, something that was bothering him.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

He was quiet for a moment, as if he were working up the courage to admit whatever he was feeling. His eyes moved away from your gaze and focused on one of his hands instead, still intertwined with yours.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice comes out slightly choked, and you realize that you had forgotten to explain the most important part to him.

Your cheeks redden, embarrassed at your oversight. His eyes snapped back to yours, and now it was your turn to avoid eye contact.

“It’s… I was told to never tell anyone about it. Or let someone else see it.”

You can feel him staring at you, his eyes willing you to look at him, but you refuse. He waits patiently, and you know he’s asking you a silent question: Don’t you trust me?

“I trust you, I just…” Neither you or Law had really talked about your past much. You preferred to live for the now, for the future. The past was just too painful to think about. “People died protecting that secret. I didn’t want to add more names to that list.”

Law gave a dark chuckle at your response. “And after all that preaching about not deciding who gets to make sacrifices.”

Now it’s your turn to sulk. “That is not-“

He cuts you off, pulling you up to meet him, and his lips collide with yours.

He pulls back briefly, basking in your beauty. “No more secrets. Promise?”

“Promise.”

Ace

Word Count: 1.5k

Ace wasn’t used to being hit, and when someone made contact with him, it hurt. He grimaced as he limped from battle, blood dripping down his leg from the giant puncture wound in his thigh. You had your arm around him, helping him run, but his injury was slowing you both down, and the enemy was closing in quickly.

“Sit,” you commanded. “Let me help.”

“I just need to get back to Marco, he can help.” His breathing was labored, and you knew he was expending too much energy just speaking to you.

“I can heal too.” You helped him sit down, and you could feel his eyes staring at you, trying to understand your cryptic words. You chose to ignore him for now, and examined the wound. It was deep, but manageable. You braced yourself, and summoned some water out of your flask, covered his wound, and focused on stitching it back together.

Pain ripped through you, and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself focused. It wasn’t the worst pain you had felt, but the wound was deeper than you had initially thought, and you could feel your muscles tearing apart, just like Ace’s had when he was cut. You knew that it was just a phantom pain, no actual bodily harm was being done to you, but it was still pain nonetheless.

You could feel tears pooling at the corner of your eyes, but you refused to stop until the job was done. You watched his muscle stitch back together, and when it was finally completely healed, you sat back and closed your eyes, exhausted and riddled with aches.

When you opened your eyes again, you could see Ace in front of you, you could feel him shaking you violently. He was screaming something, but you couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying over the loud ringing in your ears. Slowly, your hearing returned, and you realized he was screaming your name.

“Ace.” Your words were slow. You were still trying to come out of the fog of pain that always came with healing. “Stop shaking me.”

He finally stopped, but his hands were still tightly gripping your shoulders. He was staring at you in terror, fear spread across his face.

“What were you doing?” His voice was loud and piercing, causing you to flinch. “How did you…What do…Where did…” He struggled to find the right words, and you stared at him with still-glazed eyes while he tried to form a sentence. You were struggling to refocus after the pain, and were thankful that Ace was tongue-tied for the moment.

Ace took a breath, finally able to form a sentence. “I didn’t know you had a devil fruit power.”

“I don’t.” Normally you let people believe whatever they wanted in order to guard your secret, but this was Ace. If you couldn’t trust him, you couldn’t trust anyone. “It’s just an ability I was born with. I can heal people with water.”

Ace’s facial expressions had always been easy to read. Even in your dazed state, you watched as his concern turned to shock and then to confusion. You waited for the inevitable question to come, and it did. “If you’ve had this power, why haven’t you used it more often?”

“I…” you hesitate. You didn’t want to tell him the weakness of your ability. Not because you didn’t trust him, but because you did. You knew that if Ace discovered the trade off of your powers, he would never want you to suffer for him or anyone else.

You had told Marco about your power when you joined the crew, and the doctor had forbid you using your ability except in dire circumstances. Marco trusted you to make judgment calls on what you could handle, but you didn’t think Ace would feel the same way.

You could hear the enemy's battle cries getting closer, and you take the opportunity to avoid the question. “Let’s go. We need to get back to the ship.”

Ace stands, and you follow to do the same. You take a bit longer to get to your feet, still light-headed from the trade off of healing Ace. His attention has shifted to the enemy pursuing you now, and thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice your sluggish movements.

Ace’s fist becomes engulfed with flames, and he stands between the enemy and you. “Go back to the ship, I’ll hold them off.”

“Idiot! That’s what got us here in the first place!”

“Yeah,” He smirked back at you like the devilish fiend you knew he was. “But this time I won’t lose.”

You can feel your knees start to go weak, but you’re not sure if it’s from exhaustion or from the man in front of you. You hate to leave him, but you know you’ll only be a liability in this fight. With Ace’s energy replenished and the ability to fight in an open space, he’d finish off the enemy easily now.

“You better not die.” Your words hang in the air, and you take off towards the Moby Dick.

As soon as you got aboard the ship, you went straight to your room. You didn’t bother giving a report. Ace would do that when he returned. Sleep was what you needed now.

—

You woke with arms wrapped around you tightly, and the warm body of Portgas D. Ace pressed against your back. You weren’t sure how long you had slept, but there was no longer any light coming in through the porthole in your room. You shifted, trying to get out of Ace’s grasp without waking up, but his strong arms tightened against you when you moved, keeping you close to him.

For a long while you laid in the silence, unsure if Ace was asleep or awake. He wasn’t snoring like he normally did when he was asleep and he refused to let you move away from his grasp, but his breaths were even and he didn’t speak to you. You didn’t mind the quiet, your body was still exhausted from the fighting and the pain of healing today, and Ace’s warmth was almost therapeutic against your tired body.

“Your healing…” Ace's voice finally breaks the silence, making you tense from surprise. His voice was low and quiet in your ear. “It hurts you, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

You can hear the sadness in his voice, and you know that he’s figured it out. Whether he solved it on his own or if Marco told him, it didn’t matter now. You’ve always been a bad liar, and you could never bring yourself to lie to Ace anyway.

He squeezed you tighter, pulling you closer to him. There was another long pause, and you let him hold you while he processed everything.

“How bad is it?” His voice is level, but you can hear it beginning to grow thick with tears.

“It depends on what I heal. I just feel the pain of the injury.”

His forehead presses into the crook of your neck, and his breath becomes shallow and ragged. You can feel his emotions coursing through him, and all you want to do is comfort him. You squirm, trying to flip over so you see his face while you talk, but his iron tight grip refuses to let you move.

“Ace,” you speak gently, your hands pulling at his arms, and his grip loosens just enough for you to turn over onto your other side. You’re laying face to face with him now, but his eyes are squeezed shut. His freckled cheeks are wet with tears, and your heart constricts seeing his sadness.

You press your forehead against his, and use your free hand to brush some of his hair away from his face. You continue softly sweeping your fingers through his hair, soothing him as you speak. “It’s not so bad, Ace. But that's why I don’t use it very often.”

His eyes are still closed, but you feel his hands ball into fists against your back, gathering the fabric of your shirt in them.

“Why did you use it to save me then?” His voice comes out more of a demand than a question. It’s harsh, and you know he’s angry. Maybe at you, maybe at himself, probably both. His question makes you freeze, your fingers still entangled in his strands of hair.

You feel a slight prick of irritation at his question. You pull your head back and tilt his face up to look you in the eyes, but they’re still tightly shut. “Look at me,” you demand, your tone matching his from a moment ago. You feel him stiffen slightly at the intensity of your words, but his dark eyes open to meet your own.

Your hands find his cheeks, cupping his face, and you press your forehead back into his. Your eyes never leave his, and you can feel his grip against your back finally start to soften as he focuses on you instead of what you’ve done.

“I did it.” You pause for a moment, still staring at him. God, he was so stupid. You swipe your thumb across his freckles, wiping the tears from his sad, sweet eyes. “Because you deserve to be saved.”

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kitsuga · 2 months ago

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PREFECT open the door {Ace Trappola x Reader/MC/Yuu}

Description:

A fic in which Ace tries to move into the Ramshackle Dorm.

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Tags: fluff, honestly. i feel ace. i too would try to flirt and fail so horribly, not beta'd, not edited, gender neutral reader, you can assume reader/mc is yuu!, twisted wonderland x reader/mc/yuu, twst x reader/mc/yuu, twisted wonderland/twst, ace trappola x reader/mc/yuu, ace trappola

Word Count: 1,899

A/N: Written on: February 12, 2022

One of my sisters loves him and begged for some ace content so here it is LKJSDFKJSDF

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“I thought the little punk was getting better—so why the hell is this thing on me again!”

Ace pushed past the hardly awake MC and flopped down on the dusty couch in the lounge. His long, heavy sigh shook his whole body; he launched into his complaint again, not noticing that MC had barely shuffled into the room behind him.

“Who told him there was a rule for stepping into the room with your right foot first if it’s past 9 P.M. Who!? I get my head taken for something stupid like that!”

“Was it that you stepped into the room with the wrong foot, or you argued with him?”

“How could you accuse me of something like that!”

MC rubbed their eyes, taking a long sigh before they spoke again.

“What did you say to him?”

“...I didn’t SAY anything.”

“What did you do.”

Ace’s lips twisted to the side with a huff as he refused to make eye contact with them. Boring a hole in the side of his head, MC sat and waited for him to paint the picture of his own demise.

“I.... kmcked’m,” he mumbled.

“You what?”

“I kicked him!” Ace shouted, throwing his hands up in the air, letting them fall alongside the rest of his body, slouching further into the couch. “He turned around after yelling at me and I just, I kicked the back of his knee—I didn’t kick him that hard!”

“Ace.” MC held their face in their hands, disappointment completely evident in their voice.

“It wasn’t even genuinely a kick—it was more of a push!”

“Ace.” They growled from behind their hands.

“You know I love hearing my name and all--”

“Stop talking.”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment; Ace snuck a few looks over at MC, making sure to retract his gaze if they made a move to look back at him. As though it were their new catchphrase, MC sighed heavily once again and smacked their knees, pushing themselves up off the couch.

“Well, you dug your own grave, Trappola. Sucks to be you.”

“Aw, come on, Prefect!”

“What do you mean ‘aw come on’? What do you expect me to do? You’re lucky there wasn’t a bigger consequence for you—like being kicked from school for violence.”

“One little kick, really?”

“You’re talking about Riddle. Yes, one little kick.”

MC pushed Ace’s head playfully, moving him around on the couch a bit which was met with his protests. They ignored him as he called out to them by name, simply waving their hand to dismiss his words while climbing the stairs. Over their shoulder, they wished him sweet dreams and shut down whatever he was saying by suggesting he sleep by pointing out the extra blanket draped over the armchair in the living room. Ace sat back on the couch with his arms crossed, lips twisted to the side in a heavy pout as he watched them disappear up the stairs, his eyes lingering where they fell out of his sight for a few extra moments.

The redheaded boy sighed, knowing that MC was probably right—not that he’d tell them, anyway. He made his bed and he had to lie in it—both figuratively and in actuality; dusting off the older couch, he laid on his back and wrapped himself in the blanket all after he had turned off the lights. He lay with his eyes closed, trying his hardest to get comfortable with the bulky collar around his neck. He twisted, turned, and sighed more times than he could count—counting it may have helped him to fall asleep at this point. Ace opened his eyes to stare at the crumbling ceiling above him, his eyes dragging over each piece of the spider's webs that decorated the place. The night would not take him.

Nor would the shadows. Nor would his mind. Everything fought sleep as his brain constantly moved its gears, but no actual thoughts had come to his mind. Ace was missing something—longing for something. There was a reason Ace had run to the Ramshackle Dorm rather than simply retreating to his room—and that reason had moved to their own bed upstairs. An hour or two had passed since he first laid down, but he was getting too antsy now; he threw the blanket off him and jumped to his feet in a huff.

Even if he tiptoed, the old wooden stairs creaked and moaned beneath his feet; each one made him wince, so he had given up. He was sure MC would have been up by now anyway with the sounds, so he rushed the rest of the way to their room, throwing open the door.

A sliver of moonlight illuminated MC. Grim had curled up at the foot of the bed as their back had faced the door; they turned to look over their shoulder at Ace as he stood in the doorway. Their voice had matched their face—emotionless and stoic.

“What.”

“Prefect.”

“Yes, Ace. What.”

He hurried over to the bed, throwing himself onto his hands and knees on top of it to slightly hover over MC as they turned to their back to meet his eyes.

“Let me move into your dorm.”

“...Get out of my room.”

“MC, please!”

“No. Good night, Ace.”

Ace bounced on the bed which was met with groans from both MC and Grim, who was doing his best to ignore Ace.

“Seriously! Let me move in. I’ll transfer over to your dorm, and I’ll never have to deal with the little tyrant again!”

“You can’t, Ace. Now go to sleep.”

“Come on!”

“No. Now, shut up.”

“You’re being unreasonable!” Ace shook the bed once again, ignoring Grim’s shout at him to knock it off.

“Good night, Ace.”

MC turned to their side to face him and closed their eyes tight in hopes that their friend would take the hint and leave; they smiled slightly to themselves when they felt the weight of his body leave the bed but frowned deeply when they felt a gust of cold hit them. They opened their eyes to find his staring back at them, only a few spare inches between them.

“Fine, if you won’t let me into your dorm, then let me into your bed!”

They groaned when he wiggled an arm underneath them and pulled himself even closer; Ace held them close and with a devilish grin, nuzzled his nose against their cheek even as they tried to turn their face away. MC hissed each time the lock of his collar rammed into them. He could almost feel the heat of their blush traveling up their face as he continued getting as close as he could to them, keeping an arm around them to hold his position; they didn’t attempt to free themselves, just drew their eyebrows together and frowned even deeper.

“You’re already in my bed!” They lightly kicked his shin. “Out.”

“Okay, then let me into your bed every night.”

MC was surely paying attention now as it was Ace’s turn to start trying to fight off a blush; unfortunately for him, the sliver of moonlight was showing all his cards. He turned his face away from them and tried his hardest to look annoyed, but it was difficult to turn away as the collar around his neck was pretty bulky.

It was best to come clean, right? Ace battled with his pride, his confidence, and his now flustered and racing heart. He stammered a bit but tried his best to hold his head up high despite his limited movement and looked down his nose at MC, who was still only inches away from his own face.

“Well, I mean—yeah. I said what I said. Maybe I want to crawl into your bed every night. It’d be a lot easier to do if you just let me move into your dorm.”

“Ace--”

“Look, I came to see you ‘cause I was upset, yeah—but I really like when you comfort me. You’re still so nice under that irritating dismissiveness, and you’re always ready to help me out but still put me in my place. I think you’re kind of dumb but, you know, in a cute way, and I just—arhg!”

Ace wiped his face with his free hand as though he could wipe off his embarrassment or the crimson colour off of his skin; he felt like the shadows in the room were laughing at him. He opened his eyes back up to find MC’s staring back at him, an unreadable emotion pooling within them.

“So... how ‘bout now? Will you let me into your dorm?”

The two of them sat in silence for a bit, the room heavy with emotion; Ace was just thankful Grim was asleep and missed his confession or he’d never hear the end of his embarrassment. He bit his tongue as MC blinked a few times, looking between his eyes and scanning his face for any hint of him messing with them—he knew that look anywhere. He stared at them a bit harder, trying to silently indicate the authenticity of his confession; his eyes started to wander down to their lips, however, and found himself swallowing hard before subconsciously leaning in slowly to bridge the small gap between the two of them.

“No.” MC pushed his face away gently, playfully.

Ace groaned and grabbed them by the wrist, moving their hand and returning his face to his previous spot.

“What do you mean no--”

“No, you can’t transfer to my dorm. It’s impossible.”

“Oh, so the no wasn’t for the kiss?” His devilish grin was evident in his voice. His face was pushed away again after another attempt to lean in; he met this action with a repeat of his groan and moving MC’s hand.

“What you can do, besides move into my dorm, is go apologize to Riddle tomorrow.”

“Uhg.”

“I’ll go with you, it’ll be fine.”

MC brushed a rogue strand of hair out of Ace’s face, softly caressing his cheek a moment before intertwining their fingers with his and placing their hands in the space between their faces.

“We can go on a date once you get that annoying collar off. Then, you can kiss me the right way.”

Ace’s eyes went wide before growing hooded, a genuine, loving smile accompanying his gaze on the person in front of him. He knew it was the right choice to come seek comfort in their loving arms, and he was glad he had pushed himself to annoy them; the blanket downstairs wasn’t even a fraction as warm as he was enveloped in the feelings between the two of them, and the couch was certainly not as soft and inviting.

So, he couldn’t move into their dorm, but he could move into their heart—as cliché as he was to admit it. Ace was thankful for a friend like the Prefect, and even more thankful for a lover like MC. His soft gaze turned back into the person in front of him, watching as they had slowly started to drift back to sleep; Ace knew he shouldn’t open his mouth, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You never answered about that ‘in your bed every night’ thing. That still on?”

“Shut up, Ace.”

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #ace trappola x reader #ace trappola x mc #ace trappola x yuu #kitsu.writes #kitsu.twst #kitsu.twst ace #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst fanfic

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wafflefries13 · 3 months ago

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Rose With(out) Thorns (Riddle x Reader)

Summary: Riddle needs help putting off his mother's plans to set him up for an engagement, so what better way than to fake date NRC's favorite magicless prefect? Things can only go well. (No, they can't.)

AN: Fake dating, yay! Had the idea for this a long while back, finally got around to writing it. And, like most of my fics I'm finding out, it kind of got away from me. I hope at some point, probably some time in book 7 here, we finally get a confrontation with Riddle's mom. I hate Riddle's mom, all the cool bitches I know hate Riddle's mom.

Warnings: Depictions of a toxic family environment, AFAB reader with she/her pronouns.

When Riddle had pulled (Y/N) aside after classes, she didn’t expect to be sitting in one of Heartstabuyl’s tea rooms, a cooling cup of herbal tea placed in front of her. (Y/N) sipped the tea, observing Riddle. His mouth was pulled into a small frown, eyebrows furrowed in determined concentration. His hands were clasped behind him and he was pacing so much (Y/N) was worried about him wearing a hole in the rug. It had almost seemed like he had forgotten she was there.

“Riddle?” She prompted gently.

