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the-infamous-coat-of-baron-zemo · 4 years ago

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Fall Into You | Laszlo Kreizler x Reader

Alright my friends. Here is my latest piece of insanity.

It is completely raw and unedited. So, if there are a ton of mistakes, I apologize in advance.

What a whirlwind thing this was. I literally only planned to write the last little bit at the end, that was the entire premise and then 7000 more words came along with it.

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This is a partial crossover fic.

TFATWS | The Alienist | Dr. Strange | Loki | universe all mushed together in bits and pieces.

But mostly The Alienist.

Hopefully the characterizations feel okay. Dr. Kreizler and John Moore can be a bit tricky to write and I've never written them before. So, please bear with me on this.

Buckle up. It's going to be a doozy. Kinda.

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Word Count: 6,900 - ish

What happens when you wind up 124 years into the past and meet a relative of Baron Helmut Zemo's?

A lot.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was early evening and you were perched on one of Dr. Kreizler's fine couches, in front of the fireplace, reading a book.

You were waiting for Stevie to drop by and drag you to some musical street performance not terribly far from Dr. Kreizler's residence. Normally, you would have stayed hidden indoors, but you took a liking to the kid when you first met him, and decided you couldn't let him down.

Hopefully Stevie wouldn't drag you out too long, otherwise Dr. Kreizler would start to worry. Although, he would never outright admit to it, but it was the subtle things he did that indicated his concern. Or perhaps it was annoyance. That wouldn't surprise you either. You were loud and very talkative. He'd probably grateful to have to leave his house; so he can finally get some peace and quiet.

Dr. Kreizler always kept to himself and rarely made a display of his feelings to anyone, but you were a good friend of his in the short time you had come to know him. So, you got little peeks into what lay hidden away.

He was gracious enough to allow you stay in his home until you could figure out a way to get back to your own time. One minute you were talking to Wong inside Dr. Strange's sanctum in New York, and the next a portal opened up underneath you and you were falling.

After travelling through an empty void that seemed to go on forever, you finally exited through the other side, which landed you in front of a police precinct. You had looked around after picking yourself up and realized you were in quite the pickle. It didn't take a genius to figure out that this was not your New York.

People were starting to stare at as you took in your surroundings. You initially thought it was because you had randomly fallen out of the sky, but realization had dawned on you; it was because of your clothing.

Ah, yes. You suppose compared to what all the other women were wearing, you were a sight to behold. Jeans, a forest green blouse, and short brown leather jacket, would draw some attention, when all the other women were dressed so conservatively in dresses. You laughed nervously backing away from the small crowd on the sidewalk. You calmly but quickly darted over to a newsie holding up a paper for sale.

You paid the kid a dollar and snatched the paper out of his hand. Not paying attention in the least to his shouts of joy on making so much off of one measly paper, but you were too focused on finding out what time period you were in.

You caught the date at the top of the newspaper: April 1st, 1897.

April Fool's Day.

Typical, something like this would happen to you. Joke's on them, as someone is going to have a hell of time trying to figure out where you went. You're quite sure Wong was trying to sort through what happened and had already calling Strange.

Well, you hope he had.

You put down the paper and tried to think of what to do, but a small crowd of people were still stopped and whispering to each other, pointing in your general direction.

One man was gesturing in your direction and started shouting, but not at you.

"Hey Kreizler, this one looks like a crazy. Should probably haul her off to Bellevue!"

You raised your eyebrow at the man, but didn't say anything, instead choosing to turn and see who he was yelling at.

A very well dressed man wearing a bowler hat was walking down the steps of the police precinct in a rushed sort of manner. He had a cane with him, and it appeared his right arm was tucked against his body as if protecting it. A few steps behind him there was another man darting to catch up with him, also well dressed and carrying what seemed to be a sketchbook.

The guy on the street had yelled at the gentleman in the bowler hat again, which you had assumed at this point was Dr. Kreizler. As the two men reached the bottom of the steps and were about to step into their carriage, the incessant yelling had managed to grab Kreizler's attention. At least it seemed so, because the man with the cane had paused and turned his attention towards the direction of the yelling.

You could see from his body language he wasn't all that interested, but when his eye-line landed on you, he backed away from getting inside.

The other gentleman that was accompanying him, the one with the sketchbook, said something to him, but Dr. Kreizler just waved him off as he started to walk over to you.

Great.

You look over to the rude gentleman that had now drawn even more attention to you and gave him an unappreciative stare.

You steeled yourself, ready for whatever this stranger was going to say to you, but your guard had dropped slightly upon getting a better look at his face.

No way.

This was not possible.

The man that had come over to you was the spitting image of one genius, criminal mastermind and general pain in your ass, you knew all too well. One who's currently locked up in The Raft.

If it wasn't for the beard, you'd swear you were looking at Baron Helmut Zemo.

As Dr. Kreizler stopped a few feet from you, he tilted his head to the side and eyed you warily, but not unkindly.

That head tilt, a family trait for sure. Zemo had to be some distant relative of this man in some way, there's no chance they aren't with how closely the two resemble each other. She'd have to make a trip to The Raft and ask him about it sometime, if she ever got back home.

"My dear, you seem out of sorts. Are you alright?" the man inquired, gazing at the small gathering of people and then back to you.

"I kinda stick out like a sore thumb, yeah?" You laughed as you answer his question, peering down at your outfit.

"Quite," he replied.

You saw while he may be cautious around you, you've seem to grab his interest with the scrutiny and intensity of his gaze.

"If I may introduce myself, my name is Doctor Laszlo Kreizler," the gentleman stated.

Ah, so this was indeed the man who was being called out from the street. You noticed he didn't extend his hand in greeting, but then again perhaps it wasn't a pertinent gesture for the time period either. So, you didn't take offense to it.

Your eyeline moved behind Dr. Kreizler and could see his friend at the carriage watching with interest, but also growing impatience.

You gave a kind smile as you introduced yourself and added, "Thank you for humoring the nosy man over there, but I'm not in need of a doctor. I'm terribly sorry for interrupting your day."

"Not in the least. And I may be a doctor, but I am an alienist more specifically," Kreizler explained.

Your eyebrows shot into your forehead and then contemplated his title. An alienist? Where had you heard that before? If you remembered correctly, an alienist was someone who assessed individuals for competence?

Oh.

The shouty man had mentioned Bellevue. Okay, now you understood.

"An alienist! That term is...." you paused trying to think of a better way to phrase you response. "The term is outdated where I'm from. Instead we simply acknowledge your specific doctorate profession as psychologists, since the very definition of what you do is to study the mind and behavior of individuals," you answered, satisfied with your explanation.

"Outdated. How intriguing. Perhaps we could continue this conversation away from prying eyes and gossipy busy-bodies?" Kreizler asked.

You wouldn't be able to read it on his face, but you can tell you've piqued his interest even more so now with his body language. And his eyes had this sparkle in them as you spoke of his profession so specifically.

Though you felt you could trust this man, you couldn't take the chance that he might, in fact, lure you into his carriage and ship you off to the nearest mental institution, such as Bellevue Hospital.

You'd be lying if you weren't equally intrigued by this enigma of a man standing before you. The resemblance to Baron Zemo was uncanny, and that alone made you want to find out more about him; however, Zemo was not to be trusted as far as you could throw him. Though he did have his moments. You'd give him some credit. Doesn't mean distrustful behavior runs in the family, but it also could. It was a difficult decision.

Your eyes narrowed assessing Dr. Kreizler as you came to decision.

"Shouldn't you give me a mental health assessment test before asking a complete stranger to travel off to who knows where with you? Why shouldn't I be suspicious you aren't going to drop me off at the nearest institute? No offense," you replied warily.

"Thank you!" the man with the sketchbook at the carriage shouted at both you and Dr. Kreizler, clearly in agreement with your answer.

You snickered at his sarcastic reply, but attempted to cover your ever growing smile by coughing.

The corner of Dr. Kreizler's mouth ticked up in a smile as well.

"No my dear, if anything you've just proven you're at least slightly more sane than my counterpart, Mr. John Moore," Dr. Kreizler shook his head and jutted his thumb behind him.

"Heard that Laszlo!" Moore responded with indignation.

"That was the point John," Dr. Kreizler answered back with dry wit.

Yeah, she liked him already.

"Shall we?" Kreizler turned slightly to gesture to his carriage.

You sighed internally. Why the hell not? You had nothing better to do and no idea what your next move should be trying to get home. Dr. Kreizler would no doubt be curious about your attire and that alone with most likely bring up a slew of never ending questions. You'd have to be careful how to explain your situation and make sure what you revealed was limited, but truthful. You wanted to tell him the truth about where you were from, but you needed to word it in a way that doesn't make you out to be a crazy person, but present the information with facts and evidence that Dr. Kreizler could not refute. Luckily you had some tech with you that could prove your point rather efficiently should the need arise you convince him of what time period you come from in the future. 124 years it a length period of time. It would be difficult for anyone to accept your explanation, but Dr. Kreizler seemed to be different. Let's hope you aren't wrong about him.

"I accept your offer Dr. Kreizler, thank you," you spoke kindly.

You were formally introduced to Mr. Moore and to Stevie before getting in the carriage. Mr. Moore seemed uneasy, but went along with Dr. Kreizler's acceptance of you. He was a trusting friend of his, you could tell right away. And something told you, Dr. Kreizler was a tough nut to crack and didn't seem to be the type of person who might have very many. Only a close few.

"What made you decide to take Dr. Kreizler up on his offer so quickly," Moore asked standing outside the carriage as Stevie was getting the horses ready.

Dr. Kreizler had held the door open for you and waited patiently.

You looked at Dr. Kreizler before turning back to Mr. Moore, "You mean besides his sparkling personality?" you winked and got in the carriage.

John leaned into Kreizler before adjusting his hold on his sketchbook and climbing into the carriage himself.

"Oh, well I like her already Laszlo," he grinned incessantly and gave Kreizler a clap on the back.

You saw Dr. Kreizler bend his head down in amused exasperation as a small huff of laughter sounded with the movement. He sighed somewhat dramatically before getting in the carriage and closing the door.

"You know, I've never actually ridden in one of these before," you say slightly awed.

Both Moore and Kreizler gave you confusing looks before Dr. Kreizler used his cane to tap on the rear enclosure signaling Stevie to head home.

Home. Well, this should be interesting indeed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

You closed your book with a snap and slumped into the couch you were perched on. It had been six months, since that day. Six months, you've been trapped in this pocket of 1897.

You had reflected back on how well John and Dr. Kreizler had taken the explanation you were from the future. As you told your story, your only requirement was that they wait until the very end before asking any questions. That gave you the chance to be very methodical about how you explained the future and how it was you ended up in 1897, which to be fair, you don't know exactly how that portal opened still, but magic was involved to say the very least.

It was oddly reminiscent of when Loki used the space stone, which gave her pause. All the infinity stones had been destroyed, and yet you knew that there was an errant 2012 Loki running around the universe with one. It is plausible, he could factor into this, but how or why you, you have no idea.

After you had explained your fanatical circumstance, to help prove you weren't absolutely off your rocker and have Dr. Kreizler change his mind about you, you showed them your phone.

Yes, there may not be any service available, but you could still access all your photos and videos and holographic imagery, etc. That was what allowed John and Dr. Kreizler to accept your story; paired with your unique clothes; they had a surprisingly open mind. John had gaped like a fish for a good 10 minutes before Dr. Kreizler told him to get over it already. John was somewhat outraged that he wasn't more shocked by your existence. But like all things, Dr. Kreizler took everything in stride, which was quite a relief to you. He was incredibly understanding and offered a room in his home to you until you were able to get back to your own time. You made a promise to Dr. Kreizler that you would never lie to him, about anything. It was the least you could do since he opened up his home and essentially part of his life to you.

You understood why he was an expert in his field. His patience and intellect allowed him to be open-minded and grasp concepts others word merely scoff at. However, there was another side to that coin; he was also closed off, and could at times, be calculating and manipulative. Though, none of these traits were used in any nefarious manners, they were there all the same.

He reminded you of Zemo to be sure in this regard. Some personality traits apparently do get passed down through the generations. In some ways, after meeting Dr. Kreizler, you felt you knew Helmut Zemo a bit better. And somehow, you missed him. Not that you were ever particularly close to him, but the time you spent with him in Latvia with Sam and Bucky forever altered your opinion of him.

So while you've been living at Dr. Kreizler's residence, in your spare time, you had been working different avenues of how to achieve ways to get home. You couldn't just solely rely on your friends to get you out of this mess. So, while Dr. Kreizler was at work, you enlisted the help of Stevie to run down leads of potential scientist and gathering of general information of the time period to help you put together some sort of road map. None had turned out to be very promising.

You had, over time, gotten more acclimated to living in 1897, though you mostly refused to wear the clothing of the time period. John Moore would always comment about how you would draw attention in the public eye, should you dare to go out. But you refused to give in most of the time, saying that 1897 would just have to catch up to your fashion sense, and you weren't about to apologize for it. If you were going to be stuck here, you were going to be stuck here, comfortably. You fondly remember Dr. Kreizler's reaction. He seemed pleased, possibly proud of you in that moment. Probably because you had refused to conform to the times, and set your own rules to live by. Not giving in to anyone.

The question lingered, how exactly did you get away with living in this time without having to dress in the clothing of the period? Well, a friend of yours, Scott Lang, had gifted you a device that allowed you to chose one object to shrink and return to it's normal size. So, of course, since you traveled so often with the Sam, Bucky and the other Avengers, you chose your wardrobe. You were just thankful you had it on you already when you got dumped into that portal. So, essentially you had all your clothes with you, making things a bit easier.

Life was not fast paced here, which made things a bit difficult for you. You were used to always being on the go, another crisis to fight through, another area of the world that needed help. But here, here everything was, for the most part, quiet.

It drove you nuts sometimes. Made you antsy. You managed to weasel your way into helping John, Sara and Dr. Kreizler on one of their serial killer cases recently to pass the time. Dr. Kreizler was unhappy at first. You were able to prove your usefulness though with advanced techniques and theories on how to potentially catch the killer in question. Be that as it may, Dr. Kreizler still seemed grumpy, if that were the correct word to use, about you working on the case. You confronted him about it one evening, but he glossed over the whole thing. He was holding back, but what that was, you weren't sure. Maybe he still didn't fully trust you yet. It was a fair assumption, but he was always so hard to read. Though you've managed to get a few good laughs out of him from time to time. Those were the days that really made you smile. Seeing him happy, as most of the time he was always so guarded. It made you feel like you and Dr. Kreizler shared this little secret when no one else was around.

Dr. Kreizler let himself relax ever so slightly around you, but it was far and fleeting. On rare occasions. You savored all those memories and tucked them away. Everyone was so refined and conservative in their mannerisms. You missed just wanting to hug someone. You craved some sort of physical affection, and it was hard, realizing just how different the times were from the future. They weren't terrible by any means, but the social norms of the times had been trying on you, to say the very least. Dr. Kreizler, ever astute, had picked up on this.

He had been gracious enough to offer himself if you ever needed to hug someone. This had been roughly 4 months into your stay at Dr. Kreizler's. You both had gotten more comfortable around the other, and even had a routine of sorts. You had thanked him for his offer, and told him you would not abuse the privilege he had bestowed on you.

Something told her there was more to it, but you hadn't dwelled on it, you were simply appreciative of his friendship.

However more recently, it was more than just friendship you felt. You kept squashing your feelings down, telling yourself this was the worst possible time to develop feelings for someone. Especially someone like Dr. Kreizler. There would never be a happy ending. At some point, you would return home, and that would be that. But there was that nagging sensation in the back of your mind, reminding you, you might not ever get back home. You tried to reason to yourself that you were possibly transferring some of your fondness of Zemo to Dr. Kreizler because of how he reminds you of him. But then you were just lying to yourself. Dr. Kreizler was a person all on his own and one of a kind. You knew better, you were just fighting yourself tooth and nail to live in denial a bit longer.

Footsteps from the kitchen were headed in your direction knocking you out of your musings.

You twisted on the couch to see Dr. Kreizler had returned home from his institute.

"Dr. Kreizler! Good evening," you voiced into the low lit parlor room.

"Good evening to you as well, I trust your day was fruitful?" Dr. Kreizler inquired, coming to rest on the opposite end of the couch.

"It was, thank you. I was somewhat restless earlier, so I took it upon myself to work on the cryptogram the killer left his last victim, with the hopes of figuring out his next location before he strikes," you sheepishly stated.

Dr. Kreizler ruefully smiled at you and shook his head. At one time, he might have gotten upset, but he had been taking your antics more in stride, and you managed to be helpful providing much needed information. So, he'd act unhappy, but silently was thrilled.

"And did you uncover anything useful?" Kreizler queried, he got up from his seat and walked over to the chalk board.

"Not completely, I believe I've broken the code word and the book that the killer has been using to write his cryptograms, but I have yet to comb through all the evidence to gather the page numbers, line and word number to crack the full message. I planned on working on it when I got back with Stevie later this evening," you happily expressed while fidgeting with the watch on your wrist.

"Impressive work. And what book has our killer been using?" Kreizler asked, eyes still going over the work on the board.

"Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. You'd think we could have figured that one out sooner given our killer's eclectic methods of murdering people," you answered sarcastically.

Dr. Kreizler bent his knees in utter annoyance, "Of course it is. Of course. How ridiculous to have missed such an obvious choice."

You smiled knowingly. He was irritated he hadn't figured it out sooner.

A companionable silence continued for a few minutes after his outburst.

Dr. Kreizler was still staring at the board with mild interest when he spoke next, "May I ask you a personal question?"

You had just reached over to place the book on the coffee table next to you when he asked his question and you froze mid motion.

Dr. Kreizler generally didn't push too much into your personal life, so this was somewhat out of left field for him. Never-the-less, you recovered after a beat and placed the book on the table.

"Of-of course Dr. Kreizler. I told you I would always be truthful with you regarding anything. Please, go ahead," you answered, motioning for him to continue.

"Why do you always regard me as Dr. Kreizler and not by my first name?" he questioned softly, almost hesitantly.

This was not the question you thought he would ask. There were a million questions he could have chose, but it was this one he went with.

This really was personal.

You glanced down at your hands sitting in your lap as you pondered how to answer his questions. You could lie about it, and he'd be none the wiser, but it's not who you are. And you promised.

Dr. Kreizler went on to further express his inquiry with a bit more confidence, "You call John Moore by his first name and the same with Ms. Howard, including our other friends we work with, but not me. Why?"

You opened your mouth to answer him when the front door slammed open and Stevie came barging in.

"You ready?" he exclaimed loudly. Stevie was clearly excited at the prospect of showing off his musical talent. "Oh, excuse me Dr. Kreizler, I didn't realize you'd gotten home yet. Thought you were working late," Stevie took off his hat and looked sheepish as he apologized for the disruption in his home.

You sighed. This was your saving grace. You could probably make an excuse and make a run for it with Stevie. You mulled over what to do, battling with the decision.

"Hey Stevie. Nice to see you too! Go on outside, I'll be right there. I just need to put my coat on," you laugh at his enthusiasm.

He nodded at you and dashed back down the hallway and out the door. You could hear one last shout as he exited, "Okay, but don't be too long, we're going to be late!"

Dr. Kreizler gave a look of displeasure at Stevie's unrefined outburst, but didn't say anything as he knows his antics all too well from over the years.

You stood up grabbing Dr. Kreizler's attention.

"Walk me to the door?" you ask, jutting your head in the direction of where your coat hangs.

"Do you plan on providing me with an answer?" he kindly jabbed as he nodded his agreement to follow you out.

You outwardly sighed, trying to figure out how to best answer his question. As you both walked to the front door, you start to answer him.

"Okay, so I address you as Dr. Kreizler 33% of the time, because you deserve the respect that comes with that title. You went to school for many years, and you earned it. So, it's only fair to address you as such," you tell him confidently.

A completely reasonable and partial explanation, you thought.

You both reached the front door, and you grabbed your jacket. Dr. Kreizler, the gentleman that he is, assisted you in putting your coat on. You gave yourself a once over in the mirror, making sure you looked okay before heading out.

You caught Dr. Kreizler staring at you in the mirror as you adjusted a stray hair that had fallen onto your face.

"You look lovely," he quietly voiced.

You turned to face him as he had opened the door for you and stepped outside.

"Thank you," you said, a bit bashful by his sudden compliment.

His expression had gotten softer and his eyes were glowing in the evening lit night.

Your resolve was crumbling even more so now.

"And the other 67%?" Kreizler softly spoke, head cocked to the side.

"Hey - Miss! We need to be going!" Stevie cried.

You turned to Stevie and hollered, "One mo, Stevie! Don't lose your head!"

"I'm sorry I have to go otherwise Stevie is going to have a coronary," you apologized to Dr. Kreizler.

You walked down a few steps, but stopped. You couldn't not answer him.

You go up a step but not completely back to where you where standing in front of Dr. Kreizler. You inhaled a deep breath and exhaled before continuing, looking up to see Dr. Kreizler eyeing you with slight confusion and anticipation with your hesitance to answer his question in full.

"And the other 67% of the time, I call you Dr. Kreizler because..because," you drifted off closing your eyes. You open them again with quiet resolve shining through, finding your confidence. You take another step up to now stand just a foot away from where Dr. Kreizler was.

"Because, I love you Laszlo. And I use your professional title as a barrier, to - to remind myself I have boundaries. It's just easier to separate you this way or well, to keep myself living in denial," you quietly and defeatedly said, laying it all out for him.

You wanted to open your mouth to say something else to him, to let him know it was okay he didn't feel the same way, but you could never quite form the words that needed to come out.

The shock was written clearly on his face. You had completely gob-smacked this man. His eyes had widened considerably and his jaw had gone slack from your answer.

But he never said anything back. You weren't expecting him to.

So instead, you did what you did best. Ran.

"You've got your answer. I-I really have to go now, I'll see you later," you stuttered out, suddenly drained from your revelation.

You took one last glance at Dr. Kreizler before making a mad dash for it with Stevie.

You were gone before Dr. Kreizler recovered from what just happened. And you never got to see the expression on his face after.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

#the alienist #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #helmut zemo x reader #tfatws #helmut zemo #mcu fic #crossover #my writing

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starshiningsirius · 4 years ago

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Attention seeker (Yandere Vil x reader)

The beautiful Queen's birthday, now if you'll excuse me I'm gonna go pull for his card.

Edit: I have failed and my disappointment is immeasurable. There's always Ruggie then.

A new first year to Pomifore who doesn't look like a potato face in Vil's eyes is rare. Something about her screams perfection and beauty in every way.

He never hears her talk much but she does as she's told. Her grades are always 100 marks never below that number. It amazed him how she didn't wear makeup but still looked like an angel sent down from above. When the freshmen were taught etiquette, she had no trouble at all.

What confused him the most was that she never mentioned anything regarding his beauty. Like maybe he had gotten some new makeup and graciously flaunted it to the whole dorm. She happened to be sitting in the dorm lounge and didn't bat an eye toward him, everyone else was mesmerised by his beauty except her.

Rook had to comment on his idol's sudden interest with the female.

"Roi de poison, you seem to be very interested in that freshman. She does seem like she's got something special to her doesn't she?"

"Yes, find out what you can about her." Vil was busy putting on his makeup but Rook noticed how his tone had shifted ever so slightly.

"As you wish Roi de Poison."

Rook only did as he was told though with an underlying excitement to it. It was for Vil after all and he could tell that this would go well in his twisted mind.

When Rook arrived back again, he had a surplus of info on her. From her favorite color to her daily routine. Vil noted everything he said to him about her.

She would cook for herself in the dorm's kitchen every morning for both lunch and breakfast. She never visits the cafeteria and always eats something healthy complimenting her physique. She even follows the facial routine Vil told everyone to do. When he mentions that she tutors Epel and she only spends time with him that immediately makes Vil's face turn into a frown.

He orders Rook to go and get Epel before he could even let him finish his findings. When he does come back with him Vil puts on a calm facade to mask his overwhelming envy toward the boy. He pretty much interrogates him seeing as Epel has no other choice he answers honestly.

Epel knows that charming smile on his dorm leader's face. He knew what happens when someone angers him. He could still feel the sting that had implanted itself in his memory after the blonde had slapped him for something minor.

All his questions pertained to his childhood friend. From her personality to what he knew about her that Rook didn't say to him already. He took in every bit of information. It only made him fall deeper into his obsession.

Though the fact stood out that Vil had fallen for a country bumpkin, he couldn't care less.

He just had to get her attention, after all.

* * *

"Vil senpai, is there something you need of me?"

He was outside her room door, one would say he was absolutely giddy at his plan he had concocted. Seeing her up close was even more exciting since he could take in every detail more than the pictures Rook had took of her.

"Seeing as you work so hard, I'm offering you a chance no one else gets you get to be my new makeup model! I need someone with your beauty almost as radiant as my own to test out some new makeup I ordered! I know this is such a gracious offer, so tomorrow at three after class meet me-"

"Excuse me, Vil senpai but I have to decline, it would be a waste of my time as well as yours. I ever so deeply apologize for wasting your time but I have to studying to do. Farewell." She shut the door softly leaving Vil shocked seeing as he was denied and put off to side like something to be forgotten.

