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dreamkidddream · 3 years

Note

I’m the Doll!MC Anon and I just wanna say I’m so glad that you enjoy a soft/delicate!MC and I really didn’t expect it to get so much love!

Since I kinda want to be evil and see the boys be overprotective, can I request hc’s of them seeing Doll!MC getting hurt by some lesser demon that bumps her into the ground and she gets a bruise? 🌚

Omg Doll Anon I wasn’t expecting it to get so much love either (here’s the original Doll!MC HCs if anyone wants to read)!! So I actually had your request saved for when I was done with the prompt special bc it’s so good, so I decided to combine them and I have definitely been waiting to write this 😈😈 Reader is gender neutral!

CW: mention of blood (nothing graphic) and spoilers for Lesson 16 (Lucifer, Mammon, Beel, and Belphie’s part)

The Brothers and Diavolo with Doll!MC who Gets Hurt

Lucifer

Okay whoever is dumb enough to hurt you in front of him deserves this 100%

The air around this man is already more than intimidating, so whoever tries this is a poor, stupid soul

When he saw you fall down the stairs, he felt his stomach turn. He already caught you before you could injure yourself further, but after seeing the blood coming down your face, the damage was already done

Now, Lucifer is the brother who always has control over himself and what he does. But, we also know that how his temper can get, especially when it comes to his family

This demon is dumb enough to push you but not dumb enough to crack a smile in front of him, especially with how tense Lucifer is getting right now

He sat you up and tried to remember some first aid techniques to stop the bleeding. You’re on the verge of losing consciousness, but you’re okay right now. He’ll take you home, but first-

His glare is making the demon freeze in place right now, and the anger radiating off of him is petrifying

How dare- how dare this fool harm you, in front of him no less?! Did they think that he wouldn’t do anything? That Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride, one of the strongest demons to ever grace the Devildom, would just idly stand by and let this happen?

He’s stalking towards them, and he can feel his fangs showing and his diamond appearing on his forehead, growling out how they will pay for this-

But he’s stopped by Lord Diavolo, who was shocked by the scene. You’re unconscious, and Lucifer has this poor student hanging in the air by their uniform, claws ready to slice through them. Needless to say, he understands why his close friend is upset, but for everyone’s safety he should just take you home like planned

You thought Lucifer was a helicopter parent before? You haven’t seen NOTHING yet

He would start inviting you more to his room to sleep in his bed while he works away, and it started happening so much that he didn’t even ask anymore and started expecting you to always be in there

So instead of him being glued by your side, you’re glued to his. It’s obvious that he can’t let you out of his sight without something happening (again), so hope you’re ready to see experience Lucifer’s daily routine from sunrise to sunset and a whole new set of rules. Basically playing follow the leader, but with a lot more handholding and kisses

You had to practically beg to be back into the kitchen, and he only relented when he could be the one to supervise you, and even then he still didn’t want to hold anything sharp or be near anything that could injure you (which is pretty much everything)

The main one to put a stop to his brothers’ schemes, handing out harsher punishments than before each time they try to involve you. This man is not playing any games with anyone

You know he means well, he was already overprotective from the start, and this is just his way of showing that he cares about you. You can tell every time he gives you that soft look in his eyes, and the regret that he shows every time he catches sight of your bruise. He may not like to be vulnerable, but he couldn’t hide his emotions from you too long. You’re like a weakness to him, one that he isn’t against indulging in

And he hasn’t forgotten about that student, oh no. He made sure to have a nice lengthy chat with them when you both returned to RAD. You didn’t question it when he informed you that the student had been rightfully punished and no longer an issue, and you tried to ignore the red dots splattered on his shoes, or that sadistic gleam in his eyes...

Mammon

This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening-

The blood is pouring from your head, and your eyes are closing too fast for him, and his heart stops

You look lifeless, like when Belphie killed you, when he was too late to save you-

He’ll never forget that image, it’s drilled deep into his mind, forever a reminder of his failure to protect you. And now he failed again-

This demon is gloating about this, and that’s when he snaps

He was already in his demon form and beating the life out of them when he was restrained. Many people were shocked that he was capable of this, that Mammon the scumbag, Mammon the dummy, Mammon the punching bag was capable enough to be this dangerous, this deadly. He’s the second born after all, and he’s the strongest right under Lucifer himself, and he holds a lot in

He could- he would do a lot more because they deserve it, but just seeing you so still, it snaps him out of it. You’re more important to him than getting his anger out, and you’re the one he needs to be focusing on right now. But rest asssured, this isn’t over

You thought he was attached to you before? He is glued to your side 24/7 and will not be leaving anytime soon. Ever since you woke up he never let go of you, calling you “his human” and just hugging you tight

Also if you have to go down the stairs you guys are FLYING no exceptions! The stairs are the devil in his eyes (how ironic) and he will not be risking anything with you

If you guys aren’t out and about under his careful and watchful eye (and I mean very careful, he’s like your very own bodyguard but with a lot more growling and snapping on strangers than usual), then you’re in his room doing whatever. Watching movies, playing cards and somehow beating him every time (he swears that he isn’t letting you win! Lies), whatever you wanna do. As long as you’re with him, giggling and safe, he’s happy and stress free

You mean so much to Mammon MC, he can’t even tell you if he tries. Under his tsundere traits, he really loves you, like really loves you! He’s just so scared of being rejected and losing you a second time. But now that he knows you’ll always be there for him, he’s going to do the same for you (but he already was even if you didn’t like him) He hates looking at that bruise right now, but it’s set as a reminder to not let something happen to you again

Also, another thing that people forget about Mammon is that he can talk to crows. So it wasn’t much to have them track down the person who caused you pain, and it didn’t take long for him to find them either. He thinks that the aftermath will set a good lesson for everyone else who continues to underestimate him when it comes to you: don’t

Leviathan

See, this is why he never leaves his safe haven AKA his room!

After he saw your head hit the ground hard, he was freaking out. He doesn’t know what to do, he wasn’t prepared for this! He tried shaking you to keep you awake, but your eyes were steady closing

Everything is happening in slow motion. You’re slumped over on the ground while the person who did it is laughing at him

If anything, the person who did it should be the one on the ground, not you, not his Henry. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair!

The demon stopped laughing when their windpipe was getting crushed by the second. They couldn’t even try to loosen the grip, Levi’s tail is rather strong, and so is he. He is the third strongest out of his family and the Grand Admiral of the Navy, yet people tend to forget that

Everyone knows how bad Levi’s tantrums can be, but this isn’t just a tantrum, it’s much worse. Had the brothers not intervene, he would have done much worse than summoning Lotan (which he was on the brink of doing anyway)

When you did wake up, he was so upset. Of course he let this happen, he’s just a worthless otaku who couldn’t even keep his crush safe-

OMG why are you hugging him and patting his head?! Quit it- well wait, this does feel kinda nice...Ugh you’re such a normie! Getting hurt so easily and still trying to put a smile on his face. But it does make him feel better

He rarely left his room before, and you guys are definitely not leaving it now. It’s like having a sleepover, but it never ends. That sounds great, right MC? Endless marathons of TSL and other anime, co-op video games, trying on his cosplay outfits that he made (some even made just for you and he needs to cover that bruise somehow), it’s going to be so fun and you’ll be safe with him! Who wouldn’t want that??

We all know that Levi is very self conscious. He knows that he isn’t confident like Lucifer and Mammon, or attractive like Asmo, or smart like Satan or Belphie, or physically fit like Beel, he knows. But every time you listen to him ramble on about this new anime show that he wants you guys to binge, or when he rants about a stupid move his teammate did in an online match, he feels valued. He feels loved. And while it’s hard for him to express his feelings, it’s no doubt in his mind that you’re important to him, and that he’s beyond happy that someone like you is his best friend

One day he’ll get the courage to say those three words, but he hopes that you already know with everything that he does for you

For example, Levi is an aquatic demon, and he has the ability to communicate with all types of sea creatures. Granted, he knows right from wrong, but in his eyes he’s taking care of the problem. So it wouldn’t be a huge issue if he used them to clean up the remaining mess of said problem, right? I mean, his venom can only do so much, and he doesn’t need anyone questioning him, and Lotan does get hungry...

Satan

He could only see red. Both from his anger surfacing and from the fact that you’re bleeding

He had his claws wrapped around the neck of the one responsible before they could even think about running. This- this filth dared tried to escape after he hurt you? And they thought that Satan would just let them get away with it?

They must forget that he’s the Avatar of Wrath, the one who doesn’t show mercy

He just kept pounding the demon into the ground, over and over and over and over. He didn’t even care about the blood splatter it was leaving on the lockers or on him

He was this close to finishing them off when he heard you call out for him, and it took everything in him to drop them. He squeezed their neck a final time, not even close to being satisfied with the whimper he heard, and growled out a promise of that he will find them and will make sure that they suffer before he threw them down. They better count themselves lucky that they get to crawl away in one piece (for now), because had you not been there-

Oh, he is seething the more he thinks about it

But you bleeding is a distraction from it, even if it is making his stomach turn, it’s helping him know that he needs to help you now

He didn’t have to let his brothers know as they came to see what the commotion was, and Lucifer (even if he didn’t want to believe it himself) was anxious that he was the cause of it. But after he saw the hold he had on you and another demon barely clinging onto life, he knew otherwise

It was decided that you two going home would be the best course of action (which it didn’t matter to Satan, you both weren’t going to stay here whether it was demanded or not), and he calmed down enough to properly treat you

You didn’t leave his room for the rest of the day, and he even gave up his bed for you to lie in so that he can do some research. The human body is a complicated thing, but Satan can learn it like the back of his hand just for you. So just go ahead and rest for now MC- or maybe not, you might have a concussion according to this book and if you do he needs to monitor your condition!

Even after you were healed, he didn’t let you out of his sight and daily checkups were a must. Dr. Satan is in the building!

You eventually moved back into your room (you would have stayed longer but he’s a little nervous with his towering stacks of books and doesn’t want anymore accidents), but he practically moved in with you with how much he comes over, either falling asleep at your desk reading a book or falling asleep in your chair right next to your bed

Very reluctant to have you around stairs, it makes the hairs on his neck stand up. He’ll let you go down the stairs ONLY if you’re holding his hand. If you’re upset with those conditions (spoiler alert you’re not), then you better be ready to learn some teleportation spells (but even then he’s still not leaving your side)

He doesn’t hold his temper back with the others when it comes to you for the time being. If he even senses that Mammon, Asmo, or Levi is coming to you with something that can cause trouble, he’s growling at them to leave you alone, horns slowly coming out and tail whipping furiously

However, he tries not to lash out in front of you. He realizes that he lost control with that demon, and how it could have terrified you had you been fully conscious, but he doesn’t want you to think that he’s just a monster. He wants you to continue to treat him like you do now, and not have the image of bashing someone’s bloody body on the floor repeatedly

Speaking of bashing someone, Satan made well on his promise of coming back. The demon thought that avoiding coming back to school would save them, but Satan is a genius, and has many associates that he can sweet talk to get what he wants. It didn’t take much to figure out where they went, and he made sure to get out all of his pent-up frustrations from that fateful day. He felt better when he came home, but he needed to take a shower before he went to see you...

Besides from that, he does appreciate the peace that you do bring him. You just have this aura around you that’s so calming to him, and he needs to steal you away more he realizes

Also you make better cat-themed desserts than the cafe and he can’t risk Beel eating them all again

Asmodeus

He’s shook, and not in the good way

He just had your hand in his, complaining about how you cuticles look so good and his is lacking and how guys have to go to the nail salon after class, and then your hand is jerked from his, your form at the bottom of the stairs

The blood staining your uniform is alarming, but he can’t worry about that now. He’s trying to keep you talking, but you’re already on the verge of passing out

“MC, you can’t sleep yet! We have plans to go to the nail salon remember? And I need you awake so we can talk about what matching color we’re getting! So what color should we get now, MC? MC? MC!”

He’s trying to keep himself from panicking, but he can’t help it! You’re suppose to be smiling and laughing with you, loving him, but you’re unconscious on the ground, and he’s scared

Quickly dials Lucifer and tells him the whole situation, and he’s surprised to find himself blinking back tears

The demon who did this is long gone by the time Lucifer and Diavolo come, but he remembers the face, and he has something exciting planned when he comes face to face with them

Obviously you have to go home, but Asmo is so distraught that he has to go home with you. But when you wake up, prepare to be tackled to the bed with him crying his eyes out. All you can do is try to comfort him and tell him that okay, giving him little kisses on his cheek

But now that the sadness is out of the way (all this crying and worrying is causing him stress wrinkles), it’s time for a makeover/stress relief!

Fashion shows, makeovers, painting nails, face masks, the whole nine yards. All in the comfort of his dazzling room!