Riddle jumped, startled. (Y/N) really did think he had forgotten about her. His face turned pink, blushing up to his ears. He cleared his throat, promptly sitting down in the chair across from her.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” He said, swirling a spoonful of honey into his tea. She tried to not take it personally that he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Something going on with Ace and Deuce?” She asked, jumping to the most logical conclusion. “I don’t mind meditating.”

“No, thankfully, both of them have actually been rather pleasant as of late. This is of a more… personal nature.”

“Oh? Are you doing okay?” She set her cup down, leaning forward.

His blush went from gentle pink to strawberry red. “I - ahem, yes, no, I’m fine, it’s not that I don’t - what I mean to say is, ah, well…” Deciding there was no elegant way to put it, Riddle’s shoulders slumped as he stared dejectedly into his tea. “It’s my mother.”

(Y/N) immediately tensed. “Oh.”

The last time (Y/N) had thought about Riddle’s mother was when he was about to leave for winter break. She remembered how quiet he had been, not even bothering to reprimand the excited first years running around the mirror chamber like excited kids. (Y/N) had taken advantage of his momentary distraction to snatch his phone from his dazed hands and entered her number.

“In case you need anything,” She had said. “Or, you know, you just miss me too much and want to say hi.”

He really did blush way too easily.

Of course, any plans for talking on the phone were quickly eliminated by the events at Scarabia. When (Y/N) finally did get her phone back, she found a couple of missed calls and overly formal texts from Riddle’s number, buried in between the frantic messages from Ace and Deuce responding to her SOS.

Back in the tea room, (Y/N) set her cup down, leaning forward to meet Riddle’s eyes. “Hey,” She said gently. “You know if I can do anything for you I will.”

“It’s not that easy,” He said. “My mother asked me to come home for the long weekend coming up. And I highly suspect she wants me there to… try and arrange a match.”

“A match? Wait, like getting engaged? Aren’t you kind of young for that?”

Riddle shrugged. “It would definitely be a long engagement, but it’s not uncommon to have a match set up years in advance, especially between prominent families like mine.”

“How very Jane Austen.”

“Sorry?”

“An author from my world, she wrote romances. Anyway, sorry, keep going.”

“Well, I agree that it seems soon. To be fair, Mother was trying to set something up before I came to Night Raven College as well. Being accepted to such a prestigious magic school only elevated my prospects, as she put it. She wants to establish a solid match with another high ranking family, setting my future in stone. Especially after everything that happened at the beginning of the year.” They were both quiet for a moment, fighting off memories of Riddle’s Overblot. “I…” Riddle continued. “I don’t think anyone back home knows.”

“Oh. Well, it’s like personal medical information, right? Even if it’s magical or whatever it’s still your mental health. You don’t owe anyone that.”

“I don’t think that’s why she hasn’t told anyone. I know it might be hard for you to believe after everything that’s happened this year, but Overblots are still considered rare. Not many survive the process. And those that do, well, they aren’t looked upon as kindly as you’ve looked upon us.”

(Y/N) set her cup down hard. “That’s not fair! It’s not some moral failing. You and everyone else were - are - dealing with really tough emotions! It’s not right to just ignore trauma and your feelings, that’s what led to everything happening in the first place!”

“I’m glad you see it that way. And, if I’m being honest, public perception of the emotional stress that can lead to an Overblot and those who make it through the process are gradually being seen with more sympathy. Like you said, it’s a mental health issue at the core. But older communities like the one I grew up in are slower to accept new social views.”

(Y/N) sat back. “I’m sorry, Riddle. That sounds really hard.”

“Thank you,” Riddle breathed. He cleared his throat. “Well, that sort of awkwardly leads to what I was wanting to ask you in the first place.” He cleared his throat again, nervously looking around the room. Finally, steadying himself, he forced himself to meet (Y/N) eyes. “I would like you to come with me and act as my partner.”

(Y/N) felt her head go light and heart jump. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”

Riddle’s confidence cracked as he looked away again. “In so many words, yes.”

“Wow. Forget Jane Austen, this is more Meg Ryan territory.” Riddle blinked. “Never mind, forget it. I mean, not what you’re talking about, just, it’s not what I was expecting you to say.”

“It’s not the most conventional request, to be fair. But I’ve turned this over in my head for days and I can’t see any way out of it. My plan is to show I’m taken, dissuade the marriage market. It will be one less thing for Mother to hold over my head. I’ll probably have to deal with it eventually when I graduate but I don’t even want to consider getting engaged right now, for economic, political, or whatever other reason. I’ve never been overly fond of the prospects my mother has introduced anyway. Not that I want to pressure you or anything! I completely understand if you wouldn’t feel comfortable for any reason and I completely respect your decision-”

“Well, hey, don’t answer for me, now.” (Y/N) reached forward and touched the back of Riddle’s hand, jolting him out of the spiral he was throwing himself in. He jumped at the contact. “It’s unorthodox, but since when has anything here been orthodox? Of course I’ll help, Riddle. I can’t guarantee I’ll be very good at it, but I’ll do my best.”

Riddle blinked at her for a moment, registering her words, then the tension practically floated off his shoulders. “That’s - that’s great, thank you.”

“Hey, what are friends for? Besides, this will make a great story to tell the guys later.”

Riddle scowled, blushing again. “Don’t.”

~~~

A few days later, (Y/N) and Riddle stood in the mirror chamber. They had come up with a cover to tell everyone while they were gone. Since (Y/N) technically didn’t exist in Twisted Wonderland, not having any government papers or even a birth certificate, Riddle suggested they visit Dinah, the capital city of the Queendom of Roses and his home city, to petition at an official government building for temporary citizenship. It was really only a half truth. If they had time between the deception, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to try.

Grim was staying at Heartstabuyl with Ace and Deuce, although it would be more accurate to say with Trey, since he was clearly the one in charge while the House Warden was away.

“And make sure to do that reading for History of Magic,” (Y/N) was saying, fiddling with Grim’s bow and magestone. “I marked the pages and put highlight tabs on the parts you need to take notes on. And don’t eat too many sweets, you’ll give yourself a stomach ache again. And don’t stay up too late or else you won’t have the energy to do anything during the day and you’ll throw off your whole sleep schedule. And-”

“Mrow!” Grim cried, batting her hands away. “I get it, I get it! I’m not a little kid, you know!”

(Y/N) smiled softly, scratching behind his ears. “Of course I know. You’re a big full grown dire beast who doesn't need anyone to take care of you. Why, I bet when I come back you won’t need me to cook for you anymore or make sure you wake up on time. You probably don’t even want a souvenir!”

“No, no! I like your cooking! And you better bring me something back, henchhuman!”

“Of course, Grim.”

Like a parent sending their child to school for the first time, (Y/N) and Grim detangled themselves from each other. Grim floated back with Ace and Deuce, who also required promises of souvenirs, and gave a final wave. (Y/N) waved back before stepping through the mirror portal after Riddle, luggage in hand.

There was always a strange feeling when going through the mirror, far spaces being squished together in a more convenient and transversable state. If (Y/N) hadn’t already been dragged underwater to swim through the depths unbothered, she would have compared it to being surrounded by water. Instead, she would more closely compare it the moments after a fall or jump, when totally suspended in the air with no tether. A slight jolt of the stomach at first, a feeling of weightlessness, a rush of cold along the spine, and then they were there.

(Y/N) still wasn’t completely sure how the mirror portal worked, or how it chose where to deposit someone, considering there wasn’t always a mirror on the other end. She knew it had something to do with the magestones NRC students wore on their armband, and that it helped to leave and come back from the same place, but other than that it was just another magic mystery she didn’t want to think too hard about.

(Y/N) shook her head as she stepped from the portal back on solid ground. Bright sunlight warmed her skin as she blinked and looked around. (Y/N)’s first impression of Dinah was a memory of a picturesque depiction of Victorian London. The street in front of them was wide, paved in even brick. There were store fronts painted in bright warm colors with big display windows, buildings stacked high with higher chimneys on top. Men and women strolled along the street, seemingly dressed to the nines for a perfectly ordinary outing, with top hats and long coats, bustled dresses in fanciful colors and feather hats.

A pair of horses pulled a dark blue omnibus carriage down the street, hooves making a pleasant ‘clip-clop’ sound as they meandered. It made (Y/N) wonder about the technological advancements of Twisted Wonderland, not for the first time. She had remembered how surprised she had been to see that cars existed in Sunrise City, when previously the only methods of transportation she had seen had been brooms, ghostly carriages, boats, and mirror portals. She frowned at the memory of Leona teasing her about her surprise.

“We have our own carriage,” Riddle told her, mistaking her expression as she watched the omnibus. “Mother sent it to collect us. It should be here - ah, there.” Riddle lifted his hand in greeting to the approaching carriage.

A white horse pulled a ruby carriage with a stenciled rose against a six-pointed starburst emblazoned on the doors. There were two men in stately red velvet livery on the carriage, one at the front, flicking the reins and lazily holding a horse whip, and the other holding on the back above the wheels. As they pulled along the sidewalk, the driver nodded and the footman jumped down to formally bow. He lugged their luggage atop the carriage, a barely noticeable judgmental sneer pulling at his mouth as he handled (Y/N)’s. While Riddle’s bag was neat and new, as beautiful as it was practical, (Y/N) had foraged hers from somewhere deep in the depths of Ramshackle dorm, among the abandoned rooms and chests and closets with all manner of ragged treasures. The carriage rocked as they climbed in, sitting on soft overstuffed bench seats facing each other. Riddle knocked against the roof when they were settled and the carriage rumbled forward.

(Y/N) stared out the window, marveling at everything they passed. “Hey, how far is Trey’s family bakery from here?” She asked.

“Hmm? Oh, not far, but I’m not sure we’ll have time to go by. I’m not sure Mother would approve of it.”

(Y/N) turned back to Riddle, noticing how he gazed out the window without really seeing anything. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, knee jittering with nerves.

She reached a hand forward and touched his jumping knee, causing him to startle. “Hey,” She said softly. “It’s going to be okay. You got me here with you, right? And-” She rummaged through the pocket on her NRC uniform, the most formal attire she had for making a good impression. She pulled out a small Moleskine notebook, proudly displaying it. “I’ve been taking notes! I have a bunch of the Queen of Heart’s rules here. I don’t have nearly as many memorized as you do but I figured a cheat sheet wouldn’t hurt.”

Riddle looked at the notebook for a second before smiling in relief. “Thank you, (Y/N). I’m sorry, I haven’t been a very good host so far, have I? Especially considering what you’re doing for me.”

(Y/N) switched sides, landing heavily next to Riddle as the carriage went over a bump. She lightly knocked his arm with the back of her fist. “I told you it’s fine. I’m happy to help out. I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you so uptight before, and that’s saying something.”

Riddle frowned. “I’m not uptight.”

“Sure you’re not, teapot tyrant.” Riddle huffed and turned away. “Hey, I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Seriously, though, are you doing okay?”

Riddle fiddled with his fingers, choosing his words carefully. “The last time I came home, over winter break, my mother and I… well, it wasn’t a fight, exactly. An argument. That just so happened to lead to raised voices. And some harsh words. And maybe some things that are hard to take back.”

(Y/N) wasn’t really sure what to say to that. She sat back, focusing on the rumbling of the carriage beneath her. She noticed Riddle fiddling with his fingers again, picking at the skin around his nails. She slid her hand into his, holding it tight between them. She stared straight ahead, ignoring Riddle’s look of shock, no matter how cute his rising blush made him look. She squeezed his hand once, looking out her window. Riddle watched her face in profile, feeling the warmth of her hand in his, their shoulders occasionally bumping each other with the rocking of the carriage. He turned back to his own window, squeezing back.

A short while later, the carriage pulled in front of an elaborate townhouse. It had a beautiful red brick facade with white trimming around the windows and door. Ivy climbed elegantly up one side of the building There was a waist high black wrought iron fence around the perimeter, and the small yard in front was studded with blooming red rose bushes with butterflies elegantly flitting from flower to flower. And, while it was undoubtedly beautiful and picture perfect, (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel a little put off by the whole image. It seemed too perfect, not a blade of grass out of place or a bruised petal. Even the butterflies felt like they were on a preapproved flight path. Despite the fresh air outside, it was stifling.

As the footman on the carriage unloaded their bags, (Y/N) made a move to pick hers up, only for a valet to swoop in and effortlessly scoop up both bags. He turned and marched back through a door that seemed to shimmer out of nowhere, disappearing behind the ivy when he went through it.

“A servant’s entrance,” Riddle told her. “There are several through the house. It helps keep everyone separated.”

“I could have gotten my stuff,” She said. “It’s heavy.”

“You’re a guest. It would be impolite to expect you to carry your own things.”

A man in a crisp black suit with a gold pocket watch dangling from the front breast pocket opened the door, bowing low with a hand on his chest. “Welcome back, Master Riddle.” He said. The man looked up, sweeping a quick but appraising look over (Y/N). “And this is Miss (Y/N)?”

“Yes, hello!” (Y/N) greeted, smiling brightly. She walked forward, taking hold of the man’s hand and with both of hers and shaking it. She missed the choking gasp Riddle let out behind her. “Just (Y/N) is fine. It’s so nice to meet you! This is a lovely home. I’ve never been to Dinah before, everything is so beautiful! I’ve only been to the Queendom of Roses once before, in this place called Clocktown for a festival, but it’s so much different here.”

The butler nearly reared back at her greeting, going stiff as a board, but too polite to all together flinch and snatch his hand back. He merely retracted his hand, looked once at Riddle, then gazed straight ahead impassively. “Yes, well, welcome to the Rosehearts townhome. I hope you… enjoy your stay, Miss (Y/N).”

(Y/N), determined to push through the awkwardness she could sense building, replied chipperly, “Thanks!” And strode inside without looking back.

“Thank you, Edgar,” Riddle said as the butter closed the door behind them. “Do you know when Mother and Father will be home?”

“Dr. Rosehearts was called in for a last minute surgery and I believe Mr. Rosehearts is at his club. They both planned to be home for dinner to meet you and your… guest.”

The only way (Y/N) could think to describe the townhouse was grand. A grand sweeping staircase to the second floor, marble flooring of black and white checkered tile, two rooms on either side of the entrance hall stuffed with comfortable furniture with lace, one room farther to the back half-hidden behind the staircase, and decorative oil paintings.

“Wow,” She said. “This is where you grew up?”

“Partially, yes,” Riddle said. “We have a country estate as well, but the hospital is in town and Mother always wanted to be present for the social season.”

“Ooh, a country estate and the social season. Look at you, sounding all fancy.”

“Well, excuse me for being raised in polite society, unlike some people.”

“Hey!” (Y/N) laughed, playfully shoving him as he grinned back.

Riddle’s eyes cut back to Edgar the butler, watching the two of them with a critical eye and raised eyebrow. Riddle cleared his throat and schooled his face back to a serious expression. “I’ll show you your room, (Y/N). It’s upstairs.”

“Was it too much?” (Y/N) asked as they ascended the staircase, out of ear shot from Edgar. “I was trying to make a good impression.”

“People don’t tend to be as friendly with strangers here,” He said. “When you meet my parents it would be better to wait for them to act first.”

“So no big hug?” She laughed at Riddle’s glare. “Don’t worry, I’ll be picture perfect polite tonight. I know it’s important to you.”

“Thank you. To be honest I still feel awkward about all of this.” “I could say ‘what are friends for’ but I think we’re a little past that. It’s not like I’m getting nothing out of this. This place is like a fancy hotel!” She pushed open the door to her room, bright with the sunlight streaming in across a bed with a large fluffy white duvet across it. (Y/N) spun around, falling against the bed with a ‘poof’ of the down feather pillows. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so soft,” She sighed. Suddenly she sat straight up. “Oh, oh! Show me your room!”

“What?”

She jumped up, taking his hand and pulling him back down the hall. “Come on, let me see your room! I want to see what you’re like when you're not at school.”

“Much the same, I promise.”

His eyes cut to a door down the hall and (Y/N) grinned wickedly. Ignoring Riddle’s sound of protest, she threw open his door.

She faltered a bit as she looked inside, stomach squeezing with that same unease she felt from outside. Spartan wouldn’t be the right way to describe Riddle’s childhood bedroom. Sure, there was plenty of stuff in it, a neatly made bed, an expensive looking desk with a glass hooded reading lamp, plenty of books filling shelves, and a polished wardrobe. But it felt so bare. It felt more like a catalog picture than someone’s own bedroom they had grown up in. (Y/N) looked back to Riddle, who was looking down as if ashamed, like his room was full of trash rather than uninspiringly neat.

(Y/N) forced a smile to her face, closing the door. “Well, show me around. Back in my world, houses like these would have a bunch of secret passages, maybe a couple of ghosts. But I guess ghosts aren’t all that unusual here.”

“I think your home has more ghosts than mine,” Riddle said. “As for secret passages…”

(Y/N) clapped her hands together. “Yeah?”

Riddle smiled slyly. “Sorry, none of those either. Unless you’re thinking of servant’s doors, but I don’t think they would appreciate us meddling.”

“Aw, boo.”

“No pun intended, I’m sure.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“How about the garden? It’s out back. I’ll have someone bring us tea. It’ll give us a chance to strategize.”

The garden was nestled in the backyard of the townhome, bordered by high fences separating it from the other townhomes. There were, unsurprisingly, rose bushes in raised wooden boxes. White gravel pathways cut through each of the boxes, strolling under a trellis wound with flowers. To the back of the garden was a small glass greenhouse, filled with different medical herbs and plants along with scientific equipment for study. There was a small table on the back porch underneath a pergola wrapped with ivy. After Riddle gave (Y/N) a tour of the gardens they sat down and a maid brought out a white China teapot, pouring tea into delicate blue and white tea cups. (Y/N) inhaled the steam, letting the warmth and sweet notes of the tea fill her lungs before taking a sip.

“Thanks!” (Y/N) said to the maid who blinked before bobbing a nod and rushing off. (Y/N) made a note to herself that the servants here had a habit of avoiding eye contact. “Okay,” She said, taking a blueberry scone from a plate the maid brought with the tea. “What’s our game plan?”

“Well, my mother is obviously the one to impress. I don’t believe Father will have much to say, he usually defers to her. That’s usually a good plan with anything, deferring to her, I mean. Safe topics of conversation include the weather, recent medical innovations, and the health and travel of neighbors. It’s best to avoid personal topics like parliament, gossip, or personal questions. It’s also best to avoid discussing novels, Mother says they fill one’s head with fanciful ideas and nonsense.”

“Okay, so when would be the best time to brag about you?”

Riddle’s teacup clattered against the saucer. “What?”

“Well, you’re my fake boyfriend and I’m trying to look good in front of your mom, so it makes sense if I talk you up, right? Like how you’re a great dorm leader, that dressage stuff you’ve been doing in the equestrian club, how you’ve been helping other students study. Cater told me about how you set up a Magicam account just to help him study, that was super cute.”

“I’m, ah, not actually supposed to have a Magicam account, educational or otherwise, so it’s probably best not to bring that up. Mother says social media rots your brain.”

“I mean, sometimes, yeah, but it can be fun too. And I know you still post sometimes. I follow you.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do! Those study tips didn’t just help Cater. Plus I like to see what’s going on with you. Not that you post stuff very often or anything, but I did like that picture from the last Unbirthday Party with those cupcakes you made.”

Riddle waved her praise off. “They weren’t anything special. Most of the frosting was smudged all together anyway.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself so short. You don’t have to be perfect at everything, especially the first time around. And I thought they were cute.” She fished her phone out of her pocket, quickly swiping to the picture they were talking about on Magicam. It was a close up of Riddle, smiling, face smeared with red frosting. Trey was caught mid-laugh, handing him a napkin. Ace’s hand was blurred with movement in the lower right edge, having snagged a cupcake from the tray Riddle was holding, covered with cartoon rose dotting liners. It was obvious that the red and white frosting on top was meant to replicate delicate rose petals, and while some of them looked presentable, most had been piped with a shaky hand, leaving too much or too little frosting for the petals. “See? Cute.”

Riddle’s hand darted forward to push the phone down. “Yes, sure, fine, you made your point! I knew I should have taken that down.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Riddle sighed, accepting defeat. “Fine, yes, just don’t bring it up at dinner.”

“If you don’t mind me saying, it doesn't seem like there’s a lot of wiggle room for conversation here. What do you usually talk about when you come home?”

Riddle took another sip of tea. “My studies, mostly. Class rankings, the local social season, applying for medical colleges, that sort of thing.”

“What about your friends at NRC? Or all the weird and exciting stuff that happens? Like when we all went to the ghost realm at Halloween, or Fluer City at Halloween? Wow, a lot of crazy stuff happens around Halloween, huh?”

“That’s all superfluous. My grades and plans for the internship fourth year are more important.”

“Riddle.” (Y/N) reached across the table, taking Riddle’s hand. “That stuff is still important, you know. We’ve gone through a lot of crazy stuff, a lot of it dangerous and scary. It’s okay to talk about that. There’s life outside of classrooms.”

Riddle looked away but squeezed her hand. “I know. And I’m getting there, with priorities and understanding others. But this sort of thing is important to her. And I still want to impress her, to have her be proud of me. Despite everything.”

(Y/N) pressed her lips together. She wanted to say something supportive, something wise, something to make everything better. But nothing seemed right, nothing to encapsulate the pity and support (Y/N) felt all at once. In the movies or on TV, there was always some sort of all encompassing resolution, a final speech to make everything better. But she couldn’t find the words, couldn’t seem to express exactly how she felt. That Riddle didn’t need to constantly try so hard, to always make himself a perfect image for others to view. That he was allowed to like the things he liked, no matter how trivial or silly they seemed. Make bad frosted cupcakes, learn dressage, play games, be a teenager like everyone else for once. That she had such strong feelings for him, faults included. But nothing seems right. So she just squeezed his hand back.

“Master Riddle,” A voice said, startling them both. Edgar stood at the door, casting a permanently judging look at the two of them. “Doctor and Mr. Rosehearts have returned. They have requested your presence in the dining room.”

Riddle jumped up, smoothing his outfit even though it was spotless. “Right, well, (Y/N), I suppose it’s time you meet my parents.”

Now that the time was actually here, (Y/N) didn’t expect to feel so nervous. Well, maybe nervous wasn’t the right word. Sure, she was anxious, hoping to make a good impression and help Riddle with their plot, but there was something else mixed with it. A kind of dread at coming face to face with a woman she had only ever heard bad things about. This woman, whether intentional or not, set the ground for Riddle’s Overblot. She was not an insignificant part of his emotional distress, his stress, the walls he put up around himself. How were you supposed to feel about a person like that? Especially when the object of that stress still so strongly wanted her approval?

Edgar escorted them to the dining room where the table was already set and a maid and footman were starting to set out the first course. (Y/N) felt her heart jump unpleasantly in her chest as she came face to face with Dr. Rosehearts. The older woman’s steely gray eyes locked on to (Y/N)’s directly as she stepped in the room. She felt like her skin had been peeled back and every dark and unpleasant thought she had ever had had been thrown on the table for everyone to inspect. Dr. Rosehearts’ otherwise perfect cupid’s bow mouth was pulled into a tight frown. Her red hair, matching perfectly to her son’s, was pulled back in a tight bun clasped at her neck, a deadly looking sharp hairpin keeping it together. She looked elegant and flawless, more like an expensive bone China doll than an actual living breathing person in front of her. (Y/N) almost jumped in surprise when she finally noticed Riddle’s father. He was reading a newspaper, sharp cheekbones and tired, watery eyes under wavy mousy brown hair. Other than a brief flit of his eyes as the two of them entered, it was almost like he didn’t notice them at all.

“Riddle,” His mother said, standing and turning to her son. (Y/N) felt like a stone had been removed from her chest as Dr. Rosehearts’ eyes finally left hers. “Welcome home. Take a seat.”

Riddle marched over to his seat opposite his father, sitting with a ramrod straight back, looking straight ahead. (Y/N) faltered for a moment, wondering if she should sit next to Riddle or Mr. Rosehearts. The second of hesitation was noticed by Dr. Rosehearts, whose mouth ticked in annoyance. Riddle subtly nodded his head to the chair across from him, next to his father. (Y/N) scuttled over, pulling the chair out with an undignified squeak against the floor. Mr. Rosehearts looked up at her as she sat down, blinking like she had materialized out of thin air.

“Mother, Father,” Riddle said, voice stiff. “Allow me to introduce my partner, (Y/N) (L/N), Ramshackle Dorm Prefect at Night Raven College. (Y/N), this is my mother, Dr. Victoria Rosehearts, and my father, Mr. Albert Rosehearts.”

“Please to meet you,” (Y/N) said, giving what she hoped was a bright and welcoming smile. “Thank you for having me.”

“Yes, well,” Dr. Rosehearts said. “I must admit it was a surprise when Riddle told me he was bringing a guest home for the holiday.”

“Well, Riddle always talks so fondly about Dinah and I haven’t traveled too much, so I couldn’t help but impose. You have a lovely home, by the way.”

“I do wonder,” Dr. Rosehearts said, ignoring (Y/N)’s attempted start at conversation. “How a young girl such as yourself comes to attend an all boys school?”

“To be totally honest I’m not really sure myself,” (Y/N) said, laughing through the awkwardness of Dr. Rosehearts intense direct gaze. “We’ve been trying to figure that out since I first got here. It’s been kind of a struggle getting a hang of everything, considering I can’t even use magic, but I-”

(Y/N) was interrupted by the clatter of Dr. Rosehearts’ spoon clattering against her soup bowl. Even Mr. Rosehearts looked up, suddenly intrigued. “Did you say you can’t use magic?” Mr. Rosehearts said.

(Y/N) gulped, looking quickly at Riddle who was going pale. “Well, no, I can’t. I’m sorry, I thought you knew. I’m not even from this world. Dimension? Anyway, magic doesn't exist in my world. Somehow one of the black carriages swept me up and brought me here. No one can figure out how or why yet, not even our Magic Mirror. Our headmage has been trying to research it but I guess there’s not a lot of studies on interdimensional travel.” She tried to laugh off the heavy atmosphere. “But no, no magic. Can’t even ride a broom, which is a shame because that’s the one thing I would really love to do.”

Dr. Rosehearts cleared her throat, dabbing her mouth delicately with a napkin. A maid hastily rushed in to clear her soup. “Well, I suppose Night Raven College’s admission requirements have become quite lacks as of late, having common folk mingling with upper crust society and nobles, not to mention allowing fae folk. I suppose anything is possible at this rate.”

(Y/N) scowled, finding herself blurting out her next statement despite Riddle’s miniscule shake of the head. “Hey, everyone works really hard at NRC. Where they’re from or their family doesn't matter, they’re all great mages. Besies, it’s the Magic Mirror that chooses people. It’s able to see everyone’s potential. And with everything that’s been going on this year everyone’s only gotten better. It’s amazing some of the stuff I’ve seen them do.”

“Oh?” Mr. Rosehearts said, folding his paper closed and leaning forward. “Has it been an interesting year?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I don’t know what a typical year at a magic school is like, but to me it’s been insane! There was one time where one of our dorm heads got kidnapped by a ghost bride to marry him, and everyone got together to try to woo her away. She ended up slapping half of them and freezing them in place. Oh, Riddle was here, he had this amazing red velvet suit. Or one of our magestones got stolen by a fairy queen and we had to stage a whole heist to get it back. Our coach, Coach Vargas, had these camps to test people’s abilities and survival instinct when they couldn’t use magic. But then he dressed up as a monster and ‘kidnapped’ a bunch of students so everyone else had to come rescue them. The next camping trip he got one of our other professors in on it too. And every once and a while we’ll have this Culinary Crucible that they had to change the judging for because everyone kept cheating, but-”

“My!” Dr. Rosehearts suddenly exclaimed. “I don’t believe I remember the last time we had so much chatter at a mealtime.”

(Y/N) felt her face heat up, but she wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or anger.

Mr. Rosehearts, who had been nodding along to (Y/N) recollection of events with rapt attention, cleared his throat with a cough, leaning back in his chair and taking up his newspaper again. “Yes, well, youth these days,” He said, noncommittal.

Despite the fact that a maid had just brought out the next course, Dr. Rosehearts stood. “I find I’ve lost my appetite,” She announced. “I will be retiring early tonight. Riddle, we have an appointment at the Lorina Hotel tomorrow for high tea. Make sure you and your guest wear something presentable.” With that, she swept from the room without another word. The silence that followed was brittle, like ice on a lake right before someone plummets through it.

“Well,” (Y/N) said, breaking the quiet. She stood, walking over to Dr. Rosehearts abandoned plate and picking it up, dumping the roasted chicken and vegetable onto her own plate. “More for me then.”