That shock soon faded into pure rage. He was just denied with an opportunity as good as what he offered she could've become the talk of all social media with just one picture on his magicam page. Now that he thinks about it though, he didn't want that. All of your attention would be held up by strangers, your beauty would be flaunted off for the world to see. He's glad you denied before it could ever reach that point.

He still wanted your attention though. No, at this point he needed it. To just be forgotten just like when he plays the villain is not something he's fond of.

* * *

Y/n had been nervous as she felt like Rook had been following her for a few days and even though it had stopped altogether, she still couldn't help but be weary of her surroundings. Her vice dorm leader was always strange but it led to the question why was she the target of his interest now?

Vil had gained some strange interest in her as well and it made no sense as to why. She wasn't that special, certainly not at all in her standards. But at the present moment she didn't have the time to worry about that.

She had to go meet Epel again to tutor him in potions in the lab. They both grew up in the Village of Harvest together so they look after one another of course being good friends. Epel knows Y/n's reseved nature as well as how hardworking she is. She admires his determination just as he admires how she sees him for who he is which is thankfully not a girl. That's how the two have always been and now they both went to the same school.

She'd usually eat her lunch there before starting to mix any potions as to not accidentally mess up anything so she took a seat in the nearest chair that wasn't the teacher's desk and started eating.

Zucchini linguine was on the menu for today eating it slow with a fork not once making any slurping sounds. She noted that their was a slight difference in taste than what she was used too, considering she had made this before time and time again.

After awhile of waiting and already finishing her food she noticed that Epel hadn't arrived yet and usually he'd text if he were to be late. She found it strange, but something temporarily took her mind off it.

Her mind started to grow hazy and her eyes were growing blurry. Soon enough her body started to sway and the fork that was placed in the open container on her lap fell to the floor. Before she knew it she fell right with it feeling so dizzy all of a sudden. Her mind could process hearing for just a second, it sounded like the door.

Whispering quiet pleas was all she could do hoping it was Epel that could help him. She only saw a glimpse of purple robes, possibly nail polished fingers, and heard a few words as well as a pair of heels clicking against the floor before her mind completely shut off.

"You will give me your attention, even if I have to take you away."

* * *

Golden chains glittering, moved along with the captive that was awoken with a start.

The velvet sheets that had been neatly placed on her shifted as the chains rattled. She felt her wrists feeling the cold smooth metal on them. She immediately panicked even though she was usually calm and collected her mind just couldn't comprehend the situation. Never had she experienced anything similar to this.

She examined the walls and noticed that she was in Pomeifore, the elegant wallpaper had clued in on it. There was a dresser and a vanity next to it with all sorts of makeup neatly organized. It all looked so expensive just like the gold chains. The dread in her body had multiplied when she realized who it could be.

The room was much more luxurious then her own room. It could only be one person.

Vil Schoenheit.

As if on cue he walked in, with his manicured nails, crown on his head, and purple tipped locks accompanied by blonde roots. It only made him even more ecstatic to see her finally pay attention to him. He walked closer to her seeing her watch his every move for the first time since probably the day of the opening ceremony where he lectured the first years on Pomeifore etiquette.

When he finally reached her he lifted her chin and made her look him in the eyes.

"I want all of your attention to be on me my dear. I don't mind keeping you here to get it."

Masterlist

#vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere vil schoenheit #epel felmier #rook hunt

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solomonish · 4 years ago

Text

selfless (to a fault?) [nowdateables]

CW: allusions to past toxic relationships.

brothers here!

Diavolo

So. Diavolo might not notice right away. It’s not ignorance! He’s just very busy, and public appearances are important to keep up, so one of the ways he keeps up with you happens to be exactly what you have trouble accepting. Large bouquets sent to the House of Lamentation when you’re there, a word sent out to any of his staff out where you may be to make your life easier however possible (Mammon tries to tag along with you all the time, hoping to hear the magic words: “His highness has graciously waived the fee for all exchange students’ purchases today!”) - and he’s not even there to see the way your smile looks a little more like a grimace, or the way you stare uncomfortably at the little gift.

He seems to love that you are so willing to try and help him out - even if there isn’t much you can do, since he handles a lot of sensitive documents and information. But, considering he’s so lonely, when it comes to reciprocating he sort of follows your lead?

He knows, on a surface level, how to be in a relationship, but considering you’re a human AND he doesn’t have a lot of interpersonal relationships for practice...he sort of follows your lead, and hopes your way of giving love is the same as your way of receiving.

You’ll have to bring it up to him, which is a nerve-wracking experience on its own, eased only by the fact that you know Diavolo has done his best to make sure you KNOW you can bring up any issues you have. He is very good at opening his ears to you and helping you problem solve, and when dealing with the things he cares about (yes, YOU) he is very direct about problem solving.

The moment you stand before him, Diavolo notices the way you fidget with your hands and almost refuse to look at him directly. He immediately stops what he’s doing, putting everything down and turning in his seat. If he’s at his desk, he gestures for you to come to his side and asks you directly - “What’s wrong?”

It seems terrible to directly accuse the prince of wanting to manipulate you, so instead you ask, “What did you want in exchange for those gifts?” And for a moment, he does not know what you are talking about. First of all, WHICH gifts, there’s so many, and secondly did he come across as wanting something in return other than your happiness?

No matter what he was doing before, he will set aside all of the time he needs to at least start to communicate to you that he has no ulterior motives with his gifts to you. If you’d like him to stop with such blatant displays of affection, he will, but it’s more important to him that you know he is only trying to communicate how he feels when he cannot do it directly.

Barbatos

This is a relationship where you might have to bring it up before you even start dating. Either that or he WILL get a hint before then. He’s a butler! Not only is he normally serving other people, he is a master at standing in the back and watching people. He notices the way you awkwardly hold your tea cup after he gives it to you, or decline anything that he offers you when given the chance. It just comes up by nature of who he is.

Before he is interested in pursuing a relationship, he simply brushes it off as the unfamiliarity of having someone wait on you. Perhaps you’re particularly independent, or you just never really are in a situation where someone waits on you like he does. Either way, it isn’t really much of his business.

But...it is very obvious in a relationship. He just...defaults to helping others. Sure, he knows how to separate work and his personal life (though, to be fair, there is not much of a “personal life” there with how much time work takes up, so maybe that needs to be revisited. some day...) but even with that separation he enjoys providing solutions for people and helping out. It brings him joy to help make your life a little easier if he can help, and it’s something he’s good at.

Still, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and he definitely doesn’t want to make you think that he’s treating you the way he treats people as a job. If he wanted to, he could most likely peer into different timelines or even into your past, try to figure out what’s bothering you...but he knows better than to creep into places you haven’t explicitly told him you want him. Besides, communication is important, and this seems a prime opportunity to put that to use.

So he asks you one day when you visit him at the castle, after he notices your hesitation to respond to him when he offers to help you with something you were complaining about. “Why does it make you uncomfortable when I offer my assistance to you?”

You freeze for a moment. “Wouldn’t you be able to find that out on your own?” “Would you like me to?” “...no, not really.”

He isn’t one to press you for information, or to ask a thousand times if you know he’d never use any of his attempts to make your life in the Devildom easier against you. Barbatos will listen to what you have to say intently and do his best to mesh to what you think you’re most comfortable with. He does intend to help you accept help as much as he can, but it’ll be so subtle you’ll hardly even notice. With the little amount of time he already gets with you, he’s already practiced in making the most of it - what’s one more little task to the greatest butler in all the realms?

Solomon

See, this is a relationship that doesn’t necessarily depend on the whole “acts of kindness” thing. (Like, it does to the same degree any relationship does, but considering I think you’d both be pretty independent people and the helping each other aspect normally comes from things you’re doing together anyway. If that makes sense.)

Still, he does notice how...surprised you look when he surprises you with a flashy spell he learned, or when he hears you complaining about your course load or Lucifer’s expectations for you. You decline every single offer he gives you to help, and you never look as happy as he hopes you will when he shows you his spells. (Depending on what stage you are at in the relationship, how is he supposed to impress you if you never want him to do things for you !!!)

However, he is accustomed to holding information close to his chest, and he isn’t always the best at asking about people’s emotions. So, even though sometimes you jump at the opportunity to help him collect ingredients for potions or find one book in massive libraries or craft things for enchantments and spells but you REFUSE to let him help you study for a class he could pass without even listening to one of the lectures, he silently suffers and hopes you’ll breach the subject on your own.

Which you do. Kinda. He’s trying to convince you to let him help you with paying back the debts of one of Mammon’s schemes he dragged you into - figuring two bodies on the job will get it done faster and, in turn, he can have more time with you later - but he makes the mistake of rationalizing it with, “Well, since you help me out so much, maybe I could-”

“Don’t! Don’t...say that. We don’t owe each other anything.” You give him a tight smile that’s OBVIOUSLY fake. “I help you because I want to.”

“And I want to help you. Why won’t you let me? What’s up?”

The conversation is...uncomfortable. Solomon isn’t the best at handling vulnerability. But he doesn’t judge you for a second, and he gets the fear that you have in the back of your mind. Especially since people keep telling you not to trust him and that he’s shady...this relationship is pretty dependent on a thorough trust between the two of you. But he doesn’t mind proving himself a little more, so long as you’ll be gracious enough to give him a chance.

Simeon

Simeon is really good at vibing out somebody’s boundaries and comforts. Call it angelic intuition, but he also has a feeling about you that makes a little too much sense when he notices how you shy away from any offers of assistance.

A little thinking, and suddenly the way you stretch yourself thing to help the brothers at any moment makes a lot of sense too. (And, of course, he is pleased to know everyone considers everyone to be family. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t two main causes!)

Angels naturally want to ease the strife of the humans they come across, and even though Simeon knows that it might make you uncomfortable, he finds himself unknowingly putting you in awkward positions with how often he reaches out to make your life easier.

Bringing you homework that you missed, being your escort when the brothers are busy, buying you lunch just because - he’s a bit of a sweetheart and it’s in his blood to do these things, and he only remembers how it hurts you when you uncomfortably shift before taking the only option he’s given you - accept what you don’t want.

He sits you down one day, letting you know it’s bound to be a healing conversation between the two of you. Fortunately, he has a knack for making you feel comfortable and safe, so he has a slightly easier time getting you to pen up to him.

The moment you even hint at him having ulterior motives, you feel stupid. Even when he assures you that it’s alright, saying it out in the open feels...wrong. That doesn’t shake the feeling or ease your fears, but it does make addressing things a bit easier.

Simeon has no problem helping to draft a plan for re-affirming your trust in genuine love and kindness. He also inserts himself directly into the plans - what, you thought he wouldn’t? Simeon will remind you what it feels like to be cared for with no expectation of return. don’t get him wrong though, he’ll take a lil kiss or something if u want...

Luke

You can’t say no to him. Unfortunately, he bakes a LOT and he is all too eager to be your personal guard dog guardian angel.

When you do decide to let him know why you look so uncomfortable when he tries to do something for you (giving him an abridged version, of course) - and he, in all his energy, does not seem to get the hint to STOP ASKING - you can see him literally just chill out. One minute he’s vibrating with pure energy and the next he’s just. Still.

He half wants to get indignant on you, but he knows that’s not a good response. Instead he just sort of stands there, watching you for a minute, until he blurts out with zero grace - “What would I even have to do that for??”

He realizes it’s a terrible response the moment it comes out of his mouth, but you seem to be okay with it if your awkward chuckle is anything to go with. Luke starts pouting just a little bit, more upset with himself that he’s completely failing at handling this situation. “I’m just nice to you because you’re nice and you deserve it. There’s nothing else to it.”

He’s a sweet boy, and he doesn’t wanna lose his favorite taste-tester. He’s got the spirit.

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chaoticpuff17 · 5 years ago

Text

Suga We’re Going Down

Part 4

Masterlist

Y/N stared at the lawyers. Everything they said went straight over her head though it didn’t seem to bother Yoongi. They were his layers after all. They’d probably already gone over the contract with him in detail, something Y/N did not have the advantage of doing. She just didn’t have the time or the money to hire her own lawyers to look over it.

It felt odd going over a contract for what would essentially be a relationship. It felt clinical, but in a way that was good. She wanted that professional distance. This wasn’t romantic. They weren’t dating. She wanted, needed, that line firmly drawn in the sand. This was not a forever situation.

Thankfully, the lawyers were patient with her, answering all of her hesitant questions, making notes if she wanted something changed. Yoongi seemed to find it cute. Every time the lawyers looked at him to confirm a change, he would nod, the barest hint of a smile pulling at his lips. He was surprisingly gracious about it all. He agreed to every slight change to the contract she wanted to make.

“Now, Mr. Min will be providing a car and driver for your transportation.”

“That really isn’t necessary…”

“It’s non-negotiable.” Yoongi interrupted leveling the lawyers with a hard glare. He wanted her to be safe, and a driver would help with that. It would also provide him with access to her 24/7.

“Of course, Mr. Min.” The lawyer nodded. “There is also the wardrobe budget that Mr. Min will be providing.”

She was about to protest that as well, but Yoongi beat her to it. “Also non-negotiable.”

The lawyer nodded humming in understanding. “And the amount of times per week is alright with the both of you? Three times a week with other meetings interspersed as requested and can be accomodated by Miss Kang given her schedule?”

They both nodded.

“I’m sorry,” She interrupted softly. “It’d like it to be in there that my home is off limits for meetings. I’m willing to meet him wherever he would like, but I’d like to keep my home, well, mine. If that would be alright.” The last bit was added on as a rushed after thought her eyes wide as she looked from Yoongi to the lawyers.

The lawyers looked to Yoongi who nodded. “I’m fine with that.”

“Excellent.” The man smiled making a note on the contract. “There is something else we need to discuss.” Both Y/N and Yoongi turned to look at him attentively. “We need to establish the boundaries of your more… intimate relations.” The man informed them looking vaguely uncomfortable.

Yoongi perked up, but Y/N shrunk back in her seat feeling suddenly very small. She knew they had to discuss it, but that didn’t make it any less awkward for her.

She looked to Yoongi waiting for him to speak, waiting to see what was expected for her.

Just as her eyes were fixed on him, his were fixed on her, assessing, calculating. Of course Yoongi planned to have her in every way, but he needed to know how far he could push her and how quickly. If he went too far too fast, he could lose her entirely. She was a cautious creature. One wrong move on his part and she would bolt.

He had to suppress a grin watching how serious her eyes were, the way her hands trembled slightly. The poor thing. She looked out of her depth. She was, of course, but she would never know just how far out of her depth she was. Yoongi had everything drafted up perfectly. None of her requests interfered with his plans. They were reasonable requests from a reasonable girl. Allowances for school. Keeping her home a safe space. He could let her have her space for now, until she was more comfortable with him. Besides, he planned on spending most of their time together in his own home.

“Nothing weird?” She requested fidgeting uncomfortably and refusing to make eye contact.

“Weird?” He asked quirking a brow curiously.

“Like…” Her tone was unsure and her eyes wide. A blush made its way up her neck and stained her cheeks red as well. “Oh God…I… I honestly don’t know…”

Realization come over Yoongi leaving him stunned for a moment, before a deep sense of satisfaction took its place. She was a virgin. His sweet little muse was untouched just for him as if she couldn’t get any more perfect. No wonder she was so uncomfortable, the poor thing.

She wouldn’t have to be for long though. No one else would ever touch her. He would make sure of that. She was his sweet muse, untouched by the world, and he was going to keep her by his side no matter what. He knew the transition would be a little uncomfortable, but he was willing to help her through that if it meant having her by his side.

“We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.” He assured her finding her panic cute.

“But you would be open to a sexual relationship?” One of the lawyers asked, pen held at the ready to make the necessary changed.

“Yes.” She had to hold back her cringe as the word left her. She hoped Halmeoni could forgive her for this. She hoped she could forgive herself.

“Then you would be fine with confirming birth control? Mr. Min is willing to pay for whichever method of contraceptive you choose to use.”

“That’s fine as well.” She murmured too embarrassed to meet anyone’s eye. She felt all of two inches tall. How could everyone else treat this like it was normal? It was all so foreign to her, but hey were completely un-phased.

“Excellent. Could you sign here?” He asked sliding the contract over to her, along with a pen. “That should be it on our end. We’ve already discussed the rules of this arrangement and the payment has already been decided. We should be ready to proceed unless you want to add anything else?”

“No.” She couldn’t help the way her fingers trembled a she reached for the pen, but she signed her name and placed her stamp never the less.

Yoongi signed and stamped after her before turning to face her with a gummy grin.

“I guess it’s official now.”

“I guess so.” Her own smile was much less enthusiastic. It was actually quite weak. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d signed her soul to the devil.

“Let me take you to dinner.” He offered standing from his seat.

She shook her head standing as well. “I can’t. I have other things to do today. Besides, it’s too early for dinner.” She shot him a shaky smile hoping to smooth over her refusal though the deadpan expression on his face wasn’t giving her much hope that she’d succeeded.

“Come on.” He placed a hand on her back and began ushering her out of the room despite her stuttered protests.

“Yoongi.”

“It’s one meal. A celebration of our new contract.” He loved the way her face scrunched up in concern as she thought it over. “We’ll do it eventually. Why not start now?” He shrugged gently placing her coat over her shoulders eyeing it with distaste. “This isn’t the coat I gave you.”

“No. It’s my coat.”

“The one I gave you is warmer.” He didn’t like how thin the coat she had looked, especially not when he had provided her with one of his own, one of his favorites.

“And it’ll be returned to you next time.” She shot back sighing in defeat as he ushered her into the elevator.

“You should keep it. I don’t like how thin that coat of yours looks.”

She huffed under her breath but didn’t argue further. She didn’t want to ruin this before it even started. She needed this money. She’d already spent the money from the first few meetings in her head. A new coat for Eun Jae before the weather got too cold. The first installment on her father’s debt. They needed to fix the stove at the restaurant as well. Not to mention her tuition.

“I’ve already arranged a car for you.” He placed a hand on her back and led her out of the elevator. “It’ll be at your disposal day and night.”

“I really don’t need…” “You do.” He argued glaring down at her gently. “It’s for your protection as well as convenience. Fans can be a little rabid, and I’d prefer to know that you were safe.”

“Only for meetings.” She relented as he led her towards the side entrance of Jin Hit.

“You’ll use it as much as you need to. It’s safer than the bus or the train.”

“You can’t make me take the car.” She shot back eyeing him with concern. A car just seemed like too much for a sugar baby. She hadn’t even done anything yet.

He paused turning to level her with another gentle glare. She knew they could be worse. Nina has showed her enough Agust D videos for her to know just how fierce he could look. He was going easy on her.

“Take the car. Even if you don’t want to use it, I’ll just have Jackson ready to pick you up anyway.” He shrugged. “He’ll just shadow you until you take it.”

She didn’t like the sound of that either. “I’m fine taking the bus.”

“But I’m not.” He looked at her eyes dark and unyielding as they both tried to decide which of them would be the first to yield. “For your safety and my peace of mind.” He grumbled leading her out of the building to the waiting car.

It was a dark SUV with the windows specially tinted for celebrity privacy with a driver waiting outside for them.

“This is Young Jae my driver.” He introduced.

“Ma’am.” The man nodded about to open the door for them, but Yoongi beat him to it. Like a gentlemen he opened the door for her and helped her inside following in right after her.

“Where are we going?” She asked as the car pulled away from Jin Hit.

“Out for an early dinner. I know you probably have studying to do.”

“I do.” She nodded fiddling with the strap of her bag.

“You never told me what you were studying.” That was true enough. He had never asked her, and she had never told him, but he knew anyway.

She looked at him in surprise. She had never thought that he would actually be interested in what she did outside of their arrangement. It wasn’t really in the nature of their relationship for him to care about what she did.

“Elementary Education. I want to be a teacher.”

“It suits you.” He hummed. “What do you do when you’re not studying?”

“I play the cello.” She admitted only a little hesitantly. Music was her passion after all. It was something that they shared, she supposed.

He smiled leaning back against his seat. “Classical?”

He pretended to be surprised. She didn’t know that he had watched her play before. She didn’t know that he knew a lot of things about her. If she knew how much he knew she would probably go running for the hills, not that she could. Not legally at least. He had had his lawyers slip a few surprises into the contract, hidden within the fine print. She was locked into the contract for at least a year. If she broke contract for any reason, she’d be responsible for paying out the contract, and the price was set at far more than she could afford, as well as a few other surprises.

He had his tricks to keep her close. She was a sweet little songbird, but she was skittish, wary of him. She was too sweet for the arrangement she had gotten herself into, but Yoongi was determined to keep her safe. She would always be safe with him.

“Yeah.” She agreed. She did love classical music, but it was fun from time to time to play more modern adaptations. Those were usually easier on the piano though. It was easier to find piano sheet music than cello for pop or rock songs, and she just didn’t have the time to go about transcribing sheet music for the cello, so she stuck to the classics for the most part.

“Never any Agust D?” He asked teasingly.

“Never on the cello.” She agreed.

“Any other instruments?”

“Piano.” She admitted with a smile.

Yoongi loved that smile. It was bright, unguarded. She was talking about something she loved, something he loved. It was as though her entire face lit up, and she seemed to shine from within.

“You’re quite the musician.”

“Not like you.” She pointed out sighing as she leaned back against the seats as well. She was exhausted from the day, and dinner sounded less and less appealing as the minutes passed. She just wanted to go home. She wanted to forget that the day had ever happened, and pretend if only for a moment, that she was still just Y/N and not Agust D’s sugar baby.

“A musician is a musician.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if you play at home or in the arenas.”

They slipped into silence after that.

Dinner was short. She had studying to do, and the urge to see her baby. The day had left her rankled and seeing Eun Jae would help settle her again. So dinner was a light sweet meal where they got to know each other a little more before Yoongi sent her off in a car of her own. It was another dark SUV just like the one they had taken to get to the little restaurant.

“This is Jackson.” He nodded to the man waiting outside the car for her. “He’ll be your driver from now on.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” The tall young man greeted with a respectful bow and a charming smile.

“Please, call me Y/N.” She introduced herself with a small smile of her own.

He nodded shooting her a grin, both of them unaware of the dark look Yoongi was giving them. She was never so at ease with him, but she would be soon with any luck.

“Take good care of her, Wang.” He ordered seeing his own car pulling up ready to take him to the next thing on his schedule for the day. “Take care, Y/N. I’ll be seeing you soon.” He gave her nod though it wasn’t what he wanted to do. He wanted to kiss her. God did he want to kiss her, but she wasn’t ready for that yet. Soon though. Soon.

She got home safe and sound though it was a surprise for Halmeoni to see her there.

The elderly woman looked at her with a sharp eye as she entered the restaurant. “What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to see Eun Jae. It’s been a rough day.” She answered with a weak smile.

Her grandmother nodded in understanding motioning her head towards the stairs that led up to their home. “He’s upstairs. I’ll make tea.”

She nodded gratefully before practically sprinting up the stairs. She saw Eun Jae sprawled across the floor coloring, and it was like she could breathe again. Everything would be okay. It had to be okay. And even if it wasn’t, she would make it okay, for him.

part 5

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #bts yoongi #bts suga #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yandere #yandere yoongi #yandere suga #rapper yoongi #agust d #bts fanfic #suga we're going down #suga x reader #dark romance

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hot-wiings · 5 years ago

Text

The One Where [Y/N] [L/N] Can't Show Up To Her Toxic Family Dinner Alone, So She Turns To Her College Peer For Help.

Edited: 12-4-2020

Once your college professor dismissed the class as over you were quick to open your phone and check your messages. Once unmuted, it vibrated and chimed a dozen times bombarding you. Messages from your mother overflowed your notification bar. You just didn't have the energy to deal with it right now. With a scowl, you set your phone back to mute mode and harshly shoved it into your backpack.

"Everything all right?"

Your chemistry partner was pilling books back into his backpack when he asked you the imposing question. He zipped the bag close, stood up, and turned to you, giving you a concerned look as he slung his backpack on his shoulder.

"I'm fine."

"We've been partners for nearly a year, I think I know you enough to know when you're not fine."

Your eyes glanced up at the white-haired man before glancing back at your lap. Your chemistry partner, Natsuo Todoroki, was a nice young man. Natsuo was funny and kind, he noticed when you were having a bad day, and he'd try to ease your troubles. Maybe that was why you often found yourself studying your partner more than your notes. Normally you'd relish under the gaze and attention of your charming, pretty partner, but today wasn't just one of those days.

"It's stupid. Like, really stupid, and unimportant."

"If it's bothering you then it's not stupid. C'mon, I'll buy you lunch and you can tell me all about your problem."

You huffed as you stood up and pulled your bag over your shoulder. You followed Natsuo to the cafeteria, while he walked off to get and pay for your lunches, you found some empty seats. Your leg bounced as you waited for him to come back. The idea of opening up about something so personal made you anxious.