It’ll make you both feel and look better, and honestly you two need that right now. It also gives him the opportunity to cover that unappealing bruise. Your beauty outshines it but it’ll be best to cover it up for your and his sake (mainly his)

Every time Asmo sees your bruise, he gets upset and he’s tired of being reminded of what happened. He knows that he’s only loved for his looks, his vanity, but you see more in him than that

You’re...you’re the first person that loves him for him entirely, not because of his features. And when he tells you that he loves you, he honestly means it. He would have never thought he would fall so deep for someone, let alone a human, but...he’s glad that it’s you. He’s happy that it’s you

Which is why he wants to keep you safe and injury-free. Plus, your skin is too pretty and doll-like to be roughed up!

You guys still go out of course, he just has a better eye on you now. This one incident isn’t going to hold him back for picking out new cute outfits for you!

And don’t think he forgot about that demon who caused all of this in the first place. He actually waited by their locker, and convinced them to come with him. But what should Asmo do with them? He could always have them steal Beel’s food, annoy Lucifer, say something horrible about Ruri-Chan, the possibilities are endless! As long as they don’t cause him to get dirty, of course

Or maybe they should do something so severe that they have no reason than to leave RAD forever, or even leave the Devildom forever, depending on how far he’s willing to take it. He’ll do anything if it means you’re safe and he gets to keep you all to himself

Beelzebub

He thought it was an accident at first, you get so excited about things that you stumble over your own feet sometimes, but he’s always there to catch you or pick you up

You keep saying that you’re okay as he’s holding onto you, and after he sits you up he’s confused because he smells blood. His heart is beating a little quicker, and you’re not talking anymore, and your head is drooping, and that’s when he sees the blood running down the side of your face

He’s starting to panic, and he’s so scared that if he tightens his hold against you he’ll just make things worse, that he’ll just hurt you more. But he needs to go find Lucifer, he needs to get you help, you’re feeling so light in his arms and it reminds him of the Celestial War when he witnessed his sister dying-

He hears someone snickering behind him, and that’s when he loses his temper

You’re a part of his family now, someone that he loves and cares for more than he can describe, and they did this to you? Someone who wouldn’t even squish a bug, someone who made him late night snacks without even asking, always there to give him hugs after his games no matter how sweaty, someone that put his family back together and they did this to you?

Lucifer and Mammon struggled to hold him back after they found the demon flung through the wall, laying under the rubble. Beel just kept growling, fangs bared and wings buzzing. He won’t stop trying to get out of their hold, and he keeps inching closer and closer to the demon, and it’s only a matter of time before he finishes what he started

You were already in the infirmary getting treated, and Beel isn’t calming down anytime soon so you were both escorted home

You woke up to Beel upset and pouting. He’s so worried about you that he couldn’t even eat. Beelzebub could not eat, that’s how you knew this was a something serious

Poor Beel was so terrified of hurting you himself that he failed to protect you from the people that do want to hurt you, or worse

But this won’t happen again, he swears, both to you and himself. Move over Mammon, Beel is officially your new bodyguard!

Wherever you go, Beel is right behind you, literally. He’s like your shadow, just bigger and a lot more...menacing. Also isn’t taking any chances with Mammon’s schemes, just carrying you away before he can even open his mouth about another get rich quick plan

Speaking of carrying, you are not allowed to walk down the stairs anymore. As soon as you step near some you find yourself in his arms like it’s nothing. Both at home and at school, it doesn’t matter to him

Also he’s very cautious to have you around people besides his brothers, and the exchange students (but he’s still hesitant about Solomon, anyone who can cook food like him is automatically getting the side eye)

Also you practically moved in with the twins, and it’s nothing compared to the sleepovers before. Belphie sleeps easier, Beel’s stomach is satisfied (eating your homemade sweets with you is better than everything combined at Hell’s Kitchen, and trust me he knows) he feels all warm inside, and you’re protected. Everyone’s happy!

Beel is a sweet guy, just don’t come in between his family or his food. After that whole incident with the demon, everyone has come to understand that, especially after seeing just how much damage he caused both to the demon and the school in so little time...

Belphegor

If he was sleepy before, he’s completely awake now

You’re holding the side of your head, and he can see the blood seeping through your fingers, groaning in pain. You keep trying to say that you’re okay, but your words are starting to slur and he’s getting nervous, he’s getting scared

It’s reminding him too much of his worst mistake, of what he did to you, when he murdered-

No. He doesn’t need to be thinking about that right now, especially when the person who did this is bragging about it while your body is slumped over. Right there, he knows what exactly needs to be done

Belphie was already in front of them before they even registered it, and didn’t give him any time to form an excuse. His claws were already at their throat, inching deeper and deeper the more they swallowed

“I should just slit your throat now, it’ll be easy and not a lot of work. But you deserve much worse than that. You’ll wish I did by the end of this.”

After a tap to the demon’s forehead, they just collapsed before him, unmoving. He didn’t even look down when he stepped over them (or rather stepped on them) to get to you. You’re passed out, but still breathing. You can’t stay here like this, and he refuses to tell Diavolo or Lucifer. He’ll figure something out, maybe Satan has some books in his room on what to do...

When you woke up, you found yourself wrapped in blankets and Belphie sleeping beside you, arms wrapped tight. You were confused, when did you get home? You remember walking with him down the stairs, but everything was blurry after that. What happen-

“You’re always thinking so hard MC, you’ll never be able to get good rest if you keep that up. But Satan did say to check on you every couple of hours, so I guess it’s fine. And quit touching your head!”

“Oh, sorry Belphie, I didn’t mean to-”

“Tch, how annoying...”

But he’s lying. Even as he’s carefully re-wrapping the bandages, he’s relieved that you’re awake, that your eyes are still full of life, not like the dullness that he saw that fateful night

When Lucifer finds you he is not happy with Belphie, but he doesn’t care and tells him that everything is already under control and that he isn’t needed. Belphie didn’t miss the scowl that he sent his way, but he just smirked in response. You didn’t need Lucifer as Belphie is already taking care of you, as it should be

You know how he always carries around his favorite pillow? Yeah he’s doing that with you basically, minus the carrying. You’re practically attached to his side, wherever he goes you’re either right there with him or in his room, which is mainly just you two lazing around or sleeping (as usual)

Honestly, the only demons who he’s okay with disturbing you two is Beel and maybe Satan. Beel because that’s his twin and it’s his room too, and Satan only if he’s checking on you medically or if he has some new ideas to mess with Lucifer. Everyone else is just trying to bother you and be annoying, and you don’t need that

Of course he blames himself for this! How is he suppose to keep you safe, to make up for his mistake? But then it clicks

It’s not the fact that he’s weak, people think that he’s weak. But he realizes that this is fine, he’ll use that to his advantage.

Diavolo is upset and Lucifer is running out of excuses for him, but Belphie just plays stupid and says he can’t remember how to remove it (even though he does). Let the demon lose some more sleep until they learn their lesson, whether it’s from the constant nightmares or from sleep deprivation trying to stay awake to avoid said nightmares. He’ll remove it when he feels like it, and he doesn’t see that happening anytime soon

Let people think the Avatar of Sloth is weak, that he’s not a threat, and he can show them exactly how wrong they are. Better yet, this demon can be the perfect example, and many more if they become a bother to you (and him)

You’re too nice MC, too delicate. You treat him so good, like he’s not a demon, like he’s not the monster who took your life, and he has to thank you for that somehow. He feels like whatever he does won’t be enough for the kindness you give him, but protecting you from others who used to be like him could be a good start

Also now he can hog all of your head pats and cuddles for himself, and he doesn’t feel bad at all. Everyone else had their time with you when he was locked up, so he’s finally got the opportunity to be selfish

Diavolo

First of all...this demon is dumb enough to harm you in front of him??? The Demon LORD???? The FUTURE KING OF HELL??!

They have more than just a death wish

It all happened so quick, he just crossed paths with you in the hallways and started to ask about your day (and maybe invite you for a small tea date after school) but he didn’t even get the chance to open his mouth

One second he saw your eyes light up and hand extended to excitedly wave, then he saw your fragile form tumbling down the stairs

Barbatos was soon called to his side as Diavolo saw the red coating his palms and you barely staying conscious, trying to say that you’re okay and not to worry

See...he feared that this would be a problem. While Diavolo is a very kind and understanding ruler, there are still some demons out there who think he’s too lenient, too soft. But that’s where people are mistaken. Diavolo is kind, but do not mistake his kindness for weakness

He felt his anger rising, his demeanor starting to crack, but he set aside his emotions. You’re his first priority, and he needs to make sure that you’re okay! He’s still a ruler, and you’re his responsibility (and first love)

However, he made sure that Barbatos took the demon who did this and kept them in the dungeon until he was done treating you. He won’t let this go unpunished, he can’t and he won’t

You’re an important part of the exchange program, and you’re most important to him, and he’s upset with himself that you got hurt. You’re so delicate, and you don’t deserve any of this happening to you, but what can he do? While he trusts the brothers to keep you safe, he wants to keep an eye on you personally, but how?

Then it struck him

You liked to stay in the castle, always smiling and having fun whenever you spent time with him there, so why not relocate you there?? It’ll be like an extended sleepover/retreat with just you two!! You guys can do all of your favorite activities and won’t have to worry about going home because you won’t have to leave!! Why didn’t he think of this sooner?!

The brothers are very upset with this incident, and even more so when he announced this. Diavolo decided that your condition needed to be monitored closely, and since he’s the person directly in charge of the exchange program AND the ruler over the Devildom, there was no room to argue. You weren’t going to stay in the castle forever, just until he deemed it right to return to the HoL

Which would be...some time soon, maybe. He’s not really worried about that now, his number 1 concern is you after all!

You’re getting the royal treatment, literally. This is the chance that he gets to pamper you without interruptions and he is not wasting it!

You kept trying to convince him that you’re fine, but he wasn’t hearing any of it, especially after he sees the nasty bruise that was left. “MC, please! You still need to rest. How about I have Barbatos bring us some tea to help, and we can even have the royal staff bring us some outfits of your choosing if you like? Oo, we can even have our portrait painted!”

“Dia, I promise that I’m fine, you have more things to worry about than me-”

“Nonsense, MC. You’re what’s important to me, now and always. Don’t ever forget that.”

Even finished it with a hand kiss, UGH he really is a Prince Charming

Once you did return to RAD bruise free, Diavolo, being the gentleman that he is, walked with you everywhere in the beginning. Coming into the building, walking to class, lunch, even to the student council meeting, he was by your side. But he couldn’t avoid his duties forever (unfortunately), but he always made up for lost time afterwards

You never realized that when he wasn’t with you, someone else always was. Whether it be Lucifer who miraculously had spare time, or Barbatos who decided to escort you back to the castle to try a new recipe for his Lord, it was always one of them that stayed with you

Also, it never dawned on you why people were starting to be so nice to you. You thought it was because of what happened, not paying attention to how tense they would get, the fear in their eyes. You did notice that the demon who caused your fall never came back to class, and their desk is starting to collect dust...

When you did ask Diavolo about it, he just pat your head and said that what happened was unacceptable and that the demon has been dealt with accordingly.

You don’t need to hear about what really happened to them, he doesn’t want to scare you or taint your innocence! But he doesn’t mind if anyone else hears it, he’ll be more than happy to explain in full detail what happened and what will happen to demons that even think about attempting to harm you or think that he’s “too soft”. They won’t think he’s a soft ruler after that

Diavolo is a very sweet man, one that treats you as if you’re ruling by his side as his partner and one that you never have to be scared of, but even you didn’t miss the deadly glint in his eyes whenever he spoke about that demon...

But enough about that, he wants to try that new recipe that you made just for him!

He enjoys the time that he gets to spend with you, and after this, you’ll be in his company a lot more. He can’t risk having this happen again to his love- I MEAN favorite exchange student right?

#obey me x reader #obey me reader insert #obey me #obey me swd #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me levi x reader #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me satan x reader #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me asmo x reader #obey me beelzebub x reader #obey me beel x reader #obey me belphegor x reader #obey me belphie x reader #obey me diavolo x reader

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lovee-infected · 4 years

Note

Hello!! Can I request headcanons about gn mc who got sick (with fever or something to the point they can't go to school) and the twst boys decided to visit and take care of them? I've always enjoyed your headcanon! Thank you!!

Riddle Rosehearts

He's got much of a weak immune system himself so he's usually prepared for unexpected situations like this. He knows what to do.

Just lay back against your pillow, do exactly as he says and you'll return to full health in no time

He'd probably be really angry if he finds you out of bed without his permission or spending too much time over your phone and reading books; he insists on you resting and much as possible.

He agrees on being possibly a -bit- over protective but he doesn't mind. If this will do any good at your healing process then he's more than okay with it.

Whenever you tell him to stop over stressing himself because of you he just goes: " Me ? Over stressing? Of course not! If you wish me to be calmer than I already am, then stop playing around and rest well till you get better."