~~~

Later that night, (Y/N) had apologized to Riddle no less than twelve times. She tried to defend herself, that she was taken by surprise that his parents didn’t know about her unique circumstances, that she was annoyed how dismissive Dr. Rosehearts had been, that she just started talking and couldn’t figure out how to stop. Not that any of it really excused her behavior, she knew. She felt like she had let Riddle down, ruining whatever chance, no matter how slim, of this being a peaceful visit home. And, while Riddle had repeated every time that it was fine, that she was okay, that he should have prepared her better, she still felt bad.

(Y/N) had never been to a high tea before. She wasn’t 100% sure what to wear, especially with Dr. Rosehearts’ comment from the night before. And it wasn’t like she had an extensive wardrobe to choose from in the first place. Thankfully, their alchemy teacher with a penchant for fashion design had somehow grown fond of her during the school year, providing her with a few outfits to help her fit in better outside of school. The next morning, she pulled a dusty blue sundress with little white buttons out of her luggage. She had a pair of sandals more suited to the beach than a hotel, but they fit the theme better than her school loafers. She slipped them on and hoped no one would look down.

Tea was scheduled for 11 so (Y/N) decided to find Riddle and try to get a better lay of the land before they headed out. He didn’t answer her knock, which she thought was strange as Riddle wasn’t the type to sleep in, even if he was home on break. She felt strange wandering through the house. Every once and a while she would see a maid or footman dart out of one of the hidden servant’s doors, but before she could start a conversation or ask where her hosts were they would duck their heads and disappear.

She eventually found Mr. Rosehearts in the breakfast room, which was the same as the dinning room but with a changed name for some reason. The thick curtains had been thrown open letting light pour in across the spread on the table. Despite the fact that there was enough food to feed at least ten people, Mr. Rosehearts was the only one present, absentmindedly nibbling on some jam slathered toast.

(Y/N) forced a smile to her face. She might have ruined her first impression with Dr. Rosehearts last night, but Mr. Rosehearts had at least seemed intrigued by what she had to say. “Good morning!”

Mr. Rosehearts jumped, dropping his toast jam side down on the spotless table cloth. “Oh! Good morning.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The last thing she needed right now was to turn both of Riddle’s parents against her.

Mr. Rosehearts waved her off, gingerly picking up the toast and plopping it on his plate. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m just not used to company in the morning, is all. Not that I mind it. Please, sit.”

“Is everyone else still asleep?” (Y/N) asked, scooping up some chive studded scrambled eggs on her plate.

“Oh, no, Victoria doesn't believe in sleeping in. It disrupts the normal circadian rhythms, you know, especially for teenagers like you and Riddle. No, she and Riddle were speaking in her office.”

“Oh.” (Y/N) suddenly didn’t feel very hungry anymore. “I think I need to apologize.” Mr. Rosehearts looked up, blinking owlishly. “I was rambling last night, at dinner. I shouldn’t have been so argumentative, especially since I’m a guest in your home. I’ll be putting a better foot forward from now on, promise.”

“Oh. Oh! Oh, no, please, think nothing of it. Actually,” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was hoping you could expand on some of those stories you started last night. Just between you and me, I happen to have a penchant for gossip.” He patted the newspaper beside him. Now that (Y/N) got a closer look, she realized it was a society gossip column. She smiled, getting Bridgerton flashbacks.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of stories. Do you want to start with Fleur City almost burning down or Magicam Monsters taking over NRC?”

Meanwhile, Riddle sat in an uncomfortable straight backed chair in his mother’s office. Various papers floated around the room, magically organizing themselves in various case files. A free-standing pen signed Dr. Rosehearts’ signature across multiple forms. Despite the warm morning light filling the room, Riddle felt chilled.

“I wonder,” Dr. Rosehearts said, sitting behind her large mahogany desk, hands clasped in front of her. “About the company you have chosen to keep while away at school.”

“(Y/N) is a respectable person,” Riddle said. “She was just thrown off last night. She’s still not used to many of our customs. She’s a fast learner, however, she’s acclimated remarkably quickly to life here. Given that she has no base of knowledge for many of the classes at Night Raven College she has good grades and-”

Dr. Rosehearts held up a hand, stopping Riddle with the words of praise in his throat. “The way the ones you associate with act reflects on you, Riddle. It also reflects upon me and the whole Rosehearts household. You should know better by now.”

Riddle felt his face flush, looking down. “Yes, Mother.”

“Really, Riddle, I didn’t think you’d be the type to fall for any pretty face. And how much do you actually know about her background, anyway? You said yourself she’s not from here. Who knows what kind of manipulation she might be playing at, using our good name against us?” Riddle bit his tongue, your defense springing into his mouth. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“Yes, Mother, I know.”

“Wonderful.” Dr. Rosehearts stood, Riddle following. “We’ll continue to house Miss (Y/N) here during the break, it would be bad form to throw her out at this point, but as soon as you return to school I expect you to end this frivolous excursion.”

Riddle felt his heart drop into his stomach. “But, Mother, I-”

“No buts, Riddle,” She said sternly. Riddle immediately looked down, avoiding her cold iron gaze. “I know best for you. You’ll do as I say. We have a plan for you, remember? There’s no use upending your future over some fleeting fancy. And besides, there are many wonderful eligible ladies here in town. We’ll be meeting a few of my top choices for you at the hotel. And we’ll be attending a ball tomorrow night. Your friend is not invited, by the way.”

Riddle drew in a sharp breath, a million things he wanted to say racing through his mind. His mother had arranged a meeting with bachelorettes when he had told her he already had a girlfriend? He realized with a sinking sensation that no plan he and (Y/N) would have come up with would have been good enough for his mother. She had her plan and nothing would be able to change it. He suddenly had the sensation of floating, no, falling, with no anchor or safety net. His stomach flipped and a rush of cold descended over his body.

“Yes, Mother,” He only said.

Dr. Rosehearts nodded definitively. She swept from the office, Riddle following close behind with downcast eyes. They both paused on the stairway, startled by the sound of laughter floating out from the breakfast room. Riddle pushed past his mother into the room. (Y/N) and his father sat at the table across from each other. His father’s head was thrown back, eyes closed and mouth open in a raucous laugh. Riddle couldn’t remember the last time he heard his father laugh like that, or even laugh at all. (Y/N) was in the middle of a story, hands animated.

“So of course the referee asked who he is, because their team didn’t have anyone signed up for an alternate, and Leona goes and uses my name! Like no one would recognize the second prince of the Sunset Savannah. And you know what, no one did!”

Mr. Rosehearts put his hand against his chest, trying to regain his composure. “And then? Did you at least win?”

“Oh, of course, yeah! And then we all had to run away in this jeep Leona was driving right when it started to rain. I’ve heard Checka still calls him ‘Unca (Y/N)’ sometimes.”

Mr. Rosehearts looked up, noticing Riddle and Dr. Rosehearts standing in the doorway. “Oh, Victoria! (Y/N) was just telling me the most wonderful story. Did you know she’s friends with Prince Leona of the Sunset Savannah? And the Asim heir, they donated at the last charity gala you attended, didn’t they? It’s amazing the adventures children can get up to now a days-”

“You’re very chatty this morning, Albert,” Dr. Rosehearts cut him off. “This much noise in the morning is quite unusual, don’t you agree?”

Mr. Rosehearts’ face dropped and he squirmed in his chair. He picked up his newspaper, flipping it so a person couldn’t see what he was reading.

(Y/N) frowned at the sudden change of mood, but gave Riddle a warm smile when she saw him. It was amazing how he almost immediately felt lighter. He really hoped he wasn’t blushing again. “Hi!” She chirped, standing. Riddle felt a rush of mixed emotions. Part fluff at (Y/N) smiling at him, beautiful in her sundress, part embarrassment knowing it was exactly the wrong thing to wear, and no doubt his mother had clocked that immediately.