"It's Soba Saturday."

"Thanks."

Natsuo took a seat across from you and smiled as you took a bite out of the food. Happy that you were happy with your food, Natsou digs into his own.

"So partner' what's up?"

"As I said, it's really, really, stupid."

"You're obviously worked up over it, it can't be that stupid."

You let out a ragged sigh as you took a delicate bite out of your food. Embarrassed, your eyes avoided him once you swallowed and set the fork down. Natsuo had shared so much with you as a friend and confidant, you knew about his family, every nitty-gritty detail, but you opened so little in return.

"My mom texted me asking if I was bringing a date home for Christmas. My parents... They're pretentious and rich, you know? Marrying, and settling down, becoming a house mouse while my husband takes over the family business. That's the future they want for me."

You clenched your fists just getting aggravated thinking about it. The toxicity was hard and you were trying your best to escape it, but you could only flee so much when you were poor without your parents. Natsuo reached across the table and grabbed your hands, pulling them into his cold ones.

"I know if I show up alone my mom's gonna get in my business, then she'll try setting me up with rich men she thinks are suitable. I just- I can't do another family Christmas alone."

"I understand what you mean. I told you how my dad's a bastard, he's tried setting me and my sister up with suitable people before, never works out, just makes us hate him. I don't even wanna go home for Christmas this year, so... I have a proposition."

"I'd love to hear it."

"I'll go with you."

His voice came out quick and fast, almost making him sound nervous, but Natsuo didn't get nervous, it wasn't a Todoroki trait. You look up from your lap to his eyes. A small smile formed on your face as he proposed the statement. You let out a chuckle as a light blush brushed your face.

"You wanna be my date?"

"We don't have to go like that, we can fake date. Think about it, you need a rich, suitable guy to show up with you. You need me. Someone to convince your pretentious parents you're ready to settle down, and, I, can get out of my own family Christmas and obligations to see the bastard man."

"Fake dating... Fake dating and convincing my parents that we're in love. That's a lot to deal with, you're sure your up for it?"

"Yeah, you might say... We already have some chemistry together."

You laughed as that feeling bubbled up in your chest. That feeling you got whenever you were around your partner, your lab partner. It was stupid, so stupid. The idea of fake dating him bubbled you, even if it was fake, the idea that he got to be your boyfriend for an evening or two excited you.

"Okay, you dork, it's settled. You're my fake boyfriend."

Your leg bounced rigorously as the car drove on the road. You watched the road signs, anxiously noting how far away from your home you were each time a new one appeared. You lived a couple of hours out from the city you and Natsuo attended college in. Coming from a rich family, you and Natsuo probably would've attended the same social circles and school had you not grew up so far away.

Your thumb tapped away at your leg as Christmas music blared through the radio. Your whole body screamed anxious and distressed. Now that you've had time to brew and process the deal you and Natsuo made you regretted it. What were you thinking, taking your lab partner, who was also your crush, on an overnight trip as your fake boyfriend? It was just going to cause you trouble.

You had feelings for him and your family was toxic. The idea of letting him in was disturbing. It was your home where you grew up, the place you learned to hate yourself, the place that taught you to be closed off, and mean. He'll meet your mom, your dad, and your godawful siblings. He'll see how horrible your family is, and the idea of letting him see the environment you grew up in was so daunting.

What if he decided you were awful too? What if he changes lab partners?

"We're here."

"Great."

Your voice came out placid and tight. Your nervousness and exhaustion could be heard in your voice. Emotions brought out every time you saw your family, he mistook it as nerves brought on by the fear of fake dating.

"We should probably lie down some rules."

"Yeah, I've never fake dated before. I don’t know what you're uncomfortable with, but no kissing on the lips."

Natsuo pulled his keys out of the engine ignition and pocketed them while he lightly laughed at your proposed rule. Heat rose to your cheeks as his voice met your ears.

"We're supposed to convince them we're in love, but I can't kiss your lips?"

"I know it's silly, but to me it's romantic and I’d like to keep this professional. Besides, you still have my cheek, hand, nose, and forehead."

“I see your points, if it makes you feel more comfortable then lips are off-limits.”

You let out a relieved sigh. You weren't sure you'd handle kissing Natsuo. It was too personal, too romantic. The more you progressed on this endeavor the more you worried. Your parents were gonna know, they were gonna know.

"No kissing your lips, what about hand-holding?"

"We can hold hands, hug, anything a couple would do, just no sex or kissing."

"Two days, as a handholding loving boyfriend. Let's do this."

Natsuo got out of the car and while you zipped up your coat and fixed your scarf he rushed to the other side of the car and opened your door before you got the chance. His cold hand was on your hand pulling you out of the car, he smiled softly at you as he helped you out.

“Thanks, you didn't have to do that.”

“I wanted to, I'm your boyfriend after all.”

You pushed a piece of hair behind your ear as a light blush spread across your skin. Never had you been more thankful for the cold air for you had been able to play your pink cheeks off as an effect of the cold weather and not his words.

“You go in, I’ll get our bag.”

“You sure?”

You nibbled on your lip as Natsuo walked away from you. He turned to you with an ever-growing smile present as he winked.

“Yeah, I'm a good boyfriend aren't I?”

“The sweetest ever. See you inside.”

You made your way to the door and gave the heavy wooden door a hard knock. It wasn't long until one of the servants opened the door. The head butler, Godwin, opened the door and threw you a gracious smile before pulling you into a hug.

“Welcome back, [Y/N].”

In your time living here as a child, Godwin spent a lot of time with you. It was his job to watch over you and your siblings along with the other staff members when your parents were gone, which was often. He was the one who taught you to be kinder and nicer, more humble than your other siblings. He was the one who encouraged you to go to college despite your parents raising you to live in a world with their racist, sexist ideals.

“It’s good to see you, Godwin.”

Your mother came down the stairs with her overly expensive Christmas dress flowing with her. She looked like the average rich person trying to show off her money. Pearls, diamonds, and obvious plastic surgery. Your father followed behind her, adorning an expensive tailored suit and a matching tie, no doubt your mother's idea to make it seem like they had a perfect marriage to their guests when it, in fact, was not.

“Oh, [F/N], you're here!”

She walked up to you and awkwardly wrapped her arms around your body. It was weird and awkward. Your mother didn't like giving affection out to her children, or really anyone. Now that you were older, you didn't crave the attention from her. Your father didn't even attempt to greet you.

“I thought you said you were bringing a guest, Oh I knew you were lying. Lucky for you I thought ahead and arranged for one of your father's friends to come over as your date for the evening.”

“Mother, anyone friends with father is going to be way too old to be a date for me, besides that fact, I did bring a date.”

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed to ask your mother for help, I did give birth to you after all.”

She sneered her words at you. This was a classical move of your mothers because she gave birth to you then that must mean she knows you better than anyone else, she also used it in the stance that you owed it to her to do what she wanted.

“You’ll love him. He's the owner of a multimillion-dollar company, he's rich, and his wife just died! You’ve been single for so long, you need a man to take care of you”-

Your mother is cut off by the sound of Natsuo walking in with your bag and slamming the door shut, trying to keep the cold out. Considering it was an overnight trip, you thought sharing a bag might make you look more intimate and close.

“Sorry I took so long babe, I didn't zip the bag all the way closed and it opened on the ride here, I had to put everything back in it.”

“Mother, father, this is my boyfriend.”

Natsuo dropped your bag on the floor and shook your parent's hands starting with your father, and then your mother next, respectfully the way you shook hands with the rich. You supposed growing up as a Todoroki he had to learn these tricks and rules the same way you did.

“Natsuo Todoroki, nice to meet you, sir, ma’am.”

“Oh wow, Todoroki? Like the hero family Todoroki?”

“Yes, ma’am... Endeavor is my father.”

You could tell by Natsuo's stance that he was uncomfortable with the way your mother was asking about his social status and checking him out with a tight fake smile on her face.

“Yes, I remember now, I saw your family on the news. How did you snag this one [Y/N]? A Todoroki, I'm impressed, then again... He is the brother who chose not to follow the life of a hero.”

You both ignored your mother's catty comment as Natsuo grabbed your hand and pulled you against his side. He kissed your cheek, eliciting a light blush for the second time that day, however, your mother's focus was on your 'boyfriend', and his focus was on your mother.

“Feels more like I'm the one who snagged her.”

“Well, you must tell us how you met. Goodwin! Take their bag up to [Y/N]'s room!”

You rolled your eyes as she yells at the butler. You'd think after years of working for her she would've remembered his name, but she didn't.

“Godwin, we can take our bag up, we need to change into our dress clothes anyway. Mother, you really should remember the names of your staff.”

“They're just the help, details like their names don't matter. Ever since you went off to that school it's put silly ideas in your head. Natsuo don't be afraid to remind her who's boss, she might try to force those ridiculous relationship norms on you.”

The comment comes from your father who had been mostly silent throughout the whole conversation. The comment comes from your father and it didn't sit well with Natsuo. As your father laughs at what he said, Natsuo picks your bag up and chuckles at him.

“Oh, [Y/N] and I both know who the boss of this relationship is. [Y/N] attends more classes than me, so I always make sure the apartment is clean, and food is ready on the table for her. It's only fair, I wouldn't want her to think these ridiculous relationship norms where the woman cooks and cleans and the man provides is right.”

Before your father gets another word in edgewise, Natsuo pulls you along with him to the staircase, letting you guide him to your bedroom with appeased smiles on your faces. You pushed the door open and let Natsuo in before closing it and locking it. You flopped over on the bed, and he followed suit before taking a look at your room. It was the same as always, the way you left it after high school, never changing except for when little things got moved around for dusting and vacuuming by Godwin.

“So... What'd you think of my parents?”

“They’re... interesting?”

There were a wide variety of choice words Natsuo wanted to use. He did not like your parents, and it bothered him knowing that you grew up being raised with such ideals. Natsuo might have had a bastard for a father, his father might have hurt his mom, and his family in more ways than one, but his father never once told Fuyumi that she couldn't pursue her dreams. He never once told Fuyumi that she had to follow old gender norms, never once was Fuyumi taught to layover for a man.

"It's okay, you can say it. They're good awful."

"I didn't want to upset you or offend, but my father literally drove my mom insane, he gave her a mental illness and he's nice compared to them."

"Just wait until you meet my siblings."

You let out a laugh as your fingers played with the blanket on the bed. Your hands were so close. It was sweet to him, the sound of your voice. He'd never admit out loud, but he was so in love with you. Ever since he first laid eyes on you in chemistry class. Ever since you sat down next to him and introduced yourself, ever since you accidentally blew up your first experiment. Ever since you kept apologising for catching him on fire, you hadn't a clue who he was, or who his father was. You were normal with him. Every little thing you did lead up to his feelings for you. Every little thing you did added to the strong feelings had had, like a brick house.

To the naked eye, Natsuo was a desirable man. He was rich, filthy rich, and he had that Todoroki charm. Everyone wanted him for his status or his looks. They didn't know him, the real him, him with an abusive father and fucked up family. For all those reasons, Natsuo always thought that you wouldn't want to be with a boy like him. Someone who came from such a broken background, someone so weak, unable to stand up to his father. Guys like him never got the girl, at least not the girl that he wanted but Natsuo also never imagined that you came from a background similar to his. It was so ethereal and special to be here with you, to be the one you were opening up to, even if it was a fake relationship, Natsuo was trying desperately to shoot his shot.

"You're so strong, you know that? Your parents raised you with these unrealistic standards on how you should act, but you're in college, you're pursuing your dreams. You're amazing."

Natsuo's hand reached out and grabbed yours, his cold one in yours soliciting goosebumps and a little shiver. You quickly tried to pull your and out of his and stood up to make it look like you weren't trying to avoid skin contact with him.

"Thanks, Natsuo... You're amazing too, I mean hello, they way you subtly told my father to shove his marriage ideals? It was hilarious, he was not expecting that."

You looked away from Natsou to hide the blush in your cheeks, you were thankful for the way he stood up to your father for you. You could never have done that in a million years.

"Anyway, we should probably get dressed, and go down before my mother thinks we've started having sex. You can get dressed in here and I'll go to the bathroom, just knock when it's safe for me to come out."

You grabbed your dress out of the bag and scurried into the bathroom. You started with makeup, then you reapplied your deodorant. You were so nervous that your family would see right through your lie. After taking a few deep breaths you heard Natsuo's knock so you quickly unzipped your silk, baby blue dress and pulled it up to your body. Nervously, you popped your head out the door and bit your lip.

"Can you... Can you zip me up?"

"Sure!"

You let the door open more and pulled the front of your dress tight against your body, worried and nervous to be partially naked in front of him. Natsuo sauntered into the bathroom and zipped the back of your dress up. His cold hands glide up your back and then fell down on your hips. It made you shiver again before throwing him a grateful smile.

"Thanks."

"No problem, you look beautiful."

You looked in the mirror at the two of you together. This time as the blush rose to your cheeks you didn't have the cold to blame or the ability to turn around and hide your face.

"Ready to meet the rest of the snake nest?"

"I survived your parents, I think I can handle your siblings."

Arm in arm looped together you made your way downstairs and into the entertainment room with Natsuo. Your siblings were sitting on the couch, but once you walked in their eyes struck you. They heard you brought a date and they wanted to check him out. Their eyes glazed over him some of them in interest, some in disinterest. All judging.

"I heard you brought a boy, didn't believe it."

The comment comes from your older sister. Her voice was full of disdain and disinterest, undoubtedly ready to leave.

"Yeah, mother said you brought a boy, didn't think he'd be so hot."

Natsou coughs uncomfortably as you showed a tight, fake smile to your sister. You couldn't lie, it hurt that your younger sister would so blatantly flirt with your boyfriend upon meeting him, whether he be fake or not.

"Don't be such a slut, [Sisters Name]. That's your sister's boyfriend."

Your older brother scolded his youngest sister for her lustful behavior and she rolls her eyes before she crosses her arms in a pout. Your brother was the nicest out of all your siblings. He was nice to you and your siblings in his own way, protective of his younger siblings, constantly scolding and trying to keep you all in place. That didn't mean he couldn't be a snake, he could just tolerate you and your siblings more.

"Besides, he's not all that hot."

"Oh he totally is, it's seriously a wonder how [Y/N] got him."

You brought Natsuo over to the couch and sat down next to him. You even made sure to sit close to him, close enough so you could lean into each other like a cute couple.

"I think I prefer your parents."

His words whispered in your ear earning a light chuckle from you. Your sister, the younger one, evidently didn't like how close you both were. With a harsh glare, she rolled her eyes again.

"How did you even meet? Seriously, I wanna know why he would downgrade to someone like you."

Natsuo scratched the back of his head awkwardly and nervously He didn't understand why your siblings were so mean to you. His father was a bastard, that closed you off, that he could get. Despite that, he and his siblings never put each other down like they were doing.

"More like she downgraded to me. We met in school, lab partners. She had all the boys chasing for her in school, but somehow she chose me."

Your sister scoffed and this time you rolled your eyes. She always gave you such shit over the littlest things. You didn't have the energy for this, at least not sober. You whispered into Natsuo's ear softly.

"I need a drink, you want one? We'll need it to get through the evening."

"If your alcohol mixing skills are anything like your chemistry mixing skills, then no."

"Meanie, I'm a great chemist, I practically carry our grade."

Natsuo chuckled against your cheek, before pulling back and kissing it. Again, a blush adorned your cheek with no way to hide it. It was brief and quick, but his cold lips ghosted against your cheek. All you could do was abruptly stand up with a smile on your face.

"I'm gonna go find an alcoholic beverage. I'll be right back, play nice with him."

Natsuo watched helplessly as you walked off into the distance. He sat there quietly, patiently waiting for you to come back. Natsuo was such a cool, calm collected guy, but alone with your siblings, he felt nervous. Seeing the way they acted with you gave him a bad impression of them, but he has to play nice because he was your boyfriend.

"You know, an alcoholic drink does sound great."

Your older sister stood up from the couch and walked off in the same direction as you did, the kitchen presumably, to make herself a drink as well. Soon, your brother left the room as well, your little sister bit her lip as she watched your brother walk off in the direction of the bathroom. She was quick to stand and in the place you once held occupied.

"My sister said play nice, but I'd rather play rough."

She slid her hand over his thigh and inched it closer to his crotch while she smiled up at him, nibbling on her lip.

"What are you doing? I'm here with your sister, I'm her boyfriend."

"Ugh, what do you even see in her? She's not even pretty."

Before Natsou could reply, before he could defend you, your sister climbed across his lip and planted her lips against his. He wasn't kissing her back, but with her on top of him, her pressing her face against his, and her fingers deeply gripping his clothes it was difficult to get her off of him. He wasn't kissing back, he was trying to push her off but as you walked up with two margaritas in hand all you saw was your fake boyfriend kissing your sister.

It hurt. It shouldn't have, but it hurt. He wasn't yours, not really. He was just your lap partner, your friend. He wasn't your boyfriend, you were just fake dating. He wasn't yours. He wasn't yours, but it hurt to see your sister all over him. He wasn't yours, but for the night he was supposed to be. He wasn't yours but for the sake of your lie you did what any girl would do after finding her boyfriend cheating on her: You dumped your margarita down the skank.

"[Brothers Name] is right, you are a slut! And you- you-"

As your sister pulled herself off of Natsuo she looked up at you shocked with alcohol dripping down her body, you ignored her and turned your attention to Natsou. Your eyes were blurry but you had to will yourself not to cry.

"I don't need you here. You can just leave."

You didn't wait for Natsou to get up and leaves nor did you want for him to talk and explain anything to you. You simply took off in the direction of your bedroom, slamming the door behind you. Natsuo quickly jumped up on his feet and took off in the direction of your bedroom. He didn't knock, he didn't wait for permission, he just busted in and ran over to you.

"If you want to make out with my sister, that's fine. I get it, she's pretty, she's hot, she's better than me. She's everything you'd want, but you were supposed to be here with me! You were supposed to be here as my boyfriend! My parents were supposed to think we're in love. You were supposed to be mine, I don't care if it's fake, you cheated with my sister!"

The tears were leaking down your cheeks as you yelled at him. No words could pass Natsuo's lips, no matter how hard he tried. They couldn't. Seeing your tears, a product of him hurt. It hurt. He hurt you. He was trying his best to shoot his shot, he was trying to subtly woo you.

"Your sister came on to me, I tried pushing her away. She's really is a snake, you said it yourself!"

You still sniffled as you nodded at him. He was right, you had said that. He was right, she is a snake and this is exactly what she would do just to screw with your life.

"I'm sorry, your right. I shouldn't have acted like that, you're not actually mine. Natsuo, I do need you, I need you here."

"What if I wanted you to really be mine?"

You sniffling stopped as Natsuo took closer steps to you. He placed his hands on your cheeks and pulled your lips against his. This was different from earlier. The kiss wasn't quick, it was long. It was long and passionate, yet cold. Despite your shivers, you found yourself leaning into him, into the kiss.

"You- You can't do that, it's against the rules."

"Screw the rules. I just- I wish you needed me every night of the year, not just Christmas."

Natsuo ran his hands through his hair nervously. He thought speaking against your father and defending you against your sister was enough to get his point across. This idea of verbally speaking it, it scared him. This was uncharted territory for him.

"I want you [Y/N]. I want you every day of the year. I want to kiss you on the lips, I want to hold hands, I want dates and hugs. I want more than chemistry class and Christmas gatherings."

"Then you can have me! Have me every day of the year. Be mine, every day of the year. Take me on a date, hold my hand, kiss my lips!"

Natsuo pulled you against him and your face collided with his chest. You buried your face in his chest as your arms wrapped around his body and a smile formed.

"Let's not fake date, be my actual girlfriend."

You leaned up and left a quick chaste kiss on Natsuo's lips with a smile.

"I don't want anyone else to be my actual boyfriend, I suppose you might say we chemistry."

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imaginepirates · 4 years ago

Text

James going out with some of his men would include...

For the anon who wanted a story about Gillette and Groves dragging James out for a night of fun: I’m all too happy to deliver. (We’re going to assume that he’s a captain, at this point, given everything that happened just after his promotion wouldn’t leave time for much).

@emdrabbles @tesserphantom @paljonkaikenlaista @viper-official @wordsinwinters @groovyfluxie @hellspawn-brownies

James isn’t even remotely aware that any one of his men would have the idea of asking him to do something with them. He feels socially isolated from them, which is how he figures it should be. He’s their commanding officer; they should be able to look up to him, and he fears that being too close to them will make him lose their respect.

Still, Groves gets up the nerve to ask James to go out with them one day. James, of course, is caught completely off guard. He never expected his men to try and include him in anything, given his station, and given the fact that he hasn’t been particularly friendly with any of them.

James hates the idea. He hates the idea of losing any sort of control over himself, even if in the company of “friends”. He’s afraid to make himself look like a fool in any capacity, and that his presence will make things awkward for the usual company. He knows that he’s stiff, that he doesn’t relax well around others. He figures his presence will dampen the mood.

He tries to politely decline, but Groves is insistent that he comes along. Groves figures that James could use a drink, and that the paperwork isn’t going anywhere. He says as much, too, which James can’t entirely deny, because with his position, he could use a lot of drinks, and he doesn’t particularly want to do tedious paperwork all evening.

“Pardon me for saying, Captain, but I think it would be good to spend some time with your men.”

What Groves means, of course, is that James needs to loosen up before he completely exhausts himself. And that James could use a friend or two.

James figures, at this point, that it might be rude not to accept, so he agrees to come along, if not entirely willingly.

Groves is screaming internally with victory, and he drags James out of his office to tell the others. They’re game for it, of course, having talked the idea over for ages. They’re all trying to hide smiles, and James is trying to hide the growing mortification he feels. He knows he doesn’t fit in with them, and it shows.

They manage to make it to a tavern without incident, chatting along the way. Groves makes sure that they keep James close, but that they don’t directly engage him unless he wants to talk. James appreciates that he doesn’t seem to be interrupting anything, and for once, he’s not the center of attention. It comes as a relief.

Being at the tavern is a whole different story. Once they arrive, a thousand worries cross his mind. He wouldn’t know anyone, of course, but what if he did, and what if they told anyone, and…… The man has anxiety. He’s afraid that someone will catch him at this, like it’s a crime to be at a tavern.

Groves simply puts a hand on his shoulder as he notices James paling. James still feels awkward entering the tavern. He knows that people will recognize him, of course. He’s a fairly well-known man, and being somewhat in the public eye, he knows that there will be those who are surprised to see him.

The bartender greets the group, being the regulars they are. They probably eye James, but they wouldn’t say anything.

Each man in the group has their roles. Gillette, of course, is the one who regails everyone else with impossible feats and bawdy tales. Groves calls Gillette on his shit, and is, shockingly, the responsible one in the group. Unshockingly, Gillette is the one who drinks the most, though he somehow manages to never make a complete fool of himself, other than by flirting with servers.

James sits there, sipping at an ale, listening to the others, mildly amused by their antics. He starts to relax as he realizes that nothing is expected of him. He doesn’t have to act a certain way, or say anything.

For the first time in his life, he actually learns who his crewmates are outside of the Navy. He never knew about their families--their children and wives and siblings. He doesn’t know their hobbies, or who they were seeing, or who their friends were. It’s refreshing for him to learn more about them, and opens his eyes a little.

He’s shocked that Groves isn’t seeing anyone, given his station and the fact that, to James, he’s perhaps the most tolerable of all the other members of his ship. That there isn’t a woman he has his eye on surprises James, and shocks Gillette, who thinks that Groves deserves a nice young lady because the company of such is lovely indeed.

Those of the table who know shoot Groves sympathetic looks, especially due to Gillette’s interest in women.

Gillette is actually a raging bisexual, but is oblivious, and hasn’t thought that there was any need to broach the subject. This causes Groves a whole lot of unnecessary angst.

I will go down with this ship, I swear.

Groves offers James another drink, and though he tries to refuse on the basis that he’ll be working the next morning, Groves points out that they all will be, so James will be fine.

“How long’s it been since you’ve had a proper drink, anyway?”

James gives in, and ends up telling some stories about his time as a captain while he was stationed in England at Groves’ prompting. Everyone listens, enraptured, to James’ tales. He seriously downplays his own part in them. The group is impressed anyway.

The girl serving the table plays right along with Gillette’s flirting, but she drops teasing remarks at all of the boys present.

James is a little embarrassed, but he’s more embarrassed that he actually doesn’t mind being flirted with. In fact, he rather likes it. He could never, of course, admit to such a thing, but he appreciates the way she looks, and even more the way she looks at him.

Look, sometimes, he needs to know that people are interested.

However, he’s a level of repressed only known to Jane Austen novels, so he makes no advances, and doesn’t flirt back, only accepts her compliments with a gracious smile.

The others notice, of course, but they keep it to themselves. They can see the heat rising under James’ collar.

At some point, a group of drunkards decides, rather loudly, that they won’t be paying their bill. They also decide to be handsy with the server, who clearly isn’t having it.