He truly does work his hardest for you while you need him, from takings notes of what has been teached during your absence to spending at least 2 hours a day with you, making sure that nothing goes wrong.

As the strict leader of Heartslabyul, he usually spends most of the day watching over students and checking whether they are doing good at school and exams or not, but for now he cuts back on these responsibilities to take care of you. He may not shout that out loudly, but he always puts you before any other responsibilities he might have. Perhaps he enjoys spending time with you just as much as he enjoys having fresh strawberry tarts.

Trey Clover

You were still trying to catch up with the classes but Trey just knew that it'd be too much. It was him who made you forget about the school and instead, rest in your room.

You are a bit stressed out about not being able to take care of your chores, but thankfully he is there for you. He isn't known as heartslabyul's mother for no reason, make sure that he knows how to caress and pamper you better than anyone else.

Aside checking on you every day and bringing you additional medicines and food, he makes sure to collect notes of everything that is teached during your apsence so you won't have problems catching up with the studies afterwards . No need to mention that his cooking on the other hand is stunning, 5 star chef Trey at your service.

He understands that it might be a bit boring laying down in bed without anyone to talk to, so he often comes to you as you need someone to talk to and also brings you your favorite books to read so you won't get any bored when he can't be there.

He never says a word to make you feel any bad or frustrating about being nursed by him, instead he knows how to motivate you to get better even sooner: " Nursing you is absolutely adorable, but I don't want my dear (y/n) stuck in a bed all day while I'm willing to show you way more exciting things than a just couple of books,"

Cater Diamond

Clones, clones and clones :Time to get to work! The best part with it is that he can always make sure to have at least one of his clones watching over you even if he's busy with school or stuff, not that he lets you know what he's doing though.

You wonder why Cater's staying with you 24/7, as a third year student, isn't he supposed to be like, really busy with studying? Cater assures you that there's nothing to worry about, and it seriously isn't. He can always catch up with everything even his actual self stays all night at yours.

While his use of clones might seem a bit tricky, he still makes sure to provide you with anything you as long as you're sick need and even more: Bringing you roses and chibi, stuffed animals as gifts, along with sweet chill chats whenever you're awake, sending you soft love quotes with a bunches of colorful hearts and kisses via text even as he's right beside you, He enjoys how you'll need to look up your messages to see what he texts you allthough he's sitting just a few meters away from you. Aw, the way you blush whenever youlok at your phone, how cute~

Ace Trappola

What's the purpose of going to school when he does not understand a single word of it while his mind is all stuck on you? What are doing now? Are you fine? Does your chest Still hurt? Has your pain gotten any worse? Is there someone with you right now? What if you need help??

He's about to lose his mind, he tries asking someone free to check on you but there doesn't seem to be such a person available at the moment. 'That's it , I'll go on my own'

With the help of the year gang ( Jack, Deuce and Epel) he fakes breaking his leg during a PE session and yeets off the school for an entire week. YES!

He is moving to your place for a couple of days and Deuce will cover up for him whenever someone asks where Ace is.

Ace just knows that you're sick, he isn't sure of the exact name or type of your illness. On his way to yours, he fills a bag with anything he finds at Heartslabyul's cabinets with any title as -medicine- for you. He'll later look for the right one you need between them.

When you get to look into what he has brought, you aren't sure if he's kidding or not and when you ask, Ace realizes that he's really goofed up: what he actually brought was nothing else than animal medicines, and he he literally brought you each and every of them existing in Heartslabyul; how come didn't he see the pets/only label-??

You're lucky that you already have your medicines prepared, so you tell him not to worry about it. He feels so damn embarrassed wanting to melt into earth right now, but you have to admit he really lifted up your mood. You're happy to have your cute, Crabby-haired idiot besides you while you're sick, and he tries his best to help you with cooking and making sure of you taking your right medicines on time to make up for the mess he made on his first day:" Ehehe...at least...you can use some of them when Grim gets sick, right ?"

Deuce Spade

He really wants to stay there taking care of you but... he has to go to school as well. He has to get much higher grades this semester if he doesn't want to have to spend another year as a first year.

He can't skip any of classes, but promises to spend the rest of his day after school.

He rushes with his school uniform still on to your place, not wanting to be even a second late . He has to carry some casual clothes along with his books since he wants to stay over nights if you need him.

Due to get getting in trouble a lot back at the time, he's rather educated in medical field so he knows much and less of what he'll need to do as you're sick?

His cooking isn't something he can rely on so he goes to Trey, telling that he needs some soup for Ace since he seems to be looking a bit sick lately?

He prepares your food, brings you warm towels, repeatedly checks your body temperature and when you're finally asleep, gets to his own studies. He ends up Having fewer than 3 hours of night sleep multiplr times and once, he didn't get any sleep at all.

He tries his hardest to look his best in front of you so you won't notice how terrible he actually is; when you question the bags under his eyes, he claims them to be left from the mascara which a couple of guys put on him a few days ago for fun and consistently laughs. Damn, this boy doesn't even know how to lie huh? He is literally dying, but he won't tell you a word. He can handle worse...

When you finally return to full health you realize how terrible he's been doing lately and you take rule of his nurse this time. Making sure that your cinnamon roll would finally get some sleep.

Leona Kingscholar

"My room, now". You look way too terrible to be able to make it to the classes therefore he has to make sure that you won't do anything stupid while you need to be taking some rest.

Bringing you to his own room wasn't his main intention since he just wanted to keep an eye on you but couldn't afford to visit you everyday if you didn't live any close to him so, easiest solution to the problem would be you staying with him.

He lets you use his bed but keeps on reminding you that it's just because you're sick so you better not be expecting such things to ever happen again. He would fall asleep in less than a minute at whatever he lays his head on, so sleeping on the ground isn't as hard as it seems. He just had to make sure that you would't step on him or his tail when you walk out of the bed.

He can ask Ruggie to nurse you and all, but decides to do most of your stuff on his own because it'd be a lot worse if Ruggie too gets sick. Sharing the same room with you has already put him on a pretty high infection risk so, that wouldn't really matter if he's the one nursing you or not. He doesn't really mind getting sick either, a free chance to take some days off school and chill; why not ?

He turns out to be pretty good with board games and there's no need to worry about getting bored while you can go for 100+ chess matches with Leona winning you each and every time; a bit ironic, but entertraining nonetheless.

He's actually really enjoying spending time with you, but isn't really expressing it. The only time when he actually shows some direct affection is when he plants secret kisses on your forehead as you're asleep.

Ruggie Bucchi

He has grown up in an awfully poor family with multiple siblings, so he's pretty familiar to the pain of seeing those you hold dear sick .He has turned into a not only responsible but also supportive boy toward friends and family, so you can make sure that he can take the best care of you while you're sick.

Perhaps his only problem is...Leona. He'd need Ruggie around even during school time and the hyena boy can't even have a full 30 minutes away from him which makes it impossible for Ruggie to take his time checking on you at least once a day.

Well, he has to find a way to babysit both of you at the same time so, -Let's take you to his own room-

Great ! He no longer needs to worry now that he can take care of you both. Leona too agrees on you staying at his as long as you don't cause any trouble.

Poor Ruggie has to sleep on the floor but assure you that he rarely gets to be the one sleeping on bed back in the home so, he is kinda used to sleeping on the cold ground.

He knows how to cook? Much and and less of it but who cares? He just asks you what you want and returns with it in 30 minutes; guess why: Because he'd just borrow the food from someone else. He doesn't mind his dirty ways indeed, you're sick so, you're more important than some dude wanting to chill on his food during lunchtime.

He just takes a list of medicines you may need and returns with all of them in his bag. He has to come at the right time on his own every time you have to take any of them since you'd most likely either fall asleep or forget to take them on time.

Enjoy your time with him, because it's gonna be a real luxury. He'd treat you nothing less than the way he treats Leona as he's sick so, you may consider yourself a part of a royal family at his service.

Jack Howl

Fluffy tsundere wolf is ready to give up on all he's got for you, what on earth might be sweeter than this ?

The moment, no, the second he realizes that you're not feeling well, Jack would immediately take you to the nurse office to see if you're. It's such a relief that it isn't thst serious, all you need to do is to take some rest.

Meanwhile you're resting in bed, he'll do the shopping and asks the kitchen for some soup ( You're sick you can't have too salty or sweet foods like normal cafeteria meals ) He gives up on his own meal to get some for you instead, it's just hunger of course he can handle it.

He feeds you and makes sure that you'll finish your entire meal, reminds you to take your medicines on time, brings you your favorite books to read and, most importantly, listens to... anything you'd ask him for.

He hardly ever lets anyone touch his ears or tail but if it's you, why not? You even fall asleep hugging his tail like a doll and he just patiently waits for you to wake up, blushing as he appreciates how cute you look while asleep.

Damn he has to keep the distance otherwise he as well would end up being sick but, it just seems impossible to say no when you ask for cuddles.

Jack tells you stories of his home town and national legends making your mouth drop in fascination. His stories seem to amaze him just as they amaze you and it makes him unbelievably happy to see you liking things he's been appreciating all over his life.

He even gets to the point of talking about his will to become all mighty and strong just like the magicians he looks up to, especially Leona. Just watching his strength gives you the will to overcome your illness and be at least a bit like Jack; he's really great, isn't he?

Azul Ashengrotto

No no no- Unacceptable! You shouldn't be sick, you shouldn't -get- sick- He told you to watch what you eat and what you wear as it's raining out there - HE TOLD YOU A MILLION TIMES- But now what? You are sick.

Azul panicks, he keeps on exaggerating the whole thing even if it's just a normal cold. He just isn't the type to easily deal with sicknesses. Whenever he catches a cold, it'll take him weeks to return to full health due to how weak his body is and, he's so worried about you being the same.

Soup, warm water bath, Medicines , magic potions to reduce the fever, ultimate revival spells... he showers you in all of them. Even if the virus won't kill you Azul's overprotection will most likely do, and he'll get really mad if you tell him that he's exaggerating it.

When you regain half of your full health, you ask him to let you return to school and- He immediately pits you back in bed: "No leavings, not until you're done with this troublesome fever or whatever."

You feel like an adult forced to stay in a cradle and wear diapers meanwhile Azul thinks that you're too naive to take your health seriously.

When you finally manage to pull him over, you realize how sick and pale he's gotten since you got sick. The bags under his eyes proved that he hasn't been getting much of sleep recently. "God what have you done to yourself-"

You finally tell him that he's the one who needs help , not you. You plant a kiss on his cheek and force his head to your lap, wanting him to get some sleep. He slowly understands that he might've been taking it a bit too seriously, but since you are fine now, he's kinda glad that he took it hard on you. He just wants you to be safe and sound; even if his it's going to cost his own health on the first placd.

Jade Leech

Humans get sick? It's pretty rare of aquatic creatures, especially eels to get sick so Jade's pretty new to this . 'wow , pathetic , aren't humans?' he thinks . Well anyway he can't just stand back and make fun humans while you seem to be in serious pain, but what can he do? He still has a lot to learn about human life and it's his first time having one of them sick, oh man.

Well, they tell that you should get some...rest ? Well maybe he should take you to bed. First step done , let's go for the rest. He blocks several of his classmates in the corners asking for... information. He simply takes notes . Possibly useful medicines and meals, hours of sleeping, allowed activities, useful tips, warnings, etc.

He has to read the list several times to make sure that he's got it all right. Let's nurse (y/n).

He unexpectedly goes from 0 to 100 like bam- bye eel boy hello nurse Leech. He'll turn your room into a hospital room, a good one though, filled with dolls and flowers and anything he was told to add because they send away positive vibes.

His cooking on the other hand is amazing. He'll look for several light meals for sick bodies but- chooses those which match your tastes . You can't help but to love everything he cooks . Chef's kiss.

He changes your bed pillow and cloths everyday, returning with washed, silky pillows and covers . A warm, smooth bed is what you need for a good sleep.

If there was such a status he would've been the god of nursing; wow you would've needed pay him off a lot for his service if he wasn't giving it all to his darling for free.

When you finally regain your health, he just has one more question left to ask before leading you to your daily classes: "Now now dear, would you mind rating me , and my nursing service?"

seem like he's really curious to see whether he's done it correctly or not.

Floyd Leech

Things seem so uncool when you're not as energetic as always , pale skin as if you're choking on lack of oxygen and bizarreness in your movements like a doll, smh, so boring.

Just like Jade, he's pretty new to surface life and watching you bear with illness looks pretty weird in his eyes?

When Jade, finally, informs him on what exactly happens to human body while struggling with an illness and what he must do to you to get rid of this annoying mode, he understands. Floyd still finds human's body shitty for how weak it is but decides to use Jade's words as a guide to deal with you.