Riddle reached for a cheese danish. His mother’s hand snapped out, swatting his hand away. “You’ll have sweets at the hotel,” She said, sniffing. “You don’t need the extra sugar, especially this early in the morning.”

‘Then why have it on the table?’ (Y/N) thought uncharitably. She went over to Riddle, linking her arm through his, pulling him away from Dr. Rosehearts. “You’re sweet enough already, Riddle. When do we head out?”

Later, as they were waiting for the carriages to head to the hotel, Riddle pulled out and quickly ate the danish (Y/N) had slipped in his pocket.

~~~

The Lorina Hotel stretched high above their heads. (Y/N) leaned back to take in the full scope of it. The facade was clean white bricks with dozens of windows glinting in the sunlight. Each story was capped by marble carvings of lions with wings, jumping fish, and flowers.

“No time for gawking,” Dr. Rosehearts said, straightening her gloves. “We have people waiting for us.”

“We do?” (Y/N) asked, purposefully ignoring Dr. Rosehearts thorny glare. “Are they your friends, Riddle?”

“Not in so many words,” He replied.

A finely dressed doorman opened the door to a lavish lobby. Before (Y/N) had a chance to ‘gawk’ again, Dr. Rosehearts swept them off to a side room. She gave their name to a waiter at a podium. The man skimmed the list of reservations in front of him, looking down his nose at (Y/N) and her uncovered shoulders. While (Y/N) was too enamored observing her surroundings, Riddle noticed. He quickly shrugged off his jacket and brought it around her shoulders. The man sniffed. He led them through the tea room to two tables situated against a large window. They sat by a large window opening onto a courtyard in the middle of the hotel. Guests strolled across the green lawn, admiring flowers. Dr. and Mr. Rosehearts sat at their own small table while Riddle and (Y/N) were directed to one that had three other residents already.

“Riddle!” One of them called, smiling up at him. “How lovely to see you again.”

(Y/N) felt Riddle stiffen beside her. “Hello, Lily, Rose, Violet. It’s nice to see you all as well.”

(Y/N) slipped her hand into Riddle’s, who jumped in surprise, before inserting herself in the girls’ line of sight. “Hi! I’m (Y/N), Riddle’s girlfriend. It’s nice to meet some of his friends from home!”

All three girls, in Victorian inspired puffed up dresses with more lace and tulle than (Y/N) had ever seen before and large elaborate sun hats to match, startled, blinking at her as if she had appeared out of thin air.

Almost in sync, the three of them whipped out decorated fans. “Oh, hello,” Violet said. “We weren’t aware Riddle was bringing a guest.”

“You’ll just have to put up with me then, I guess.” Riddle pulled out her chair and, with a surge of confidence and a sideways glance at the three girls, (Y/N) quickly kissed his cheek. (Y/N) smiled at the shocked gasp they let out as Riddle’s face turned red. She couldn’t help but reveal in Dr. Rosehearts’ glower as Mr. Rosehearts discreetly smiled into his tea. “So, how close is this to the unbirthday parties at school?”

“An unbirthday party?” Lily said with a chuckle. “Isn’t that a bit juvenile?”

“If by juvenile you mean really fun and a great excuse to dress up then yes, I suppose it is.” Under the table, Riddle squeezed (Y/N)’s hand, in warning or thankfulness she wasn’t sure. The three girls looked at eachother, flicking and fluttering their fans with precise motions.

A waiter brought a pot of tea to the table which he dutifully poured in everyone’s delicate tea cups. Another waiter brought a high stacked tower with tiny cakes and sandwiches. (Y/N) tried to cut down on her abrasiveness for the rest of the tea, not wanting to make Riddle uncomfortable. Although, to her it seemed the three other girls were doing a great job of that on their own. When they weren’t speaking to each other about him without his input, they chatted about things that had been happening in Dinah during the social season, then acted surprised when neither (Y/N) or Riddle could contribute to the conversation.

After a while, and two pots of tea, Riddle excused himself. A tense silence dropped over the table like a heavy curtain. The three girls continued casting knowing glances at each other, snapping and waving their fans.

(Y/N) spread her hands on the table. “Look, I know just enough about fan language to know you’re talking about me, but not enough to know what you’re saying. So if you have something you want to say you might as well come out and say it.”

“You’re rather blunt, aren’t you?” Rose said with a sniff.

“Among many other things.”

“We were just wondering,” Violet said smoothly. “About your pedigree. It’s unusual enough to have a girl attending an all boys school, so we surmised you must have a particular magical talent.”

“We all attend Lady Dormouse’s Finishing School, you see,” Lily said with a saccharine smile. “It’s a far more… elegant education.”

“Well, I don’t know about elegant,” (Y/N) said, pointedly ignoring Rose’s smirk when she said under her breath, “Clearly.” “But Night Raven College is a great place. Sure, it’s a minefield half the time and considering I can’t do any magic so half of the assignments are almost impossible, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I’ve made amazing friends there, and, of course, I got to meet Riddle. That’s the best part.” (Y/N) smiled wistfully.

The girls across from her all dropped their jaws at once. “You can’t use magic?” Violet gasped.

“Surely you know a simple zephyr spell? Or can light a candle?” Lily asked.

“Nope, not a thing. Don’t have one drop of magic in my whole body.” At this point it almost felt like a mark of pride. And she was beginning to relish the shocked expressions people made.

Violet reached forward and gently touched the back of (Y/N)’s hand. “You poor thing,” She said, voice breaking. Rose had pushed herself as far back in her chair as she could, as if magiclessness was contagious. (Y/N) could practically see the gears turning in Lily’s head as she considered such a thing being possible.

(Y/N) looked out the window to the courtyard, trying to avoid Violet’s overly sympathetic gaze. She perked up when she saw a few uniformed staff members setting up small white arches in the grass. A flock of pink flamingos waddled on tall, thin legs around the fountain. One of the staff members gently cradled a small wooden box where a hedgehog poked its nose out.

“Hey, Riddle!” She called as Riddle walked back to their table. “Check it out, they’re setting up croquet! We should see if we can play.”

Riddle’s face lit up. “Really?” He asked, craning his neck to look out the window as the first round of players took their marks. He quickly looked back at his mother and schooled his face to a more serious expression. “That is, I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Oh, I’d love a good game of croquet!” Rose said, clapping her hands. She stood, going over to Riddle and touching his shoulder in a way that made (Y/N) grit her teeth in annoyance. “I was the undisputed champion at Dormouse. You will play with us, won’t you, Riddle?”

The group exited to the courtyard, Mr. Rosehearts quickly arranging for a game with the attendants. The girls had huddled around the green, watching the previous game. Riddle was looking down at his feet, fiddling with his fingers, pulling at the skin around his nails.

“Hey!” (Y/N) said, slinging her arm around Riddle’s shoulders. “I am here to make sure you have fun, fake relationship or not. So come on, let’s have fun! Plus, I have no idea how to play this game.”

“Well,” Riddle said. “The first thing is to choose your flamingo mallet.” He effortlessly snatched a flamingo by the neck, turning it so he held the legs. The flamingo immediately went ramrod straight.

“That doesn't bother them or anything, right?” (Y/N) asked, looking dubiously at the remaining flamingos.

“Not at all. They’re specifically trained for this. Go on, try one.”

“Okay…” (Y/N) tried to replicate the quick movements Riddle had made when grabbing his flamingo. The bird she was aiming for dodged her hand. She grabbed again. Another miss. She heard the girls tittering with laughter. (Y/N) huffed, trying to snatch at the flamingo with both hands this time. The large bird squealed, flapping its large wings as (Y/N) wrestled it. The flamingo squawked and (Y/N) squawked back in defiance. Riddle quickly came to her rescue, grabbing the flamingo and performing the same practiced motion. The flamingo immediately went rigged, but (Y/N) couldn’t help but notice the defiant glint in its eye.

“Thanks,” (Y/N) mumbled, plucking stray feathers out of her hair.

Riddle stifled a laugh behind his fist. “Not a problem. The rest of the game is pretty simple. You want to hit the hedgehog through the white pickets to the end of the lawn, then again on the way back. The fewest hits win.”

“Right, sure. Sounds easy enough.” When Riddle went to take his first hit, (Y/N) whispered harshly to her flamingo mallet, “Don’t mess this up for me.”

After the others had taken their turn, (Y/N) stepped up to the first hoop, her hedgehog rolled into a ball in front of her. She carefully angled her flamingo down, tapping the head against the small animal. ‘Just like mini-golf,’ She thought to herself and swung gently. She heard giggling from the spectators. She looked down, seeing her hedgehog in the exact same place. Only, no, it was about an inch to the left, away from where she had hit. She tapped her foot, swinging again, this time keeping her eye on the spiky ball. Yup, there, again, it rolled ever so slightly the other way.

“My ball is cheating,” (Y/N) said, pointing at the innocent-looking hedgehog.

“It’s a poor craftsman who blames their tools,” Dr. Rosehearts replied from the sidelines.

“I don’t think that applies here, but sure,” (Y/N) mumbled.

She squared her feet, tightening her grip on the flamingo’s legs. She tried a harder swing this time. It connected, sending the tiny hedgehog tumbling. Before (Y/N) could celebrate her victory, the animal swung out in a large arc away from the pickets, slowing to a stop right by Dr. Rosehearts’ feet. (Y/N) scowled, going over to stand by Riddle’s parents while the rest of the group took their turns for the second round.

“You know,” Dr. Rosehearts said softly to (Y/N) when Mr. Rosehearts walked off to get some tea. “Lily’s father is a minister in parliament. She’s an especially accomplished pianist and frequently has requests from the royal theater company to play.”

“MmHmm,” (Y/N) hummed.

“Violet recently won first place in a national equestrian show jumping competition. Her father is a colleague of mine, an orthopedic surgeon, and her mother is a most accomplished florist.”

“Neat.”

“Rose is an absolute gem, of course. Extremely high marks with practical magic, and her embroidery has been displayed as far as the Sunshine Lands. She’s also wonderfully organized and an exemplary hostess. I can see her managing a fine house one day.”

“Maybe, but Rose Rosehearts is kind of clunky, don’t you think? Or redundant? One of those.”

Dr. Roshearts sniffed. “She also has a firm grasp on language and elegance.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to say something she knew she would probably regret when the referee called for her turn. Dr. Rosehearts inclined her head and took a step back, giving (Y/N) room to swing.

“Alright,” (Y/N) said softly to the ball and mallet. “The arch this time.”

She aimed, taking in a deep breath as she swung. She looked around the green, not seeing her hedgehog rolling towards or away. It also wasn’t stuck in its place at her feet. Suddenly, the flamingo began to writhe in her hands, flapping its large wings to bat fiercely at her face. She coughed on feathers, trying to hold the distressed animal as far away as possible. Peaking out from one eye, she saw the hedgehog clinging to the flamingo’s neck, climbing up and down while the bird desperately tried to escape its tiny claws. (Y/N) shook the bird, reaching out to try and dislodge the hedgehog. That only seemed to make it worse as both animals began to panic. The flamingo kicked out causing (Y/N) to drop it. With an unholy squawk, it leapt out of her hands, flapping and dancing, colliding right into the gawking Dr. Rosehearts. The red-haired woman shrieked, several hotel attendants coming to her rescue, trying to grab the flamingo. (Y/N) couldn't help but notice Mr. Rosehearts watching the whole spectacle with fascination from the tea cart.

As the attendants apologized profusely to a fuming Dr. Rosehearts, (Y/N) made her way over to Riddle and the three gasping girls. “Well,” She said. “I don’t think I’m very good at this game.”

~~~

When they got back to the townhouse, (Y/N) had another round of apologizing to Riddle.

“I really didn’t mean for that to happen,” She said. She didn’t say she felt somewhat satisfied to see Dr. Rosehearts in distress, plucking stray feathers out of her hair and clothes the whole ride home. “I don’t know what I was doing wrong. I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much.”

“I know it’s not your fault,” Riddle said, pulling off his tie. (Y/N) was sitting on the bed in his room as he watched her in the mirror on his bureau. “The hotel should have vetted their animals better.”

(Y/N) bit her lip. She gave a mirthless laugh. “Our plan isn't going very well, is it?” Riddle faltered, dropping his tie. He turned around to look at (Y/N). Her mouth was screwed up in a tight frown, her eyes misty, and she clutched the duvet tightly. “Sorry. I really wanted to make you look good. I wanted to try and seem like the perfect girlfriend, but I just kind of made everything worse. I wanted to show you that I-” She suddenly cut herself off, looking up and meeting Riddle’s eyes. Her face grew hot and she looked away. “Sorry, don’t listen to me, I’m rambling.”

More than anything, Riddle wanted to ask her what she was going to say. More than anything, he wanted to say something back, something that had been stuck in his mind well before he asked for her help in their plot. Something that made his heart speed up with her every kind word and action, that made him feel pleasantly light-headed whenever they were close, that caused his chest to fill with pride as she worked tirelessly to defend him during the trip. But his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. He could still feel the iron-hot glare from his mother on the carriage ride back from the hotel. And, beneath it all, a simmering fear that their ploy was really just a ploy, that (Y/N) was just an exceptionally good actor, that there was no way she could feel the same way about him that he was realizing he felt about her.

He tapped his foot, coming over to sit next to (Y/N) on his bed. “There’s a ball tomorrow night,” He said, not looking at her. “Mother, Father, and I are invited. Mother… asked if you would be alright remaining at home.”

“Oh,” She said, and Riddle tried not to flinch back at her tone of voice. “No, yeah, I get it. Hey, I don’t even have anything to wear. So, yeah, it’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Riddle said, his harshness even startling himself. He cleared his throat, starting again. “It’s unfair to you. I shouldn’t have dragged you all the way out here. This whole thing was a bad idea to begin with.”

“Oh,” (Y/N) said again, another fractured syllable. She stood. “Well, yeah, fine. I guess the idea of us being together is a bad idea.”

Riddle felt a jolt in his chest. “No, wait, (Y/N), that’s not what I-”

“No, I get it. Why would someone like you want to be with someone like me in the first place? You’ve got a plan all figured out, right? NRC then internships then becoming a world famous doctor. And what do I have to offer you? I can’t do magic, I don’t have any family, I definitely don’t have any money, I have no idea what I’m even going to do over the summer break. And it’s not like I fit in with your world, anyway. Not just Twisted Wonderland, but the whole life you want for yourself. It’s fine, I get it.” She stood, pacing, hot and angry tears pricking her eyes. She took a deep, rattling breath to steady herself before turning to Riddle face to face. “I won’t get in your way anymore. But I do want to say that you deserve better than how you’ve been treated. You’re not your mother. You deserve someone who sees how amazing you are by yourself, not some mold other people try to put you in. You’ve worked so hard these past few months to be a better person and I- I just hope you find someone who recognizes that.” Without another word, (Y/N) rushed out of the room. She nearly collided with Dr. Rosehearts in the hall before muttering an “excuse me” before throwing herself in her room, locking the door.

Dr. Rosehearts lifted her chin, walking the few steps forward to Riddle’s room. She didn’t bother knocking and just stepped inside. Riddle was sitting on the edge of his bed, face buried in his hands.

“I’m glad you’ve come to see reason, Riddle,” She vaguely praised. Riddle looked up at her with red rimmed eyes, checks flushed. “We’ll leave for your suit fitting in the morning. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, Mother,” Riddle mumbled. The sound of his door clicking shut ricocheted around his ears.

~~~

“I messed up,” (Y/N) said. “I really messed this whole thing up.”

It was the next day. She’d barely slept the night before, not bothering to go down to dinner last night or breakfast this morning. Eventually, she heard the front door open and close, watching Riddle and Dr. Rosehearts board a carriage to go out. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, and called Cater.

“I mean,” He said. “It’s not the best, that’s for sure.”

(Y/N) had called Cater after a moment of desperation, eager for someone to talk to and express her frustrations. She trusted Cater enough to know he wouldn’t immediately run off and tell everyone about the plan and would be patient enough to listen to her vent. He had also lent a sympathetic ear in the past when she had gotten overwhelmed by the strangeness of her new world and missing her old one. She could practically see him twist a lock of hair around his finger as he talked to her. “But it’s not all your fault. Riddle could have stepped in to help, you know.”

“He’s just… under a lot of pressure here,” She said. “I guess I had this idea in my head of what it would be like. But, man, do I hate his mom.”

“We all do, sweetheart.”

“I feel like I kind of abandoned him, though. But he basically disinvited me from my last night here so how am I supposed to feel?”

“Hmm. Do you know where the party is supposed to be tonight?”

“At Rose’s place, bleh.”

“Well, you could always crash it.”

(Y/N) sat up. “Crash? I can’t do that, I’ve embarrassed him enough already.”

Cater huffed in frustration. “Honestly, you’re both so blind I don’t know how you stand it.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I thought you said the reason you went there in the first place was to help Riddle.”

“I did - I am - but-”

“And what? You’re just going to let one bad game of croquet take that from you?”

“It wasn’t just that game, I-”

“And we both know Riddle’s blind spots. Sure, he’s been better about all that rule stuff and chilling out here at school, but being back in the middle of all his trauma is different, you know?”

“I - You know what? You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right, I usually am.”

“Riddle acts like he’s in charge all the time, I forget that we’re practically the same age. And everyone needs help, even when they’re too stubborn to admit it.”

“Yes, exactly! Stubborn is practically Riddle’s middle name!”

“Which means,” (Y/N) stood. “I’ve got to be stubborn back! If Riddle can’t ask for help then I need to be a good girlfriend and recognize he needs it and do my part!”

(Y/N) could feel Cater’s smirk in his next words. “Ooh, his girlfriend, huh? I thought you were just pretending?”

“Oh, you know what I mean. Thanks, Cater. I’ve got to go get ready. I have a party to crash!”

“I’m going to need every detail when you get back!”

(Y/N) quickly hung up, dialing another number. “Hi, Vil? It’s (Y/N). I have a really big favor to ask.”

~~~

Riddle stared into his flute of sparkling wine, watching the few remaining bubbles rise and pop. It was flat by now and he hadn’t taken a single sip. The last rays of sunlight glowed gently against the surrounding townhouses that Riddle could see out the large bay windows of the ballroom. Couples twirled together along the floor to the elegant music from a string band. A long table was precisely set with way too much food, even given the substantial size of the party. His father mingled across the room with several other gentlemen from his club, doing his best to blend into the curtains. Riddle stood dutifully next to his mother who was speaking to Rose’s mother. Rose herself hovered next to him. He floated in and out of their conversation, only picking up about every fourth word. He wore a dark red velvet coat with a tight white starched collar that he kept tugging at to keep from strangling him.