James lets the farce go on for about a minute before standing, walking over to the table, ripping a man’s hand off the server, and, in his coldest, most commanding Naval voice, hisses at them to pay and leave.

Needless to say, they do. The fact that James can sober up that fast and intimidate an entire group of drunks says a lot. Mostly, it reminds his own men why they have such a healthy respect for him in the first place.

The server is grateful, but also has no problem telling James that she had things perfectly under control.

“I had that covered. You didn’t need to worry about it.”

“It’s the least I can do. There’s no need for you to take care of everything yourself.”

She seems amused, but in a pleasant way. She gives James a little kiss on the cheek, resting her hands on his chest, and he goes absolutely tomato red.

For the naval boys, the scene is an absolute riot, and they love every second of it. They know that they’ll never be allowed to bring it up ever again, but they relish the sight of their commanding officer at such a loss.

James manages to make it back to the fort, a little unsteadily, and dearly flushed. The group is all smiles, even the horribly tipsy Gillette, who somehow managed to understand the whole situation while drunk.

James knows that he’ll never live the moment down, but is secretly glad that he joined his crew. It was a much better way of spending his time than doing paperwork.

Upon return to his office, he finds a small napkin tucked into a pocket of his coat. It says “next drink is on the house”. James flushes even worse at that, glad to be alone in his study. He figures it was planted on him during the kiss.

And the next time the group goes out, James joins them. They’re surprised, but glad to have him along, and he’s glad that accept him how he is instead of how he always forces himself to be.

In the end, it’s a win-win situation for everyone involved. Even, over the course of several visits, the server, who enjoys teasing James greatly.

#potc #pirates #pirate #pirates of the caribbean #James Norrington #norrington #commodore norrington #headcanon #hcs #headcanons #request #drabble #Theodore Groves #andrew gillette

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cosmiclatte28 · 4 years ago

Text

00′s Love (Sungchan x you)

a/n : I DID IT!! @starsfly01091711 this one’s for you! A second part to 90′S LOVE

SECOND PART OF 90′S LOVE (Thank you for the much love this story received)

warning : some mentions of forced dietary (not allowed to eat), slight angst, HAPPY ENDING!! I kinda liked the ending, so please if you’re okay with the theme go on read this and tell me what do you think about the ending!

here we goo

Moving on was hard, even when you have been hurt by the past and the present is waiting for you to reach for their hand and walk forward to the future with them.

Mark Lee was your first crush, and everything about a first crush makes it harder for you to realize he was not the one and that you should stop gawking over him and his boyfriend. They look cute, as much as you hate to admit it, Haechan brings a big smile to Mark. A smile you could never see when he is with you.

“(Y/n)!” your instructor yells one more time at you. You shake your head from the daydream and stutter “Yes?”

“Dozing off again? Are you sure you can follow today, you seem a little bit under the weather.” Your instructor skates to you and plants his palm over your temple.

You laugh dryly, “No, I’m okay. I am not sick,” you drop your tone, but deep inside your heart you want to add up “I am not okay, imagine learning your crush has a boyfriend, you have to prepare for the state championship, and you’re just not feeling well inside your heart.”

“Okay, we can take a break if you really need it, but buying more time is what we need. The championship is in three months and its been your dream to participate in one.” He tries to cheer you up.

You nod, “I got this, shall we repeat from the top?”

He nods and turns the music on. You begin dancing on ice, over the soft song of A Silent Voice (Koe no Katachi) and with the sad violin music you close your eyes as you feel the sad song and let your body do its magic on ice.

Your routine ends, all the jumps are perfect and all the spins are gracious. You have to thank yourself for pushing your younger self to the limit in order to reach this point. But something is hollow in your heart, something is missing.

You end the routine and open your eyes, only to let a teardrop fall.

“That was good, your techniques are wonderful but where is the emotion?” your instructor asks as he skates next to you. You wipe the tear and look to your feet.

“I am sorry,” you mutter

“You do know just a great technique won’t help you right?” Taeyong Lee, your best choreographer and instructor sighs.

“Clear your head, you really look … I don’t know… you’re not like you. I will say you take a break today and tomorrow come back only if your heart is okay.” He dismisses you like that and you have your head down while entering the locker room.

“Hey (y/n)~ why the long face?” Sungchan taps your shoulder and goes shocked when he sees your hollow eyes.

“Oh Sungchan-ie,” you force a smile to your face.

“I miss Ten hyung,” Sungchan calmly says while taking out his practice gears from the locker.

You froze in track, oh so someone did miss Ten too. Ten hyung left you to pursue a dream he was chasing. He was offered a scholarship to train and be one of the professional hockey athlete in NEO University. Your parents of course sent him away, with all the proud and happy faces sending their first son to a prestigious school while you, you’re staying here with them alone living through cold nights.

“Can you stop hogging the dinner table, you won’t be going to the championship with that eating behaviour.” Your mother looks at you with disgust as she takes away your plate.

You wanted to complain, how could one let her own child starve, but here you are. Forced to count your calories intake for your upcoming championship. Well, you had to thank her she just wanted the best for you, but what she was doing was a bit over the line.

“Oh my, I was a figure skater myself, and let me tell you we skip dinner.” Your mother said as she cuts you an apple.

Your father always come home late, he has to work extra hours to pay for Ten’s extra living costs, while also supporting your school and athletic life. Mom was a figure skater back then, a great one, until she reached the age of stopping skating. She opened courses for beginner skaters, but she doesn’t want to teach you herself. Mainly because she said a younger trainer will know more than her. Weird? No its also because you don’t want to be tortured by her.

“Now, finish up the fruit and go study or do some more stretches.” She stood away from the table and preoccupied herself into other things.

You missed your old family, where four of you would sit around the table, eating joyfully over luscious or even simple dish. But now, you rarely have anyone to sit with even worse forced to eat just fruits.

“Yeah I also miss Ten.” You finally speak about the truth today to Sungchan.

“When is he coming back?” Sungchan asks you and he has already put on his hockey costume, you didn’t notice that! Taeyong was right why are you so out of your head today.

“He is trying to come home on my competition day.” You fiddle with your hand, suddenly feeling how cold your hands are. You shrug it off as the skating rink’s fault

“Cool, by the way the boys and I are going to grab some tteokbokki after practice, want to join?” he nicely invites you.

You want to go so bad, but imagine the calories and no even worse what will mother say if she saw you eat? But Sungchan has been trying his best to always look after you, especially after he said Ten personally pleaded for Sungchan to look after you.

“I’ll see, if mom is not able to pick me up yet, I can wait and probably join.” You try to make the tall guy smile, he is the sweetest person you have right now. Might as well hold on to him and not let him go, right? Luck was in his side, your mom cannot pick you up that early so you waited for the boys. Your eyes most of the time are focused to Sungchan’s tall figure, but still a glance or two on seeing Mark won’t hurt right? Apparently it hurts. A lot, even more as you think of how silly you looked like to Mark.

“Thank you for waiting,” Sungchan pinches your cheek first thing first after the team laughs along their way to the locker.

You shrug your shoulder “What else can I do?”

Sungchan notices the way your cheek feels different, “Yak why are your cheeks gone?” he quirks an eyebrow

You raise your brow, bewildered that you actually loss weight to that point, “Uh is it? No. you’re just imagining things.” You push him to change with the others and he joins them, but when you take a glance to your reflection you cannot disagree him.

“(y/n) you should eat!” Mark notices how you were quiet when they were shouting of what to order.

You jolt in surprise, “Ah yeah, don’t mind me, I will just order later, not that hungry now.” You smile to him.

“No way a person can stay sane after a skating class. You eat, don’t refuse.” Haechan suddenly speaks ending all of your thoughts. He ordered one for each and you just lose it, “I am in a diet!”

“Just one portion won’t hurt!” Haechan desperately puts his puppy eyes on for you.

“She can share with me, if that makes her more comfortable.” Sungchan calmly glances at you and raises his brow.

“She will share with me,” Sungchan speaks for you when you do not let out any rebuttal.

He understands, Sungchan is magical, in a way that you don’t have to speak your mind out loud, but he can grasp what you want to say. Words you speak in silence, within one look of an eye he understands. Does he secretly have the ability to read mind?

When the hot meal was served, the boys all quickly savour the hot food in front of them. They look super happy and you gasp when Sungchan hands you a fork with tteok in front of your lips.

“Eat up!” he smiles and that makes you finally open your mouth and eat the first yummy food in two months.

“I can eat by myself” you blush when the other members throw both of you a cheesy smile.

“Mark me too! Feed me too” Haechan attempted aegyo and that only earned him a smack from Jeno.

“It’s cute when (y/n) and Sungchan did it, but not you.” Jeno teases the couple and that make the team laughs, you cannot hold your laughter too and somehow laughing makes your shoulder feels lighter.

“You just finish two bars, please at least eat four for me…” Sungchan pleads when he finishes his half or more like three of a quarter. Yang yang is already eyeing your side of the plate, still full of fishcakes and tteoks.

“I am full,” you put your fork down but before you can say anything Mark already poke a fork on one of the red bars and offer it to your mouth “If you do not want to eat for you nor Sungchan, eat for me.” His hand is still hovering, and you glance to Haechan, who just sends you a nod of approval, “You don’t have to do this,” you sigh but take the fork instead.

“You eat, or we will do that one by one.” Said WInwin.

Your eyes pop open “It’s embarrassing! Okay I’ve had three! It’s enough… really… I beg you all, thanks.” You smile when they give up

The team separate way and Sungchan walks with you back home.

“Have you always been like this?” Sungchan asks as two of you walk under the moonlight.

You smile and he answers himself “No, you like tteokbokki. Is it because you still cannot move on?”

You smack your lips “I’ve moved on. Just can’t eat much because of the upcoming competition.”

Sungchan stops in track and looks at you deep into your soul “Mother?”

You force a smile “Aiya no way, how could a mother starve their children?! What will the world say?” you laugh out loud but Sungchan stays serious. He shakes his head and holds your hand tightly “Don’t laugh. It’s not funny.” He glances to your shaky hand in his bigger palm, “You were starved!”

You roll your eyes “Not starve. You exaggerated that one.” Though you secretly want to yell and ask him to just bring you foods everyday… but you know you’ll get embarrassed if people find out your mom did this to you.

“I just have to hold on for some months Sungchan, don’t worry.”

He gives up convincing you to eat more when you’re out with him, but he failed. And for once he wanted to turn back time and blamed himself for not forcing you to eat whenever he has the chance.

“You were too sick for practice” Sungchan worriedly sits on your side when you’re tying up your skates. His practice is always after yours, but for the last two months he had been coming to cheer you up on your practice and bring you small foods.

“I am not sick,” you chuckle and wipe a sweat that falls over your head.

“You’re having a cold sweat (y/n), this is not right.” He rummages his bag and takes out one piece of apple “Please,” he pushes his hand out to you and you shake your head “I can’t. I have to warm up, see you prince.” You lean in to kiss his cheek and his eyes twinkle for a moment but its soon gone when he sees your fragile poorly fed body slides on the ice rink.

Yes he has brought the relationship up by a notch with you 2 months ago. he’s been a wonderful supportive boyfriend and you would not change him for anyone, not even mark!

Sungchan knows you like his own little sister, he knows your behaviour and he knows how you hide your emotions well. What he doesn’t like is how you can perfectly lie into his face and sometimes he bought it. Like now, you lied about being okay but he can clearly see you looking super tired in the rink.

Sungchan leaves the benchmark and runs when he sees you stopping in the middle of your routine.

“You should eat.” He forces you a bar of chocolate when you reach the chair and finishes a glass of water. “Please eat for me.” He unwraps the bar and pushes it into your lips.

He did not let you eat half, he didn’t want to regret more. He’s been frustrated about your health and he wants to change it. Now it looks like you’re already affected by your mom’s unhealthy diet and he doesn’t want his girl to fall sick or even ruin her body with this kind of lifestyle.

When the bar is done, he offers you a sweet tea and you shake your head refusing his drink. He sighs “Come on, do I have to force this into your mouth?” he twists the bottle open and almost gulps down the drink and you quickly shake your head “I DON’T WANT.”

He quirks his brow “What? You think I’ll force this mouth to mouth? Sexy but nahh I’m not doing it here, there’s minors.” He wiggles his brow and you punch his shoulder.

“Is that all you got? Gosh (y/n) that punch is so weak. Eat more.” He teases you when you angrily grab the drink and gulps half of it.

You feel better, your sugar level is back to normal and you no longer feel cranky. Well, earlier you were cranky to your trainer and that must be because of this.

“Better now?” he asks when you lean into his shoulder. You nod “I was mad earlier, coach kept on telling me I made mistakes.”

Sungchan rubs your hair “Did you though?” You blush and fiddle with your skirt “Well I did. I am just too tired to repeat everything.” You lean your whole body into him and straighten your legs.

Sungchan grabs your hand and kisses the palm “Come on, your sugar level should be better now. Go nail the practice and I’ll bring you for a good dinner. We can have one cheat day right?” he winks and you laugh. Tempted so much by the dinner and feel fluttery because Sungchan can never stop surprising you with small cute romantic actions.

“I know your mom won’t be mad for one meal. I’ll be the one responsible if she is mad!” he sounds so sincere and you can’t hold back your laughter.

“I found myself a great man, didn’t I?” you pinch his cheek and he only kiss your hand “And I found myself a cute princess to take care of.”

Your mood is boosted and you get up from the chair “Watch me prepare for top three! Or Gold as mom said” you roll your eyes and ump down into the rink.

Sungchan stands on the side of the rink and gives you a thumbs up “I am aiming to see you enjoy ad express yourself on ice!”

Your heart softens at that, that was new! Everyone always encourage you for Gold or silver, or perfect performance.. but Jung Sungchan, the star who waits for you when you’re too engaged with the moon. The star in your dark night, the star of your heart, love of your life? He comes up with a new motivation. Not gold, not silver, not even bronze. He did not ask for a perfect performance, but for you, the love of his life, to enjoy and express yourself on ice.

You can’t wait to nail the rest of your practice and wait for his hockey lesson to finish. Well, you will have to kiss him for his encouraging words, thank him for a great dinner (though you did not know yet what you’ll be eating, but you know it’s gonna be great with him) and of course for reminding you the purpose of life. To enjoy and express yourself.

Your coach heard that too and he comes to whisper “So, I guess you did find the right one. Ready to start over and enjoy yourself?”

You nod and stare into Sungchan with stars in your eyes, “Ready.”

Epilogue

“WHEN I SAY ONE CHEAT DAY, I DON’T MEAN THIS.” You stare in horror at your boyfriend who brings you to an all you can eat restaurant.

He shrugs his shoulder “I am hungry, and you said I can choose.”

You shake your head “Not like this…”

He hugs your shoulder and drags you away from the restaurant “Even when I say dinner’s on me?” he brings you to watch the marbling meat a person is grilling next to the window.

You gulp “It’d be a waste.”

He giggles and ruffles your hair “Fine. We’ll keep this for your after performance. Now what do you want?”

You tighten your hug on his arm and smile “Tteokbokki sounds nice.”

Sungchan smirks “I knew it, you are weak for tteokbokki, that’s why I was super confused when you refuse to eat back then.”

You blush “Stop bringing that up.”

He giggles and bops your nose “Okay darling I’ll stop, anything to make you smile and be happy.”

“I love you Sungchan!”

“I love you most, (y/n)!”

fin.

tell me what do you think?? it’s happy ending right ;D

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spookyceph · 4 years ago

Text

Pull Test

Summary: Shigaraki and Kurogiri meet with the League of Villain's newest candidate.

Rating: Gen Fic, SFW

Relationships: Shigaraki & Magne

Characters: Shigaraki Tomura, Magne, Kurogiri, Giran, mentioned Dabi, mentioned Toga Himiko

Words: 2,732

Warnings: Implied/Referenced transphobia and deadnaming when Magne's background is mentioned, swearing

The manila folder dropped from the air like a dead bird, hitting the bar top with a slap. Tomura jerked back, stool wobbling beneath him, and grit his teeth as he heard the staccato sounds of his fighter taking damage in his game. Recovering balance, he hit the pause button before glaring at the warp gate that swirled into being across the way.

“Another one already?” he snapped the moment the tall figure of his caretaker stepped out of the darkness.

Kurogiri straightened both his tie and metal gorget. “I was quite impressed myself. Giran is proving to be as professional and efficient as advertised.” He motioned to the folder he’d air dropped in. “Shall we consider this new candidate together, Shigaraki Tomura?”

Tomura wasn’t in the mood to consider shit. He hadn’t been hanging around the bar for going on two hours hoping for work to come along. One of his hands strayed to his pocket. He touched the lump that was the jar of salve he’d taken to carrying at all times. The serpentine ridge of a friendship bracelet (I used red, white, and black string so it would match you, Tomura-kun!) had joined it a week ago. Of course, he’d die before admitting to lurking just to catch a glimpse of Dabi. Or that he’d agreed to let Toga show him her favorite otome games as soon as she came back from her shopping trip. He definitelycouldn’t tell the smug old ink splatter to fuck off and let him get back to his goal of a high score—not without having how wrong he’d been about those same two people rubbed in his face.

That left being a responsible leader as the only option.

Tomura growled and set his game aside. He flicked the folder open. “Fine. What’s this new asshole’s name?” Giving in didn’t require him to be gracious about it.

“Ah. About that. I believe there’s a conflicting issue in her files about that point. Her family name is Hikiishi, however, her given one, or both, may require an update.”

A look at the top of the file filled in the blanks. The picture Giran had included showed the candidate flashing a bold smile at the camera. Shoulder-length auburn hair framed prominent cheekbones. Slightly darker fuzz lined her jaw and chin. Tomura couldn’t tell what color her eyes were behind her sunglasses, but they locked with his through lenses and stock paper alike. Hikiishi Kenji, read the first line of information on the page beneath the photo. A police report, by the looks of it.

“I see. Well, for now let’s just call Hikiishi by her alias until she confirms with us.” Tomura skimmed through the info again. “Magne, right? Related to her quirk, I assume.”

The currents of Kurogiri’s mist slowed and relaxed into looser coils. “Correct.”

Tomura frowned. “What? Did you think I’d have some sort of problem with the name thing?”

“After the misunderstanding with Dabi—”

“Dabi and I talked.”

The yellow eyes glowing within the darkness widened. “Did you now?”

Fuck, he wasn’t turning red, was he? Was he? “We’re adults. We worked shit out, okay? Not everybody has a stick up their ass about being polite all the time.” He scooped up his game, more than ready to retreat into something he could control. “When are we expecting Magne?”

“Giran can bring her by tomorrow evening.”

“Fine. Let’s get the stupid meet and greet crap over with.” When only silence followed, Tomura raised his gaze from the screen to glare at Kurogiri. “What?”

The wisps curling from the smoggy bastard’s head looked suspiciously like smiles. “Nothing, Shigaraki Tomura. Nothing at all.”

Taptaptap.

Tomura’s finger rose and fell on the bartop fast enough to give a sewing machine needle a run for its money. The ball of his right foot bounced on the stool’s crossbar in time with it.

Taptaptap.

Giran had promised he’d be there between 9:00 and 10:00. The clock by the door pointed to 9:51.

Taptaptap.

Lots of people would be riding the trains on a Friday night. Or roaming the streets, looking for food and alcohol, karaoke, strangers to stave off loneliness. Heroes would be out in force as a result, watching for any predators stalking the herds of humanity. Tomura didn’t know how to calculate exact probability rates for shit hitting the fan, but he got the sense they were on the higher end under such conditions.

Taptaptap.

Why couldn’t he just run into party members along the way as needed, like in games? Each one would specialize in a skill, forming a well-rounded team. Everyone would follow him to the bitter end because they believed in him and not some ass goblin named Stain. Why they believed in Tomura wouldn’t matter, though money would be a reasonable guess. Idealism didn’t pay much from what he could tell.

Taptap—

“Be calm, Shigaraki Tomura. This meeting will go well.”

He bared teeth at Kurogiri. “There has to be a meeting for it to go a certain way. And I am calm, damn it.”

“So I see.” He finished wiping down the glass he held before setting it on the bar and grabbing another. “My apologies.”

Tomura twisted on the stool to give the smart ass shadow a piece of his overthinking mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

Without missing a beat, Kurogiri stuck his free hand through a small warp gate and turned the handle of the door across the room. He went back to polishing as two figures entered the bar.

For someone who charged such high fees, Giran went out of his way to look cheap and kitschy. Little round tinted lenses pinched to the bridge of his nose. A scrunched scarf like someone’s guts slung around his neck. One front tooth missing in his low-key sleazy smile. The woman following right behind him and surveying her new surroundings made for a more welcome sight. Sunglasses (her and Giran both, for fucks’ sake) hid her eyes just like in her picture, but her lips held a hint of a smile.

The essence of good manners, Kurogiri bowed to their guests. “Good evening. Welcome to our humble home.”

Tomura, to balance the scales, snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “Took you long enough.”

Giran shrugged and twirled his hand, leaving behind a smoke spiral from the tip of the cigarette between his fingers. “Our train was delayed by some prankster threatening to blow up the tracks.”

“Doesn’t sound like a prank.”

“It wouldn’t have been if the lazy bastard hadn’t been trying to pass off children’s clay as plastic explosive. One of the cops noticed the stuff was bright yellow and they rushed him. They didn’t even call in a hero.” The broker shook his head. “What’s this world coming to? People can’t be bothered to find and pay for real weapons anymore. It offends my pride as a businessman.”

Behind Father, Tomura grimaced. His short-lived venture with Stain had indeed moved people to lash out at society. The problem was most of them were fucking morons. He doubted any decent candidates the League managed to net would make up for all the secondhand embarrassment he’d suffered in the past couple of weeks from watching the news.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the woman said, tapping her chin. “I felt kinda bad for the poor guy. He looked like your average office wage-slave. I thought he was going to break down in tears when they hauled him off.”

“Serves him right for cutting corners. No conviction, no integrity these days I tell you.”

She hid a grin behind her hand. “You’re heartless, Giran.”

The broker snorted smoke from his nostrils like an exasperated dragon. “I’m practical.”

“And yet you still haven’t introduced me.”

Posture straightening, Giran tugged at his weirdly anatomical scarf. “Sorry, got sidetracked. Magne, Shigaraki Tomura and Kurogiri of the League of Villains.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Slipping off his stool, Tomura gave her a short bow. The way Kurogiri swayed slightly, as if he’d swoon from shock, made the display worth it.

“I take it I’ve earned my fee?” chimed in Giran.

Kurogiri’s misty form shuddered as he roused himself. “Of course. We’ll hear from you again soon?”

“I’ve got a few candidates lined up.” The broker sketched them a mock salute before turning and closing the door behind him.

“Please, have a seat.” Tomura motioned to the row of barstools beside him.

“Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”

While Magne approached, he studied her movements. She strode across the hardwood floor, work boots making minimal noise with each step. Grace as well as power. She knew how to use the muscle under her shirt’s rolled up sleeves rather than relying on pure size. Although, that didn’t hurt either—Tomura put her at over ten centimeters his own height at least, and she definitely outclassed him by weight. He wondered whether she had speed to go along with strength. She slid into the next seat over and rested her chin in her hands.

“Would you care for something to drink, Miss Magne?” Kurogiri asked, jumping at the chance to play host.

“Oh, my. So formal. Sure, I’ll have whatever you recommend.”

Tomura waited until a small glass of something amber-colored had been set in front of them both (ginger ale for him) and she’d taken an approving sip before getting things rolling.

“You have quite a record, Magne.” Though he’d already memorized the relevant bits, he flipped open the folder container her information.

She glanced over, shades slipping down her nose as she scanned the first page of the police report. “Twenty-nine attempted murders, huh? Is that what they’re calling those? I’m surprised you guys bothered having me come in after reading that garbage.”

“Why?”

Like a small bird, Tomura’s stomach dipped and fluttered when Magne looked at him over the edge of her glasses. Not quite in the same way it did when he caught Dabi watching him from across the room, but close enough to classify the sensation as pleasant. Her irises shone like polished agates, made up of rich layers of browns from a starburst of mahogany around her pupils to flecks of burnished copper. Tomura suddenly understood her hiding them behind lenses. Such a beautiful detail would stick in anyone’s memory.

“Somebody who tried and failed to kill that many people would look pretty incompetent, right?” she replied. “Or like they chickened out at the last second. I don’t enjoy killing. I’ll tell you that up front. But…I didn’t hesitate with the three I did put down, let’s just say that.”

Tomura, a multiple murderer himself, examined the square set of her shoulders, the twist of scorn to her mouth towards her accusers, and found no reason to doubt her. He nodded.

“The so-called attempts were from the robberies you pulled off then?”

“Mostly, though I’m sure a few of the bullies I smacked around exaggerated just to prove what big, strong men they are.” She harumphed and took another sip from her drink.

“And the actual murders?”

Her lips puckered, as if she tasted something more bitter than whatever alcohol Kurogiri had given her. “Personal matters.”