A warm bed, fluffy pillows and stuffed animals, these seemed to be enough for step one: Enough of rest and sleep. He can't blame you on this one though, sleeping is always amazing. Something that never gets boring. Everything seems to be pretty fine to begin with, sadly it won't last any longer than a few hours-

He's told to bring you food, but when he returns with 4 bags filled with chocolate, candy, soda and chips; it's obvious that he didn't get the point correctly. Jade explains that your body is still way to weak for too salty or sweet foods, even highly cooked meals would worsen your immune system and make it take much longer to be healed.

Floyd goes for a second pick up and this time: this time returns with raw potatoes and frozen meat- Raw potatoes and frozen meat-. Well, he just followed everything Jade told him...? Neither too salty nor to sweet, and raw because Jade told him not to bring over-cooked stuff. Even if the virus did you no harm you would've probably died under his food selections if Jade wasn't there to stop him...

While his food choices might be horrible, Floyd's still one of the best mutuals you can have close when you aren't feeling well. With him beside you, giggling and chuckling as he rambles on how boring his day was, you've got to admit that you'd rarely feel sick when he's around. Although you're sick at the moment, nothing seems to have changed between the two of you, he enjoys spending time with you now just as much as he enjoys it when you're all safe and sound.

Well...maybe he can't be the best nurse you'd get to have , but one thing's for sure: No one can ever make you laugh like he does and, you know what say: Laughter is the best medicine~

Kalim al asim

He can't be any more worried, he stresses out whenver a friend is sick and now, it's not just a friend, it's -you-, one of the dearest and closest ones Kalim had ever had; just how can he keep calm ???

He is being raised under severe health protection and hardly ever catches even a simple cold, several people had taught him strict health routines and he had to follow them all over his life, so he is considerably familiar with ways of overcoming and illness , and that's what he's here for!

Jamil forbids him from cooking since it's too dangerous if he needs to use any knifes, but that wouldn't hold him back from finding enormous food recipes based on your favorite condiments to make your meal more pleasant.

He makes sure to prepare anything you need in a matter of seconds, golden peacock or 5000 camels, doesn't matter ! He's got way more than enough and what use would be better than giving them to you?

He can take care of you on his own, but Jamil insists on Kalim leaving it all to him and stay away from you as much as possible (No need to mention the high risk of infection for Kalim since he's almost sticking to you all the time)

Jamil as well would caress you meanwhile you rest at Scarabia (Right, Kalim proudly brought you there ) and Kalim, makes sure to stay close to you as much as he can, mostly when Jamil isn't around to tell him off- He doesn't want to put Jamil in more trouble but, you are his first priority.

You're bound to your bed, but just having Kalim around brings way more fascinating adventures than what you might get to see out there. His stories really do show you to a whole new world and takes the pain in your lungs and chest way further that your mind could catch . Perhaps Kalim is he one and only who can make your mind fly, even as your body's laying lifelessly in bed.

Jamil Viper

For the first time, someone stressed him out more than Kalim always does. He's always expecting to be scared to death because of him, but because of you? Damn he didn't see this coming.

Depending on what your illness is, he manages to freak out even more or clam himself down to his sane self, but the main point is how he's got to serve you all the best until you're totally safe.

He soon prepares any kind of medicine and chemical you may need and you have to use them all properly, don't even think of rejecting any single one of them otherwise Jamil would force feed you: "Don't be such a baby, you won't get any better unless you have these"

Just like Azul, he might be a bit overprotective with your health since he doesn't even let you leave the bed for more than a few minutes. He insists on you avoiding any sort of activities that may be tiring or heavy to your body.

To be honest, the thought of using his snake whisper on you when you don't behave or ask him to stop being so strict over a simple illness crosses his mind. Luckily, he refuses to use it. You're still his lover that'd be too heartless of him to take advantage of you like this just because you can't see how much he loves you.

He needs to keep the distance, but has to admit that it can be really hard to avoid hugging and kissing all over your face when you're gazing at him with that sweet smile.

Having you close makes Jamil realize how affectionate he actually is: How much he misses the healthy and happy you who he was never in a danger. Well maybe this nursing days gives him a lesson to at least try to have some sweeter time with you while you are all safe and sound - and not tiredly laying in your bed.

Vil Schoenheit

You can consider yourself nothing less than a Prince/ Princess when Vil of all people is caressing you. Your body is still way too weak to have control of anything going on in your life at the moment, and that's how Vil takes control over all of them- all in your life. Which means that you now have to live and do as he wishes.

He will take no effort in turning you into one of the fairest of all students in school (Not that you'll ever reach him though) as long as he can have his eyes over you. His rules are way more than just -beauty- ; just as he can be the all fair and powerful Queen who steps on you, he knows how to play the role of the nurse like a Queen would do~

A royal maiden is only to serve the royal family, so it's time to show how much of a princess /prince you can be in bed. You don't need to worry about your medicines or meals since Vil's always organized and on time with them, not to mention that his cooking too seems to be pretty good. He uses light yet, nutritious recipes that you'd enjoy and you're really surprised because these kinds food don't really look tasty.

Perhaps he just needed an excuse all this time to get this close to you, so he can take care of anything he's been dreaming to do with you all this time. Pedicure and manicure, trying on new fruit masks, resting face and body muscles to have a smoother, cleaner skin, etc.

Your room is a beauty salon at this point and you usually forget that you're actually sick.

He works on not only your physical beauty but also your manners, he doesn't care if you're sick or not . It's the best time to take away your poor manners and habits.

Well the scary Queen has got his own soft spots too; while indirectly giving you beauty lessons, he enjoys teasing you as you sometimes look pretty naive and new to all dos and don'ts of a high-level life like his, and he's more than pleased to teach you: "Pull yourself together , potato."

Rook Hunt

He isn't really into the whole nursing game but- If it's an opportunity to stalk caress and admire you all night, why not?

He is lowkey familiar with the basics so, it isn't supposed to be that difficult to handle . Finding pills and medicines isn't hard either since they can all be found at mister S's shop. ( He would've liked it better if he had to get them from a moster or something, anything more adventurous)

Though he doesn't really like quiet and safe journeys he'd actually appreciate it if it's with you. And of course, he won't let anyone else take advantage. Let it just be with the two of you and all~

He isn't about to hurt or scare you in any sort way; it's true that he just loves it when things get a bit dangerous but, he knows how to manage excitement as well. You want him to be a soft gentleman? Then that's what he's going to be.

Rook would be the softest Rook you could've ever imagined when he plays the nurse. It can't even be called nursing: It's about a passionate lover spending all his time with his darling who isn't feeling well. Even his expressions are taken to a totally different level, the mysterious smile he always puts on is replaced with a worried and, mildly sad gaze that makes your heart melt.

Might sound too dramatic bug he may even sing you to sleep. Sweetest words ever dancing to the rhythm of his unique accent that make your cheeks hurt at trying not to blush. This isn't the only drama he's up to though, even his normal speaking often ends up with your mind drowning in feelings. He won't bother giving you soft kisses on hand and forehead when you don't expect it. He likes surprising you, even if it's in a romantic way.

And...the real Rook, is only out when you're asleep. Sitting on a chair just a few inches away from your bed, a pair of eyes carefully follow the pace of your chest as it rises and falls. He's never tired, a huntsman gets no sleep as long as his prey's close by. Wow, if sweetness is all he needed to approach you, then he should give it a try more often~

Epel Felmier

His first reaction to hearing of you being sick is summarised in :Gasping, Blushing, Questioning, Sad puppy eyes. "It's just a simple fever...right? (Y/n) will soon be better..." , Epel confronts himself. He isn't getting overly emotional, but when it comes to you, he does have a sensitive spot.

At first, it is his anxiety over your health that makes him want to come over to your house to check up on you everyday but , it soon ends up being more serious. What if this is an opportunity to prove his reliability? You'd finally get to see how much of a strong and helpful man he can be. Even as he looks soft.

While Epel's trying his hardesr to seem a tough as possible, you can't help but to adore his cuteness as he is doing his best while you're sick. He bakes you the best of apple pies you've ever had and you have to admit; being sick can't hold you back from enjoying the sweet taste of fresh, caramelized baked apples melting in your mouth.

Growing up to be a country boy, he never really relied on chemicals as a useful cure to any illnesses. He's more into organic ways of helping human body into regaining its lost energy, which can be put as : 1) Healthy food 2) Enough of sleep and rest 3) Lifted up spirits and enough of humor. He'd be really protective over the last option, he wants to make sure that your self-esteem and spirits would be way better than ever

He has to keep the distance, but some small cuddles would not hurt, right? Perhaps some small forehead kisses before bedtime too. He's still pretty uncomfortable with kisses but, since you're sick...that can be counted as an exception.

Idia Shroud

He's been away from humanity for too long; long enough to almost forget that humans get sick. Robots sometimes have their codings crashed or their gears damaged, that's when they'll need an engineer to repair them . How did the cure system work with humans?? He can't really remember. Due to spending time with almost nobody except Ortho (who happens to be a robot) and hardly ever leaving his room and as the result, barely getting sick, Idia is pretty new to human body's metabolism; he isn't sure of what he might be able to do for you. But, humans have something called...immune system, right? Ah something that heals body on its own. Well maybe relying on that would be enough.

He decides to give you some far distance support instead of comimg all way down to your dorm . He can't be any more happier of technology's existence for such cases. Your immune system can heal you on its own, all he've got to do is to send some motivation your way. The summary of most of his extremely motivational texts would be : "What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger! Keep it up (y/n)!!👊✨💥" and when you reply telling him how terrible you're feeling he'd just try to look for strongers sentences-

He repeatedly mistakes humans and robots and accidently texts you:" why don't you get someone to repair you?" several times. Then goes to bang his head against the wall realizing how dumb he's acting.

When you get worse he gives up. Maybe those sentences wasn't enough of motivation . Idia really does want to come visit you in person but he seems to be bound to his area. Well at least, Ortho isn't, right? He comes up with a way better idea to program Ortho to take care of you while Idia can't do it himself. He copied hundreds of anatomy, human biology and medicine to Ortho's data list. Well that seems to be enough. He can now cook, wash clothes, brings you your medicines and most importantly, remain by your side all the time as you may need help. Idia puts s small camera on Ortho so he'd be able to watch what's going on as long as you need Ortho's his help. He feels quite guilty for not showing up on his own but- maybe it's just better this way. Coming in person would do no good but him freaking out at not knowing what to do which would end up in making you feel worse. Long distance watch as he controls Ortho around is way better, even if he has to keep his eyes on tablet 24/7. He cuts back on his sleeping to make sure that nothing would go wrong. Even long distance watch seems to be stressful at this point...

He does care about you, a lot, but right now, he's no prepared to show physical affection. Let him show his love through his very own ways, he's just taking baby steps with you <3

Malleus Draconia

"Now now little one, don't give in so easealy. I know you're stronger than this..." Malleus motivates you. You certainly aren't going to die just because of a simple fever but still, wow. Humans -are- truly weak and fragile. He shouldn't really be caring for a mortal being especially if it's a human, but you are an 'exception'; you always are.

He could just leave you to Lilia and Sebek and you would've been under their watch and care 24/7, but he prefers to do this on his own since you are his favorite creature. He doesn't mind seeing how you'd overcome the pain even if it's with a simple cold. He wants to get more of you and your expressions.

He doesn't really have much to do, magic can do it all. All it takes to turn your depressing room into a prince/princess's dreamy bedroom is a twist of a finger. Go on and tell him what you want , you shall have in within a second. "All the best for you, child of man~"

While his significant magic skills are all truly stunning and helpful, his presence on his own seems to be the best part of him nursing you. He is your tsunotarou, afterall~ Not the descendant of Mistress of all Evil but only when it comes to you.

Sometimes he'd make you wish you'd stay in bed forever and ever, all to have him here, by your side. Just to have his soft, slender fingers brushing against your cheek and playing with the tip of your hair.

He does talk, but most of the time being is spent in silence since he doesn't want to bother you if it's hard for you to talk. He may pretend to be busy with something else but it's just to take your mind over the fact that he's watching you all the time. His small gestures are just as sensual as his words. Kisses on forehead, locking his dragon eyes with you , brushing your soft hair with hand as you lay on his shoulder (not that he cares about keeping the distance although you're sick. Your human illnesses are way too weak to do any harm to him, anyway~ )

His favorite time of the day is when you're asleep. You're adorable and lovely all time but, your sleeping pose, it's unimaginably beautiful to him. Watching your calm face empty of any emotion followed by the calm, yet, organized pace in your breathing as your chest falls and rises. He barely gets any sleep during the night, he doesn't need it. Watching you is way more pleasing: "Sweet dreams, my precious little human~"

Lilia Vanrouge

The most experienced, dedicated nurse here. He's been raising many of baby faes and struggling with a young, fireball shooter baby Malleus over the years. Nursing a fragile ill human like you is no more than a warm-up for him.

Chill on your bed and let him take care of everything, from the warm towels to fluffy blankets and pillows. Smooth music playing in your room as you take short naps, plushies and teddy bears around your bed giving you feelings of a newborn baby sleeping in a warm and fancy bed.