“And then,” Rose was saying. “Betty walks in with a yellow checkered parasol! Can you imagine? For an autumn leaf viewing picnic? Honestly, I’m surprised she had the nerve to stay around for as long as she did with that sort of faux pa.”

“MmHm,” Riddle replied, swirling his glass causing a few errant bubbles to meander to the surface.

“Really, the only thing that might have been more embarrassing is if she brought a chestnut tart! Oh, are you alright, Riddle?”

Riddle coughed, clearing his throat as his face turned red. “Yes, fine, just remembering something unpleasant.”

“Well, I’m not sure how you could think of anything unpleasant with me around,” She said, clutching his arm to pull him closer to her, batting her eyes. Her eyelashes were so long Riddle had a single terrifying impression of spider legs.

Riddle cleared his throat again, more uncomfortable this time. “Yes, I can’t imagine.”

Rose pouted and opened her mouth to say something else only to be interrupted by the round of gasps and murmurs that swelled from around the room. At the top of the grand staircase leading down to the ballroom, a footman was taking a dark traveling cloak from a newcomer. The cloak fell away to reveal the elaborate dress underneath it. The bodice was a rich crimson red with puffed sleeves at the shoulders, leading down to illusion sheer sleeves with tiny intricate beading twinkling down to the tight clasps at the wrists. The skirt bloomed out from the waist, layers upon layers of fabric resembling a large upside down rose. The red from the top continued down the skirt in an almost dripping effect, the rose petals turning white at the bottom as if they were being painted. The rose parted just at the knees to allow the wearer more freedom of movement, revealing sheer stockings with the same bead work.

Riddle shoved his glass into Rose’s hands, ignoring her shocked look. He strode forward, cutting through the crowd. As the new figure descended the stairs, he met her, extending his hand to take hers.

“Hi,” (Y/N) said, smiling gently at him. “I’m not too late, am I?”

“No,” Riddle breathed. “You’re here just in time.”

“Excuse me!” They both turned to see Rose and her mother coming over, frustration on Rose’s face and confusion on her mother’s.

“I’m sorry,” Rose’s mother said, eyes darting to (Y/N)’s and Riddle’s held hand. “This is a closed party.”

“She’s with me,” Riddle quickly said. He saw his mother furrow her brow and press her lips together. He continued, meeting her gaze. “This is (Y/N), my girlfriend. She’s my guest.”

There was another small round of exclamations around the room. Rose crossed her arms while her mother blinked in confusion. “Oh, well, then please, by all means, welcome.”

(Y/N) bobbed a curtsy, “Thank you.”

“Would you like to dance?” Riddle asked.

(Y/N) smiled and Riddle felt like his heart would explode. “I’d love to.” He led her to the dance floor. The band, which had paused at her entrance, started up again with a waltz.“I should warn you,” (Y/N) whispered to him as they took their place. “I have no idea how to do any of this.”

“That’s alright. Just follow my lead.”

“Riddle, I’d follow you through the Land of Ghosts and back if you asked me to.” Riddle tripped over his own feet, (Y/N) catching him in a spin and laughing.

“I like your dress,” Riddle said, trying to regain his composure. “I didn’t see it before.”

“Thanks, it’s a loner. I have friends in high places. Vil, I mean Vil.”

Spectators watched the couple in a not at all elegant dance across the floor. “Oh, Victoria,” Another socialite's mother said, coming up to her. “You must be so proud. She seems like such a lovely girl. And Riddle looks so happy!”

“Indeed,” Dr. Rosehearts replied with a steely stare at the couple. She noticed the flush on Riddle’s cheeks, his eyes closed as he laughed at something (Y/N) had said. (Y/N) took a wrong step back, bumping into another couple dancing behind them. She watched them apologize, (Y/N) saying something to the other couple that made them laugh and wave a pleasant goodbye. Dr. Rosehearts ground her teeth, nose screwing up in frustration.

The song ended and Riddle and (Y/N) exited the dance floor. They’re faces were both flushed, glowing underneath the chandelier lights. (Y/N) felt her heart flutter pleasantly as she watched Riddle, a rare genuine smile across his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. She could always tell when it was a sincere smile whenever a tiny crease appeared between his eyebrows leaning to his left eye. She wondered what it meant that she had studied his face so intently to notice that.

Dr. Rosehearts interrupted the conversations happening around her by walking away, striding with her head held high to Riddle and (Y/N). (Y/N) noticed her first, taking a side step closer to Riddle and meeting the older woman’s stare with unabashed defiance. Dr. Rosehearts ground her teeth again.

“Riddle,” Dr. Rosehearts said. Riddle jumped, just now noticing his mother’s presence. His body immediately stiffened, shoulders going back to make a conscious effort to stand straighter. “Lewis and Carol were looking for you.” She waved her hand over to the other side of the ballroom. “I thought I might have a chat with (Y/N).”

Riddle started to stutter a response before (Y/N) laid a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” She said. “Go on, I’ll catch up with you later.” Riddle looked between the two women, eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, before nodding hesitantly and going over to see his old middle school classmates.

(Y/N) plucked a glass of cider from a passing waiter. She wondered briefly what the drinking laws were here.

“Well,” Dr. Rosehearts said, clasping her hands in front of her. “You certainly know how to make an entrance to an event you weren’t invited to.”

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” (Y/N) said, swirling her glass. “I’m Riddle’s plus one. He wanted me here.”

“Yes, I suppose it is very kind of him to humor you.”

“Well, someone in your family needs to have a sense of humor, right?”

“Hmph. Riddle has a plan, you know. He can’t be distracted by frivolities.”

“You have a plan, you mean. Riddle can do whatever he wants. He’s exceedingly capable, smart, and an amazing mage.”

“Thanks to my careful tutelage.”

“Despite your ‘careful tutelage’ I’d say.”

Dr. Rosehearts eyes flared. “You know nothing about my relationship with my son. My son.”

“Oh, I know plenty.”

“And I know my son. Believe me, your relationship, or whatever you want to call this, is just some passing fancy. He’ll get over it soon and come back to me with his senses intact.”

“At least my relationship with him didn’t lead to his Overblot.”

There was a snapping sound, a shatter of glass, and a gasp from across the ballroom. Riddle whirled around. His mother stood over (Y/N), her hand raised. (Y/N) clutched her cheek, already turning red from Dr. Rosehearts’ slap.

“How dare you?” She shouted, now drawing every eye around the room. “My Riddle was perfectly fine until the moment you showed up at that school. He was obedient until you started influencing him!”

“And that’s all that matters, right? That he is obedient to you. That he does whatever you say. He’s not your doll for you to play with, he’s a living breathing amazing person you just refuse to recognize has his own thoughts and life outside of you!”

“I won’t take criticism from some magicless interloper who cavorts with fae and meddles with every aspect of a world she doesn't understand!”

“Well, that’s just the beginning of your issues, isn’t it? You’re so stuck in your own head you refuse to recognize when you’re in the wrong and actively hurting the people around you!”

Dr. Rosehearts took in a sharp inhale, raising her hand again.

“Mother!” Both women turned to see Riddle rushing over to them.

(Y/N) immediately blanched. “Riddle, I’m sorry, I-”

“Riddle!” Dr. Rosehearts cut her off, jabbing a finger at (Y/N). “Control this wretched girl!”

“I will do no such thing,” Riddle said defiantly, putting himself between his mother and (Y/N). He turned to her, lowering his voice. “Are you alright?”

(Y/N) blinked at him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

He gave a decisive nod and turned back to Dr. Rosehearts. “Mother, you need to apologize.”

Dr. Rosehearts gaped at him. “Me? Apologize to her?”

“You’ve been nothing but hateful since (Y/N)’s arrived. She’s our guest and someone extremely important to me. You could at least have the common courtesy to be polite.”

Dr. Rosehearts’ face was cherry red. “How dare you speak to me like this! I’m your mother!”

“And nothing she said was untrue!” Dr. Rosehearts flinched back. “All my life, all I’ve wanted was to please you, to make you proud of me. I worked so, so hard. It crushed me, it destroyed me, that I couldn’t meet your impossible expectations! And I just thought that was how the world was, set in rigid rules, and anyone who couldn’t follow every last one was a bad person. I ruined friendships, I ruined myself, I almost ruined everything when I Overblot!” Another round of gasps rang from around the room. (Y/N) slipped her hand into his, squeezing in reassurance. He squeezed back, soldiering on. “I’m not a son to you, I’m a project! I’m some doll you parade around and pose however you want without any actual care for the damage you might do! (Y/N) has shown me I can be a better person, that I can be who I actually want to be! Except I have no idea who that person is because you’ve broken me into your specific mold for so long. She’s stayed by me, my friends have stayed by me, no matter what. For the first time in my life I feel content with myself, like I can actually breathe. And you act like that’s a bad thing.” Riddle was breathing hard, hot tears starting to spill from eyes. “Well, I’m done. I’m done trying to please you. I’ll never be good enough for you. And that’s fine. I don’t want to be. Now I just want to be good enough for myself. Let’s go, (Y/N).” Still holding hands, the two swept from the ballroom, the party goers parting for them like the Red Sea.

Dr. Rosehearts’ face was red with rage, eyes darting around the room from each pitying, concerned, and judging face of the attendants to her son’s retreating back. She was breathing hard, head fuzzy, vision going blurry around the edges. Stepping forward, she slid her hairpin from her perfectly maintained bun, a magestone embedded at one end. She took a solid step forward, pointing it at Riddle. “Riddle-!”

“Victoria!” She froze at the sudden exclamation. She turned, seeing Mr. Rosehearts staring steadfastly at her. “That’s enough.”

She stopped, looking down at her hand, at her wand, at what she was about to do. She gasped, dropping the wand so it clattered against the marble flooring. The sound echoed in her ears.

~~~

It was starting to rain outside. Riddle shrugged off his jacket, holding it above the two of them to huddle beneath it.

“I don’t think we would be able to take the carriage back,” He said. “To be honest, I’m not sure if I want to go back to the townhouse anyway.”

“No problem,” (Y/N) said, pulling her phone out of an invisible pocket. “Give me a second. Hi, Hornton? It’s (Y/N).” Minutes later, a private carriage from the Lorina Hotel was pulled alongside the cafe’s outside seating where Riddle and (Y/N) had taken up temporary shelter. “Friends in high places,” She said as they climbed inside.

The two were quiet as the carriage rumbled on. They sat next to each other on the bench seats. Riddle leaned his head on (Y/N)’s shoulder as she rubbed circles in the back of his hand. They exited soon after at the hotel, a doorman holding an umbrella over their heads as they rushed inside.

At the front desk, the concierge and manager were talking in animated whispers, jolting up to paste on bright smiles as the two approached the desk. “Hello!” The manager said, a little too enthusiastically. “Checking in under Draconia?”

“Yup, that’s us,” (Y/N) said, holding Riddle close. “Two rooms, please.”

“Ah, well, of course, you see,” The manager stuttered. (Y/N) suspected they didn’t often get calls from foreign royalty as it was throwing the poor man off this game. “Unfortunately, as I mentioned to his majesty on the phone, we only have one room left available.”

“Oh. Well, if it’s a double that will work fine, too.”

The manager cringed. “It’s a single bed, Miss.”

“Ah.” (Y/N) said, head starting to spin. She tried to quickly problem solve in her head. Could she call Horton back and ask him to make reservations somewhere else? Or would that be rude? Just the thought of going back to the Rosehearts townhome made her skin crawl.

“It’s fine,” Riddle said. “We’ll take it.” The manager looked relieved as he handed over the keys. “I’ll need to make a phone call as well, to have our things brought here in the morning. Do you have anything we could use for the night?”

“Of course, sir! Please, take it with our compliments.”

They handed over two sets of monogrammed gray pajamas. A bellhop led them to the elevator, pushing the button to their floor.

“I guess you’re right,” Riddle said. “It does pay to have friends in high places.”

For some reason, that comment, along with the building stress of the night, broke the tight bundle of nerves (Y/N) had lodged in her chest. She started giggling, not being able to stop or catch her breath. Riddle soon followed, both of them almost doubled over with impractical laughter. They continued to their room, a patron from next door sticking his head out at the noise. Their laughter died down when they came into the room, both setting eyes on the single bed at the center.

“I’m going to take a shower,” (Y/N) said, pointing to the adjoining bathroom. Riddle just nodded, tearing is eyes from the bed and trying very hard to look anywhere else.

In the bathroom, (Y/N) peeled off her dress, feeling kind of bad about haphazardly throwing it over the towel rack to hang. She turned the water on to almost scalding, letting it rush over her in an attempt to beat the chill that had settled in her bones, only partially from the rain. After her shower, she changed into the provided pajamas. They were warm and soft against her skin. She hesitated before exiting the bathroom.

Riddle jumped when she came out, and she wondered if she should have knocked first. She saw he had pulled the duvet and one of the massive pillows off the bed, laying them out on the floor. “You can take the bed tonight,” He said. “I’ll sleep here.” Without waiting for her protest, Riddle went into the bathroom locking it behind him. She soon heard the sound of rushing water from the shower.

‘Well, that’s not very fair,’ She thought. She drug off the remaining blanket from the bed and the other pillow, creating her own spot on the opposite side on the floor. Riddle was the one who just had his whole world tossed around. It was only fair if he got the bed for the night. A few minutes later, Riddle left the bathroom in a cloud of steam. He was rubbing his hair with a towel. He looked confused at (Y/N) on the floor on her side of the bed.

“I’d say you can take the bed,” (Y/N) said. “But I know you’re too stubborn and chivalrous for that. So I’ll stay down here too. That way we’re even.”

“You don’t need to do that for me,” Riddle said.

“I want to.”

Riddle stared at her. (Y/N) could almost see the thoughts turning in his head. He nodded once, going over to his side of the bed and laying down on the improv sleeping mat. (Y/N) reached up and switched off the light. A soft glow from the street lamps came in through the window, the rain softly padding against the glass. (Y/N) could see Riddle through the space under the bed. He was staring straight up, hands clasped tightly against his stomach.

“Riddle-,” She started.

“I’m glad I said it. I think I’ve been wanting to say all of that for a long time now. And I don’t think I would have been able to if you weren’t there, if I didn’t know I had your support. So thank you.”

(Y/N) thought hard, turning his words over in her head. ‘Screw it,’ She thought. She got up, dragging her blanket and pillow with her. She went over to Riddle’s side of the floor/bed, dropping her stuff next to him and laying back down. She turned on her side to look at him, meeting his wide confused eyes.

“Riddle, I think I’m in love with you.” Riddle sputtered, choking on air, but now that she had started, (Y/N) knew she had to power through. “I mean, I’ve never really been in love with someone before, but I’m pretty sure that’s what this is. My feelings for you, I mean. It started off with just really admiring you. I know the beginning of the year was really tough and I can’t imagine what it was like to go through all of that. But ever since you’ve been working so hard, and I can see that, everyone can see that. You’re smart and brave and stubborn as hell, which I got to admit I kind of like. I love how I can tell when you get genuinely excited about something or that smug grin you get when you’re right about something. You’re a great house warden and a good friend. Not to mention you’re really cute. So, yeah. I just needed to say that. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I understand. Or you don’t want to give me an answer right now. I don’t mind waiting, if it’s for you.” She laid on her back, staring at the ceiling, heart thundering in her chest. The silence of the room was only broken by the soft pitter patter of the rain.

“(Y/N)?” Riddle said softly. (Y/N) turned on her side so the two of them were facing each other again. “You know I’m not good with talking about my feelings. I still have a hard time deciphering them myself, to be honest. But one thing I’m absolutely certain about is how I feel about you. I love you. I have to admit, I had ulterior motives when I asked you to come with me for this. I thought maybe it would be some sort of test run for an actual relationship, which now, saying it out loud, I realize how awful that sounds, and I’m sorry. I love how I feel around you, like I can be the greatest person in the world. I love how kind you are, how ready to jump into action, how ready you are to help no matter what. I love how steadfast and brave you are in what must be a terrifying situation, not knowing anything about your surroundings or having the same tools as all of us to combat it. And you’ve basically taken on raising Grim by yourself which I know can’t be easy with having that extra responsibility all of a sudden on top of everything else. I know I might not be the easiest person to be around. I’m stubborn, like you said, and I can get angry easily. Obviously my family is a complete mess. But, I hope, despite everything, you can still accept me for who I am and for who I want to be.”

“Riddle, I already said I love you. Of course I accept you. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Despite how flustered it made him, Riddle wouldn’t want to be pried out of each other’s arms as they fell asleep for anything in the world.

~~~

It was sunny the next morning, the rain from the night before lending a pleasant coolness to the air. Staff from the Rosehearts’ townhouse had dropped off Riddle and (Y/N)’s packed bags that morning and the newly formed couple was getting ready to head back to their starting point for the Magic Mirror to bring them back to school. (Y/N) tried to buy some fancy chocolates from the hotel for the boys back at NRC, but the manager and staff had shoved the boxes into her hands at no charge.

“Compliments to friends of the Draconia family!” He had said.

As they got ready to head out, they heard someone call from behind them, “Riddle!”

They turned around, seeing the Rosehearts’ carriage come down the street, Mr. Rosehearts leaning out of the window, waving. He jumped out as the carriage rolled to a stop, jogging over.

(Y/N) took a step in front of Riddle. “Do you want me to deal with it?” She asked.

“No, it’s fine,” He said. “I’ll only be a minute.” Riddle left his bags with (Y/N), who watched Mr. Rosehearts’ approach with a critical eye, and walked over to meet his father. “Father. I’ll be heading back to school soon. I don’t want to be late.”

“Right, of course, I won’t take up too much of your time.” He seemed nervous, not meeting his son’s eyes. Finally, he took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize, Riddle.”

Riddle blinked. “Apologize?”

“Yes, and it’s a long time coming. I’m afraid I haven’t been a good father to you. I saw the kind of stress your mother put you under, how controlling it could be. And I ignored it. I should have been better for you, stood up for you more. You’re my son, Riddle, and I love you. But I haven’t acted like it for a long time. I hope, one day, we can start again and you can forgive me.”