“I see.” Tomura turned the page and ran his finger further down the information. “Your quirk has some unique parameters.”

The lines of Magne’s face eased into a smile. “Oh, the gender thing? A theory really. I haven’t had much opportunity to test it seriously. It might be nothing but my own perception…but I guess that doesn’t make it any less real, does it?” She lifted a hand from her glass and reached halfway toward him. “Care for a demonstration?”

Tomura caught himself drawing away from her, his nails latching onto the sides of his neck. Cowering—great way to display his leadership skills. “What’re you going to do?”

“Oh, just tug on your arm a little. Go ahead and put it down by your side for me.”

Resisting the urge to look to Kurogiri for reassurance, he did as asked. For safety’s sake he curled his fingers into a fist.

Magne smiled. “Ready?”

According to the knot in his stomach, no, but he nodded anyway. His arm jerked and leapt up as if it were tied by a string. Tomura gasped, almost slipping off his seat. Magne caught and steadied him.

“Sorry, honey! Got so excited to show off I put a bit too much oomph into it.” She patted his shoulder as if there weren’t dead, gray hands clutching it.

“’S’alright,” he mumbled. And it was—his skin showed no marks, his muscles and joints registered no pain. He readjusted the delicate hand decorating his wrist. Cold, waxy, and pliant. Nothing like Magne.

“So, can you manipulate people’s movements? Turn them into your puppets?”

She hummed and pushed her sunglasses back into their proper place. “Not really. I can move someone with the proper amount of push versus pull, but it’s such delicate work that they could break free pretty easily. Hold out your arm and I’ll show you what I mean.”

Still making a fist, Tomura followed her suggestion. Magne positioned her hands on either side of his forearm, spread about half a meter apart. Concentration dug a V between her brows. A thrum jolted through Tomura’s bones. He startled at the rush of tingles in his elbow and shoulder but kept his balance. Something like a low electrical current pulsed along his arm, raising its pale little hairs. Eyes wide, he watched as the limb drifted from one side to the other, then up, down—anywhere the poles of Magne’s palms guided it. He could even see, feel his skin being tugged and pressed by her quirk. Taking a deep breath, Tomura drew his fist back. He met some resistance, but didn’t have to put up any real struggle.

“Weird.” He shook his buzzing fingers out. “But kinda nice. Tingly. Like an electrical field.”

Magne tilted her head and smirked. “Oh? That’s a new one. Then again, maybe I’d have heard it before if I used my quirk for something besides bashing jerks.”

What would he have done without Father hiding the fact he blushed at the slightest fucking thing? He’d never get used to talking to people at this rate.

“Your skills would be a great asset to the League, Miss Magne,” Kurogiri said, saving Tomura from having to pretend he could be witty. “I presume Giran discussed the expenses we cover? Upon joining, you would also be welcome to claim a room upstairs, should you wish.”

Magne went still. Even her breathing stopped for a moment. “You’d let me stay here?”

Tomura knew right then he’d never live down being wrong about not letting League members move into the hideout. Kurogiri would never be crass enough to say it out loud, of course. He didn’t have to. Tomura sighed, accepting his fate.

“Two members live here already, including another woman. We can introduce you to them both before you decide.”

Gaze aimed at the ceiling, Magne touched fingers to her pursed lips. “I’ve already made up my mind.” She met Tomura’s eyes, a smile lighting up her face. “Sign me up.”

Well. He had no clue whatso-fucking-ever how they’d convinced her, but results were results. Besides, she hadn’t mentioned Stain once. She deserved free room and board for that alone.

“Ah, wonderful. We’re so delighted to have you, Miss Magne.” Kurogiri steepled his fingers. “Please let me know if you require any assistance in moving your belongings. I can warp them to whichever room you choose.”

A soft laugh huffed out of her. “No need, honey. I travel light these days. Would tomorrow evening be too soon?”

Tomura shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ll make sure Toga and Dabi are around so you can meet them.” Even if he had to staple the latter to a chair to make him comply.

“Sounds like a plan.” Magne raised her glass. “To new friends then?”

There was that word again. Offered with the same ease Toga had shown. And Dabi…he’d never said it maybe but his gift had implied…well, something. Tomura touched his pocket. The weight and shapes of the items inside it. With the same hand, he picked up his own glass and clinked it against Magne’s.

“Sure. I’ll drink to that.”

#big sis magne #bnha magne #mha magne #magne #shigaraki fic #league of villains fanfiction #league of villains fanfic #lov fanfiction #lov #league of villains #fic series #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki #kurogiri #giran #bnha giran

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parvuls · 4 years ago

Text

fic: at certain times

word count: 12k

tags: year 2 canon-divergence, getting together, first kiss

summary: The Swallow's Samwell Awards issue of '15 crowns Jack and Bitty as Samwell's cutest couple. It is somewhat unfortunate, then, that they're not actually a couple at all.

read on ao3

The kitchen smells like something burnt, a smoky tang that clings to the walls and floors, stings inside Bitty’s nose. April should smell like hot cross buns and zucchini bread, he thinks wistfully, but it turns out that some Aprils poor ovens are pushed to their last legs prematurely, leaving his kitchen smelling like Ransom forgot his frozen pizza in the microwave again.

Dex has been tending to Betsy on her deathbed all month, spending most of his free hours at the Haus. Bitty called him again after class, while he was standing in Superberry with Jack, and promised to pay for his services with froyo. Said froyo -- which Jack insisted on paying for, bless him -- is still on the table, untouched, yogurt melting over the rim of the paper cup and dripping onto the wood. Dex has been kneeling in the same strip of sunlight on the floor since he arrived with his toolbox. Bitty isn’t sure what exactly he’s been doing, but he seems to be too busy waving a screwdriver in the air and ranting to remember his abandoned bribe.

“So we finally got over the fucking Samwell Republican sticker thing,” Dex says, his face red and his brow furrowed. He’s been disgruntled all day because of an email he’d received, which he claims Nursey will never let him live down. "And Bitty, I know this is Massachusetts, okay? But I haven’t even actually voted yet! Fucking Swallow. How can I be Best Republican?"

Bitty hunches over in his chair, palms clasped together on his knees like a prayer. He’s anxiously following the motions of Dex’s screwdriver with his eyes while listening with only half an ear, deeply confused by the conversation subject. “The Swallow does pieces on politics? I can’t even imagine what an article like that’d look like, honestly.”

Dex grumbles quietly, shoving a hand under his backwards snapback to scratch at his hair. “No, it’s like -- their Samwell Awards thing? I don’t know, I just got an email about it this morning. I guess it’s like that 50 Most Beautiful shit they do.”

Bitty’s never heard of it, but then again, Bitty carefully sidesteps most articles of The Swallow whenever he comes across them. Those guys write about their team an uncomfortable amount for a university with almost ten thousand students. As long as Holster or Ransom aren’t reading it aloud at team breakfast, Bitty’s not eager to find out what The Swallow has to say.

He asks, though, because Dex seems to be upset about this and his frogs need to be handled with care. “Like in high school yearbooks?” Heather Barron was his class’ Best Laugh back home, and she made everyone who signed her yearbook tell her a joke so she could laugh for them.

“I guess,” Dex says distractedly. He bends down low to reach something close to the floor. “This girl from my Intro to CompSci class got the same email about it -- she won Best Dressed. I mean, who even judges these things? That’s a matter of taste.”

Dex wipes a dusty hand across his forehead and Bitty momentarily forgets to care about The Swallow in favor of looking on worriedly. Betsy is unplugged from the wall with her back side facing the room, surrounded by loose cables and scattered bolts. She looks old and frail. Bitty kind of feels like he’s watching an open-heart surgery occurring right in front of him.

“Can you save her?” Bitty presses a hand over his heart, dreading the reply. Dex wrinkles his forehead even further and doesn’t meet Bitty’s eyes.

It is then that their ordinary afternoon is interrupted by three emphatic knocks on the front door of the Haus.

"Did someone just knock on our door?" Shitty yells from somewhere down the hall. Bitty assumes he’s still curled up on the couch of sins in a t-shirt and flimsy underwear, mourning his grandparents’ affirmative RSVP response to graduation.

His tone sounds downright shocked at the sound, but that’s probably reasonable. Bitty’s been living in the Haus for over nine months now and he’s never once heard anyone knock on that door. It’s always unlocked, anyway; it’s actually nothing short of a miracle that they’ve never been burglarized. Not that there’d be anything to steal, of course, other than Holster’s collector's edition Simpsons DVD box set, or maybe one of Jack’s used jerseys to be sold to the highest bidder on ebay.

"Well, whaddaya know,” Ransom appears in the hallway outside the kitchen doorframe, likely summoned downstairs by the abnormal noise. His eyebrows are high on his forehead as he stares down the hall at the door. “It didn't collapse. I told you it’s sturdier than it looks."

Neither of the boys makes a move to actually open the door. There’s a second set of knocks, this one slightly louder than the first, and Bitty huffs as he gets off his chair. He casts one last hopeful look over his shoulder. Maybe, he wishes silently, Betsy has performance issues and would be magically fixed once she’s not under his constant scrutiny. Or maybe Dex does, and would magically fix her. “Y’all, when someone knocks on a door, they generally expect you to open it for them.”

He shoulder-checks Ransom on the way to yanking the door open, and is presented with some guy Bitty’s never seen before standing on their front steps. He’s wearing an atrociously ugly plaid vest and an awfully wide smile, which only grows wider when he sees that it’s Bitty who’s opening the door.

“Eric Bittle!”

“Yes?” Bitty agrees, eyebrows drawing together. He’s usually pretty good with faces, but he doesn’t think he’s seen this guy in any of his classes. Maybe a hockey fan. Still -- Bitty’s mother brought him up right, and he’s resolved to stick to his manners even if he now lives in a frat house. Someone with malicious intentions, he rationalizes to himself, wouldn't knock before entering. “Hi. Wouldya like to come in? I’m afraid our oven’s down, so I don’t have much to offer in terms of baked goods --”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary!” The man dismisses quickly, his smile not waning any; it’s hard not to eye it suspiciously. Absently, Bitty can make out the sound of feet shuffling, which presumably means the boys are crowding together behind him to peer curiously at the stranger on their doorstep. “I’m from The Swallow, I’m here to deliver a message for you. And Jack Zimmermann, but I’m sure you can pass it on. Our annual Samwell Awards issue is coming out early next month, as you know --”

“Sure,” Bitty confirms politely, although he’s never heard of the thing until about two minutes ago. There’s no sense in getting the man down.

“-- and we wanted your response on the win. We do that for the real popular categories. If you want to draft a short statement, you can reply to the email we sent you two --”

“I’m sorry,” Bitty cuts him off, maintaining a carefully polite tone. He hasn’t checked his email since the previous night, too preoccupied with avoiding his American Publics essay and fretting over Betsy. Somewhere behind him there are more heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and one of the boys whispers excitedly, Bitty won a Samwell Award!, though he’s not sure which. “What win? Who’s you two?”

“Oh,” the Swallow guy blinks, obviously taken aback. His smile doesn’t completely disappear but thankfully thins a little bit, at last stretching over less than two thirds of his face. He looks marginally less maniacal like this, Bitty thinks uncharitably. “You and Jack Zimmermann?”

There’s another shuffle of feet. Bitty turns his head to catch Jack pushing Shitty aside, coming to stand a step behind Bitty’s right shoulder. Bitty hasn’t seen him since they got back from Superberry and Jack headed upstairs to study, chirping Bitty for not doing the same all the while. He’s taken his thin fleece jacket off since, and the soft V-neck he’s had underneath clings to his biceps, to the shape of his pecs. His hair is messy, the smell of his aftershave hasn’t faded yet, and his palm rests lightly between Bitty’s shoulder blades to keep his balance in the narrow, crammed doorway. Bitty’s stomach jumps at the sight of him and he can feel a reflexive smile tugging at his lips. It’s an uncontrollable reaction to Jack’s presence, no matter how many times Bitty’s seen him that day. Good gracious, but it’s plumb pathetic.

Jack is oblivious to Bitty’s eyes on him, too busy frowning at the Swallow guy from above Bitty’s head. “What is this about?”

The guy’s expression is clearly confused, despite the upturned mouth in his creasing face. His eyes survey the huddled group in front of him searchingly, as if waiting for them to catch up. When no one adds anything his smile drops entirely and he says: “You guys won Cutest Couple!”

Time seems to slow down while Bitty’s mind stomps on an emergency break and short-circuits completely. He knows things are happening in the backdrop, can hear someone behind him, probably Holster, choking really loudly on their spit, but none of it truly registers.

The Swallow guy is frowning now, looking completely baffled as to why they’re not enthused at the news. “Seriously, did you not get the email?”

“We. What?” is the only thing Bitty manages weakly. Whatever smile was on his face is thoroughly wiped off now. His heartbeat begins pounding in his ears, drowning out any further background noise under its heavy thrumming. From the brief glance he braves, Jack is not coping much better. His mouth is opening and closing silently.

"Yeah!” The guy recovers, apparently blind to the catastrophe he’s inadvertently causing. “I mean, I’ll be honest, some of the staff was like, ‘enough with the fucking hockey team’, and Khalil and Sara who did that awesome Halloween costume, they came really close -- but I was totally on your side. Anyway, the draft should be in your inboxes. We’d like to have your response in the next couple of days so we can start running it. The more romantic and gooey the better, of course. Thank you!"

He smiles and then skips down the stairs before Bitty’s brain fully catches up with what has just occurred on his front porch. He can barely grasp at tail ends of thoughts before they slip away from him, disappearing in a cloudy daze of absolute horror. His pulse is still racing and his fingers, wrapped around the door handle, are trembling.

Behind him, Ransom makes a slow wheezy sound and then descends into hysterical laughter. Bitty’s feeling rather hysterical himself, actually, but he’s not in the mood for laughing at all.

“Can’t believe it’s another year we didn’t win Best Party,” Holster mopes back in the kitchen, sprawled out spread-legged in a chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s because of Alpha Sigma Phi and their fucking tropical Christmas party, I know it, Rans, I can feel it in my booze bones. Like, okay, they served drinks in real coconuts while bare-ass naked in twenty degrees, so what."

Ransom reaches out to give him a consolatory clap on the back. "We've always got next year, bro. Our names will appear on the holy Swallow pages, I promise."

“You’re right,” Holster sighs rather dramatically, sagging down a few extra inches in the chair. “We mustn’t despair. I’ve already bookmarked some ideas -- think we can keep live parrots in the Haus? Only for a few hours!”

“What I would like to know,” Shitty muses, stroking his mustache between two fingers while looking from Jack to Bitty’s flaming face and back again, “is who the fuck is their source. I mean, no offence, Bits, but if anybody is going to be Jackie’s fake-ass boytoy I call double fucking dibs and I’m willing to fight you on it.” He then considers it for a split second longer and says, “Or negotiate with food, honestly, I’m amendable.”

“Cooking is a touchy subject right now,” Dex mumbles from his perch by the counter, away from the cluster of boys that’s spread out at the table.

Dex looks like Bitty feels, actually: like he’s seriously regretting being present in this instance, and is looking for any excuse to make a quick escape. Or -- maybe only partially how Bitty feels, anyway. There’s another whole side of Bitty that’s feeling like there’s a vacuum in his chest, a ringing in his ears, a voice in his mind whispering, they know, they all know, Jack knows and he hates you for it.

Bitty has been studiously avoiding Jack’s face since they all withdrew from the door. He’s convinced that his feelings are written all over his face, pining daydreams altering his features and sappy midnight fantasies painting his cheeks bright red. He’s sure that one look in his eyes would give away every guilty thought he’s had since November, so he determinedly keeps his head down. Only, then Jack clears his throat and Bitty can’t help but spring his eyes up to look at him -- like a moth drawn to the flame that’d inevitably scorch it.

"Well, whatever is the misunderstanding, obviously they can't actually run that, Bittle. I mean, because. Hockey, and." His eyebrows do something complicated that Bitty cannot bring himself to study too closely.

The words hit like a two-hundred pound flour bag dropped on Bitty’s chest, weighing him down into the floor. Bitty tries to swallow, fails, tries again. His throat still grates like it’s made of raw sandpaper when he speaks.

"Right, no, of course," there’s this horrible sinking in his gut, a phantom sensation of freefalling that tastes like acid when it reaches the back of his tongue. "Of course, Jack. I know that. The last thing you need right now is --" he finally swallows past the lump in his throat, drops his eyes to watch his toes curl inside his shoes and dent the fabric upwards. “-- rumors about the gay kid on your team.”

Shitty says, “Bitty,” with a sharp edge in his tone, and when Bitty looks up Jack looks like he’s been struck.

"Hold on, Bittle, that's --"

“It’s okay, Jack!” Bitty makes a valiant effort to smile reassuringly. His chest is growing tighter and tighter, and he really can’t handle hearing Jack’s explanation right now. He feels like he’s shaking all over, like more and more words are being rattled out of his mouth without his permission. “I mean, it’s utterly ridiculous, but that’s The Swallow for you, I ‘spose. We’ll tell them it’s nonsense before anyone in the league catches wind of it. I’m sorry I even put your career at risk like that, honestly.”

“Bittle,” Jack says again, more firmly. He looks almost angry.

Holster’s stunned look is flickering between the two of them, and Bitty can feel the humiliation crawling up the back of his neck. He thinks that if he stays sitting in the kitchen any longer the boys might actually hear the splintering sounds his heart is making in his chest. Or he might start crying, whichever comes first.

“Don’t worry about it, really,” Bitty forces himself out of his chair, squeezes Jack’s elbow in passing for good measure, even though bringing his hands anywhere near Jack feels like torture. He doesn’t want Jack to feel guilty about this -- it’s not his fault. “It’s fine. I gotta go, I’m meeting Prof. Atley, but we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

He bolts out of the kitchen and rushes down the hall. The last thing he hears is Ransom saying, “Dude, I’m pretty sure his meeting with her was like, four hours ago,” before the Haus door slams shut behind him.

The worst part is, Bitty knows Jack is straight.

Jack dates 50 Most girls from the tennis team, he takes ladies in tall heels to Screw, he brings puck bunnies to his room during kegsters. Or -- that turned out, actually, to be not all that true after all -- but.

Jack is straight. Bitty knew this all along. Bitty knew this and still let his foolish, stubborn heart say, maybe. Bitty saw Jack laughing at his weak chirps, and looking at him sometimes when Bitty was turned away, and there was that party, with Parse, and Bitty’s blood was rushing in his ears and he tried so hard not to listen, but they almost looked like they -- and Bitty thought, maybe --

But Jack wasn’t. Of course not. And Bitty knows it’s so unfair and so unjustified that he’s allowing himself to be mad about Jack’s words. Because these boys accept Bitty for who he is, have never shied away from him, have always been comfortable with his presence in their lives and their house and their locker room, and that’s not something to be taken for granted. It’s not their fault that they’re straight and that’s easier, not their fault that Jack’s straight and Bitty can’t bring himself to let go. Besides, something like this, it could wreck Jack's career even if it were true, and it isn't, so of course Jack would want it gone. It's not personal, Bitty knows. He has no reason to be so hurt.

Except maybe it stings a little, how untrue it really is. Maybe it burns a little inside to know that other people see what he sees, what he wishes were true, and still know that he can never have that for real. And maybe it hurts, that Jack can so easily make the article go away and never deal with those rumors again, because it's simply not true about him, but it will always be true about Bitty. Maybe he’s tired of how he will always have to fight for his place while people like Jack Zimmermann can walk right in.

Maybe.

But none of it is Jack's fault. Because Jack is straight, and Bitty isn’t, and he’s gone and fallen in love with him anyway.

Breakfast with only Lardo and Jack is a quiet affair the next morning. Habit has them settled down at the team’s usual long table, but they take up significantly less space just the three of them. Bitty is surprised by the two empty seats remaining to each side of them despite the crowded dining hall, but considers that maybe the Samwell population knows whose seats are available and aren't willing to risk it.

Lardo is chewing her toast silently by Bitty's side, oversized hoodie draped over most of her face. Jack is sitting across from them, peeling the shells off a pile of hard-boiled eggs. His body is curved in a stiff line over his plate and his elbows are tucked in close to his sides. He keeps sneaking glances at Bitty every few minutes, looking torn; Bitty busies himself with spooning exactly three banana slices in every dip into his oatmeal bowl, keeps hurriedly shoving them into his mouth every time Jack looks like maybe he’s going to actually say something.

Bitty spent the majority of the previous night hiding out in a quiet corner of Norris library, binging episodes of The Great British Bake Off on his phone. When he ultimately found the courage to come back to the Haus, he power-walked straight into his room and didn’t venture out for anything more than brushing his teeth. The walls in the Haus are thin, however, and he could still hear Jack in his own room through the closed doors, speaking on the phone with his father in brisk French. They didn't exactly sound angry, but Bitty had unintentionally overheard enough of Jack’s phone conversations to recognize Jack’s business tone easily.

Jack’s lawyer had sent The Swallow a sternly phrased email first thing that morning -- for formality, Jack informed Bitty when the two of them left the Haus for breakfast with Lardo. His hands were tucked deep in his pockets and his eyes were hidden beneath the bill of his Habs cap. He kept his body angled away from Bitty, maintaining a careful six feet between them, and Bitty’s whole body ached like he’d spent the night playing consecutive shifts instead of tossing and turning in his bed. It was the only time they’ve acknowledged the Swallow article since the previous afternoon. Bitty changed the subject immediately after, and prattled meaninglessly the whole way to Commons.

The three of them separate after breakfast, Lardo heading for the studio and Jack and Bitty for their respective classes. Bitty spends most of his spare noon hours trying to do work in the kitchen, but he steals longing glimpses at Betsy more often than he does the reading for US Intellectual HIST or the darn American Publics essay he still hasn’t started.

This day needs an assist, he justifies when he eventually deserts his open notes on the table in favor of hunting down a clean towel. Polishing dishes is a more effective way to escape his blues. Maybe he’ll make some jam -- that doesn’t require a working oven, and it’d be a longer-term distraction from the mess he’s landed in.

Jack’s lawyer's actions in mind, the knock on the Haus door doesn’t really surprise Bitty. He can’t help the way his body tenses at the sound, though; the blood rushing through his body is too much like the terrible lightheadedness he experiences when checked.

Jack comes down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and grinds to a halt when he sees Bitty leaning against the wall at the entrance to the kitchen and staring at the door.

“It’s probably the Swallow rep,” Jack states the obvious, voice completely monotonous and face blank.

Bitty's gut lurches. He tries his very best, but he’s certain that his smile looks even more put-on than it was the day before.

“We should probably go get it, then,” he says. He keeps his hands wrapped in the dish towel as they move to open the door, to have something to do with them and to cover up the way they’re shaking.

The guy standing on the bottom of their stairs is the same one from yesterday. His loose printed shirt is somehow even uglier than the plaid vest, but this time no smile is taking up the majority of his face. In fact, he isn’t smiling at all; he kind of looks like he’s been sent to the gallows and couldn't beg out of his sentence.

“We've been informed that a mistake was made,” the guy says promptly, glancing between the two of them. Everything about his face and his body language appears cautious.

“Yes,” Jack confirms firmly. The guy blinks in sync with Bitty, both of them waiting to see if Jack has any intention to follow that statement with an explanation, but none seems imminent.

“We understand that it’s an honest mistake and we just want it scrapped," Bitty says instead, trying to keep his voice from betraying any emotion, even when his vocal cords are wound tight. "We can't be the cutest couple if we're not -- if we're not."

“You talked to your lawyer,” the guy says faintly. Bitty's not sure that he actually heard a word of what was said. He keeps eyeing Jack’s rigid posture and bulging muscles like he’s afraid that he’s going to be dragged into a fist fight right there on the lawn.

“It’s a legal matter,” Jack replies curtly, frowning.

“No one ever sent his lawyer after us,” the guy says, fainter still. “It’s just The Swallow, man.”

Jack's frown deepens. He’s wearing his hockey face, mouth pinched and eye narrowed, every angle of his face turning sharper. He looks serious, assertive, like he’s getting ready to step out on the ice for the puck drop. Bitty’s heart hurts so badly looking at him that he has to turn away. His eyes, mid-movement, catch on three faces eavesdropping from behind the living room’s doorway. He just barely suppresses a heavy sigh.

"-- you’d be spreading misinformation with unwelcome consequences,” Jack is talking, apparently, and Bitty tuned out most of it. “So you understand why we need you to retract that immediately and delete all further copies."

"Yes," the guy nods tentatively, eyes jerking in Bitty’s direction and then immediately back to Jack. "I'm -- sorry? We really thought you were --"

"Well we ain't," Bitty says, wringing the towel in his hands to hinder an uncommon urge to break something with them.

"Yes, I -- I understand," the guy seems as spooked by Bitty now, contemplating him and the towel as warily as he did Jack. "But we --"

"And I've got a date!" Bitty blurts, before he can hold his tongue from making his situation worse. Shitty whispers, the fuck, brah?, loud enough to carry all the way to the front door. "A date! With. Someone else, obviously, who is very much not Jack Zimmermann, so if you could -- make it go away -- good heavens this could be embarrassing for my date --"

"Of course,” the guy is nodding more vigorously now, head bouncing much like a dashboard bobblehead. He takes a cautious step back. “We're, uh, sorry. We’ll take care of it."