That's not all, along with his professional nursing skills, having Lilia himself around would take it all to a whole new level. He is so full of contrasts; Young and old, quite and wild, wise and careless, serious and silly and probably hundreds of other adjectives you can name.

Where else would you find a nurse who'd play you your favorite rock tracks on his guitar in the afternoon while at night, brings you cookies and hot milk to have while listening to his old but -gold- stories before going to sleep?

Lilia has got it all, old, new, calm, wild, and perhaps that's how it's never boring when he's the one you are spending time with. 'Sickness with benefits' to call. But, don't forget his horrible cooking skills.

Better hide some canned food under your pillow to save yourself from starvation when he's not around, refuse to eat his food st any cost (otherwise you'll need another 2 week hospitalized because of food poisoning-)

Make sure to thank your adorable bat nurse when you're back to full health; even if your stomach's still in pain because of his nasty cooking.

Silver

It's...his first time taking care pf someone. He is neither experienced nor educated when it comes to human health... especially because of how he's been living with fairies (who barely get sick) all over his life. The only reliable source for him would be his own memories; how Lilia used to take care fo him when he was a child. There isn't much he can remember but that'd do

Nursing doesn't seem to be that hard when he actually gives it a try - Mostly about you sleeping all day. Wow if sleeping this much is considered to be a symptom of being sick, then Silver himself has to be sick as hell 24/7. He isn't really sure if that's concerning or not

He is doing good since he seems go be pretty responsible and calm toward the whole thing, but don't expect him to be on time.

Silver wants to make sure that you'll take your medicines on time but he often fails to. He oversleeps most of the time and when he's up, he'd panic knowing that you missed your hourly medicine again.

He'd lowkey feel frustrated and useless when he misses stuff because of his sleeping issues, especially when it comes to you. He have to go for a stronger method so, he ends up in using 7 different clocks and alarms to make sure that he won't miss anything anymore; you're sick. He has to do all his best to take care of you. Nobody matters more than you do. Alarm clocks he uses are freaking loud and give him a heart attack whenever he uses them to wake up. Poor guy would need a long sleep when you're better.

He often falls asleep next to your bed after making sure that you are having a peaceful night sleep. He places a goodnight kiss on your forehead lays his head at the bottom of your bed. Who knows, maybe he would dream of you tonight, again.

Sebek Zigvolt

There's no way that you'd ever come close to master Malleus but- he still cares for you, a lot. Perhaps as much as he cares for Malleus although he refuses to confess to it. He is trained and skilled for all possible emergencies so he's all prepared to take the best possible care of you and make sure that you'll return to full health in no time.

He just knows what he is doing and makes sure that things would run smoothly. He is keeping each and every aspect in consideration and can organize everything like no one else can. From your sleeping schedule to light exercises required as you're sick. He insists on you starting to develop a better life style so that you won't end up in bed and lose time like this.

It's nice to have someone keeping the balance of your life when you need it, but when it's Sebek we're talking about, know that he might go a bit -too far- with it. He'd be overly protective and strict while you need a considerable deal of sympathy and softness too since you're sick - He collects notes of everything that was teached while you were sick and brings them to you to study, telling you that it'd be impossible to keep up with the rest of the lessons unless you study them right now, in your bed. And when you complain of it being hard to read and sit due to how weak your body is, he returns with the solution: Audio books (He isn't giving up... deal with it )

Studying isn't your only issue: he's being protective over each and every muscle you move. He'd wake you up early in the morning for a light, morning work out and doesn't let you out of the bed for the rest of the day. Whenever you complain, that's what his answer would be: " Master Lilia has blessed me with these , gloriously impressive lessons he's learned through experiences within his long- lasting life!! I believe in his words from the bottom and there's surely no cure greater than this if he says so" poor boy isn't considering he possibility of Lilia tricking him again at all.

This puppy means good, even if he fails to show it as great as you might be expecting him to. In fact he is just following all that he's told to, meanwhile he's pretty inexperienced and new to it. You may find it a bit unfair but, consider that he would've never gone out of his way to take care of you for plenty of hours everyday if it wasn't for you (Or Malleus-) seeing you sad on its own gives him wet puppy vibes let alone having you sick . He may act like a coward but, it's all because of how much you mean to him.

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laurelsofhighever · 3 years

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Alistair x f!Cousland AU

SPOILERS FOR THE FALCON AND THE ROSE

Almost two years after civil war nearly tore Ferelden apart, Alistair has settled into his role as king despite the cost of the victory. Having come to Orlais to lead trade talks with Empress Celene and representatives from the Free Marches, he hopes to build a stronger future for his people. But grief and guilt still haunt him, the expectations placed on his shoulders cut deep, and to top it all off, there's a stranger in the Winter Palace with the power to shatter his world once again.

With a sigh, the King of Ferelden stared down at the mask in his hands, the red dye a match to the velvet of his cloak and the rich fabric in the rest of his clothes, the royal colours of the Theirin line, and the finely tooled likeness of a mabari snarling out of the leather in an elegant snub for the rules of the Game. A king’s mask ought to be made of gold, after all, as a way to reflect his station, but that scandal would be nothing to the one he planned to cause by not wearing it over his face. Already from below, strains of soft, unobtrusive music drifted above the murmur of voices gathered in the vaulted ballroom of Halamshiral’s Winter Palace, preluding the night’s extravagance. He couldn’t delay much longer in wading into that seething, perfumed mass, however much he wanted to.

Next to him, Fergus Cousland stood arrayed in similar finery. The golden Laurels embroidered into the deep blue velvet of his doublet marked his identity as the Teyrn of Highever, and the shadowed line between his dark brows revealed that his eagerness to attend the party just about matched that of Alistair himself. He caught the king looking, saw the fidget betrayed in his fingers, and drew in a weary breath.

“These talks might be just what it takes to secure lasting peace with Orlais,” he offered, an empty repetition of Alistair’s other advisors. “It’s more than Cailan ever hoped for.”

The king’s lip curled. “You and I both know that’s not the real reason I’m here. I could have left that stuff to Élodie.”

The Arlessa of South Reach had proven a capable ambassador in the time since the end of the civil war against Loghain, using her connections in the Orlesian court to divert the potential wave of old resentments that would have sought to take advantage of Ferelden’s instability as it recovered. It was thanks to her efforts that dignitaries from every Marcher port across the Waking Sea had gathered under the auspicious gaze of Empress Celene in the hopes of formalising a network of trade throughout southern Thedas, and no doubt she was already gliding through their ranks, smoothing the way for her liege lord to grace the crowd and start all the ladies fawning.

Too used to the hopes of noble daughters tilting for a throne, he doubted much of the flattery would be genuine. The only change to the usual pursuit was the fact that Celene now numbered among the hunting party, her desire to win him for herself and Orlais all but common knowledge. At their first meeting that afternoon she had been perfectly polite, but the weight of her gaze on the back of his head as he was shown out to his own apartments had sent a shiver like the lick of cold rain down his spine, and the thought of what she would do with any kind of sovereign power over Ferelden had thoroughly put him off his lunch. There had been a time when, in the entrance hall of Redcliffe Castle and with the warning of a witch ringing in his ears, he had told Rosslyn that the idea of being dangled like bait for political advantage disgusted him. And she had understood his distaste, had reached for his hand with softness in her eyes. He had kissed her hand that night, for the first time.

A sympathetic look from Fergus dragged him out of his contemplation, but thankfully he chose not to repeat the platitudes that had taken to following the king like footprints.

It’s been over a year, almost two, Teagan had scolded. We allowed you time to mourn but you must think of what is best for this country.

Only Fergus really understood. He was the only one in the same position, a lord with a domain left unsecured by the lack of an heir, with those roundabout all but scoffing at his lack of stomach to get one. Shared pain and politics had drawn them together after the army’s return from Ostagar, and now, aside from being a staunch ally in the Landsmeet, he was one of the few Alistair could class as a true friend.

“If I could spurn my duty in this, I would,” he said now.

“But you’re a Cousland.” Humour bled into Alistair’s voice, cold and tinged with grief. “I notice Karyna chose not to come.”

Fergus let his eyes fall closed. “She… ended things between us. She said she wanted to focus on her clinic, but I think part of it was wanting to get out of my shadow, and the expectations of…” a wave of his hand “all of this.”

“I’m sorry.”

He had once broached the subject of changing the law to allow mages to marry, but Fergus had refused, pointing out that what Ferelden needed after a year mired in civil war was stability, not an Exalted March called down because its new king wished to flout the Maker’s supposed Word. Too many would have accused him of playing favourites, too many more who would have raged against the idea of a mage being raised above them – even if Karyna Amell herself came from a line of Marcher nobles. She might be a talented healer dedicated to her people, kind, loyal, and level-headed, but none of that mattered to those who saw any unshackled mage as a prelude to the return of ancient Tevinter.

Fergus waved away his concern and set his own mask in place, pushed back from his forehead. “Let’s get this over with.”

When they appeared at the top of the stairs, the noise level in the whole room dimmed like a door closing on the roar of a great wind. All eyes turned to follow their progress into the melee as Guard-Commander Morrence, Alistair’s right-hand and bodyguard, peeled away from her post by the door and fell into line one pace behind her charge as a dour, watchful shadow. Curtseys and coquettish giggles fluttered up to them, but Alistair ignored them in favour of searching out the form of Élodie Bryland, smiling out from the crowd. Like the rest of the Fereldan entourage, she wore her mask as an accessory rather than a second face, the emerald green of South Reach’s colours rich against her blonde hair.

He felt like a ram walking into a den of blightwolves in broad daylight. Even after so long, so many days he could no longer count them from memory, a shard of his heart stirred in the tattered remains of his chest at the unbidden thought of Rosslyn’s disdain for his current company, the tight, tiny smirk she would have worn hidden at the corner of her mouth for only him to see. Her face was beginning to blur in his mind, but the reminder only ever added more layers to the pain. The pieces flaked away one after the other like rust on a forgotten monument – the sound of her laugh, her scent, the exact shade of her eyes – and every time he noticed another detail by its absence he found himself dragged back to the ruins of Ostagar, staring across the precipice into the void all over again.

Dwelling on his loss amidst the glamour of the Orlesian court would not be wise, however, so he shook himself into courtesy as he followed along after Élodie, smiled at every breezed introduction, and let himself slip into the easy gentility that had so far served him well as king. The meandering currents of conversation carried both him and Fergus at a steady pace to the other side of the vaulted entrance hall, where his left-hand waited for them.

“Ah, there’s my favouritest sneaky person in the world,” he called out when he got close enough for his voice to carry. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself?”

Leliana’s red hair flashed like a beacon as she turned towards him. Unlike Ferelden’s ambassador, she carried her mask on a stick in her gloved hands, and she twirled it up to cover the purse of her smile as she answered. “Your Majesty – Your Lordship. This is a grand assembly tonight, no? Little compares to the full splendour of the Winter Palace.”

“At least not in the way of architecture,” he answered genially. To be polite, he let his gaze wander the rows of gilt pillars with their garlands of blush-roses, the delicate silk streamers hanging from the crystal chandelier. Even more than Élodie, who was Orlesian by birth, Leliana fit in with the glitter, the jewels and the compliments that cut sharper than daggers, and put together, the two of them made a formidable team.

Especially when they joined forces against him.

“Your Majesty, if you will permit me, may I present Lady Ellana Pontival, younger sister to Vicomte Tremane Pontival, and Lady Cassandra Pentaghast, seventy-eighth in line for the throne of Nevarra and the Right-Hand of the Most Holy Divine Beatrix.”

Turning his gaze to the two women, Alistair dipped his head in a customary greeting. If Leliana had set out to find the two most contrasted people in the room, then she had probably succeeded; where one lady seemed about to drown in her layers of ruffled lace and pastel silks, the other cut an austere, imposing figure in the formal uniform of a Seeker of Truth, and like the Fereldans, she went unmasked. The ever-watchful Eye of the Maker, cut through with the Sword of Mercy, peered out from a pin clasped to her shoulder, a sullen reminder that if things had been different, the King of Ferelden would have ended up a templar instead.

“With so many connections, you must be used to parties like this,” he tried. The Seeker held herself with the economy of a soldier at ease, but the pinpoint of her onyx gaze made him itch.

“Hardly,” she said, in low, rich tones. “I am here at the request of Most Holy, who appreciates the unprecedented nature of this gathering. I myself am used to less… lavish surroundings.”

“But how do you find it so far, Majesté?” interrupted Lady Ellana. “Do you find it pleasing?”

He decided not to remark on the breathy quality to her voice, nor the sidelong way she was looking at him, and shrugged. “That would depend on whether we’ll soon have any sign of those – what are they called – cannapays?”

Leliana chuckled. “I’m afraid Your Majesty’s appetite will have to be content for now.”