“I-” Riddle was at a loss for words. “I can’t say it will be soon, but I appreciate you saying that. I hope you can understand.”

Mr. Rosehearts smiled wide and nodded. “Yes, of course. We’ll go on your time.”

Riddle looked back at the carriage. “Is Mother here?”

Mr. Rosehearts’ face dropped, looking away and rubbing the back of his head. “No, she’s still at home. We’re actually going to… spend some time apart for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s for the best. I’ll be out at the country estate if you need anything.” He winked and whispered conspiratorially. “To be honest, I’ve always wanted to get into ornithology. I hear there’s a rare variant of the jubjub bird in the area I’ve been dying to get a look at.”

The two separated, Mr. Rosehearts to his carriage and Riddle to (Y/N). “You okay?” She asked.

“Fine. I think things might be looking up, actually.”

She bumped him with her hip. “Well, you’ve got a super cool new girlfriend now, so I sure hope so.”

Riddle chuckled, linking their arms together. They stepped back through the portal to school, confident that no matter what trials and tribulations would come next, they would face them together.

#wafflefriesfics #riddle rosehearts #riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #fanfic #fake dating

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months ago

Note

Could I get an interaction between Riddle and Gidel please?

I imagine that maybe Gidel sneaks off while Fellow is busy schmoozing the other students during a croquet match or something and finds the kitchens and proceeds to just devour the beautiful strawberry tart in the fridge with his hands. But then, poor Gidel gets caught red-handed (lol) and with stuffed cheeks by none other than Riddle himself? Thank you!

Riddle and Fellow duke it out in a passive aggressive croquet game :DD

So tell me, do you wanna go?

Gidel had never been to a party before. When Fellow told him that they’d been invited to one, his little heart vibrated with excitement. He had heard many stories about the dancing, the music, the chatter, the games, the food—and longed to live those tales.

“You don’t have to do anything, Giddie. Leave the schmoozin’ to me and just enjoy yourself,” Fellow had told him.

And so here they were now, in a lavish rose garden.

Gidel was seated toward the front--a guest of honor, according to the dorm leader--but he was too short to properly reach the table, so the students had stacked a few books to boost him higher. He kicked his feet back and forth, taking in the liveliness around him.

Gidel was used to crowds (they were where he and Fellow often found their victims), but there was a fresh energy to this one. The conversation was giddy and effervescent, like the sugary drinks that came in metal cans and tickled his nose when it went down.

Above his head were strings of little flags and lanterns, and the tablecloths were so clean and free of holes. Few of the chairs and silverware matched, like the patterns in his clothes and the few items he owned. Such a thing, he had learned, was a source of shame and ridicule. "People don't like things that stick out. They look at 'cha dirty if you are," Fellow would grumble. Yet no one here seemed to be bothered by it. They lounged casually in those chairs that didn't match and drank tea from cups that had completely different designs.

More food than Gidel had ever seen in his life appeared as if by magic. It was served on tiered stands and in fancy pots. Finger sandwiches, elaborate cookies, cupcakes, clotted cream, jams, scones, and tea in various shades. An older boy in a hat and glasses had even ferried in a massive upside down cake, wider at the top and tapering into a narrow bottom. It defied all laws of gravity and had live sparklers stuck into the top. The server caught the curious glint in Gidel's eyes and offered a crooked grin.

Not the look of someone seeking revenge for almost being turned into a puppet. but the look of a mischievous older brother.

"Haha, excited to dig in? I'll cut you an extra big slice then," Trey whispered, "but remember to brush your teeth well afterwards. We'll get started after they finish up the croquet game."

Gidel followed his gaze to the open lawn.

Several students had gathered there, each grasping a live flamingo. Fellow casually leaned on his, talking in an animated manner with a short redhead in a crown. Riddle was angling his mallet on a curled up hedgehog--the ball--to force it through a series of grounded hoops.

He swung. His ball rocketed, clearing five hoops. The other player's jaws dropped. Fellow’s, most of all.

Riddle smirked. "Naturally."

“What the heck, how are you that good?!” Fellow demanded. He looked again, just to make sure that he was seeing things correctly.

Yup, that ball had still cleared 5 hoops.

“These are the results of much studying and practice. I do not lose.” His cold stare cut right to two boys—one with a diamond painted on his face, and the other, a heart. “Unlike some people, I do not sneak off of campus on school nights to seek thrills at an amusement park.”

Ace coughed into a fist and refused to meet his dorm leader’s eyes.

“Ehhhh~ No way, Riddle-kun! Who would do that? Sooo irresponsible of them!”

“D-Diamond-senpai, upperclassmen shouldn’t blatantly dodge responsibility like this…” Deuce muttered.

Riddle rapped his mallet against an open palm like a gavel tapping patiently before a sentencing. "In any case, Fellow-san… Would you care to go next as one of our esteemed guests? And to be clear, I will be keeping a close eye on you. There will be no foul play on my watch.”

Fellow gulped, but kept his cool. "Sure thing. Let’s have an honest and fair game, gentlemen!”

"Go easy on the poor guy, Riddle," Trey called to him. He left the table and wandered onto the field, clapping his friend on the back.

“I don’t see why I should,” Riddle retorted. He sounded vaguely irritated, but there was the trace of a held back laugh in his words.

Gidel smiled to himself. It was nice, the two’s camaraderie.

The sky was clear, the sun was shining, and the birds were singing. The roses were in full bloom.

It was a lovely day.

Gidel practically melted in his seat. He could stay at this party forever.

Bright blue fluttered in his vision. A tickling sensation filled his nose, and he rubbed at it to dispel the feeling. Had a piece of the sky fallen onto him?

Flap, flap.

A butterfly lazily floated off of Gidel.

The boy sat up straighter.

It was mesmerizing, that butterfly. With the sunlight streaming through it's papery cerulean wings, it almost resembled stained glass.

Pretty...

Gidel extended his arms out toward it, attempting to cup the bug in his palms. It evaded, dipping in the air and heading toward the Heartslabyul dorm.

He hopped out of his seat and trailed after the butterfly, waving his arms in an attempt to coax it back. But no--it vanished inside, and Gidel, like a foolish child being lured to a candy house in the woods, followed.

Gidel didn't pay any mind to where the butterfly led him. He only knew that he wanted to catch it, and so he would tread wherever it went.

Soon enough, he had wandered into the kitchen, fumbling around for the butterfly in the dark. For a heartbeat, the creature landed on a handle and rested there. Gidel pounced--but missed, and the butterfly, startled, hurriedly flew away.

He tried to go after it, but his sleeves, ensnared in the handle, caught and tugged something open. Cold light spilled out from the inside of a box, and Gidel knew this was called a refrigerator.

He peered in, wondering if the older brother from before had stored more goodies inside. Indeed, there were more sweet treats stashed away. Tall trifles, wobbling jellies, and...

Gidel's eyes fixated on a beautiful strawberry tart. Its crust, golden and ruffled like intricate lace. The custard filling, thick and creamy. Glistening red fruit had been sliced thin and meticulously laid out, the strawberries shaping into a blossoming rose.

His mouth watered.

He reached for the tart.

Before Gidel realized what he was doing, he had plunged his fingers into the innards. Scooping out custard and strawberries by the handful, he deposited them in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, then went back for more.

So sweet, so delicious. He wanted more and more.

He broke off a chunk of the shell and bit into it. It was tough and crumbly. Gidel decided that he liked it better after dunking it in custard and eating it with a slice of strawberry.

Right as he had assembled a piece, a person appeared from the hallway. They stood in the doorway to the kitchen, their figure shadowed. Gidel squinted.

Whoever it was, they were short and wore a crown on their head.

The kitchen lights flickered on.

Riddle Rosehearts came into view. He wore a stern expression as he approached, steps brisk and sharp. "So this is where you ran off to. You had your guardian so worried he dropped his flamingo to look for--"

He skidded to a stop, staring at the mess of juices and crumbs at the feet of the fridge. Gidel crouched nearby, hands and clothes sticky and red or covered in traces of his crime.

Rage hit him like truck--speedy and sudden. Rules, broken? Decorum, ignored? His entire face turned crimson, steam threatening to pour from his ears.

Riddle's voice came, low and menacing. "You ate the strawberry tart meant for the unbirthday party and you made this mess?"

He advanced on the boy, raising his scepter.

Gidel blanched. Trembling terribly, he shrank into his oversized clothes like a turtle retreating into its shell. Warm wetness prickled his eyes. He whimpered without a single sound.

Riddle's scepter froze, as did his resolve. The fire that was his anger came in and out like the flame of a candle exposed to wind.

A sad little child. Scolded for having eaten a forbidden tart. Apologizing, sobbing, begging to not be punished.

Now who does that remind you of?

A dull pain radiated from the recesses of his heart. The plant called Pity had germinated, its roots opening a home for itself in his chest.

You aren't in the right here.

Riddle sucked in a breath through his teeth.

Like his therapist had advised him to do, he started at 10 and slowly counted down from it. Slowly, slowly, his fury subsided, like air being released from a balloon. Anger management magic.

When he spoke again, he was softer, gentler.

“… You are forgiven."

He wasn't used to it.

Riddle awkwardly offered a hand. “Come. Let’s get you cleaned up in the washroom. We can’t have you returning to the unbirthday party in this state.”

Gidel stared inquisitively at it. At him. The stranger with the temper, the stranger now asking for his trust.

But he had tried, hadn’t he? Tried, and succeeded in controlling his anger.

A moment’s hesitation, and Gidel slipped his strawberry-stained sleeve into Riddle’s palm. He nodded to the dorm leader.

Let’s go.

To where everyone is waiting for us.

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writingforatwistedworld · 2 years ago

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Self-aware isekai'd househusbands, what a great idea that was. The Vil piece was so fun that I wasn't more!

Can you write Riddle as an isekai'd househusband? Thank you!

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, blood, murder, death, violence, stalking, unhealthy relationship, obsession

Your totally normal isekaid househusband

Imagine, you are the male equivalent of a magical girl in villain version who got isekaid into the normal world

One would think that world domination or something to that would follow, right?

Well no.... said magical girl is right now starting holes into a cookbook

And he kinda likes it- no, he loves to study the culinary arts

Not just for anyone of course

Riddle has become a little helping hand in your home after you found him one day drenched to the bone outside of your little safe haven

But at this point the two of you might be married with you being the breadwinner

In the morning he wakes you up, makes you breakfast, hands you your lunch when you are heading out, cleans the house, spends his time doing... things, greets you when you return gives you food and does more things that would stereotypically be considered as stay-at-home-partner activities

How calm... how sweet... how-Riddle, what are you doing?

Riddle wakes up one hour before you usually do. So what does he do in that hour?

So, half an hour before you wake up he prepares breakfast but the thirty minutes before...

Well he is just standing there, staring at your sleeping figure

Ok. Creepy but at least the time from breakfast till him being done with chores is normal

So uh... remember those “things” I mentioned earlier? Well...

There are those noisy neighbors everyone has, right?

So uh... please don't mention them annoying you in any way. Please don't. Just don't. Oh why? Hehe... don't think too much about what I just said, yes?

When you return Riddle emerges from the kitchen, asking you if everything is alright

Following to that he scolds you for staying out too late

That crazy maniac is running freely out there! All those poor souls lost to them

Your neighborhood might have a... uh... “spontaneous death through decapitation” problem

The crime scenes are clean or rather they are until you enter the room in which “that” happened and you find a surprisingly clean you-know-what sitting there in a chair with their you-know-what laying in their lap, a white rose tucked somewhere in that meat pile as well

Of course Riddle knows that his actions aren't good in any way but when you good him that the old creepy neighbor next door had been scaring you for so long he saw red and...

Let's just say that magic makes it incredibly easy to leave a crime scene without any trace

Ah yes, roses! Let's talk about something easier on the stomach!

Riddle plants of course roses. White ones

Sometimes you even get a few of them, them now being red

You once asked why the roses are red considering that he always plants white ones which he answered with him painting them red just for you

Ah yes, you totally forgot that little thing about his dorm. And isn't it cute? Such a pretty red as well... although the paint is a bit fragile and falls off in flakes if you aren't careful

His pastries are a bit dangerous to eat, he adds sometimes odd things because someone wrote a tip in a baking forum as a joke, but his lunches are pretty good

When you try to help him though he is strictly against it. Especially when it's about doing the laundry

Meh. Probably nothing. Although... you have found splatters of that red paint once or twice on a piece of clothing of his before... probably go it on there the last time he painted the roses red

Though, you do wonder... where is that cleaver that had been missing from the kitchen?

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mx-pastelwriting · 5 months ago

Text

Savior

John Price X GN! Reader

Summary: Faking a distress call making Price’s team save you.

Warnings: Mention of Blood, Dead bodies, Bullets, and Guns

Happening all too quickly, hearing as bullets flew, making men yell out in pain. Smoke appeared out of thin air, watching as it seeped into the room, a loud boom ending it all.

Waiting in the silent stillness of your dark cell before walking upon the gruesome scene, the hallway washed in blood decorated with bodies. Spotting the men that took you from your home, locking you up, promising to do unspeakable things.

A groan from one of the men turned your attention, even with the many holes that riddled his body, still clutching onto the radio. Gurgling into it before taking a last breath, leaving the person on the other end to answer, “What service?” They asked, realizing your escape was in the dead man’s hands.

Sinking to your knees, taking hold of the radio, “Do you need an extraction?” Asking another question making you finally answering “yes,” your hoarse voice talked into the radio.

“Who's confirming it?” The question made the air pause, looking over at the dead body, seeing the name "Barns,” answering with a tight grip, hoping they’d accept it.

“Extraction sent to your location; hold position,” they responded before going quiet. Setting the radio aside, looking over the body once more, choosing to take the gun that was strapped to the soldier’s leg.

Getting up, then walking away further down the hallway, hoping not to have to use it, opening the double doors that ended the hallway, peeking in, seeing nothing, you walked in.

Looking around, seeing nothing but trash and wooden boxes while clutching the gun close to your chest, taking a moment to bathe in the sunlight that shined through the big skylight, but the beauty was quickly shattered as men broke through it, lowering themselves down pointing their guns at you.

Just as tensions rose, a man stepped forward, “Where’s Lieutenant Barns?” He asked, intimated by the man. You struggled to make up an answer: “He’s dead.” Your voice still strained from the past days of only getting your bare needs met by your captors.

Hearing as he took a breath, gun still pointed in your direction. “Did you kill him?” He asks calmly with a much softer gaze, shaking your head looking behind you for a second, alerting him to where things happened.

“Clear the area,” he orders, making the other men follow, going through the doors to the bloody path. “You’re safe now; my name is John Price. Do you know what happened?” Asking walking slowly to you, answering with a shake of a ‘no’ again.

Stepping closer, grabbing the gun gently, letting it go, still staring into his soft eyes, compelling out your name. Seeing as he smiled in response, before holding out a hand, taking it cautiously, allowing yourself to be wrapped in his arms, then lifted into an aircraft away from the scene.

In the few moments, you were safe in the man’s arms, taking in the smell of cigars and dirt wanting to stay resting against his chest, hearing the air that left and entered with a distant heartbeat, wondering how long it would last.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @bimbo-bunni @iloveslasher @sophieissleepy @d3k4z-bl00d @emoguardian

@writtenbyhollywood

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #captain price x reader #captain price #john price #cod price #captain price x you #captain john price x you #john price x you

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skyloftian-nutcase · 10 months ago

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Febuwhump Day 4 - Obedience

Healthcare AU, anyone?

The letter shook in his hands.

Redeployment.

Sky stared at the word. Stared long and hard. He'd only just been discharged from the hospital and he was not only being thrown back into the war, but in a completely new location?!

0700.

Tomorrow. First thing tomorrow. He was being ordered to pack his bags and leave everyone he knew first thing in the morning.

Was this punishment? It had to be punishment. He'd flown into too many hot zones, damaged too many birds, put too many lives at risk all for the sake of trying to get to everyone, trying to save everyone.

He'd messed up. He knew he had. Nearly everyone had died in his last rescue, and he'd gotten himself injured and his helicopter now had holes riddled through it.

Sky sat slowly on his bed, hands falling to his lap, ordinance falling out of his numb grip. His arm hurt, pain searing from his shoulder and creeping down to his fingers like poison. If he took pain medicine he'd probably fall asleep right now, so that wasn't an option.

What was he going to tell the others? Could even tell them? Did he have time? He might be able to find Wind, but... could he even tell the kid that he was leaving him?

So this was it, then? He went through so much just to be tossed somewhere else?

Sky rose, taking a trembling breath, looking at his small quarters. The walk over to the army barracks would probably sap him of his energy. Energy that he needed to spend packing and prepping for deployment.

His shoulder hurt. His heart hurt more.

Zelda and Groose had disappeared like this too. Shifted somewhere else after the first time he'd been shot down. He'd yet to hear from either of them.

You love Zelda more than the world. If you can handle being pulled from her, you can handle this.

A hiccup escaped his lips. Then a sob. Fuck he was so damn tired.

Sky solemnly started to gather his things. He didn't want his friends, his family to endure the pain of separation that he had when Groose and Zelda had been taken away. He resolved to find them and talk to them once he finished packing. But instead, he finally gave in to the agony in his arm, he took pain medicine and barely managed to finish packing before passing out.

0700 came. Sky hurried to the hangar. And within a few minutes, he left that world behind.

#writing #lu in healthcare #lu in healthcare war era #lu sky #Sky's POV to the 'sky went poof after getting shot' story #wonder where he got redeployed anyway #febuwhump #skye time travels through the queue

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onboardsorasora · 10 months ago

Text

Mob Wife!Daniel Pt2? (Max POV)

truly, my lack of self control is my gift to all of you lmao @dancinginthestreet9 this one's for you bestie You can find the OG Post here and here

Daniel was beautiful. He was funny, charming and kind. Daniel was also Christian’s.

When he’d first been offered the job, Esteban had tried to warn him that Daniel was a diva and a hardass. But Max had a rule to never listen to anything Esteban had to say, and it's still held up to this day.

The first time it happened, Daniel had cornered Max in the study. He’d braced him against the wall and sucked his dick. Max was been riddled with anxiety for days after– he’d been pretty sure there was a hit already out on him.