The guy retreats from the porch, glancing back every few steps as he hastens down the sidewalk.

Jack shuts the door behind them when they step back inside, and has to move closer to Bitty to allow the door to close. It brings his arm flush with Bitty’s back, solid and warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Bitty’s breath catches. His look flits sideways to watch Jack’s face twist into something Bitty hasn’t seen since the playoffs last year. He really felt like Jack and him were getting steadily closer throughout the year, considers Jack one of his closest friends, but he doesn’t think he’s imagining the distance between them in the last twenty-four hours. It’s more painful than the verbal confirmation that Jack will never like him back was. It’s painful that Bitty’s been shoving his feelings so far down to avoid this very outcome, only to have it blow up in his face through no fault of his own.

"What's that now!” Holster’s booming voice snaps Bitty out of his brooding, and he jerks his eyes up to see that Ransom, Shitty and Holster have crawled out of their eavesdropping spot and are blocking the hallway. “You've got a what and didn't tell us!"

“It’s not a big deal, y’all,” Bitty mumbles, mortified at how much he’s really not lying at all. He slinks away from Jack’s touch, tries to at least be subtle about it. Jack's expression is shuttering further with every moment that passes and Bitty is feeling irrationally miserable about it.

“Is too, Bits!” Ransom claps him on the shoulder excitedly, shaking his entire frame. "You know you gotta tell us all about it, we get veto rights! Is he hot? What's his name? Is he going to be your shoulders for Spring C?"

Bitty’s lousy day has only been getting progressively worse, which he thinks validates the way he bristles and knocks Ransom's hand off his shoulder. "I am average height, Justin Oluransi!"

So it's not -- really a date.

Anthony from his Eating Practices Since the 19th Century course, who sits two seats away from Bitty and always forgets to bring a pen, caught up with him after class and offered to study together. Bitty’s doing alright in that course, but Anthony is smart and friendly and it’s a good incentive to actually get some work done before finals, so Bitty smiled and said yes. He didn’t think a few days later he’d be lying about it to his friends.

They meet outside Annie’s because Anthony preferred it to Founder’s, which Bitty didn’t mind. He was a little embarrassed about how the librarians might react to the sight of his face. They, unlike some others, don’t have a problem believing he’s a member of the Men’s Hockey Team, and the treatment earned by his teammates’ behavior extends to him.

Ransom wouldn’t let him leave the Haus until his outfit has been appraised, which means he’s maybe a little overdressed for a platonic study date -- but Anthony is in nice jeans and wearing neither a team logo shirt nor a marijuana crop top, so he’s already setting the bar higher than Bitty’s usual company.

"After you," Anthony beams, opening the door for Bitty. It’s awfully nice of him. Maybe Bitty should consider running cotillion classes for his boys before graduation.

It’s easier to revert to his sunny nature in the company of someone new. Anthony keeps up chatter about the last subjects they covered in class, relates to Bitty’s chronic procrastination tendencies, and even insists on paying for both of their drinks. Bitty tries to refuse, instantly dejected by the stark reminder of coffee runs with Jack, but Anthony argues that they’d probably refill several times and Bitty can get the next one. His winning smile is so convincing that Bitty can’t find it in himself to say no.

It happens again when Bitty begins leading them to a larger table in the middle of the café where they’ll have more room to spread out. Anthony points at a table by the windows instead, says, “There, it’ll be quieter,” and Bitty instinctively thinks, those are the windows Jack and I always sit by. He then thinks, good Lord, ERB, get a hold of yourself, and agrees. There’s not much point in attending a study date if he’ll be constantly thinking about Jack Zimmermann.

They spread out all their notes and laptops and books, settling on both sides of the small, round table. Anthony drinks his coffee extra hot and the steam fogs up his glasses, which causes Bitty to laugh and Anthony to grin sheepishly. It sets a good mood for their joint studying.

They work decently well together. Anthony's been more diligent with his schoolwork but Bitty is a faster reader than him, so they catch up with each other fairly quickly and proceed from there. Bitty finds it fun, partnering with someone who doesn’t consider violent food breaks an essential part of studying, and enjoys having somebody to complain about the professor with. The two of them are just starting on technological advances at the end of the century when Bitty’s shoulders fully loosen for the first time in three days and he thinks: this is going well, this is nice, maybe we can do this more often.

This is also the exact point he looks up to tell Anthony about Louis Pasteur and catches Holster and Ransom spying on him from outside Annie’s front window.

His knee-jerk response is uncontainable: he groans out loud. Anthony seems alarmed, twisting in his chair to look over his shoulder and detect what Bitty’s glaring at. Ransom, who clearly knows they’ve been caught, looks directly at Anthony with a deliberately threatening face, pointing two fingers at his eyes, then at Anthony, and back at his eyes.

Anthony makes a confused face into his mug and says, "Um."

"Gosh, I am so sorry," Bitty drops his face into his palms, trying to smother the waves of heat rushing to his cheeks. "It's my teammates -- they have no boundaries and they -- gracious, they think this is a date --"

Anthony swallows a mouthful of coffee too quickly before he sets his mug on the table. "Oh, uh. Do you… not think this is a date?"

Bitty lets his hands fall into his lap. His eyes dart to where Holster and Ransom are waving their thumbs up in the air as they mercifully walk away from the window and then back to Anthony, whose face is unmoving. "...What?"

The top of Anthony's cheeks pink, and he adjusts the glasses on his nose with a knuckle. "I... totally asked you meaning this to be a date."

"Oh," Bitty exhales numbly. Oh, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, he thinks, and then opens his mouth to say something to Anthony -- anything at all, because the poor boy is starting to squirm in his chair -- but all his words seem to get stubbornly stuck behind his teeth.

Because Anthony is perfectly nice. He’s mild-mannered, has a pleasant smile, and he's made Bitty laugh in class a few times when the professor wasn't looking. He's sitting across from Bitty with his hands twitching on top of the table, like Bitty's answer on the matter of their date is important to him. Like he would actually really like it to be one, so he found the courage to ask.

"Oh boy, I really didn't realize," Bitty confesses, finally, clutching his coffee tightly between his fingers. He's never thought he'd be this bad at this, but apparently he's just completely and entirely blind to anyone's affections as long as anyone isn't Jack Zimmermann. And now he made this difficult for both Anthony and himself.

"That's okay," Anthony says, clearing his throat. His lips quirk up in some intimation of a smile, which is, while still very pleasant to look at, much less genuine than his usual smile. "No, really, it's cool. My fault for not being clearer. We can -- I can go and order a refill for this coffee, and when I'm back we'll forget about it? We still have work left to do." He drags his legs out from beneath the table, turning sideways in his seat, before he risks another look at Bitty. "Unless you --? I mean, now that you -- realize -- would you want it to be…?"

The answer to that, Bitty thinks regretfully, is too complex for an acquaintance. Because how does one say, you're very nice and I imagine liking you could be very easy, but I've never dated in my life and right as I thought maybe I'd give it a try, I went and fell head over heels for a grumpy, kind-hearted, heterosexual Canadian?

One doesn't, Bitty reckons, but one also cannot keep waiting forever for something that will never, ever come. So he straightens his back and says, with his best Georgia smile, "Well, how about we carry on studyin’, and maybe we'll see how things go?"

It's a little more strained after that, but that's more Bitty's fault than anything. Anthony is still as perfectly polite as he was before, as focused on the reading. It's just that now every time Anthony smiles at him Bitty freezes, and then feels guilty for freezing, and gets mad at himself for not giving this a fighting chance, and by then he's not smiling back for so long that Anthony's smile shrinks, and Bitty feels even guiltier --

"Look," Anthony tells him after they packed everything back into their bags and walked companionably outside. "This hasn't been ideal, but I still had a good time. I'd like to maybe -- do it again?" Anthony smiles genuinely this time, and his smile is so pleasant, and he tilts his head the slightest bit closer to say, "As an official date this time?", and --

This is the second time Bitty freaks out about a very nice boy leaning in to possibly kiss him at Annie's, and it's exactly as mortifying as the first.

Bitty jumps back painfully obviously, as startled himself by his physical reaction as Anthony clearly is. He's blushing fiercely when he stammers, "Oh -- I -- I don't think it'll work out, I'm so -- I'm so sorry --" turns around, almost breaking into a run, and calls out, "I'll bake you a pie!"

The corners of Bitty’s eyes begin to burn, indicating the impending shameful tears. He’s terribly upset with himself for his reaction, but he’d be even more upset if he allowed himself to cry over it, so he makes the effort to blink furiously the entire way home.

The team gathers to eat dinner together that night. Bitty’s still a little vulnerable in the aftermath of his failed study date, but he does his best to hide it, pushing himself to be cheerful and revel in quality time with his boys. It’s easier when Ransom spends most of the walk to the dining hall engaging him in a conversation about wild alien conspiracies. It’s harder when Shitty and Holster join forces to cajole him into giving deets, and don’t take his, “Oh good Lord, there’s nothing to talk about!” as an acceptable answer. Telling them the truth is not an option -- they’re his best friends, but they would absolutely, no question about it, chirp him to death, and he’s really not in the right mood to take it good-naturedly.

Bitty’s surprised when it’s Jack who eventually tells them to knock it off, shoving Holster’s shoulder to force his way into sitting between him and Bitty at the table. Holster topples sideways into Nursey, and Jack seizes the vacated space and grants Bitty a miniature triumphant smile.

Jack’s dour mood had persisted through yesterday and during their walk over, but Bitty’s been watching him gradually thaw ever since they arrived at Commons; this smile is the first true, earnest one in days, and it melts Bitty on the inside. He’s immensely relieved that at least their friendship isn’t ruined, that the past few days have only been an unfortunate bump in an otherwise smooth road. Bitty tries to cling on to that, use it to move forward from the raincloud lingering over him since his afternoon with Anthony.

A baby-faced freshman approaches their table while Chowder is telling them about a text conversation with his sister. Bitty has his phone out before anyone else even reacts -- the nervous look in the kid’s face is enough warning, and he’s not disappointed; the kid zeroes in on Jack and asks for a signature on his Samwell jersey. There is absolute silence at the table while Jack surrenders to his inescapable fate and pulls out a pen. He then ducks his head and hangs on to that pen once the kid is out of earshot and the boys begin chirping him ruthlessly, yelling loudly enough to rattle the cutlery.

Bitty’s hiccupping laughter comes as a surprise to himself, but it’s the welcome sort. He directs his smile at his phone while he tweets -- true friends don't care that you're a professional hockey player; true friends ask you to sign their mashed potatoes during dinner -- and when he raises his head Jack is peeking at his screen and grinning at him.

“Not a professional player yet, eh? You can’t go lying to the Twitter.”

Jack is so obviously pleased with himself, white teeth gleaming in his mischievous grin. Bitty's heart soars and then swiftly sinks to the bottom of his stomach. He tries to hang on to the gratitude for what he has, but something in Jack’s voice triggers the memory of it stating, obviously they can't actually run that, and then, consecutively, the memory of Anthony's dumbfounded look when Bitty fled away from him.

Not even Jack's benign chirps or his concerned glances can restore Bitty's uplifted mood after that.

Can’t make it to Founder’s tonight. Sorry! :( :( Raincheck?

The reading room is quieter than the rest of the Haus at night. It's dark out, gray shingles lit only by the lamp inside Bitty's bedroom and the faint glow of the streetlights down the road. Bitty lets his legs dangle from the edge of the roof, cradling a can of Twisted Tea and watching his shoes swing twelve feet above the shadowy green of the lawn.

There's the sound of a creaky window sash sliding up behind him. “Hey, Bittle.”

Bitty turns around. Jack is sitting on the ledge of his windowsill, holding a folded blanket in his lap. It takes a few seconds to blink away the disorientation caused by rumination and beer. “Jack! What’re you doing?”

Jack shrugs. “You said you’re not coming with me to Founder’s, and then you didn’t answer your phone. I wanted to check in.” He holds out the blanket with a modest smile. “Here -- so you won't get cold. Spring is pretty rough on you Southerners, eh?”

Bitty snorts inelegantly at the chirp, but stretches his arm to accept the blanket. He twists back to watch the twinkling Christmas lights on the LAX frat house across the road. They never take those down, and never add any new ones during the holidays. It’s as good a reason as any to hate the lacrosse team.

Jack clears his throat, an obtrusive sound in the relative silence. “Can I -- do you want me to stay? I mean, I can leave if you need some quiet.”

Bitty looks at him from over his shoulder, chin digging into his collarbone. Jack’s face is gentler than Bitty’s seen it in a while, mellowed out by the orange tint of the streetlights, and it’s so unfair. Even when Bitty’s upset about Jack he wants Jack near him, wants to hear Jack’s opinion, wants his straightforward, pragmatic type of advice. He wonders what Jack’s face would look like if Bitty was brave enough to tell him the truth about what’s bothering him. A sardonic laugh almost escapes him at that visual.

“No, you can stay,” Bitty says instead, and then makes a herculean effort to brighten up. “As long as you promise not to prattle on, you chatterbox, you know I like silences.”

The chirp falls flat when Bitty’s cheery façade cracks. Jack swings both legs out the window and slides down to sit by Bitty while Bitty takes another swig out of the can. There’s a lot of space on the roof, two empty lawn chairs on Bitty’s end, but Jack sits right next to him. Bitty’s shoulder knocks into Jack’s bicep and Jack’s thick thigh brushes against his, but Jack doesn’t take any action to inch away.

Bitty collects his knees close to his chest, leans his chin on top of them and continues watching the span of street visible from their roof. Beneath their feet, some couple probably returning from the bars by the river stumble together on the sidewalk, the echo of their giggles drifting up to the reading room. Bitty can’t quite cover his grimace in time to hide it from Jack.

"You're upset," Jack jabs Bitty’s elbow with his own, brow furrowing.

"No!" Bitty objects quickly, hoping his voice is only a lick squeaky. He's not drunk by any means, but the Twisted Tea makes everything a bit fuzzy, softens the world at its fringes. "I'm not upset. It's -- finals are coming up in two weeks, and I've got this essay I haven’t started, and -- you know, Betsy hasn’t been well and what am I gonna do, if I can’t bake to distract myself before the tests --"

"Bittle," Jack cuts him off quietly. Bitty lifts his head off his knees just enough to enable a quick glance; Jack is looking at him, those intense eyes trained on Bitty’s face, making his cheeks flush self-consciously. Jack’s expression is his distinct blend of uncomfortable but determined. "You're upset. Are you -- is it -- your date was this afternoon…?"

Bitty’s blush deepens, and he lays his cheek down to avoid eye contact. "So?"

"So," Jack begins, clumsily, and then shifts his arm so it nudges Bitty’s, fingers curled loosely into his palm. "Did he -- I mean."

It takes Bitty a moment to decipher Jack’s faltering sentence, but -- "Gosh, no," Bitty denies with profound embarrassment once he follows Jack's train of thought. Jack, unable to shake off the role of captain, is assuming some boy hurt him. Bitty doesn’t know how to tell him that he couldn't even get through the date to get hurt how normal people do. "He was a gentleman. If anything, it was me who was on my worst behavior."

Jack doesn’t look convinced. He bumps the back of his curled fingers against Bitty’s thigh. "But you're upset."

Bitty loosens his grip on his knees, keeps the hand not holding the can busy by fiddling with the hem of Jack’s blanket. Jack is both the last and the only person he wants to talk to about this. Bitty’s original plan was to get tipsy enough to fall asleep without thinking his emotions through, and then spend the next day compartmentalizing it away -- but Jack’s presence brings everything to the forefront of his mind, plucks at the tangle in his chest until it unravels.

"Well, because --” he sighs, and the expansion of his lungs must fracture some dam, because the words begin spilling out in long strings of nonsense. “I just -- I came here from Georgia because I thought it’d be different, y’know? I couldn't fit in there, and I know -- you said yourself -- I know it’s not any different here, not really, not in hockey, but outside of hockey it’s Samwell, so at least I could be me, right? But apparently I can't even be that, because I can't manage a simple thing like a date with a cute boy," he stops to take a deep breath, buries his face in the nook between his knees. "And, goodness, I can't believe I'm -- none of this is on you, I'm sorry --"

"Bittle," Jack touches his knee, inches away from his cheek, causing Bitty to look up. Jack doesn’t move his fingers from Bitty’s bare leg after Bitty lifts his head. "Don’t be sorry. It's okay."

Bitty searches Jack’s face. He doesn’t know how to read it, what the tiny microexpressions currently mean, but Jack’s fingers are splayed in the valleys of his joints and there’s something grounding in it. He takes another big breath in an attempt to calm himself down.

"I guess," Bitty whispers, but the turmoil in his chest doesn’t settle, not after he started letting it all out. He can almost picture it surging in him, clawing its way up to his mouth. "But -- is it? Okay? I'm just." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself, both for feeling so much and for being unable to articulate feelings with the proper words. "I feel like I can't just be me. Because who I am isn't good enough at home, and isn't good enough for hockey, and who I am likes boys but apparently I'm no good at liking them right, or -- the right ones --"

He restrains himself from saying anything incriminating, biting his lip hard enough to taste the metallic flavor of blood.

"You are good enough for hockey," Jack says, stilted. His hand tightens on Bitty’s knee and belatedly pulls away. "You're a strong player, and you did a great job this season. I know we lost, but you still did good. You'll be even better next year."

Bitty exhales sharply, rubs his eyes. He knows Jack; he knows he chose to latch onto hockey because that's something he’s capable of expressing. Telling Bitty he's a good player is something Jack can find words for. Bitty didn’t expect Jack to be the right person to talk through an identity crisis, but it’d be an easier evasion to accept if he wasn’t wrong.

"Jack, no offense, but that's a load of horseshit." Jack is clearly caught off guard, seems to be gearing himself up for retaliation, but Bitty talks right over him. "It is! It is, because I might do alright now -- here -- but if I wanted to go into real hockey, into the league, you think they'd be alright with who I am? You've heard what some guys’ve got to say on the ice, and this isn’t even professional hockey."

"You want to play professionally?" The familiar glint in Jack’s eyes indicates that he’s losing track of the grand scheme of the conversation.

"No! But that's not the point!" Bitty swallows, because it isn't, but getting to the point might as well be impossible with Jack. He can't exactly tell him that he's heartbroken and disappointed in himself and everything looks more bleak from this perspective. He's no better than Jack right now; they’re both afraid to dip their toes into the murky waters of everything Bitty said that isn’t about the game. "I couldn't if I wanted to because of who I am."

"You could," Jack says, looking away, his shoulders tight. The conviction in his voice gets Bitty's attention. Jack really isn’t the most emotive of guys, and it takes a lot to get his voice to change pitch. "The league isn't a very welcoming place, but it's hockey. The whole point is hockey. And if you're good at hockey, they'll just have to accept that -- at some point. It might be hard, but if hockey is what you want, then --" he looks up, catches Bitty's eyes. Jack’s are unfocused, like somehow he forgot Bitty was even there. "I mean -- you said it isn't, but if it was -- all I'm saying is --"

"Sure," Bitty brings the can up to his mouth for another swig, skeptical even in the face of Jack’s unanticipated speech. "I get it. You can play, and all."

"Yes,” Jack insists, turning his upper body towards Bitty. Their knees press together and Jack’s face is suddenly a lot closer than it was before. Bitty has to blink a few times until he can get his pulse under control. “You can. Because you are good enough, Bittle."

They stare at each other, time stretching between them, caught up in the unforeseen gravity of the situation. Bitty can’t really wrap his head around hearing Jack defending him with such vigor, but he knows there’s nothing he can say to argue. That’s Jack’s opinion. He’s never been guilty of handing out compliments he doesn’t believe in.

"Thanks, Jack." Bitty whispers. "'m sorry. It's been a rough day. Sometimes --” He sighs again, bows his head, and musters the last shreds of his courage to be at least a little honest. “I guess sometimes it can get lonely. And it sucked to realize that it's my own fault I'm alone in the first place."

Jack subdues gradually, his shoulders folding inward and the fire in his eyes dying out, leaving room for something much more empathetic than Bitty expected.

"I'm sorry, Bittle." He reaches out to grasp the ball of Bity’s shoulder in his large palm, squeezing it tightly. It’s a friendly gesture of comfort, one the boys in the team offer each other all the time, but Jack’s thumb is absently rubbing small circles on the base of Bitty’s neck and it spreads tingles through his skin.

“It’s alright,” Bitty moves away, smiling, but the words are like dust in his mouth and it isn��t really alright at all. They settle back into sitting side by side, and Bitty notices Jack's fixed eyes on the side of his face, but he doesn’t turn to look.

Friday evening finds Bitty scrambling to complete last-minute assignments before Spring C the next day. He shuts himself away in his room and turns off his phone, tries to make his eyes focus on long lines of text instead of on any creaking noises in the Haus that might provide a distraction. This tactic has failed him more often than not, but for once the Haus is completely empty and any creaking Bitty might hear could only be chalked up to Ransom’s ghosts. Lardo and Shitty are out buying booze for Spring C, Holster is with the frogs, Ransom is at his weekend study group, and Jack has been in Providence with his mother all day, looking at potential apartments, and will be returning later to have dinner with her and her former Department Chair.

Studying is easier when Bitty’s using it to avoid thinking about other things. Lately, since his oven has been acting up, it’s been easy using studying as a distraction from thinking about Jack -- about Jack moving to Providence, about Jack taking the first steps in his adult life away from Bitty and the team. It isn’t a better distraction than watching Say Yes To The Dress with Holster or listening to music with Lardo, but in the absence of all other options, it’s good enough to push Bitty to make his deadlines, even if it’s at the last minute.

Bitty’s laptop emits a sharp ping that alerts him to a new incoming email, and Bitty scrambles up from the floor, almost tripping over two piles of reading material on his way. His room is an absolute mess; papers covering the bedspread and the desk, textbooks spilling from inside his bag onto the floor, pens scattered haphazardly. He’s been reviewing for the HIST test while emailing back and forth with the TA for his American Publics course -- the last three lectures of which he honestly cannot remember, but is somehow expected to write two thousand words for anyway.

The new email in his inbox isn’t from his TA, however. It reads, RE: RE: Your Nomination in the 2015 Samwell Awards, and only contains one line of text, visible in the thread’s preview without Bitty clicking it open. Attached is a confirmation for the removal and termination of the aforementioned article.

Bitty pauses, his essay forgotten, and goes over the subject lines four more times.

Bitty hasn’t read the article. Bitty didn't want to read the article, had convinced himself that he was indifferent and was more interested in putting the whole ludicrous affair behind them. But now he’s incapable of dragging his cursor away from the email’s subject line. He can’t help but want to know what they have to say -- want to know why anyone would mirror his misguided feelings for a close friend.

It can lead to nothing but trouble. Bitty still opens the article file for the first time since the whole mess began on Monday, because he won't have the guts otherwise, but for some masochistic reason he just has to know.

The Samwell Swallow

Vol. 26, Issue 31 | May 2015 | Special Edition | The Samwell Awards

CUTEST COUPLE AWARD: ICE HOCKEY AS A LOVE LANGUAGE

Our most dedicated readers will know that the title of Samwell’s Cutest Couple is highly coveted. Perhaps only second to Dream Date or Biggest Gossip in prestige, this award is one of the greatest honors young Wellie lovebirds can strive for. This year, we’re proud to elect JACK ZIMMERMANN ‘15 and ERIC BITTLE ‘17. We know: enough with the fucking hockey bros. But hear us out.

These unlikely candidates were initially nominated by Zimmermann’s fellow photography class students with an exclusive scoop. Bittle was the subject of Zimmermann’s midterm project! (Awe.) Such a grand romantic gesture could not go overlooked, and we set out to investigate. Copies of Zimmermann’s photos are brought to you here, courtesy of the Department of Visual Art.

[Images: a collage containing a dozen semi-professional photographs, all depicting BITTLE. His character is consistently linked to themes of warmth and light, and is obviously portrayed with great affection.]

We were delighted by what we learned. Observant Wellies report that the two are often seen taking long romantic walks around campus, with Zimmermann’s lens sometimes pointed at the scenery, but more often at his boyfriend. Sources at Annie’s, the local café, tell The Swallow that, “Yeah, they’ve been like, coming here at least two or three times a week this year? There’s their table [points at a secluded window table in the corner]. The tall guy always pays -- what? No, they’re almost always alone. Except this one time that they were here with this other couple? I don’t know, man, I see lots of people on dates, but these guys kinda stand out. They’re always giggling with each other, it’s ridiculous. And loud.”

Our research yielded clear results: service staff at Samwell’s Jerry’s, Superberry and Stop&Shop have gone on record with similar statements; students who shared a class with the two disclose that their constant whispering and flirting have been impossible to ignore; even the janitor at Faber Memorial Rink reports that current team captain and fellow liney spend every weekend skating alone as they watch the sun rise, while no practice is scheduled! It’s official - Bittle and Zimmermann are, indeed, 2015’s Cutest Couple.