“I’ve never known a society where it was considered polite not to feed your guests.”

“If one is full of too much heavy food, one cannot properly enjoy the dancing,” Élodie chided, laying a hand on his arm and less amused than her counterpart at his deliberate butchery of her native language.

“Ah.” He suppressed a grimace. “Yes. That.”

The indomitable Lady Ellana pressed forward with a flutter of her eyelashes. “Are you presently engaged, Majesté? For the first dance, I mean.”

Mostly to avoid meeting Fergus’ eye, Alistair cast his gaze out over the crowd. “Oh I’m sure someone has spoken for me.”

“I myself love nothing so much as dancing – and the waltz especially.” An elegant hand rose to cover a laugh. “So charming, yet so daring, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’ll take your word for it, my lady,” he replied with a forced smile. “It’s not one of my preferred pastimes.” The last time he had danced, it had been his wedding day. If he had known –

Lady Ellana gasped. “How tragic! That truly is a shame.”

The Seeker’s mouth twitched.

“I understand your ascension to society was fairly recent, perhaps you only have yet to acquire a taste for it. Perhaps the right partner –”

“I think it’s more to do with other demands on my time,” he interrupted. “Like keeping my people safe and fed. Besides, I prefer being outside.”

An uncertain silence met his words, discomfort at the bite in his tone that couldn’t be answered without causing a minor diplomatic incident.

Leliana recovered first. “The night is young and His Majesty is fond of modesty. I’m sure he will have time and attention for all those who wish it once his duties to his host are fulfilled.”

“Has Her Radiance arrived yet?” Fergus asked.

With a smile, Leliana nodded and motioned for them to follow her towards the doors of the grand ballroom. Neither she nor Élodie dared break their façades to scold him for being so taciturn, so Alistair pretended not to notice their silent disapproval. The cloying mixture of perfumes and sweat wafting through the hall, the crowd of heat from so many bodies in a confined space, all of it pressed on his already sour mood, and if he had to be rude to get out of an awkward conversation, what did he care? Whispers followed with the eyes on him, words just loud enough to catch his ear before darting back into the throng like birds flitting through a summer hedgerow. The speculative edge to them made him clench his teeth. There were insinuations, appraisals and judgements, musings on his preference for comme les chiens before the words dissolved every time into peals of muffled laughter.

“It’s almost enough to make a man jealous,” Fergus huffed at his side. “They didn’t even look at me. Not one pitying glance.” Time had healed most of the injuries he had taken in the months as Howe’s prisoner during the war, but some of the damage had been too much and too long neglected for even magic to fix; his cane tapped along the polished floor with every other step.

“How about next time I hide behind you?” Alistair asked. “You can do all the talking and I’ll stand and look aloof and interesting.”

“You just want an excuse to – what is it?”

He sensed a change in pressure in the eyes on him, an intensity of regard that set itself apart from that of the fawning mass seeking his attention. After almost two years on the throne, the concept of assassinations wasn’t entirely foreign, but as he watched Morrence scan the room he saw no sudden rise in tension to say she had spotted any maniacs with giant weapons about to pounce. A shadow did perhaps flash on the edge of his vision, but as he turned it was lost among the sea of faces waiting for acquaintances, for their turn to be announced, or for their own glimpse at dog-lord royalty.

He put the feeling from his mind. Empress Celene, resplendent in the purple and gold of House Valmont, stood at the far end of the ballroom above the sunken dancefloor and watched the obeisance of the people being announced, in the same way a fisher might wait with their spear poised to strike at a promising target. Already, dozens of couples mingled beneath the bright beeswax candles staving off the autumn dark outside, their fans held up to conceal the judgements passed on every newcomer.

When Alistair’s own turn to pace the length of the gauntlet came after a few moments of waiting, she smiled behind her mask and floated down the steps to meet him on an equal level, which only meant he got to see the avaricious gleam in her eye up close as she held out her hand. As he bent his head over it, he wondered if the look was meant to be alluring, but her fingers were cool and fine-boned under his, lacking callouses from swordwork, and the only thought that ran through his mind was that even when warmed by the fire a stone remained a stone.

“Majesté,” she crooned in delicately accented Common. “Be welcome. This meeting has been long anticipated.”

He had practiced his response for an hour in the mirror. “Thank you, Radiance. It is my hope that this moment can be the first step towards a better accord between our two nations.”

“It is ours as well. Please, join us in the gallery.” She turned. “And when the dancing starts, might we suggest the company of one of our ladies-in-waiting? They are all very accomplished dancers.”

“Uh…” He risked tripping over the considerable hem of Celene’s gown to a glance upward, to where three women of equal height watched the two of them from behind identical golden masks set with amethysts.

“Is this surprise?” the empress asked him, and laughed. “How very forward to expect a more prestigious partner so early in the evening. It seems the manners of Ferelden and Orlais have yet to fully understand one another.”

“Isn’t that why we’re both here?” he replied. “Though I have to confess, my mind wandered from the thought of dancing.”

“Oh? And where did it wander to?”

He nodded to the three attendants waiting at the top of the stairs. “It must get awkward on name-days if you can’t tell them apart.”

For the next half an hour, guests continued to trickle in as the mixed company watched from above, the steady ream of announcements and introductions keeping the threat of dancing at bay, and each name was accompanied by a whispered summary of all the associated scandals recounted by the waiting-women at Alistair’s side. He found their sameness disconcerting, as if at any moment they might steal away his mask and then ask which of them was hiding it under their skirts like a bait-and-switch scam in the marketplace.

When the castellan finally folded away his list of names and bowed an exit, the closest of Celene’s women reached up with a smile as thick and false as her makeup. “There is still some time until the dancing begins, Majesté – would you like to take a turn through the rest of the rooms while we wait?”

“Why not?” He forced a smile of his own. “Where do you think we should start?”

“Perhaps the long hall?” She began to steer him away from the rest of the party. “There are so many people you should meet!”

Before he could be disappeared entirely, he cleared his throat and called over his shoulder to Élodie. “We’ve been offered a tour of this fabulous palace,” he explained. “I don’t think we should miss it.”

“I am at Your Majesty’s disposal,” the ambassador replied, and stepped up to his other side

The tour turned out to be less a way to introduce him to Orlais’ finest and more a way to show him off as an accessory. With both Morrence and Élodie as chaperones to shield him from the worst of their dainty manners, he managed to stumble through pleasantries and inane topics of conversation, and even gave his opinion on Grand Duke Gaspard’s mission to quell giants in the Deauvin Flats without tying his tongue in any knots. He told bad jokes and people tittered behind their hands. In one room he was drawn into speculation about the merits of breeding nugs.

And throughout it all, the weight of the same mysterious scrutiny from before itched across his shoulders, making his clothes too tight, too coarse against his skin. Somebody watched him, or else he was in the first stages of some illness. In a move disguised as a readjustment of the faded leather bracers at his wrists, he checked the pair of daggers hidden in his sleeves, and then eyed the extra sword buckled at Morrence’s waist. Being his bodyguard permitted her to carry weapons where he could not, but he rarely went unarmed himself and the idea of being completely defenceless struck him as foolish – and so, the compromise, with the strict understanding that Maric’s runed blade would stay sheathed except in direst need.

The feeling followed him back to the dancefloor as the castellan announced the first cotillion and a charming smile appeared before him, attached to a name and a title that he forgot instantly. When the first notes cascaded down from the court musicians he took his partner’s hand and fell into the steps to distract from his unease, the beats f the dance like the repetitions of a battle drill that kept him turning, and facing, and weaving through the room. And then the music ended. Someone thrust another woman into his path, and then another, until he was breathless and overheated from the exercise, and relieved that he had yet to trip over his own feet.

In a pause between the sets, he tried to catch Leliana’s eye in the gallery above to ask to be rescued before he could be forced towards a refreshments table. To his dismay, she was too intent on the crowd to notice, watching for advantage or threat so that he could make a show of festive enjoyment – no easy feat considering how the entire room was staring at him.

No, not the entire room.

There. The flash of shadow that had followed him all night resolved itself into a woman who turned her face away from him as soon as their gazes met. Pearls were pinned in her dark hair, and the silk of her gown flashed with the violet-green iridescence of starling feathers, dazzling enough that Alistair wondered how he had missed it before. She retreated up the stairs, trying all too hard to disappear into the crowd in a manner that deliberately kept him out of her line of sight.

“Majesté?”

His current partner had noticed his distraction. He smiled down at her, but like the needle of a compass his gaze swung back to the strange woman, whose exit had been waylaid by a man with a shock of thin, greying hair poking out from under his yellow chevalier’s feather. He bowed over the Starling’s hand, boorish and insipid, and through her reluctance she cast her gaze around the room as if seeking an excuse. Her eyes lit on Alistair again, before skittering away up to the ceiling when she caught him looking.

Gotcha.

“Will you excuse me, my lady?” he begged of the young woman on his arm. “I have to talk to my advisor. You there, Ser! I’m afraid this beauty has been bereft of a partner, if you’ll oblige me? Thank you.”

He forgot the girl as soon as he handed her off. The music started. Leliana, noticing his approach up the stairs, nodded and plucked a glass of Antivan white from the tray of a passing server, handing it to him with a subtle gesture that let him sidle close enough to not be overhead.

“Have you seen her?” he asked.

“The woman in the dark colours?” She tilted her head in amusement. “Of course. She has been watching you, and does not care for the crowd flowing around her. She knows how to walk through a room of nobles but subterfuge is not her strength. And yet… there is something familiar about her. It worries me.”

For a moment, they watched from their vantage point in the gallery. The Starling moved through the room with grace enough to catch the eye, but with too much economy to fit in with the flounces of the rest of the dancers, the poise of a warrior more than a courtier. Still, the patience with which she dealt with her partner had to be admired. Alistair winced every time the old boor overstepped the bounds of propriety to tread on her toes; part of him wanted to step in between them and pull her from the line, if only to save her feet from bruising, but the strange urge didn’t stop him noticing how she cast her gaze to every corner of her room to avoid the man in front of her – every corner, except the place where he himself was standing.

“Find out who she is,” he grunted to Leliana, and pushed away from the rail.

Momentarily freed of his obligations in the dancing, he wound his way through the press of nobles, exchanging pleasantries, until he spotted Fergus resting his legs in one of the gilt-backed chairs that had been set at the edges of the room and made for him, worried about the guarded expression on his friend’s face. The reason for the scowl became apparent when the couple standing between them turned and stopped Alistair dead in his tracks.

“Ah – Your Majesty, it is good to see you. You’re looking well.” Eamon, the former Arl of Redcliffe, straightened from his bow as if the man he was addressing hadn’t been instrumental in his exile from Ferelden over two years before. He wore a mask like an Orlesian, with only the grey trim of his beard visible beneath its swirling, enamelled lines. On his arm, the once-Arlessa Isolde wore one almost identical, save for the extra decoration of feathers around the rim.

“What are you doing here?” Alistair blurted.

“We are guests of Her Radiance, of course,” Eamon replied with a blink. “I can see time has not been generous in your perspective towards me, but I would not quarrel with you here and mar Ferelden’s standing.” He swallowed. “Though it is late to say it, please accept my condolences for your loss.”

“Condolences?” Anger coiled in Alistair’s gut, kept at bay only by the interested stares of the people around him. Eamon had done his best to make sure he and Rosslyn were separated – had nearly succeeded – and now he dared to offer remorse?

“How are you enjoying Orlais, Your Majesty?” Isolde asked before he could storm away and blow all their diplomatic efforts.

“The weather’s nice. Please excuse me.”

Below them, the dance finished. Leliana slipped into the dispersing crowd with the ease of a master and cut the Starling from the crowd like a shepherd singling out a ram. Fergus joined him as he leaned over the rail to watch their conversation, Eamon and Isolde already forgotten, and caught the direction of his gaze.

“Has someone caught your eye?” he asked.

“No.” Alistair waved a hand. “No, it’s not like that.”

The Starling was turned away from Leliana, shrinking back as if to avoid a blow, but his left-hand could not be outmatched so easily and peered closer nonetheless. And then she drew back. Her mask flicked up with a twitch of her wrist to fully cover her face, and the Starling reached out for her elbow in an urgent gesture that conveyed as much familiarity as alarm. They knew each other. The words that passed between them were too far away to hear. Leliana paused, then nodded, and together the two of them retreated from the bright lights of the dancefloor into the shadows at the furthest corner of the room.

Fergus noticed. “Well that was strange.”

“I don’t like it. Will you be alright here?”

“For now.” He shrugged. “Holding court in the corner holds much more appeal than sweating about with people I don’t care for. A younger version of me might have tried to forget myself in one of these pretty smiles, but now…” The liquid in his glass caught the light as he tilted it for inspection.

“It’s not so easy,” Alistair agreed.