Christian hadn’t said anything and Daniel had continued on like nothing happened.

The first time they fucked, Daniel had begged for it. Daniel had stripped down to his brightly patterned jock and laid down on the bed.

Max’s eyes widened when Daniel spread his legs and stroked the obscene bulge of his dick. He’d stared at Max with a challenging brow raised.

“You should put your clothes back on, maybe.” Max had suggested.

“You should fuck me.” Daniel had bargained instead. He’d flipped onto his hands and knees and arched his back, presenting his hole like the best strippers did. Max had idly wondered if Daniel had been a stripper.

“I think– no. It isn’t a good idea.”

“Your dick tastes so good, it felt amazing in my mouth, I need it in my cunt Maxy. please.”

And Max was only a strong man when there was a gun in his hand. He’d fucked Daniel right there in the guest room, because Daniel didn’t want to disrespect his marriage bed. That guest room eventually became Max’s room after Daniel told Christian he needed Max closer at all times.

The argument over Max had been anticlimatic in Max’s opinion.

“How long?” Christian leans against the doorway with his arms crossed. He looks annoyed. Daniel is sitting pissily on their bed, glaring off to the side. Swollen lips pouting. Christian had come home and caught them making out.

“Why bother ask when you know?” Daniel snarked back, he folded his arms as well.

“Are you gonna stop?” Christian sounded like he was asking if they had weekend plans.

“Fuck no. You’re never here anymore, what am I supposed to do? Hump the bed until you get home?” Daniel looked furious. Max had always wondered about their dynamic, it was clear there was a different conversation being left unsaid. “At least I’m not hiding it.” Daniel snaps.

Christian clenches his jaw but nods and leaves the room. It happened more frequently after that, Max had essentially moved in. Christian eventually came home from whatever it was that had needed his attention. No one brought it up again, it was just a known thing.

Max always tried to be respectful, to not be too bold or overt with Daniel in his presence. He also didn’t get too jealous when Daniel went to Christian, because that was his husband and first love.

So yeah, Daniel was Christian’s but he was also Max’s.

#mobwife daniel #mob wife au #maxiel #max/daniel #christian/daniel #horncciardo #I don't know their ship name. someone please tell me?#my fic #almost fic lol

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ponder-the-orb · 6 months ago

Text

Common Ground

Pairing: Fem sorcerer Tav/Gale, (named elf tav: Ciri)

Word count: 2K

Summary: I just really wanted to write a drabble that involved some sorcerer/wizard bickering.

***

“Shit.”

The sewing needle jabs into Ciri’s finger and a single drop of blood oozes onto the material in her other hand. She stares at the stain, a poppy blooming amongst the dark green fabric of her robe. Her only robe. One of perhaps five things she’d managed to cling to her person as a tentacle plucked her from the crowded road at Baldur’s Gate and promptly threw her into this mess.

She shoves her finger in her mouth, the tang of rust and salt spreading over her tongue as she throws the robe to the muddy bank at her feet. It’s hardly ruining it further. Despite her poor attempts at needlework it’s still riddled with holes thanks to an acid coated arrow that had been shot by a more competent goblin this afternoon. They’d promptly felt the sting of her flames after that.

She rubs her bare arms, adjusts herself on the log she’d made her perch for the evening. It’s a dim spot at the very edge of this makeshift campsite, her patch of stillness amongst the reeds and silt of this unknown riverbank. She stares at the flat mirror of the moon on the water’s surface and lets herself fall back into the same fantasy she’d been repeating for the past day: this could be any other job, any other group of hired swords she was stuck with in order to fetch some expensive trinket or kill a wandering band of monsters. Easy. Normal. A few days of work before she’s hunting down another gig in the next town.

Her seconds of calm abruptly shatter as her other campmate squirms in her head. The parasite. Fat, angry and days away from making her a mind flayer. Until recently they were just flickers of imagination, stories of teeth and tentacles used to scare children and intrigue professors, not the solid wet beings that had stared at her with such malice on the Nautaloid.

She presses her temple. She’d already spent far too long wondering if she’d look exactly like them if whatever is protecting them vanishes, about how much it will hurt when her skull splits and blood spills from every shaking orifice. A soul extinguished like a match against a hurricane.

She presses harder, trying to drown the image out with the sounds of the camp: the grind of the Gith’s sword on her whetstone, a hearty laugh from that monster hunter desperate to find his infernal target, the solemn whisper of the shadowed cleric praying to whatever God she thinks will help them.

She grunts as it squirms more vigorously, almost like it enjoys sipping the taste of her ebbing sanity.

“Is the little one ruining your peace?”

She looks up and meets the dark eyes of the wizard she’d pulled out of a rock and regretted almost every moment since. Gale. Last she’d checked he’d seemed more than happy going on about some Waterdhavian recipe at the cooking pot and leaving her very much alone. A set up she’d hope would stay until morning.

She drops her hands. “It’s not just the parasite right now.”

He ignores her surliness and holds out a bowl. “You should eat something. We have had quite a day.”

She takes it with a quiet thanks and tries not to shudder as a pungent scent fills her nose. Stew would probably be the closest approximation to the thick brown liquid sloshing inside. Given the lack of real food they’d been able to find so far, she’d rather not guess what the viscous lumps floating on the surface are.

“I’ll eat later,” she says, placing the bowl at her feet.

Gale raises an eyebrow. “Ingredients may be sparse around here but I promise you it’s more than edible.”

“We’re eating out of bowls we raided from a crypt. Trust me, I am not worried about the taste.”

He looks down at her crumpled robe on the floor. “You know, I can fix that for you.” He flexes his fingers and a cool white light begins to swirl in his open hand. “A mending charm can only repair one tear at a time but if you give me a few minutes–”

“No thank you,” she interrupts firmly, grabbing the robe and throwing it behind the log. She’s perfectly aware of how cold her voice sounds, but right now she’s approximately one annoyance away from running into the neighbouring forest and letting her flames overcome her. The taste of soot and cinder would most likely be preferable to whatever is swirling by her feet anyway.

The light in his hand fades along with his smile. She waits for him to retreat but he stands still, eyes drifting from her face to her shoulder. In naught but her thin undershirt, the patchwork of burn scars is completely on show, trailing pink and rough from her jaw and down her left arm.

“Does it hurt?” he asks after a moment.

She shakes her head. “They’re decades old now.”

“Ah, you mentioned you were an adventurer before all this. Scars often tell the best stories and I am willing to bet that there’s a fine one behind those.” He takes a step towards her but seems to stop himself. He rests a hand against his chest before dropping it back to his side, something unreadable flickering across his expression. “But not one you need to share, especially to a near-stranger,” he quickly adds.

It’s her turn to raise an eyebrow. A wizard with a secret is hardly new. Every one she’d had the displeasure of working with had come with some kind of baggage hanging around their neck like a particularly garish amulet. Nothing she ever worried herself with and she’s certainly not starting now.

“No story here. It was just an accident.” She runs her thumb over the scales on her cheekbones, the only part of the dragon that manifested outside of her blood. “The fire magic presented itself when I was maybe eleven summers old and any child suddenly able to conjure flames is going to want to see exactly what they can do. Unfortunately I had not yet fully understood just what that meant.” The moment is still carved as deep as those scars in her memory: her room burning, skin screaming with pain as she tried to calm the flames tearing through the house, the look of fear on her family’s faces when she finally awoke and seen nothing else but black smoke billowing in thick sheets against the moon.

“It was my first and most important lesson. Both fire and magic must be respected. Now only those I choose will burn… and occasionally my hair.” She runs her hand through the uneven ends curling around her chin. Hardly beautiful but she had given up caring how it looked after her mother had taken a knife and silently hacked off the charred pieces.

Ciri shakes the memory away, bracing herself for the inevitable. “Well go on then.”

“Pardon?”

“You are going to give me the exact same speech every other wizard who heard that story has. I cannot wait to hear which version. Usually it’s advice I don’t need on how to properly be one with magic. If I’m very lucky, it’s some haughty lecture about how sorcerers need to learn respect for the art and will never have true control of the weave because they are simply too ill-disciplined to try and learn.”

Gale crosses his arms, his eyebrows drawing down into a flat line. “Well I had hoped that I’d come off a tad more gracious than that in our short time together. Exactly how many ill-mannered wizards have you come across in your line of work?”

“More than enough. And I’m sure a wizard of such considerable renown has more than a few pointers for someone so clearly not studied in magic.” She wags her finger in an exaggerated impression as she parrots his own words back at him. The condescension had been palpable in his tone when he’d made that assumption of her, only her aching joints from the Nautaloid crash stopping her from shoving him right back into the portal she’d pulled him from.

It’s surprising to her that this tiff had not come any sooner, all the more surprising when she’s met with a sigh rather than an overly-worded retort.

“I can see how that might have come across,” he answers, rubbing the back of his neck. “Forgive me, but I was… am… rather desperate to locate any archmages that might be a stone’s throw from here. Wizards are usually well connected.”

“And you just assumed I did not know any.”

“Well, do you?”

She can practically hear the snicker caught between his teeth at her stony silence.

Gods does she want to punch that smug look off his face.

He sits down on the log next to her. “I am more than happy to lecture you with such a speech if you’d like. I can probably make it last all evening if it would help to cement what I suspect is already a fairly set opinion of both me and the wizarding profession in general. And feel free to give the standard response about how we are all hermit elitists jumped up on power and far too preoccupied with outdoing each other rather than actually working on furthering the good of the arcane. I imagine you have some fairly cutting words about how, despite the superiority complex we all apparently hold, it just takes one good punch or two glasses of strong whisky to put us down.”

She hides her smirk, a little disappointed that more articulate sorcerers than her had clearly got to him already. “More cutting than that if you can believe it. I’m not sure your ego could handle it.”

He chuckles. It’s a soft messy sound, perhaps the first thread of such an uptight persona finally loosening. Ciri doesn’t hide her smile this time. It’s almost nice to find a wizard who doesn’t seem to have an immovable rod shoved up their backside.

He turns towards her a little more, his voice dropping. “In my studies, I have seen first hand that there are countless ways to touch the weave, and while some may say that certain methods are more sophisticated than others –” his hands move in a precise square as he speaks, pausing only as he murmurs a quiet spell. “ –we feel its power equally.” A small orange flame ignites between them as he finishes.

She watches it flicker for a moment before opening her own hand. Magic warms through her like a breath, an equally bright flame appearing in her palm.

When her eyes catch his again, there’s something different shining there, warm and content as he sits back to watch his creation. Reverence.

A feeling she knows all too well.

Even when it’s shining on her own ruined skin, fire is still her. The raw force of her anger, the pulse of her passion, the magic singing in her blood. And here, small and tender as a heartbeat, her peace.

She watches him quietly, taking in the flickering details of his face as they brighten and dim under their joint light. There’s more gentleness to his features than she’d first gleaned, silver brushing through the hair by his ears, his eyes almost auburn in the light as they meet hers again.

All so very delicate. So… human.

It’s as she idly finds herself wondering if the paper-soft creases there are a product of laughter or stress that the world crashes back into the moment.

Some poor animal squeals in the woods beyond the river, both of them jerking upright and scanning the darkness for the source of the noise.

“Perhaps finding common ground is a better use of our time than trying to pick fights,” she murmurs when the quiet returns, quickly letting her flame whisper away in the breeze.

“Well common ground is often the foundation of a strong acquaintanceship. Who knows, perhaps there will be more to discover before we finally get these unwelcome passengers extracted.” His words are a little quicker than before as he dismisses his own fire and abruptly turns back towards the centre of camp. “With that in mind, we should probably get some rest soon if we are ever going to locate this missing druid.”

She follows him a step behind, stopping to throw a handful of kindling on the dying bonfire. She can’t quite place the feeling churning in her gut right now. Something far warmer than the dread that had been sitting there like a stone, soft and dense as smoke.

She ignores the similar heat in her face, chalks it up to the sudden scream and firmly decides to leave it at that.

“So no lecture then?” she calls as Gale lifts the flap of his tent.

He pauses there, throwing an altogether more devious smirk over his shoulder before he lets it swing closed behind him.

“If you ask nicely, I’ll indulge you another night.”

***

(These drabbles are being posted as part of my ongoing fic Broken Horizons. Read on AO3 here)

#bg3 fic #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #My writing #gale fic #gale x tav #mywriting

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kitkatscabinet · 2 years ago

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Baby it's cold inside

Osferth x reader

Summary: Nights in Bebbanburg are cold, and even subconsciously you refuse to spend them alone

Requested by anon

Word count: 800

Osferth had expected many things when they had finally helped his lord to reclaim Bebbanburg. He expected having to rebuild, take up residence there, and much more. What he hadn't expected, however, was how bloody cold it had gotten.

The snow and chilly winter breeze seemed to be made ten times worse by the sea breeze. It had been bearable at first, but overnight the temperatures had dropped to new hellish chills.

It had gotten so bad recently that you had all but refused to leave your room and join the boys in the hall. Your absence was noticeable and in the last week it was already common knowledge that if you weren't around then you were holed up in your bed.

Cradling his cup of ale with stiff fingers, Osferth looks up at the familiar call of his name. Sihtric was hauling around an arm full of firewood, and was motioning at Osferth to follow. Downing the last of his drink, he was quick to stand and jog over to Sihtric's side, nose scrunching in annoyance when the logs are immediately deposited into his arms.

"Our resident hibernator has requested fire" Sihtric says in lieu of an explanation, before offering a teasing grin "I figured you'd want to be the one to warm them up."

Osferth's cheeks heat in embarrassment, but he offers no rebuttal, following the still-grinning Sihtric to your room. Upon claiming the Bebbanburg you had immediately taken one of the only rooms with an in-built fire place. No one had been brave enough to deny you.

Knocking, Sihtric received no answer and considering you hadn't screamed at him deemed it ok to enter. It quickly became apparent why you hadn't answered, bundled up in furs up to your neck and dead asleep.

Osferth took a few seconds to admire your sleeping face, scrunched up in annoyance at the cold. For a second he had thought you awake, squirming in place to try and get warm with an adorably grumpy whine. You'd always hated the cold, and Osferth had quickly had to become used to you worming your way into someone's bed when you got too cold.

Where once Osferth had been completely scandalised he had become riddled with jealousy whenever you went to someone that wasn't him for warmth.

Hearing Sihtric laugh behind him, Osferth immediately turns, face ablaze when he realises how blatantly he had been staring. Moving swiftly past the snickering man, he got to work on starting the fire, staring firmly into the kindling flames.

As if sensing that a fire had been started, you let out a happy sigh. Turning to look at you, Osferth noticed that your face had smoothed out considerably, and you were letting out the most adorable happy mumbles.

Osferth was across the small room and by your side before he could stop himself, long fingers stroking reverently at the exposed skin of your cheek.

"'Sferth" you mumbled, and for a second he was afraid he'd woken you. Yet to his great surprise, you remained asleep, leaning into his touch as you called his name one more.

"M'cold. Need my baby monk." Osferth didn't think it was possible for his heart to beat any faster or louder than it did after your words sunk in, skin heating in a way that couldn't be attributed to the fire. Sihtric was positively howling with laughter from behind him, and it was a testament to how deeply you were sleeping that you didn't wake.

Osferth was frozen. Heart hammering and unable to tear his eyes away from your sleeping face. Suddenly his world was tilting as a hand on his back shoved him down and onto your bed. Despite his best efforts, Osferth still couldn't avoid landing on top of you.

That was enough to wake you, bleary eyes looking around in confusion as you fought slightly to catch your breath. Osferth frantically tried to apologise but Sihtric had fled and you were not even close to being lucid.

Halfway through his newest round of apologies, your eyes finally seem clear enough to recognise him. "Shhh, sleepy time" you simply mumbled, throwing an arm over him and pulling him under your furs. You had moved alarmingly quickly for one so sleepy, and before Osferth could protest you had wrapped around him like a snake, falling back to sleep almost instantly.

After several failed attempts at escape Osferth finally accepted his reality. Finally allowing himself to relax, he revelled in the feel of your face buried into his neck, and hand on his pounding heart. Lulled by the warmth and happiness he felt at having you in his arms he eventually drifted off to sleep beside you.

TAGLIST: @kaitieskidmore1 @kitty-marie725 @nyctophilic0vitnir @jamespotterismydaddy @thelittleswanao3 @eudximoniakr

#osferth #osferth x reader #baby monk #the last kingdom #the last kingdom x reader #the last kingdom osferth

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steviewashere · 6 months ago

Text

Take Care of Me (Sodomy) 🔞Minors DNI🔞

Rating: ExplicitCW: Under-Negotiated Kinks, Slight Dub-Con (Unsure But to Be Safe), Physical Fight, Blood, InjuryTags: Enemies to Lovers, Enemies is too Harsh (But they ain't friends), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Making Up, Steve Harrington is a Mess, Eddie Munson Just Wants to Help, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Mean Eddie Munson, Mean Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Dom/Sub Undertones, Angry Sex, Rough Sex, Pain Kink, Painplay?, Anal Sex, Blood Kink, Emotional Sex, Tender Sex, Crying During Sex, Aftercare, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together

Listened to "Violent Pornography" by System of a Down. Then, I thought about those bats that deepen their bond by swapping blood like spit. And then I thought about Steddie having sex after a physical fight. So...this is me trying the thought I had, lol.

Can be read on AO3

🤜—————🤛 Steve’s been independent most of his life.

It was a tactic to survive. If he wanted to see his friends the next day, then he needed to shape up and take care of his mess. Needed to show strength, cleverness, and a level of stealth. Not a great level of stealth, but he needed to be able to brave his surroundings—mask worn, lips tight, body rigid. And he believes he’s done a pretty good.

When he’s tired at work and Robin places a concerned hand on his back, he shrugs her off. Claiming to her that he was up late watching TV, getting too involved in the plot of rerun episodes. She’ll roll her eyes and give him a monotonous task to do, and it’s lying, but he’s saved. Or when he’s tense and a little mean towards Dustin, he goes with the excuse of him getting a call from his dad—not that he’s got a raging migraine and can’t deal with the sun in his eyes through the windshield, and that every sharp corner makes him want to hurl. But he gets away with it all.

At least he thinks he does.

Until Eddie Munson enters his life.