[Image: BITTLE and ZIMMERMANN at the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team’s #Epickegster this winter. The two are standing very close in the midst of what appears to be an intimate conversation, leaning towards each other under a bag of free condoms. Text under image reads: Our staffers report that the two then disappeared upstairs while the party was still in full swing. Get it, boys!]

Bitty spends a long, breathless moment staring at the screen with unseeing eyes.

It’s like an out of body experience. Bitty can’t feel the tips of his fingers, can’t feel his toes. He can’t lift his hand to ram the laptop lid shut so his eyes are still glued to the block of text, words blurring together into a solid sheet of gray. His mind keeps losing footing, coherent thoughts cutting off before they can run their course, parts of sentences jamming into one long sequence -- grand romantic gesture, long walks, whispering and flirting -- that plays over and over. Distantly, he’s aware that there are stray tears in the corner of his eyes, but he’s too disconnected from his limbs to do something about it.

People look, he thinks, brain stuttering over the realization, pushing itself out of its shock, people look and see -- people look at the two of us and what they see is --

A loud noise behind his back scares the living daylight out of him, enough to send him spinning on the chair. The door to his bedroom swings open, nearly banging against the wall with the strength of its motion. Behind it is Jack, standing in the doorway with his eyes blown wide and his face pale, looking like he's seen a ghost; panting for breath like he ran a marathon to get there.

Bitty nearly collapses out of his chair, stumbling over the papers on the floor to step closer, arms reaching out automatically. “Jack -- what --? Is everything alright? Aren’t you supposed to be with your mom --?”

“Bitty,” Jack breathes out, unsteady, and then tumbles further into the room. His hair is disheveled and his buttoned shirt is smeared with stains of sweat, and Bitty’s brain is still coming back online but he’s suddenly overcome with how handsome Jack still is, even like this.

And then Jack takes a lengthy step forward right into Bitty’s space, his body enveloping Bitty’s and his broad palms cupping Bitty’s burning cheeks, and tips Bitty’s mouth into his.

Bitty’s eyes remain wide open for one paralyzed split second, taking in the sight of Jack’s dark eyelashes and sculpted brow bone from extreme up close, and then Jack’s lips move and Bitty’s eyelids flutter closed, melting into the unfamiliar action.

Jack's mouth is as soft as Bitty imagined, as hot, velvety lips sliding against Bitty's and catching on the dip of his cupid’s bow. Bitty’s mind keeps up a remote chant of oh my god, Jack is kissing me, oh god, what is happening, before that too is silenced by the thrill of Jack’s mouth parting against his, deepening the kiss, and then everything goes blessedly silent.

An undetermined amount of time later, Jack’s phone begins buzzing insistently; Bitty can feel the vibrations from where his hip is aligned with Jack’s. Jack ignores it, separating their lips to angle his head in the other direction and suck Bitty’s bottom lip into his mouth, tongue wet and tentative. His phone buzzes again, though, and subsequently two times more, and then Jack finally sighs into Bitty’s mouth.

“That’s my mom,” he says quietly, breaking their mouths barely far enough apart to speak. His lower lip is shining with spit and Bitty feels faint, needs to sit down before he falls over, needs to step back before he sinks his teeth into it impulsively. “She’s waiting for me...”

“Oh,” Bitty says. His voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away. He has so many things he wants to say -- what the hell, and what does this mean, and but aren’t you, and stay, stay, don’t go -- yet the only sounds his mouth can apparently make are, “Uh. Okay.”

“We have this… dinner…” Jack continues, and his eyes are so blue and his lips are so red and his cheeks are so pink, and Bitty thinks that maybe this is a very vivid stress-induced hallucination, and also thinks that he wouldn’t mind hallucinating a little longer. “I gotta go, but I’ll -- I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” Bitty says again, even though he’s not sure it is. He’s pretty sure, actually, that once Jack exits the door of his bedroom this spell will break like at Cinderella’s midnight clock strike, and Jack will return from dinner with his mother still painfully perfect, and still painfully straight, and still so, so far out of Bitty’s reach.

Jack backs up towards the door, eyes lingering on Bitty as his hands drift down Bitty’s arms. “I’ll be back,” he repeats, although Bitty’s not any more convinced, and then he takes his hands away and fumbles blindly for the doorknob, slips out into the hallway from whence he came.

Bitty hears his breaths shallow into nothing more than gasps of air, and promptly crumples backwards onto his chair.

Bitty spends the entire time Jack is absent slowly going out of his mind.

Once the shock passes and the fogginess clouding his thoughts clears, all he can do is think: think about Jack kissing him, and the lovely shape of his mouth, and the bewitched look on his face; wonder how the hell it happened, and why, and what it even means. He conjures a dozen, a hundred versions of what transpired to bring Jack to his door, and even more of what would happen if he does indeed come back.

Bitty paces back and forth across his room, unable to focus or hold onto any one scenario for more than a few seconds. His heart beats so fast for so long that it develops into nausea; he continues pacing while clutching his stomach and praying that he won’t throw up, because he doesn’t think he’d survive that kind of embarrassing memory.

Shitty and Lardo come back at some point, stoned and bearing three bags of sour worms. They squint at his messy room but don't comment on the condition of his hair or his shaky limbs, kindly offer him some sour worms and the opportunity for contact-high in Shitty’s room. They back off and close the door as soon as they see the look on his face. Bitty runs his hand through his hair one more time when he tries to imagine what his face must look like to successfully scare them away.

A long while later there are footsteps in the hallway outside his door. Bitty braces himself to tell Holster or Ransom or, god, Chowder that he’s busy right now. He tries to remind himself that he loves them even when he's in a state, and sits down on the bed to tell them that he isn’t feeling well -- except then the door opens, and it’s Jack standing in the doorway.

Bitty’s heart jumps, somersaults, and plummets all in the space of one millisecond, as he stands up abruptly from the bed and stares, openmouthed.

Jack doesn’t look as rumpled as he did earlier. His collar is adjusted neatly and the tails of his shirt are tucked and smoothed into his pants, but his face is a rich shade of pink and he’s clenching and unclenching his fists by his side. He seems so awkward, standing there, that Bitty’s continuous state of panic morphs into a different chaotic mess of confusion and affection, all while Jack does nothing but stare at him.

“How was dinner?” Bitty squeaks out, eventually, when it’s clear that Jack’s not going to speak anytime soon.

Jack looks like Bitty has veered off script unexpectedly. His eyes widen and he clenches his fists and then releases them again, compulsively. “Eh -- good, good.” Bitty nods. There’s a long stretch of silence neither of them fills. Jack inhales and says, right when Bitty is sure that his heart is sincerely going to beat out of his darn chest, “I. Bittle. About earlier.”

The color in his face deepens further but Bitty can’t tell what that means, if he’s already regretting what he’s done or if he’s just tripping over his own emotions like Bitty is. “You should -- the door,” he stutters, because whether he’s going to be kissed again or be let down gently, he’d rather do it without an audience. Jack looks at him like he spoke in a cryptic foreign language, so Bitty forces out, blushing to the roots of his hair, “Come in and shut the door, Zimmermann.”

“Oh -- shit, ouais,” Jack jostles into action, stepping away from the threshold and kicking the door shut after him. It’s the first time Bitty has seen him move with anything other than practiced poise.

Bitty’s room isn’t very large, and with the door closed the atmosphere in it quickly shifts. There’s an inherent intimacy in the short gap between their bodies that heightens in a small, enclosed space, and Bitty can feel his body heat rise and spread to his palms and his face as a result of it.

It’s unsettling, and Bitty suspects that he could grow to crave it, but not as long as he has no idea what is going on. “Jack --”

Jack interrupts him, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Wait, Bittle, listen. I -- it’s really important that you know that you shouldn't feel obligated.”

There are maybe a hundred thousand things that could’ve come out of Jack’s mouth after Bittle, listen, and Bitty spent two and a half hours imagining a good deal of them. Telling Bitty that he shouldn’t feel obligated is so perplexing that Bitty’s too wrongfooted to protest, and Jack carries on speaking. “I know as team captain I have a certain amount of authority and I didn’t even -- think about that, before, which is really wrong --”

Bitty squints, slowly gaining a renewed grasp on this bizarre situation. The only thing he manages to think with clarity, through the storm brewing in his chest, is, You doofus, what on earth are you talking about. “Jack. The season is over."

"Right," Jack shoves his hands in his pockets, squares his shoulders. "But -- still. Technically we kept up with a.m. practices even after the playoffs, so."

Because you are an insane person, Bitty thinks to himself, coming to terms with the fact that the tone of his thoughts is on a scale ranging between neurotic and cloyingly smitten. He opens his mouth, not sure what’s going to come out of it, but Jack keeps talking without pause.

"Anyway, the NCAA allows intra-team dating but doesn't say anything about involvement with captains. I checked."

This bowls Bitty over, a new wave of warmth rushing to his cheeks. "You checked?"

There's a sheen of what can only be nervous sweat above Jack's upper lip that shines under the glaring ceiling light. “It’s only thirty pages.”

Bitty feels lightheaded again, as he allows himself to consider for the first time that evening, with some measure of possibility, that Jack Zimmermann in fact came into his room and kissed the right sense out of him with the intention to date him. It’s almost too much to consider, making him weak at the knees. He grabs the edge of his desk to be on the safe side.

“You -- I -- dear god, what is even happening? What brought this on?” Because they’ve been spending -- well, they’ve spent almost every waking moment together this semester, excluding this odd week since the damned Swallow article. Jack had plenty of opportunity to confess his feelings had he possessed any, and the best time certainly wasn’t while his mother was waiting for him downstairs to go to a formal dinner.

“Well, I,” Jack stammers, dropping his chin to his chest. His ears are bright red, dark enough to be seen from a few feet away, and Bitty is enchanted by it. “I didn’t know, but. I read the stupid thing in the car because I couldn’t -- my mom said -- I kept thinking about you in every kitchen that we looked at, and I…”

Bitty can feel his eyes widen, his organs flipping over inside him. "You… did?"

Jack lifts his head, and when the two of them finally make eye contact it zings through Bitty’s body. "Yes. I mean, I guess it’s hard not to. If you're not on ice, you're baking, Bittle. Or tweeting. Or baking and tweeting."

He winces as soon the words are out of his mouth, and Bitty can’t help it: he bursts out in laughter, high-pitched and giddy. This boy, Bitty marvels, and euphoria spreads like thick cotton candy in his chest, making it hard to speak; to breathe.

Jack’s face still looks vaguely horrified, like he’s regretting ever opening his mouth. "Crisse, sorry, it's not -- I wasn't trying to --" he blows out air, starting over. "It's fine that you do. I mean, more than fine. I thought about you in the kitchens because I like it. I like you."

His voice is unmistakably uncomfortable, and beads of sweat are glinting on his temples. Bitty’s so overwhelmed by hearing Jack speak candidly about his feelings that he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. "You like me? But you're -- I mean, I thought you --"

Jack’s eyebrows draw down and his mouth thins. He looks irritated, but Bitty knows it’s the shape his face takes when he’s distressed. "I know last year it didn't seem like -- but I thought this year you knew things changed --"

"-- were straight," Bitty exhales, chest heaving. God. This is real. "I thought… you were straight."

Jack squints, stopping himself in the middle of his sentence. He seems honestly, genuinely confused, the big lug. With a more functioning part of his mind Bitty recognizes that this is probably the most facial expressions he’s seen Jack make since meeting him.

"But I kissed you."

"Yeah," Bitty swallows, cheeks probably glowing bright red. Somehow it’s so much more jarring hearing the words out loud than it was to have Jack’s mouth on his. Like something that’s not supposed to be discussed out in the open. A secret lifted right out of Bitty's subconscious, manifested by sheer will. "Uh. Sure did. Thus my confusion."

"Your -- confusion…?" Jack trails off. His flushed face begins shifting by degrees, a smile spreading slowly but steadily and creating the smallest, sweetest crinkle at his eyes. He wipes his shiny brow with the back of one forearm and then crosses the distance between them in a few short strides, sweeping in to kiss Bitty.

It’s not any less mind-blowing the second time around. Jack's fingers slot under Bitty's jaw, titling his head up, his other palm sliding from Bitty’s neck to his shoulder and down his back in a tantalizing stroke. Bitty grows hot all over, bending his body into Jack's to press their chests together, his hands hesitatingly finding their way to Jack's hips. He hooks them over the sharp curves of Jack's hip bones, feels the strength in Jack’s obliques through his clothes.

Their mouths create a soft slick sound when they glide against one another, lips meeting and parting smoothly. Bitty gathers the confidence to attempt parting his own lips, applies the slightest pressure of tongue to Jack's bottom lip, and is rewarded by Jack's shudder and the tightening of his hand on the small of Bitty's back.

Jack pulls his face back slowly enough for Bitty to blink his eyelashes open and catch Jack licking his lips, exhaling shakily.

"I like you, Bitty," Jack leans their foreheads together. His eyes are staring right into Bitty’s, drooping and soft and so clearly fond that Bitty feels the tremor flow in his body all the way to his toes.

"Me too," Bitty whispers. His heart is still beating irregularly, vainly trying to catch up with the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes. “Jack --. I like you, too.”

Jack smiles at him, and it’s more honest, more tender than Bitty's ever seen it. It makes Bitty so happy that he wants to burst into giggles, wants to hide his beam in Jack's chest until butterflies stop fluttering in his ribcage.

Jack runs his fingers into Bitty's hair, gently brushes through it. He's bashful, both of them avoiding prolonged eye contact, and it's so absurd that they're shy after kissing like that, but Bitty can't help it. Jack tips his head to kiss Bitty's chin, his temple, makes Bitty actually giggle when he kisses his ear and then settles his lips in Bitty's hair, tugging him closer into the crooks of Jack's body.

"Hey, Jack?" Bitty says quietly, leaning his cheek on the curve of Jack's shoulder and wrapping his arms around Jack's waist, hands linking at the arch of his spine.

"Yeah?" Jack mumbles into Bitty's hair, mouth moving against the crown of his head.

Bitty presses his lips briefly to the closest patch of Jack's skin he can reach, which is the dip in his clavicle. It's barely a kiss, but his entire body shivers with the knowledge that he’s allowed. "Wanna be my date to Spring C tomorrow?"

Jack draws back far enough to be able to look down, tilting his chin into his neck and catching Bitty's eyes with his. His face is pink and his lips are swollen and Bitty's so unbelievably in love with him, but it's the furthest thing from pathetic now. It seems funny that it was ever something shameful at all.

"It'd be my pleasure," Jack smiles, and leans in for another kiss.

#omgcp #zimbits #zimbits fic #omgcheckplease #pavfics #ooof. finally done. i'm sure i'll edit again in the morning BUT

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juminly · 5 years ago

Text

A Losing Game

Summary: A bet was made between Arthur & Theodorus: the mystery writer was not allowed to flirt with you for an entire month. Arthur is not one to back down from a challenge. However, he had no idea what was at stake. Matchup story written for @dandellien. 💙

Nobody ever said anything about the exhaustion you would feel when travelling through time. Whatever happened when you went through that door, it clearly drained all of the energy from your body. You were hungry, thirsty, had a huge headache and were craving sleep. Comte had seen the look on your face when you had arrived, apparitions of dark circles forming around your eyes, more than enough proof that you did need to rest and be cared for.

While the pureblood accompanied you to your room, giving you but a glimpse of what you would face in the 19th century, being in a mansion filled with unknown men, you were evidently soothed by his graceful and eloquent demeanor, putting you at ease even though he had insinuated that the residents were not normal men. Not normal was a light way to put it because they were far from normal in more ways that you expected.

Historical figures that you knew quite well, seen them in history books, math, physics or even science books. You were already familiar with vampires, the myth and the fantasy of these creatures warped around multitude of novels, movies and various forms of art. Surprised, yes you were. Scared, not necessarily. You would have to wait and see things with your own eyes before judging and assessing the matter. How true could it be? You were beginning to wonder why did you even end up in such a place? Were you struck by some goddess of Fortune or was this a curse that you were damned to survive somehow?

Sebastian had already set up a light yet scrumptious supper for you and had drawn a nice warm bath for you to relax your body before actually realizing where you were and what kind of situation you were in, once you came face first with the reality of the matter. Theory was so much easier to take than reality. Anyone might have thought that they were simply trying to woo you into staying and keeping your mouth shut about what you’ve seen but they were clearly good people, no malicious intent detected in either Sebastian or Comte. But what about the others? After your bath, Sebastian was kind enough to sit by you and answer any questions you may have since he was the only human in the vampire-filled mansion and he graciously answered all the questions you had, especially about the other residents.

Were you prepared for what was to come? You probably didn’t have an answer but a tiny little messenger came to your rescue. At the crack of dawn, you could hear barking at your door. Sebastian didn’t tell you anything about dogs, let alone pets being around so this was an interesting way to start your day. Opening the door, you found the cutest little dog looking up at you with big brown eyes that you simply couldn’t resist. Picking him up in your arms and scratching his chin (earning you quite a few licks), you had already gotten enough sleep so you took it as an opportunity to roam around and discover more about the mansion before the other residents woke up.

You obviously had no idea who the little cutie in your arms belonged to so it was fair enough to say that you were not really snooping around the mansion but actually trying to find the dog’s owner, if anyone were to stop you in your tracks and question why you were walking around in the middle of the night. As you passed by the different hallways and peeked into different rooms, you came across the different rooms and areas of the mansion, jotting down the different pieces of information in the back of your head for future reference: you came across the library and found a tall man slouched on a pile of books, sleeping soundly with the sweet scent wafting through the air; a slender man with an eyepatch who greeted you meekly in the hallway before scurrying away, another man playing the piano with beautiful silver hair, the sharpest amethyst eyes and a glare that demanded he be left alone, without using any words. Going back to the conversation you had with Sebastian, those were Leonardo, Jean and Mozart. One thing they all had in common: they were all very handsome. Extremely so.

After exploring almost every part of the mansion, you already found out where the kitchen, the pantry, the thermae, the dining room were including other rooms where the other residents used. You found yourself standing in front of, what most probably was, the main door of the mansion. Your small new friend began barking and whining, seemingly telling you in his own language that he wanted to go out but you couldn’t possibly do that. You didn’t have the owner’s permission nor did you have a leash. A resounding playful voice came from behind you with an unmistakable lilting British accent, his words echoing through the mansion’s entrance with each click of his oxfords on the grand stairs, closing the distance between you.

“Oh dear! It seems that Vic’s brimming excitement couldn’t be held back at the scent of our new beautiful guest. If I may be so bold, I should admit that I raise Vic to be quite a fine little champ. He certainly does have an eye for beauty.” Turning around, your eyes were locked on this man’s handsome features, his tousled midnight blue hair, striking blue eyes and the beauty mark so delicately positioned by his lips, you couldn’t help but take in his appearance as he had gotten much closer, now standing before you. The smirk on his lips was also very telling, he had been assessing you in the same manner. Little did you know, He heard you talking to yourself in spanish while walking through the corridors, doing your own exploring of the mansion and he came to you like a moth to a windowpane. How could he even miss the sight, the smell and the voice of a fair maiden such as yourself walking in her lonesome in this mansion full of mongrels? They were not but he would’ve loved to take advantage of sweeping a cute poppet like you off her feet. Your hair was that of iridescent flames, cascades of lava that drew him in, dark eyes of coffee. “Comte was ever so gracious to inform me that we had a guest in our midst but he had made the grave mistake of omitting the fact that you were such a resplendent poppet. Allow me to introduce myself, love.”

He was absolutely beguiled by you, even more so when you began to speak, addressing him in a firm tone, interrupting his introduction in the mere pause as he took a break. “Arthur Conan Doyle, I know who you are. Sebastian told me all about you.” He seemed pleased to know that you already heard of him but still wished that he could be the one to make his first impression on his own, without having others establish them for him. You were not taken aback by his direct approach, yet his flirtiness did not click too well with you since he had yet to know you before even trying to seemingly romance you in the way he did with all the women he had clearly done the same with. You definitely said what was on your mind, stating it clearly before making your way back to your room since Vic was now with his owner. “If you’re trying to flirt with me, then I’m sorry but you’re mistaken if you think that you can do anything of the sort. If you may excuse me now, I must go ready myself before breakfast.”

It would be safe to say that Arthur was admittedly smitten with you. The way you smoothly yet respectfully talked back to him with that accent of yours was undoubtedly a beautiful sound that he would love to hear more and more of.

During breakfast, you had finally met all the residents at once and the Comte had obviously taken it upon him to introduce you to them all before the conversation on the dining table naturally flowed from unrelated conversation between a couple of the residents, where the rest simply listened in and back to questions about you, where you came from, your background and most importantly, your time. When the amount of questions seemed to get a bit too overwhelming, Leonardo was the one who spoke up, telling the rest of the vampires that they had plenty of time to ask you all the questions they wanted over the course of the month that you had to spend with them.

As you and Sebastian busied yourselves in clearing the dishes from the table, you could hear a booming brouhaha coming from the room where you had left the rest of the vampires. Looking at the stoic butler, he simply shrugged and you busied yourself by helping the man. On the other side of the man, the residents were all focused on a discussion that happened between the infamous partners in crime: Theodorus van Gogh and Arthur Conan Doyle. Theo noticed how uncharacteristically silent Arthur was during breakfast, sipping on his glass of Blanc while his eyes never left you for a moment, as you bit into your pancakes and drank your coffee/tea, a small smile cracking on your face here and then, noticing the little things that you did. With a wolfish grin, Theo made a bet with Arthur. If the writer is able to spend an entire month without flirting with you, the sadistic entrepreneur would pay for their tab at their go-to tavern/bar for an entire year. Arthur knew what his friend was trying to do, clearly testing him and seeing if he had an ounce of self-control in him. The game was on.

He would clearly prove him wrong. Or that’s what he thought. Two years instead of one and the deal was made.

It wasn’t hard for you to find what to do in that time. The wealth of knowledge that was surrounding you, it was more than enough to fill your days with activities and studying the things that you loved the most. Leonardo and Vincent were more than happy to give you tips on drawing, giving you tips on how to sketch the human body, understanding the intricacies behind different body types in a way that allowed you also to work on fashion, different styles, looks which is something you really loved.

Spending time on your own was not a hard task! There were so many corners in the mansion where you can just spend time alone with no one bothering you. You would often find Leonardo sleeping or reading in the library, stumbling across him or he’s just napping away wherever you find yourself but that didn’t really bother you. You would grab your notebook to write or draw or grab a book that one of the residents had recommended to you and just clear your mind and wind down, finding some much needed peace in the midst of this new lifestyle that you were thrown into.

Arthur though… the man couldn’t really stay away from you. Not that he did want to, on the contrary, he absolutely loved being in the presence of an enlightened woman such as yourself but he had to take extra care not to be flirty with you. One thing that Arthur didn’t do was lose. Unfortunately yet luckily for him, Vic took a liking to you and made it easier for you to get to know each other better when you would both take him on walks, daily and multiple days in a day. He was a spoiled boy and his Master was definitely the type to spoil him rotten. It was quite refreshing just seeing a different type of playful side to him. Pure, genuine and truly affectionate. Even… boyish.

[The famous skirt chaser wasn’t doing any chasing. Whenever he wasn’t around, he was trying to get enough writing done so he could spend time with the beautiful new guest who only had a month to spend with him… everyone AND him.]

You are usually so reserved around the residents, more of an observer than a talker, at least for the first few days in the mansion. Your frequent walks with Vic and Arthur did help you loosen up: getting to know more about Paris as you roamed around aimlessly, taken away by the depth of your conversations, the ways of the 19th century, all the little tidbits about the residents and also, see more of Arthur, besides the renown flirty playboy side, a label that everyone seems to be pinning on the handsome man. When you get deep into discussions with him, the way you get animated makes him melt. He doesn’t blatantly point it out but there is this glint of amusement and fondness in his eyes and the slightest twist in the corner of his lips, one of absolute admiration and infatuation when you do.

There is never a dull moment with Arthur: his mind is like the most intriguing, bewildering and mysterious place to be. He would try to tell you about how he comes up with the premise of his stories, would talk to you about the ideas of his books and how he gets inspired by things from his past and from his present, take you out on “dates” where you would go detective-solving… cause what better way to discover Paris and know everything there was to know about it.

He was very fond of your objectivity and honesty which definitely compliments the analytical side of your personality which he has come to see and know the more he spoke with you and from what he’s heard from Leonardo. He secretly loves your honesty also when you call him out on his shit: on why he even hates his own creations, knowing that there is hidden meanings behind whatever bogus response he gives you YET you don’t push him for more. You just let him know that he can talk to you.

In those moments, the fierceness in your eyes…he knew that it would be his demise.