He left his friend still contemplating his drink and rounded the gallery with Morrence in tow, not straight for Leliana but angling for Élodie, who had taken up entertaining the delegates from Ostwick and made a nice middle ground. He barely registered the answers he gave to their polite enquiries as he approached. The Starling had disappeared and Leliana was wending her way towards one of the quieter hallways, where there were balconies with doors that could be minded by one’s guards to glare at any passing eavesdroppers. She flashed him a brief glance and a nod.

He thought quickly, turning to his ambassador.

“My lady, you’re looking a little warm, and I’ve neglected you.” He shot her what he hopes was a winning smile. “I hope you’ll forgive me, you’ve worked so hard, after all. Why don’t we get you some fresh air?”

Élodie frowned at him, but nodded. “Your Majesty is very kind. I am a little flustered, now that you mention it. If you will excuse me, sers.”

Threading her hand through his arm, he hustled her away with as much nonchalance as he could muster, while she, sensing his mood, kept quiet. They met Leliana a few moments later on a trellised balcony overlooking the gardens, or as much as could be seen of them beyond the torchlight.

“Well?” he asked, almost before the door closed behind him.

“Have you two been hatching plans?”

His left-hand let the mask fall from her face, though she kept it close, fidgeting with it. “The lady… presents no danger.”

“Lady?” repeated Élodie.

“There’s no need to look so hopeful.” Alistair rolled his shoulders. “We caught someone acting suspicious. Did you find anything out? You looked like you were surprised when you found out who she was.”

“I… knew her in another life.” Leliana hesitated. “She thanked the King of Ferelden for his regard, but said she would rather not become a spectacle.”

“A disagreement with family, perhaps,” Élodie supplied.

The corner of Leliana’s mouth lifted. “I did not ask.”

Without even waiting long enough for him to draw breath, she bowed and swept back into the hall. He caught sight of Morrence, watching her go with something very like suspicion written in her features, but the expression flickered back into a blank before he could be certain.

Behind him, Élodie cleared her throat.

“It is a shame this woman is not what you hoped,” she said. “I would see you happy.”

He snorted. “I didn’t hope anything – and I was happy.”

“You could be so again, if you allowed it. You cannot fight your duty forever.”

He bit back the retort squeezing past the sudden lump in his throat. Reminding her that her own husband had died in the siege at South Reach would be rather ungallant, especially considering the genial nature of the evening so far, and he had tried hard to curb the spiteful edge to his temper over the past two years. He wanted to be better. Rosslyn would have wanted him to be better.

As the thought spiralled and led his mind towards the dark precipice that would mean yet another sleepless night, the nature of the sound inside the ballroom changed. The music died away. The thump of the castellan’s staff reached his ears, followed a moment later by the announcement of Celene’s arcane advisor, the mysterious apostate who had managed to charm her way to the centre of the Orlesian court and who now, according to some, whispered spells in the empress’ ear.

“No doubt people will want us introduced,” he muttered.

Élodie nodded. “We should not keep Her Radiance waiting.”

Just inside the doors, however, he stopped. Even from across the room the Starling drew his gaze with the furtiveness of her movements, the deliberate indifference with which she moved against the flow of people, and his patience ebbed.

He touched Morrence’s elbow, leaning close. “Do you see her?”

“Aye. I want a chat with that one.”

“Get her out to the terrace garden and make sure she’s alone. Hopefully it’s cold enough outside that any interested bystanders will be discouraged.” He sighed. “I’ll get away as soon as I can.”

“I shouldn’t leave your side. The danger to you –”

“What if she’s a danger?” he pressed. “What if Leliana’s wrong? Something is going on here, and I won’t be kept beyond the chain – or don’t you think she was acting strangely before?”

At that, his right-hand let slip a curse. “I’d still be leaving you in a nest of snakes.”

“I’ll be alright.” The hilts of his concealed daggers sat snug against his wrists.

“Fine – but if you die, I get to kill you for it.”

Nobody commented on his lack of a bodyguard when he once more joined Celene and her waiting-women at the head of the room. Morrigan, her advisor, spoke Common like a Fereldan, but she had clearly spent enough time in Orlais to learn the dismissive nature of their manners. For a long moment, Alistair was distracted by a nagging familiarity he could not place, until the witch rose from her curtsey and turned a pair of piercing yellow eyes on him. The breath stopped in his lungs. His hands clenched into fists. Even the smirk was recognisable, catlike and secretive, and the instant it appeared he was shunted back to a campfire in a glade under a star-strewn sky, and mocking laughter in his ears.

“You’re Flemeth’s daughter,” he said.

The smile froze. “I did hear you encountered my mother – during the war, was it not? What did she tell you of me?”

“Only that you didn’t like living in the Korcari Wilds.”

“She resented my wanting to make something of myself outside of her influence.” She drew herself up for better display of her plum-red gown, the gold links around her throat. “And now here I am.”

“I can see the appeal,” he offered, to laughs from those gathered around them.

Celene clapped her hands. “Ah, this is delightful. You must have many things to talk about, given you share a homeland.” Her head dipped in what Alistair presumed was amusement. “Though we must ask that Your Majesty does not steal her away from us! No promises of Ferelden’s new leniency towards mages, if you please.”

He made sure to chuckle along, schooling himself not to look round to see whether Morrence had caught the Starling yet. All he could do was wait for a break in conversation and make excuses to be allowed away for some air.

When his chance finally came, a brief interlude during an influx of new people wanting introductions, he slipped through the crowd and met his right-hand at the door to the terrace. The fresh, cold scent of the night washed in, frost and damp earth, and beyond the lighted windows a dark figure stood at the balustrade that separated the garden from the sheer drop to the ground below.

“She’s waiting for you,” Morrence said.

“Any trouble?”

“Only until I threatened to draw attention to her,” came the reply. “And she wouldn’t look me in the eye. Good luck.”

He steadied himself with a breath as he stepped into the open air, a pause in which he studied the woman so invested in not being noticed. She faced away from him, hunched over as if still trying to make herself invisible, picked out by a rime of moonlight that glowed in her hair and reflected in the pearl beading on her skirts, rippled along the silk gloves that covered her arms to the elbow. Her head turned as he approached. Breath fogged silver in the night but the tension didn’t leave her shoulders and he felt it draw him along a knife’s edge as he realised too late how it might appear, a king ordering a woman to wait for him beyond earshot. A jab of self-disgust coiled in his stomach.

And yet, like Leliana said, there was something familiar about her.

He cleared his throat, set his hands behind his back. “You won’t come to any harm here, not from me.”

The Starling only flinched further away from him.

“Who are you?”

He waited, patient, until it became clear he wouldn’t simply give up and leave. The Starling’s fists bunched against the stone of the balustrade, and her shoulders heaved with a deep, almost panicky breath.

“Désolée, Majesté, le Marchandesse est –”

“In Orlesian, then,” he answered. “What’s your name?”

She paused. The line of her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I’m afraid… the only name I can give you is Laurienne, Majesté. Laurienne de Savrenne.”

“Laurienne.” He risked a step closer, and she angled even further away from him, determined to hide her face even behind the mask. “You know, it’s strange – most people here tonight have been falling over themselves trying to catch my attention, but not you. You’ve tried very hard to remain unnoticed, not just by me, but by my guards and entourage as well. Why?”

“I might point out that of all those who wanted the king’s attention, I am the only one to have it bestowed.” She licked her lips. “Perhaps that was my plan.”

The sharp mockery ignited his temper. What was this but yet another sly courtier throwing jests at his expense? All night he had been nice, he had smiled, danced, dressed himself up in pretty words so the nobility would chase him for something he didn’t even want to give, and now he couldn’t even get one straight answer when he asked for it.

“A lot of people think I’m a fool,” he bit out. “It might come in handy sometimes but I assure you I’m smarter than I look, and I don’t appreciate being messed about, especially not after such a long day.”

“I’m…” Was that a fraction of a move towards him? Her head dipped towards her hands, and her eyes pressed shut. “I’m not here under my own power. In truth, Majesté, my debtor bid me come, but did not say you would be here as well.” A distinct note of bitterness entered her voice. “No doubt the thought of us meeting amused her.”

“Do you know me?” he asked.

She fell utterly still. “Do you know me?”

“Are you an assassin?”

“No.”

“But you are hiding something.”

At that, she scoffed, and again that frustrating tingle of familiarity, though it was gone too quickly for him to examine. “We are in Orlais, are we not? Everyone is hiding something. I am no different to any other noblewoman, we are all the same. Wouldn’t you agree?”

His heart stuttered. His mind conjured a sweep of raven hair, the scent of jasmine, warm lips soft against his. “There are exceptions.”

“Is it the exception you were trying to find tonight?” The Starling’s tone rang cold. “All evening you have danced with one after another and tossed them aside afterwards like a wine-taster who finishes his sip and spits the rest away. How delightful the passage of your days must be to never want for such company.”

“How dare you.” He stepped closer. “What do you know about what my days are like – or what it’s like being passed around by all those magpies in there who only care about the shiny crown I could get for them? It’s all, ‘remember it’s your duty, Alistair’ and ‘just pick one and get it over with’. If I could even have one night where I could complain about it, or – or say no – that would be something, but everyone seems to think I should be flattered by all those people pawing at me and never giving me a moment to myself!”

He paused for breath. The tirade had winded him, as much for the emotion it let loose as for the wild gestures flung out with the words. The Starling had remained still, taking the onslaught like a tree against a howling wind, though now only fatigue was left in him she shrank as if he’d struck her a physical blow.

“Forgive me,” he muttered, horrified. “I wasn’t angry at you, it’s just…” What words could he say? “I wouldn’t expect you to understand – but don’t worry. You can go. Do as you wish, my guard won’t detain you any further.”

Still she didn’t move. Cursing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and swallowed back the lump in his throat as he turned for the door. He needed sleep, he needed –

“I understand better than you would think.”

Her voice. Common, not Orlesian. The quiet servility deepened into a clarion note – it stirred his heart from its withered slumber, called it like a dog to heel. Her voice. With pulse thundering, with hope and disbelief and horror wadded into a tight ball in his throat, he looked back.

The Starling no longer shrank into herself but stood tall in defiance of the cold, her shoulders thrown back, chin lifted, in the attitude of a general. He drank in the arch of her throat, the pale skin that gleamed like marble under Satina’s light, the shine of raven-black hair gathered in an Orlesian knot at the back of her head, all details he had ignored before because it was impossible. When he didn’t move, her head tilted, and he recognised the sorrow in the gesture, the self-deprecation in the curve of her mouth.

“The man I love is at this ball tonight,” she told him. “He’s the centre of attention, but I’ve had to watch and do nothing while everyone covets what I cannot touch.”

Her voice.

“Why not?” His tongue fumbled the words through the fog in his brain, the steps he took back towards her shaky and numb, desperate, his chest constricted trying to hold his breath in case it broke the spell somehow cast around him. “Why hide?”

“I owe a debt. Until it’s paid, I can’t – my life is not my own and I have to pay it back. Besides,” she added, with a new wobble in her voice, “what would I say? He – everyone thinks I’m dead.”

They stood so close now he could have reached out to touch her hand, but he hesitated, worried that that, at last, would make her disappear and prove him mad. She was shaking; her fingers had raked lines in the frost on the stone as she clenched them into fists.

“But you’re not dead. You’re –”

Their breath mingled heavy under the moonlight as he leaned in, his hand braving night-chilled skin where her glove had fallen to her wrist, and finally she turned into him, drawn, like him, and while he closed his eyes seeking in vain for the familiar scent of jasmine and sweetgrass, the weight under his fingertips and the stulted breath that left her lips made her solid, and all that was left was to beg her to say something, to let him hear her voice again.

“I was afraid you’d forgotten me,” came the whisper, so full of doubt.

“Never –” He caught the side of her face, pressed a kiss to her temple though the rim of her mask cut into his lips. “Never.”

“I – I thought you’d hate me.”

The absurdity of it made him giggle even as he shook his head in denial. He stroked her hair. Kissed her again. And then, because it was too much to have such certainty without proof he pulled back, searching for the ribbons that secured her mask in place, her pulse flying under his fingers as he worked at the knots. When the mask finally came free, he pushed it up over her forehead – and found himself looking down into a pair of eyes that were the grey of cracked ice on a winter sea.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #alistair theirin #king alistair #alistair x warden #alistair x cousland #f!cousland #cousland #rosslyn cousland #queen cousland #the falcon and the rose #the mysterious falcon sequel #smoke and mirrors #guys it's happening

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forthehpfanboys · 4 years

Text

Calling It Even

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: You just moved 'across the pond' from Ilvermorny to Hogwarts, but before you actually moved you'd made a friend! Well, two and you just so happen to bump into them at the Leaky Couldren!

Warnings: Swearing, Slightly Suggestive (Ron's raging hormones™).