The guy hardly knows him. Gets in his space anyway. Offers to do things. Take the overflowing food off of his plate—that kind of deal. Steve still uses his excuses, though after some time, he notices they waver. That he has to keep insisting for Eddie to believe him, can’t just say it once and get the dude out of his space. He thought he was good at playing hooky when it comes to himself, but it seems that Eddie knows lying—his big cow eyes seem to just stare right through the cracks of Steve’s mask, able to notice every hard crease between his eyebrows and the slight frowning turn of his lips, the heavy circles under his eyes.

He hates it. Hates the way Eddie can see him. Hates the way Eddie seems to know him. Is beginning to hate Eddie a bit in general, even if something lurches in his stomach like the heavy flap of wings. Even if, sometimes, Steve thinks about giving in and giving up and letting Eddie have the reigns. He plays into his excuses more, puts a bigger stretch of space between them, and begins to snap when Eddie asks even the semblance of: “Are you okay?”

——— The next time he sees Eddie, it’s at his own house. He’s been holed away, tired and nightmare-riddled, sweating through his clothes and agitated by the shadows. Has been alone and afraid and aching for somebody there with him, but too cagey to actually ask. And just as he thinks about draining a coffee pot empty to keep himself upright, there’s a knock at his front door.

He didn’t order anything. His parents certainly didn’t order anything, they most likely would’ve left a voicemail on the answering machine. And he didn’t invite anybody over, but of course, when he finally pulls the door open—Eddie’s there.

“What are you—“

“You look like shit,” Eddie bluntly states.

“Gee, thanks,” Steve says dryly. “You can leave now. I’m busy.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Busy doing what, exactly? Having a zombie costume party? Maybe setting a new record for how long a human can stay up? Smells like you’re brewing a pot, so it must be the latter.” Steve bristles. Nostrils flaring at Eddie’s sour attitude. “Which is kinda crazy, considering the last time I saw you, I told you to call me if you were having trouble sleeping, didn’t I?”

And, sure, Steve remembers that. The quiet conversation in his kitchen during a movie night. Making popcorn on the stovetop and trying not to pass out, face first, into the hot pan. Eddie’s warm and soothing hand between his shoulder blades, voice soft and careful. “Call me, Stevie,” he had said, “I’ve got all kinds of magic up my sleeves. You’ll be sleeping like a lazy house cat in no time.”

But he keeps the front door wide open. Furrows his eyebrows. Spits, “I don’t need your help. Go away.” Before he can slam it in Eddie’s face, a firm and rather strong hand stops him. Shoving the door wider.

“Afraid I can’t do that, Steve,” Eddie states lowly. “People have been tryin’ to call you. Radio you, too. And we haven’t heard a fucking word from you. So, if you don’t mind—“ And he just walks right in. Shuts the door behind him. Keeps himself pressed against the wood so that Steve can’t open it and shove him out. “—I’m staying. I really don’t like seeing you so…out of it, man. You look thirty seconds away from becoming a heap on the floor.”

Steve scoffs. Steps forward and places a hand on the doorknob, but is immediately thrown off of it by Eddie’s hand on his wrist. “Dude, I don’t need you. Just leave. I’ve got my shit figured out.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. His voice is breathy by Steve’s ear. He raises an incredulous eyebrow. “Tell me, then, Mr. I’ve Got It All Under Control, when’s the last time you’ve slept? And I mean a whole night. Eight hours with your head on the pillow, eyes closed, limp to your bed, and drooling.”

“Like two days ago,” Steve grumbles. “Is that all you wanted? Because you can go now.”

Eddie hums. Surveying and observing. His eyes are like God’s words, scrutinizing, demanding, and genuine. He reaches out, suddenly, and grabs Steve’s face. Hand cupping his chin, fingers digging into his soft cheeks, twisting him this way and that. Drops the hold. Clicks his tongue against his teeth. “I have a joint in my pocket. And a good massage trick if you—“

“God damn it, Eddie!” Steve finally snaps, yelling, “What part of I don’t need you, do you not understand?! Can’t you just fuck off, for once in your life?!”

At those words, Eddie’s gaze goes from sincere to angry. Good, Steve thinks, even as his stomach churns at his own words. He has been positively waiting for the other shoe to drop with this guy. If it has to be now, then so be it. He squares his shoulders just as Eddie clenches his jaw, takes a step back as if inviting him in more, and crosses his arms over his chest. The gesture feels a little small, but he’s made his bed. May as well lay in it.

“I would,” Eddie states slowly, voice nothing but a rasp with how deep it goes. A chill trickles down Steve’s spine. “I’d go and leave you alone. But that’s not what you want, Stevie. You’re lonely. You’re miserable. And I’ve got a quick fix, if only you’d—for once in your life, to throw your words back at you—let somebody help.”

Steve startles. Drops his arms at his sides. And clenches his fists so hard, the beginnings of crescent scars deepen in his palms. “You don’t know what I want,” he mutters. Albeit weakly. Cracking. Petulant.

In front of him, Eddie takes a step forward. It’s a dangerous movement. His footfall heavy against the hardwood under it. The vest on his back making his shoulders broader than Steve remembers. His eyes darken, hardening. Nostrils flaring a bit. He’s not somebody people get intimidated by, but Steve feels as though that’s a fallacy.

He’s ready to turn tail and run. And this is his house.

Except, something zings through him. Part of him is…enjoying this.

“Oh, I don’t, do I?” Eddie asks him. And he grows a bit more unsure as Eddie moves forward. “Think I don’t notice when you relax into people’s touch? When you get that stupid smile of yours as you fall asleep during a movie? How you enjoy it when somebody tells you what to do?”

Each question hits Steve in his core. Each one a solid blow. His palms sweat and his heart rabbits and his face grows hot—with anger or arousal, Steve can’t discern.

“Fuck off, Eddie,” he manages to grind out. Fists clenching and unclenching. Flakes of blood tickling his fingertips. He meets Eddie where he’s at. Toe to toe, nose to nose, eyes on his. In one solid movement, he pushes the other backwards towards the door. Watches him stumble. Is sickly satisfied with the ache to his bicep as Eddie’s eyes land back on him, as he grows taller, leaner in the little foyer. As he looms.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes dangerously, “I don’t think I will.” He steps forward again, his dark eyes like voids when Steve tries to talk a half-step back. “I’ve got you figured out, Stevie. You wouldn’t be puttin’ up a fight like this if it wasn’t true.”

There’s little space between them. An undercurrent of heat radiating around them. A thrum. This sick and twisted hot satisfaction running through Steve. He kind of wants to see what Eddie will do next. So he’s back up to the plate, right fist tight, left arm protecting at his lower belly, and grinning with his eyes. “Fuck,” Steve sighs. “You,” he growls. Fist at his shoulder, twisting in front of his very face, and landing squarely on Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie grunts. A literal punched out, heavy noise. His lip ends up split. He reaches up with a light hand, gingerly tapping at the blood seeping down his chin, and stares down his nose at the red tip of his middle finger. He laughs something unbelievable, delirious. Stares up at Steve. “Fuck me?” He questions hysterically. “Fuck you, Harrington!” Then, he lunges right back. A solid fist to Steve’s own lips. Something that pulsates throughout his entire head, knocking him loose and falling back, making him falter. The metallic taste of his own blood something tangible and erratic and lusting on his tongue.

“Yeah?” Steve teases, breathless, “I’d like to see you fucking try.”

That spurs Eddie on. He speeds back into Steve’s space, grabs him roughly—a little jarringly—by the elbow, and swings them towards the stairs. Steve lets it happen. Lets them stumble their way up the stairs, grabbing at each other like they could knead the tension out of their bodies; lets Eddie shove him into his own room, door slammed behind them, standing a few feet from one another. Eddie’s eyes drop down from Steve’s bloodied face to his crotch.

“I can’t believe this is turning you on,” Eddie teases. Licks his bloody lips. His spit noticeably red when he speaks again. “Being a bitch turns you on.”

“M’not a bitch,” Steve meekly argues, covering up his crotch. Why now does he feel small? That’s immensely embarrassing.

Eddie grunts, assessing again. “You want this? Want me to actually fuck you senseless? Want me to put you in your place, you little fucking brat?”

Instinctively, Steve flexes his hand over his crotch. Squeezing at himself. He whimpers because this already isn’t embarrassing enough. Nods loosely. Eddie’s voice is scratchy and raw, deep and vibrating through the floor. It makes Steve a little fuzzy, the blood from his head and sluggish lip going to his intense hard-on. Though, part of what Eddie says still stings, but he doesn’t need to know that. Not yet, at least. “Yeah,” he breathes softly, all that intense anger seeping from him, even as he still sizzles. “Fuck me, Eddie.”

“Strip,” Eddie demands lowly.

And all Steve can do is oblige. Peeling himself from his clothes. Timid and quick, shaking in the air when he’s naked and goosepimpled. He eyes Eddie coming closer, his cheeks pink in the dim light of his bedroom. Watches him undress, slower than Steve had. Raking over his lithe body; the suggestion of muscles, his endearingly flat ass, and beautifully pale skin. His puckered scars that have healed neatly, how they dance with the few tattoos he has. Eddie’s reaching out to firmly grip Steve’s left bicep, and the other cupping under his chin again. Fingers digging at his cheeks once more. Then, he’s pushing forward, meeting their lips in a mess. There’s blood on Eddie’s tongue as he plunges between Steve’s lips—metallic as his own, thick and slimy. The swipe of his tongue makes Steve’s split lip sting and burn as if it’s alcohol on a fresh wound. He suckles the blood from inside each of their mouths, swapping it back and forth quite literally. Pulling away with the thinnest string of saliva Steve’s ever seen, though it’s a deep cherry red—something he’s thought of in his wildest dreams.

Eddie shuffles them towards the mattress. Topples Steve down on top, shuffles him supine and parallel. And then climbs on top, resting his full weight between Steve’s open, wanting legs. His hands on the thickest part of Steve’s thighs, thumbs brushing over the sparse hair towards the inside of his knees, eyeballing the red and leaking tip of his needy cock. He digs the sharp edge of his fingernails into the supple flesh underneath them. Scooting forward enough to tease the head of his own cock against Steve’s puckering hole.

Without warning, one of Eddie’s hands slaps over Steve’s already sensitive dick. He cries out at the hot flash of pain working its way through him. Thick and quick like the rush of blood to his heart. He squirms, but ultimately is stopped with Eddie’s weight being pressed into his legs. Including the sudden rush of Eddie’s dick bullying its way through Steve’s hole.

All Steve can do is scream, though it ends on a keening mewl, something only Eddie needs to bear witness to. The beading pearl of pre-come enough confirmation that he enjoys it. The stretch of his asshole, a blue lick of fire shooting through him, an ache already sore. Something he’ll soothe later, whether Eddie helps him or not.

For once, though, he likes the idea of Eddie being there to help him. Of his giant hands and the dull roughness of his callouses like balms over his skin. He wriggles again, trying to get all that Eddie’s offering inside him. He’d never thought about Eddie’s cock before, not really, but if he had to guess it—he’d never expect it to be so big, let alone thick.

“Look at you,” Eddie coos, although a bit mean. “Taking it all so well. My bitch can take it all, can’t he?”

Steve sniffs. Overcome with some odd mix of emotion, instantly quelling the nauseous anger he was holding onto. There are tears prickling in the corners of his eyes as he murmurs, “No, Eds, no—M’not a bitch. Not a—“ Steve hiccups. “Not a bitch, Eds.”

Immediately Eddie’s crowding over him. His hips are stilled and he’s wrapping Steve’s legs around his waist. Both of his arms encase Steve’s head, crouched down on his elbows. “No?” He asks softly, checking in. Genuinely gentle, no more of the macho mean guy he’d been playing up to. “No, of course not, Stevie,” he whispers. Leans in a little more to peck under Steve’s left eye, trailing lips down to the already bruised skin around his mouth. He pulls back. Eyeing Steve’s half-closed eyes. Tracing a thumb over the tear track that’s made itself known. “You’re a sweetheart, aren’t you?” Eddie murmurs, “Just a baby boy, huh? Just need help being sweet right now.”

“I can be sweet,” Steve mumbles. His voice a little distant, soft, and quiet. “Can be good, Eds,” he whispers.

Eddie’s got a hand cupping the back of Steve’s head. The other working its way to Steve’s chest, over his heart. Petting at the gradually sweating skin. He presses a warm kiss between Steve’s eyebrows. Murmurs against the skin, “You gonna let me help you? I’ll be gentle now, I promise, baby.”

“Gentle,” Steve echoes. “Please,” he whispers, “please be gentle.” He fully opens his eyes to stare into Eddie’s own. There’s a softness to them that wasn’t there before.

The hand in his hair pets over the crest of his skull. Digging fingers into his scalp to scratch at it. “Okay, baby,” Eddie whispers, “I’m sorry for being rough. For being mean. I’ve gotcha now, okay? Let me make you feel good. Let me help you.”

Steve hums. Melting into the hold Eddie has on him. Lets his arms go completely limp at his sides. Eyes closed, creases and wrinkles receding. “Don’t pull out,” he mumbles.

“You sure, sweetheart? I can get some lube—“

“No,” Steve squeaks. Pushes further into the hand on his head. “Feels good,” he slurs, “s’good. The pain.” He reaches up blearily, a featherlight touch to Eddie’s bare arm. Fingers grazing the taut pull of his muscles. Over his chest, naked of hair. On the hanging ball chain of Eddie’s necklace. Teases the pick between his thumb and index finger. Smiles softly to himself. “Want it hard,” he confesses breathily.

Eddie keeps his hold, his line of sight completely focused on Steve’s face. The tenderness of his stare makes Steve want to weep. Makes him watch this attention all the time. He tracks his own hand down to Eddie’s waist, squeezes him gently. Mewling at the snap of Eddie’s hips. He welcomes the keening noises that fall from his lips.

It’s a mix of touch. Eddie’s hands are soft. His hips are fast and intense. He pulls out to just his tip, but quickly resituates himself to press firmly against Steve’s prostate. Kisses the tip of Steve’s nose, kitten licks over the steady stream of tears, dully scratches at his scalp with the slow stretch of his fingers.

All of it’s enough to completely soothe Steve. To melt him. To make him come undone.

Sobbing, he murmurs, “M’sorry. So sorry, Eds.”

Eddie kisses him softly on the mouth, careful to avoid the split on his lip. “Why, baby?” He whispers, “it’s alright. I was mean, too. It’s alright.”

“Forgive me,” Steve cries out with the snap of Eddie’s hips. Chants with each movement, “Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.” His voice goes reedy. Exhausted and unlike him. Something sweeter. New. “Forgive me, Eds. M’sorry. Forgive me, forgive me.”

There’s a tight ball in his belly. Glowing warm and bright with his impending orgasm. Teetering with each word, Eddie’s hips, the stretch of his hole.

Against the side of his face, Eddie nestles himself. Cheek to cheek. And into Steve’s ear, he soothes, “Shh, baby. Shhh. I forgive you. We’ll be okay. I’ve gotcha right now.”

“Got me forever?” Steve asks wetly.

“Yeah, baby boy,” Eddie murmurs, “Forever and ever. I promise.”

With that, Steve lets go. Against his mattress, he squirms, convulses with the intensity of his orgasm. He bites down on his swollen, bleeding lip as he cries out. Hands tense on Eddie’s waist, squeezing him with all the force in his grip. Spurts of come into both their happy trails. Eddie isn’t too far behind, the hot and calming fill of his come completing Steve in a way he hadn’t been anticipating. With the weight of Eddie’s own orgasm, his sweaty body atop, and the come painting him inside—Steve is whole.

He’s exhausted when he comes down from the headspace he occupied. His face buried deep into his pillow, drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth, eyes half-closed and blurry to his surroundings. His cock is sensitive as Eddie pulls himself up. Hole sore and aching. Legs tight from digging into the small of Eddie’s back. But something in him panics as Eddie moves off him, getting back and away.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles, “Please don’t go.”

“I’m not leaving, Stevie baby,” Eddie assures. “Just grabbing toilet paper from your bathroom, alright? Need to clean us up. I’ll grab a cold washcloth, too.”

“You’ll come back?” For a moment, Steve is lightly embarrassed by the tone of his voice. Like he’s a little kid, watching his parents leave for a business trip for the first time. Though, it honestly feels like that. Because back then, they didn’t come home when they promised.

“I promise, Steve. I wouldn’t leave you like this. Never ever.”

“M’kay,” Steve sighs. “M’sorry.”

He hears Eddie enter the restroom, shushing the entire time. His movements almost clumsy with how he bangs the cupboards. The sink turns on and something wrings out. And then Eddie’s back in Steve’s space, just as he promised.

There’s a damp washcloth on his lips. Pressing lightly over the split. A slow wipe with toilet paper on his legs, belly, and ass. Eddie is careful. Something tender and raw. And he lays down beside Steve, still holding the washcloth up.

He hisses quietly. “God, Steve,” he whispers, “I got you good. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have…Jesus Christ. Why’d I hit you?” The washcloth leaves for a moment, replaced by the tip of Eddie’s thumb. Pulling down gently on his lip, eyes assessing the wound.

“’T’s alright,” Steve mumbles, “hit you, too. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Eddie quickly answers. “It bled for a little bit, but ultimately stopped. Think I got you with one of my rings, though. So yours is messier.” Rag goes back to his sluggishly bleeding lip. “Shouldn’t have pushed you. What was I thinking?” He mutters.

His words are muffled by the cloth, but he still speaks. “Forgive you, Eds. We both fucked up, we’re alright.” He places his hand back on Eddie’s waist, pulls himself into the little bit of space that’s left. His forehead lands softly on Eddie’s chest. “Sleepy,” he murmurs, “wanna go to bed.”

“You can sleep, sweetheart,” Eddie matches his volume, “I’ll be right here.”

“Wake me up later? Help me get ice?”

The gentle press of lips to his hairline. “Of course, Steve. I’ll help however you want it.”

“Help me by cuddling?”

Eddie snorts. “Okay,” he whispers. Wraps his arms around Steve’s sweaty back. Pulls him in firmly. Pets down his back. So Steve closes his eyes, breathes in deep, and goes boneless in the hold. “I’ve got you, honey. I’m sorry, but I have you now.”

🤜—————🤛 Haha, I've been trying to write this for the last six hours.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #nsft #smut #read the tags #read the content warnings

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