He likes to pick your brain and keeps bombarding you with so many “what ifs”, possibilities and probabilities in deflecting and divergent plotlines in his stories until you end up digressing and not even discussing important elements that are crucial and necessary about his manuscripts. You always made things interesting which made him spend even more time with you, always attempting to monopolize your time in any way he can. Especially when you told him that something like MBTI personalities existed in your time, he was very interested in knowing so much more about it. You and also Sebastian jumped in to tell him all about it and his eyes lit up like firecrackers, already thinking of which characters would have which personality. He couldn’t help but feel closer to you, wanting to know you even more...intimately yet he denied himself from doing so. Yet, he couldn’t stop the kindling of affection within his heart, no matter how much he tried to push it away.

The fact that you had even more hidden talents made you even more attractive in his eyes. You knew how to play multiple instruments and didn’t care to tell him until… 2 weeks had passed since you arrived at the mansion. Arthur immediately worked his magic on Mozart somehow, getting him to teach you how to play the piano if you wanted to and had Leonardo prepare a little something special for you: a hand-crafted guitar that you could take with you when you decide to go back to the future (and the thought of you leaving saddened him so much but he didn’t dare say it, yet, the expression on his face said it all). If there is anything Arthur would be good at, and after keeping the resident devil company, persuading, convincing or bribing was an art that he had perfected. Quick-witted charmer that he was.

The sound of his boyish laughter was something that you couldn’t get enough of and that wide smile that stretched from ear to ear was absolutely the most beautiful expression that you’ve seen on him, complimenting his features in a way that suited him even more than that flirtatious mask he hides behind. He loves the look on your face when he can read your mind and knows exactly what you’re going to say before you even say it, when he teases you and especially when he’s able to draw a smile on your face: be it when he thanks you for helping brainstorm or solve a case, or when he buys you a yummy treat that he knows you’d love and enjoy (after forcing Sebastian to tell him the things you actually do enjoy eating since he had information (notes) about every single living being in than mansion. He was a goldmine, source of intel and Arthur wasn’t going to miss out on taking advantage of that fact).

Something exciting did happen, which you also didn’t expect! A trip to Madrid in Spain? It is one of the cities that is most known for it’s art and Theodorus was in need of a translator to accompany him so he can find his way around the city much easier than if he was alone (and you were also not bad company so he wouldn’t mind you tagging along, since he knows that you would appreciate the art as well, being an artist yourself.) BUT, Arthur was not having any of it. How was a young lady supposed to travel with another (very single and very handsome) man on her own? He decided to be the chaperone of your trip under the guise of exploring new avenues for an upcoming book of his that will possibly have events set in Spain (or maybe not, it didn’t even matter). Theo reminded his best friend about their bet/challenge and… well, the entrepreneur knew and told the klootzak right to his face that he’s weasling his way into this because… Well, Arthur shushed him before he could say any more than that but they both knew what he was going to say. The mystery writer wanted to wait until you left the 19th century before even thinking of admitting to others and to himself too.

After a long train ride from Paris to Madrid, Arthur made sure to book the room next to yours in case you needed anything. When you woke up in the morning, he would already be leaning next to your door with that wide boyish smile of his and his lilting “Good morning sunshine~” that evidently did things to your heart, escorting you to have breakfast together. Theo would show up to breakfast with his own bottle of syrup (Don’t even mention it. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t find the kind of syrup he liked in Spain so he got his own with him). The man was completely baffled to always find you there before him and also annoyed to see how sickeningly sweet Arthur was, doting on you a little more than he ever saw him do with any of the other skirts he’s ever pursued. This is not the normal kind of attention he gave a woman and as his best friend, this proved how deep Arthur had already fallen for you. He did throw in a few comments such as: “ Why are you treating her like a small pup? She can take care of herself. Unless she asked you to put her on a leash…”

If you thought you had fun in Paris, it was even more fun in Madrid! You went to multiple museums, galleries and countless restaurants, indulging both in the savoury and sweet of the city, getting the best taste of the city. It was hilarious seeing Arthur trying to communicate with the locals with that British accent of his and try to use whatever Spanish he caught from your brief discussions with Leonardo (where he thought he managed to catch a few words but he was horribly mistaken). You also somehow managed to get lost while going shopping, which made your time out and about together even longer. Not that either of you was complaining. You both had the time of your life and you both had smiles to match and confirm that statement.

Besides the fact that Arthur wouldn’t let go of your hand at any given moment when you were wandering the city, claiming that he wouldn’t find his way back to the hotel without you and that you were the only one that could keep him from getting lost. He also didn’t like how lots of men’s eyes lingered on you whenever they spoke to you (and the fact that he didn’t even understand what they were telling you didn’t bear well with him, he wasn’t having it at all) or just simply when you passed by and turned heads. This man was definitely not jealous (sarcasm) but he was not blind and he had eyes of his own to see just how beautiful you were, inside and out. He was just glad to be the one holding your hand, even though he held on to it “just as your friend”. Whenever Theo looked disgruntled and rolled his eyes at you two, Arthur always teased him and offered to hold his hand too if he didn’t want to feel left out, making the dutch man obviously grumble and walk away from you.

He should’ve known… He should’ve known and he beat himself over it, cursing his gloves as you were on the train, on the way back to France. While Arthur had excused himself to the restroom and decided to go get the three of you some coffee and treats, he comes back to find that you had fallen asleep… with your head on Theodorus’ shoulder. He was definitely not happy about the sight and his best friend could definitely see that, muttering a “Stop glaring at me like a rabid dog, klootzak. I don’t like this either.” Arthur stopped in his tracks, noticing how flushed your cheeks were and how your breathing was a little quicker than normal for someone who was asleep. Removing one of his gloves, he presses his palm against your forehead and your neck. You had a fever.

Arthur immediately gets into anxious doctor mode and tends to you however he can until you reach Paris, where he would be able to take care of you even better. Theo knew that this was not just some act. Arthur’s concern for you was real but it was way more than just a doctor’s oath to take care of his patients. Come on, Arthur. Who do you think you’re deceiving? He basically carried you to the carriage and also inside the mansion, giving out orders as nicely and calmly to Sebastian the moment he set foot in the mansion. He was composed, or at least, tried to be but he was also worried. A fever from exhaustion should not be taken lightly as it can turn into something worse if you didn’t get all the rest that you truly needed.

When you woke up…

Opening your eyes slowly, you blinked only to find Arthur leaning on the side of your bed. “Why are you here? It looks like you haven’t slept for ages, Arthur.” You reached out and threaded yours fingers through his tousled hair. “I know you’re worried about me, Arthur. I promise you I’ll be just fine. I know you’ve been taking good care of me and you know… It’s just exhaustion, right? There’s nothing for you to worry about it. I already feel much better thanks to you.”

The expression on his face was so soft and tender, a “wistful” smile drawn on his usually smirked lips. He held your hand, rubbing his leather-clad thumb smoothly over it before he kissed your knuckles gently. “Rest well, my love. I refuse to leave your side.” He bit the tip of his index, pulling out his glove from his other hand and leaned and reached to check your temperature, before leaning forward to press his lips against your forehead, sighing. “You’re still a tad warm but you are indeed better. I should’ve taken your word for it.”

“And should I take your word that you kissed me just because you wanted to check my temperature?”

With that irresistible boyish smile drawn on his handsome face, he chuckled like a schoolboy that has just been caught doing something wrong. That’s how he truly was deep down and it was refreshing just seeing him like that. “Guilty as charged.” His striking blue eyes locked on yours before faltering a little too long on your lips as he licked his own and whispered softly - “I may have ulterior motives but I assure you, my intentions are as pure as they come.” - before capturing your lips in a much awaited kiss, so sweet and tender, pouring all the affection he ached to show you before, all the pent-up emotions he strained himself not to show you in his quest in being a good friend to you.

Arthur didn’t come out of that challenge a loser, but a winner. Getting the greatest prize… no, the most priceless thing he could ever ask for: you and your love. Although it cost him a bill of 2 years worth of alcohol expenses at the bar, he was more than happy to pay it.

This man will shower you with words of affection all day long, tell you he loves you, kiss you whenever he gets the chance, in public or in private, this man is absolutely taken by you and he doesn’t even mind it. He will call you: love, darling, my lovely poppet, my sunshine and even try to throw in a few Spanish pet names: cariña, mi amor and even mi sol. You always wondered why he always referred to you as his sun or sunshine but he told you that you brightened up his life, with your honesty, your intelligence and most importantly, the joy you brought into his life.

You were surprised to discover that Arthur was BIG on cuddling. There isn’t a night that goes by (or even a nap) without cuddling. It is not for naughty reasons, as opposed to what everyone else in the mansion might think, but more for reassurance that you will always stay by his side and leave. His worst nightmare is waking up and not finding you there, the day you realize that he’s not good enough of a man for you yet he will spend his every waking moment trying to be better for you, prove that he is more than what his reputation paints him to be. He is the man that loves you, cherished you and values you even more than his own writing.

Arthur does get quite jealous sometimes. He just can’t help it. For example: he gets jealous when you sometimes get all dreamy when you listen to Mozart composing. He’s one of the biggest figures in music history so it would only be natural for you to be in awe whenever you came across him. His music does help you with your writing especially when he plays very calm tunes. It’s nothing like anything you’ve experienced before and it’s so inspiring. Arthur would frown, pout and even sulk sometimes whenever he sees that another man has captured your attention in a way that he never could (and he looks absolutely adorable when he does, like a lost whiny puppy). He would wrap his arms around you and nuzzle you when you’re writing or simply rub his hand softly on your waist while he rests his head on yours or on your shoulder. He scrambles for ways to get part of your attention or get some reassurance from you without getting in your way or becoming an inconvenience.

Kisses of affection: your knuckles, your hand and your forehead.

Warning: NSFW ahead

His kinks: everything in the book. Anything you can imagine, he’s willing to do with you. If you don’t like it, he’s up to trying the next thing with you. But a few favourites of his are: cockwarming, roleplay, edging, overstimulation, edging, BDSM and body worship. Rest assured that he will ALWAYS keep things interesting between you.

Favourite place to bite you: your thighs.

He can be whatever you want him to be in bed, he is a switch after all. He’ll worship you endlessly when he’s in command and will whine and beg for you whenever you take the reins. All he wants is to be with you, it doesn’t matter how.

You are definitely the luckiest person in the mansion, ending up with the most versatile and open lover of them. He’s willing to do everything with you, and driven by his lust and love for you, he will dirty talk until you’re soaking wet and clenching around nothing in anticipation for him and sweet talk you to tears, overwhelming you with the sweetness of love.

#ikevamp arthur #ikemen vampire arthur #ikevamp arthur conan doyle #ikemen vampire arthur conan doyle #ikevamp fluff #ikemen vampire fluff #ikemen vampire fanfic #ikevamp fanfic #ikemen vampire headcanons #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp matchup #ikemen vampire matchup #ikemen series #otome #cybird

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seoulsides · 5 years ago

Text

only shine for me

⇒ asmodeus x fem!mc/reader

⇒ 2.8k

⇒ tags: fem!mc, worried!asmo, jealous!asmo, protective!asmo, cheeky!simeon, mutual pining, yes simeon knows they’re idiots in love, fluff, REAL SOFTNESS!

⇒ warnings: spoiler for chat between simeon and luke

⇒ summary: when asmodeus catches you passed out from exhaustion on top of a certain angel, he can’t decide whether he wants to rip his hair out from worry or jealousy

⇒ a/n: this was COMPLETELY inspired by the chat between simeon and luke about mc. i thought it worked really well because in my personal view, i strongly believe that asmodeus views simeon as a threat, as per his denial of being jealous of simeon (seen in an asmodeus homescreen interaction). i also believe he felt called out by simeon (chapter 8), who seems to see asmo for who he is, and that is something i think which makes asmo feel very insecure. just watch my asmo character study come out soon. i think to some asmo might come off as OOC, but this is my take on his character once the entire bravado has been dropped.

It was far too late for him to be leaving RAD and all Asmodeus wants is to go back home and just soak in a glorious bath. He already knows that his new bath salts from Majolish had been delivered, having received an email earlier in the day. It was ironic, he muses, that the driving force behind his impatience to go home was the very thing that kept him from doing just that. It was his eagerness during class that landed him in detention. Scratch that — actually, it was all Mammon’s fault. After receiving the email, Asmodeus had excitedly texted you, slipping in a cheeky offer to join him in ‘trying out’ his new products if you were interested, when his scumbag of a brother snuck a look at Asmodeus’ texts from the corner of his eye and then proceeded to blow a gasket.

Instantaneously the both of them had been sentenced to a long gruelling detention, which would have lasted only two hours had Asmodeus’ moronic waste-of-space brother not tried to argue with the professor and blame it all on him. And just for that, they earned another four hours. It felt like an eternity before they were finally free and Asmodeus practically bolted the very second he could, leaving Mammon to grumble by himself.

Asmodeus pouts to himself as he reads your texts on his D.D.D. Lately you have been overwhelmed with a lot of work and had spent the past couple of weeks staying behind after classes to work in the library, coming home late at night. This was also the reason you had to ‘regretfully decline’ his gracious offer. He frowns as he recalls how tired you have been looking for these past few days. You had dark eye bags and frankly seemed like you were half asleep most of the time. He has been worried for a while, and every time he tried to get you back early enough to have a proper night’s rest, you insisted that you were fine. It made him feel useless. Just what kind of a demon would he be if he couldn't care for his precious master?

Regardless of your insistence, he was adamant. You needed to pace yourself before you burnt yourself out. Glancing at the time on his D.D.D., he decides on paying you a visit to see if you were up to take up his offer now that you were probably done with your work for the day. As much as he wanted to monopolise your time, he would rather pamper you and make sure you got the rest you needed.

Fuelled by the prospect of sharing a soothing luxurious bath, possibly in your company, Asmodeus rushes to leave. So great is his impatience that he decides to use a shortcut to get to the house, a convenient little pathway that cuts through the courtyard. In his haste, he almost misses the two figures perched upon one of the courtyard benches. Almost.

He notices movement from the corner of his eye and, when he turns, blanches at the sight before him. There you were, the one person that was plaguing his thoughts, draped across the source of some of his deep-rooted insecurities. Simeon was sitting upon the bench, ethereal as ever as the moonlight illuminated his radiant presence. He was gazing softly at your sleeping face, cradling your head in his lap delicately as his free hand was stroking your hair. He had yet to notice the presence of the demon, far too enamoured with the human sleeping on his lap. Asmodeus clears his throat, a fake smile plastered across his face, “Now, what do we have here?”

“Ah, hello Asmodeus,” Simeon smiles at the demon, his hand only pausing momentarily whilst gently stroking your head. Asmodeus’ eyes narrow at the tender gesture, his pristine smile faltering as the angel continues speaking, oblivious to the demon’s inner turmoil, “We were chatting before planning to leave, but ___ was so tired, she ended up falling asleep on my lap. We’ve been here for a couple of hours.”

Asmodeus’ false smile falls at the angel’s words and he looks at you with narrowed brows, eyes brimming with concern. “She’s overworked herself,” he mutters, a distraught frown marring his beautiful face.

“Well, then,” Simeon looks back down at the serene expression on your face, “It looks like I’ll be here a while longer.” Asmodeus grimaces at the fondness in the angel’s voice.

“I can take her,” the words slip from the demon’s mouth through gritted teeth quicker than he can register them. Asmodeus quickly composes himself and smiles thinly at the beautiful angel, jaw clenching at the sight of Simeon gazing at you affectionately.

“It’s quite alright”, Simeon brushes off the demon’s offer easily. The hand stroking your hair instead moves to cup the curve of your cheek and Asmodeus feels his blood run cold, eyes flashing with rage.

“I already informed Luke that I would not be back for dinner. Besides,” Simeon raises his gaze from your sleeping face to meet the stony expression of the bristling demon, an elusive smile dancing on his lips, “I wouldn’t want to disturb your ‘plans’.”

There was no doubt that the angel was referring to the episode that occurred in class earlier in the day and the ever-so-slight taunt underlying his words, whether they stemmed from good humour or not, only served to infuriate the peeved demon further. At this point, Asmodeus can feel his cheery facade crack, his manicured hands fisting in fury.

“I said I could take her,” Asmodeus hisses, failing to smother the unbridled jealousy that festers in his stomach. He certainly cannot stop the possessiveness from bleeding into his voice when he seethes, “She is my master, after all.”

Simeon has the gall to look amused and the demon’s hands twitch at his sides from the overwhelming desire to just rip you away from the celestial being. Openly glowering at the angel, Asmodeus is just about to drop his act and give the angel a piece of his mind before Simeon cuts him off with an infuriatingly coy smile, “You may do as you please.”

Asmodeus does not hesitate, taking two quick strides towards the bench before kneeling down to scoop you up into his arms. A low groan sounds from your throat as you were jostled from your comfortable position on the angel’s lap and Asmodeus’ scowl melts immediately. He gently shushes you as he cradles your tired form to his chest, delicately tucking your head under his chin. You let out an incoherent mumble, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck. Asmodeus pauses, looking down at you fondly, unable to fight the endeared smile from appearing on his face as he holds you close in his arms.

An airy chuckle rips him from his reverie and Asmodeus casts a dubious glance at the entertained angel. Under the demon’s wary gaze, Simeon only shakes his head to himself, almost as though he knew something the demon didn’t. He rises from the bench to take his leave, “I’ll trust her with you,” he gives the demon a nod, “Please ask her to text me once you both arrive back home.”

“Believe me, I’ll make sure,” Asmodeus growls under his breath as he clutches you to his chest possessively. He offers the retreating form of the celestial being one more glare, before spinning on his heel. He looks down at you exhausted form anxiously. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead before whisking you away from the courtyard.

“HEY! WHAT’RE YOU DOING WITH ___?!” Mammon’s obnoxious voice echoes throughout the mansion and Asmodeus swears under his breath, cursing himself for thinking the Avatar of Greed wouldn’t pounce on the both of you the very second he walked through the main entrance with you in his arms.

“Shut up, you absolute moron!” Asmodeus hisses angrily, turning you away from the loud demon in an attempt to shield you from the ruckus, “She’s asleep!” At his words, Mammon freezes, eyes wide with alarm. You let out a soft groan and both the demons stiffen at the sound. Three seconds seems to be the extent of the greedy demon’s patience threshold, for when there is no indication of you rousing from your sleep, Mammon is back to his interrogation.

“But, why are you—” Mammon tries to protest indignantly, but Asmodeus cuts him off with a loud shush. Before the Avatar of Greed can get another word in, Asmodeus stalks off with you, leaving the older demon to belt out a litany of abuses after the both of you which are thankfully then drowned out by the angered voice of Lucifer’s booming, “MAMMON !!”

Finally, within the comfort of his room, Asmodeus releases a relieved sigh. Hopefully, Lucifer kept that fool occupied long enough that he wouldn’t seek either of you out.

“Asmo?” you mumble his name dazedly, recognising the demon’s cologne. Asmodeus shudders when he feels your breath against his clavicle. He brings a hand up to pat your head gently, cooing softly at you, “It’s okay, petal, I got you.”

He takes you to his bed, setting you down gently as you gather your surroundings. You look at him questioningly, “How did I get here? Where’s Simeon?” The demon does his best to not bristle at the mention of the angel, but fails to keep the hostility out of his voice, “He’s back at the Purgatory Hall,” he grumbles, “I brought you back.”

Asmodeus is too absorbed in his sulking to notice how your face drops at his words. You look up at the Avatar of Lust guiltily, “I’m so sorry, Asmodeus,” your voice heavy with shame, “I caused Simeon and you both so much trouble.” You pull away from his hold to get to your feet, “I know you had plans and I completely ruined them, haven’t I?”

Asmodeus’ head whips to face you so quick, you would expect his neck to snap. Eyes wide with alarm, he immediately wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest, babbling in a panic-stricken voice, “No, no, petal, no, it’s nothing like that! I’m sorry!”

You look up at him, completely perplexed, “Why are you sorry? I should be sorry. I’ve ruined your entire evening—” A long slender finger presses up against your lips, effectively cutting you off, “No more apologising” Asmodeus chides you, a frustrated frown set on his lips.

You look at him sullenly and his entire demeanour softens. Settling you on his lap, he inwardly curses at himself for being so taken with you, “Please stay, petal, please.” His warm hands find your cold ones and he entwines your fingers together, “You haven’t ruined anything. I had detention and on my way back, I saw you with him.” His thumb brushes over yours tenderly, “I got...I got jealous and insisted on taking you back.”

He perks up as though he reminded himself of something before he pins you with another frustrated look, pouting severely, “You need to take better care of yourself! You’re aren’t getting enough sleep! It’s bad for your skin. And health!” He berates you furiously, “And it’s unsafe! You can’t just overwork yourself to the point you fall asleep like that in public! What if you were alone?”, Asmodeus’ voice hardens, wrought with worry “You were vulnerable. Who knows what could have happened to you?”

“Asmo,” you murmur softly at the distressed demon, “I’m so sorry for worrying you.” You squeeze his hands before releasing one to cup one of his cheeks in an attempt to comfort him, “I got a little homesick a couple of weeks ago and fell behind on some course work.” Your voice softens, “I promise to be more careful from now on, okay?” Asmodeus’ frown smooths out into a sulky pout.

You offer him a small smile, thumb brushing over his cheek to soothe his frown, “And I promise you, there’s no need to be jealous. Not when you’re my favourite person.” Finally, Asmodeus lets out a small laugh, leaning into your hand, “Ah, you’re so sly, petal”, he hums quietly, melting into your tender caress, “You’ll really be the end of me.”

“Now that can’t happen, can it? Just what would I do without you?” you reply in an equally hushed voice. He smiles into the palm of your hand and your feel the butterflies fluttering in the pit of your stomach, “How can I make it up to you?”

“Let me draw you a bath,” he beams sweetly at you, “I’ve been eager to put those bath salts to use.” You hand stops stroking his cheek when you tilt your head at him inquisitively, “But you bought them for yourself.”

He whines at your lack of attention, raising his free hand up to cover yours, “And I want you to use them.” You resume your ministrations, letting out a soft laugh when he nuzzles into your hand, “Asmo, that’s so sweet, but honestly I couldn’t do that. I know how expensive they are and how long you’ve been waiting to use them.”

He looks at you with a pout, “And I will be using them. On you.” His expression immediately morphs into a coy one, teasing you in a playful voice, “Or would you like me to join in as well?” You offer him a deadpan expression, and he lets out a hearty laugh before moving your hand from his cheek to bring it to his lips, “I want to do this for you,” he breathes against your fingers.

“Why?” you ask him, voice almost a whisper. “Because,” he replies easily, brushing a chaste kiss to the back of your hand, “You matter to me.” His hand moves lower to clasp your wrist, “So, please, let me do something for you.” He presses his lips against your inner wrist, a soft kiss directly upon your pulse, “Please let me take care of you.”

“Asmodeus,” you breathe out, eyes watering as you feel your heart race wildly in your chest, “You matter to me, too.” Your voice shakes, heavy with emotion and the three words you’ve been wanting to say for the past week press against your tongue. Instead of liberating them, you swallow them down along with the other words you wished you could say and press a kiss to his jaw.

Asmodeus beams at you as he cups your chin and presses a kiss against your cheek, “Ah, my little petal is such a naughty girl.” Your face flushes, becoming even more and more flustered as he kisses your other cheek, followed by a kiss to your forehead. Completely flustered, you nearly forget what you needed to do.

“Oh, wait!” you pull away, ignoring the needy demon’s cry of protest, “I need to call Simeon. I need to explain everything and apologise to him,” you worried your lower lip with your teeth. The Avatar of Lust only chuckles, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you back on his lap, “Don’t worry about that, petal. I took care of it.”

Before you can question him, the demon stands to his feet, hoisting you up in his arms. You let out a yelp and he presses a cheeky kiss against the corner of your mouth, giggling when you gasp, “Let’s get your bath started, hm?”

Back in Purgatory Hall, Simeon lets out a loud chuckle as he checks the new notification on his D.D.D., causing Luke to look at him curiously. “What’s so funny?” the younger angel inquires, looking at the elder demon peculiarly.

“Ah, it’s nothing important,” Simeon shakes his head to himself, offering the boy a private smile, “Say, don’t you think those demon brothers are funny?” Luke scoffs, proceeding to go off on a tangent about how nasty “those demon brothers” were. Simeon muffles another chuckle as he glances back at the screen of his device.

There on Simeon’s D.D.D. is a picture of you and Asmodeus. You were splayed across his lap, face entirely flushed as Asmodeus pressed a kiss to your cheek, lips drawn into a coy grin with one of his eyes closed to deliver a perfectly cheeky wink at the camera. Right beneath the picture was a message that read ‘Here you go! She’s back home, where she belongs ❤︎❤︎❤︎’’

“Simeon, don’t ignore me!” Luke protests and the elder angel laughs, pocketing his D.D.D. as he offers the younger angel an apology. Smiling along to whatever Luke was saying, Simeon cannot help but hope that the two of you would come clean about your emotions. Although from what he witnessed today, he smiles secretly to himself, he thinks you both were well on your way.

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