Note: Hi! This is my first time writing and posting a fic in a few years, so I'm sorry for spelling errors or stupid mistakes! It'll get better as I rewarm my.. Writing.. Muscles? Anyway, Thank you for reading! Let me now if this is good and enjoy!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

Moving from the US to Britain was just as stressful as you figured it would be, but going from Ilvermorny to Hogwarts felt like an actual asteroid was thrown into your world. You had to leave behind your friends, close relatives and of course your home, then you had a whole new school to deal with on top of that. Different houses, different teachers, different classes and the rules. Merlin's beard, were the rules different. You can distinctly remember bombarding your guardian with question after question. You were still surprised you got to carry your wand around with you outside of school! Of course the actual moving process had taken its toll on your guardians, and they knew what it was doing to you. You were tired, emotionally, physically- Godric, did you need a break before school started.

You would be starting your fifth year when summer ended, and that was in a few weeks or so. This should’ve given you the time to gather up the books, potion supplies and robes needed, maybe even find some friends your age, but you had other plans, apparently. You had spent the entire summer huddled over their desk waiting for an owl to return with a response letter and avoiding the cluttered shopping strip. You didn’t wanna tackle getting lost and missing a response from your favorite redheads. Now, your headmaster at Ilvermorny had recommended you create a quill-pal at Hogwarts so it felt less chaotic when you arrived, but you ended up finding two that were the pure embodiment of chaos.

So, technically, you did end up making friends with the program, just not what you expected. Each letter was seemingly cut in half, one with orange ink, one with purple. In said response, you learned the orange was usually Fred and purple was usually Georges. In said letters, you learned they are two years older than you, live in what they call a ‘Burrow’ and owning their own shop was definitely wrapped in their future. You spent a solid year getting to know the Infamously Famous,Charming and Totally Destructive personality of the Weasley Twins. Honestly, you seriously looked forward to seeing them in person, even if it was their last year. You three managed to get along like you’d known each other their entire lives. Best part is they promised to find you on the first day and show you around!

You remember Fred mentioning their roles on the Quidditch team and George saying something about pranks with fireworks and you knew. Oh, you knew the three of you would cause chaos and you were so excited. The red-headed duo also promised they’d introduce you to their friends and their extensive family. Fred had brought up having a younger brother your age and judging from the cluttered moving photo they sent you, he was awkward but in the best way. You managed to remember the names of the red-headed family members only because of the scribbled writing on said photo pointing out who was who. But for whatever reason, the youngest Weasley son always manages to be the first one you notice yourself staring at. He was genuinely really cute. Blue eyes, freckles, red hair, absolutely adorable- Ok. So you may have a crush on him without even knowing him but you can not blame yourself. The twins told you stories about the younger redhead and he only got cuter as time went on, but I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?

Currently, you are walking down Diagon Alley. Not only did you need a break from unpacking, sorting and waiting for the Weasley's owl to return, but you also needed to restock on quills. Yup. Of all things, quills. (P/n) has this terrible chewing habit and adores the flavor of quills, or so you guess. You loved the rascal to bits, but damn, they ate the feathers like they drank water. Your guardian said they would finish unpacking the very few boxes your family were collectively avoiding while you went shopping down the popular alley. Oh! And speaking of water, you glanced up from the cobblestone pathway and noted the Leaky Cauldron sign hanging a few shops down. You’d heard stories of how comfortable the atmosphere of the little restaurant had been from the Weasleys and you couldn’t help but overhear wizards and witches around you chatting it up about possibly getting a butterbeer. You decided, why not? Could spare a few coins to buy the golden drink or maybe just a water. It was, like, 90 degrees outside and the cluttered path way didn’t help the soft summer breeze flow through at all.

You gently nudged your way through the bustling crowd of wizards and witches and pushed open the creaky old door. The smell of sweetness and smoke hit your noise as you stepped in, your eyes briefly wandering over the crowd, looking for an empty table. Once you spotted a table for two in the corner, you gently shuffled past crowded tables and rushed waiters apologizing as you went by. Finally sitting down at the small table, you let out a relieved sigh, not noticing a set of eyes following your every movement. Your eyes easily wandered around the shop but landed on piercing blue across the small restaurant. You immediately snapped your gaze to the fire pit and walls, choosing to avoid the gaze until a server walked over. You were tracing the gray, worn down bricks of the wall right next to you when an older woman in a simple uniform walked over the table.

“Good evenin, love. What can I get you?” she casted a bright smile your way, her hands in the small pocket of her apron as she waited for a response.

“Just a butterbeer, please.” You managed to stutter out, sending her a shy smile back. She nodded her head and headed off to another table after putting in your order.

Once she left, your eyes met a set of blue eyes once again. The longer you looked, the more you thought they were formilair, but you turned away, choosing not to dwell on anything besides the table that was placed in front of you. You were so busy tracing the grooves in the old wooden table, you didn’t notice the owner of the blue eyes nudge the red-head next to him and point in your direction. What finally brought you out of the tracing trance was a glass mug filled with liquid golden and soft foam slide toward you, followed by the sound of chairs scraping the old wooden floor and a distinct female voice calling out “where are you two going now?” Your hands wrapped around the glass and just before you could bring it to your lips, two people moving toward the table got your attention. You turned to look up and almost choked on air, your chest shaking as you coughed causing your mug to nearly empty all over the table. You didn’t even have time to fully register who was advancing closer because the warm drink was flowing off the table and onto your new shirt.

“Shit-!” You grumbled down at the spilt mess. Feeling the heat rush to your cheeks, you placed the mug down hoping to save what was left in it as you grabbed napkins.

“Now, I knew we shocked people, but I had no idea we had this kind of effect, Georgie.” Fred spoke and took up the seat across from you, causing his twin to let out a snort. Your head shot up at the sound of the British accent. He'd managed to effectively put a stop to you drying up the mess with one sentence. Fred grabbed a few to help wipe down the table, but was far more focused on your reaction. Your eyes snapped over to George as he leaned on the back of his brother's chair and flickered between the two freckle covered idiots. You made a mental note of who was who.

“Do you always sneak up on your victims or do you introduce yourselves like normal people?” You scoffed out, a smile growing on your face as you awkwardly piled up the useless napkins.

“We only sneak up on people we’ve been friends with for years and finally get to meet.” George spoke, sass laced in his voice.

“Oh please. It’s been like 1 year.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for your cup again and taking a small sip.

“And I don’t think we got an anniversary gift from you, love. I believe you owe us an apology. Missing our 1 year anniversary like that.” Fred spoke, a hand going to his chest in fake shock as George just tsked and shook his head responding with his own ”Shame, really.”

You let out your own soft laugh and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I'm sorry.” You spoke setting your glass down again, sarcasm dripping from you as you crossed your arms over the table and leaned forward. “I didn’t realize I got something from you two for our ‘one year anniversary’.” You used air quotes, outlining the obvious.

“Godric, it’s so good to meet someone who finally matches our sass level.” Fred smiled at you. “But how did you not see us?” he used his thumb to point at a table behind him, almost taking out George's eye.

“Oi. Watch it.” the ever so slightly younger twin shoved the hand in his face away.

“Well, obviously, I didn’t expect you to run into you guys here.” You spoke, finishing the little amount of what was left of the butterbeer. After wiping your mouth on your sleeve, you shot the two a playful glare. “You owe me a drink.”

“Or you can meet Ickle Ronniekins and we can call it even.”

“That doesn’t even come close to equal.” You whined, sitting back in your chair, your head hitting the wall behind you a little too sharply. As much as you wanted to meet the younger bro, you were nervous. You may have let it slip out to the brothers that you desperately wanted to get to know Ron, but what if he didn't like you?

It didn't matter what you thought. You didn’t have a choice because the two may or may not have shipped you two, but that’s for them to know and for you to never, ever, ever find out. The twins let out a laugh at your demise and both stood up, one grabbing the empty mug and the other practically dragging you out of your cozy corner.

“I say it’s fair.” George spoke, following the older redhead who was almost quit literally dragging you by the arm. The two idiots led you to a table in the middle, where it was borderline empty besides 3 people sitting, all chatting to themselves. The chatting came to a stop when George set your mug down in the middle and Fred forced you to sit across from another redhead, who you quickly recognized.

“Um, Fred..” The witch next to Ron spoke up just as Fred sat to your left and George to your right. “Who is this?”

“This, Granger, is our quill-pal, (Y/n). He comes from America and just transferred over. Good old quill-pal (Y/n), meet Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and our own little Ickle Ronniekins.” Fred pointed to each witch and wizard, pointing them out so you could put names to faces. The nickname caused Ron to groan out a ‘shod off, Fred’, to which the older brother just snickered.

“Oh, hi! I’ve heard alot about you guys.” You smiled, casting them a small wave. Your accent, to them, was very interesting. It was so different from what they were used to, which definitely wasn’t a bad thing. They actually thought it fit you really well.

“Well, (y/n), it’s great to meet you.” Harry spoke up, a smile replacing the confused expression he once held. He was just relieved you weren’t asking for an autograph or constantly shaking his hand. It was refreshing.

“Likewise!” You flashed a smile to the messy raven haired dude before stretching back in your chair, head turning, trying to avoid the twins in his view to find a waitress. You gave up on searching when the twins purposefully blocked your view and Ron cleared his throat.

“Wait.. This is (y/n)? The bloak you guys don’t shut up about?” Ron pointed at you, almost as if accusing you of causing him pain. The twins nodded their heads, in sync, while landing a kick to both of his legs. “Ow-! I'm just asking!” he rubbed his bruised shins and rested his chin on the table so he could shoot them a glare. “Arse holes.” He grumbled. The twins gave him a sort of look that meant ‘shut up or we will not hesitate to strike again’ and honestly, Ron felt a tiny bit of fear enter his soul and his glare dropped.

“Aww! Did you two really mention me that much? I’m flattered, boys!” A confident smirk stretched across your face as the twins blushed ever so slightly, George a little redder than Fred.

“No.” They countered.

“Yes.” Ron groaned out, wanting revenge for the kicks. ”Merlin. They’d go on and on about how cool you were. ‘Ma, he said he plays Quidditch, too! Can we get the booms out?’, ‘His favorite color is (f/c) and his favorite animal is (f/a)! We should work on (f/c) (f/a) fireworks for him!’. My family officially knows more about you than I know about the Chudley Cannons.” He ran his right hand through his hair and his left waved around as he spoke. You couldn’t help but snicker. “It’s been actual hell. I’m just glad you're here so they can shut up.”

Harry nudged his best friend in the side before speaking. “Hey, be nice, This is probably their first crush!” The comment caused Hermione to almost snort butterbeer, Ron let out a very loud laugh and you to high five Harry meanwhile the twins turned redder than their quidditch uniforms.

“Oi, Potter. I will burn your broomstick.” Fred threatened, pointing at the boy who lived.

“Aw come on Freddie, be nice. It isn’t their fault you gave them the material for this. Relax, bud.” You shoved his hand away.

George took your mug and slid it out of your reach and to the end of the table. “Well, we were gonna buy you another drink, but since you're being an arse, you're not getting a sickle from us.” George turned to you and stuck out his tongue.

The simple banter continued as the 6 of you sat in front of the simple fireplace, laughter filling the little stone eatery. You had known the group in person for about 15 minutes and you already fit in like a puzzle piece. After a few more butter beers and another 15 minutes later, the 6 of you had decided to go on the hunt for some goodies, so you all paid for the drinks and led the cluttered restaurant. Fred and George started off leading the group, but got sidetracked at Zonko’s. Hermione had practically dragged Harry off into Flourish and Blotts when he mentioned not having his school supplies. That left you and Ron alone to get to know eachother better.

“So, what’s Ilvermorny like?” He asked, his hands in his pockets as he walked beside you.

“Well.. " you hesitated."Definitely different, if what Fred and George said was true. We don’t have a sorting hat, instead statues would pick who they want. It’s a whole history thing. Everyone's robes are blue and this reddish color, so i'm excited for a change! And jeez, the wand rules. They're, at least, 10 times stricter than here. I had to get sorted before I could even hold a wand and Ilvermony students can’t legally have wands until their 17. Bullshit if you ask me.” You scoffed. “I was put in Wampus. I guess that's a cool thing.” This caused Ron to let out a snort and a cackling laugh.

“I’m sorry- you got put in what??” He turned to you, a huge smile on his lips.

“A-A wampus?” You spoke, hoping he’d ignore the stutter. You ended up staring at his smiling face, making a promise to make him laugh whenever it was physically possible. It was so perfect.

“Aaaanndd that is what, exactly?” The redhead's smile turned into a small smirk as he responded. “Is it like- like a creature or a plant? It sounds like a plant-”

“How on earth does Wampus sound like a plant??” You looked at him with a confused expression. Your arm shot out to punch his bicep lightly. “Of course it’s a creature, Ronald!”

You went on to explain all about what a wampus was, however, Ron was no longer listening. He was slowly drifting toward the quidditch shop, his jaw practically on the floor. He pressed his freckled covered hands to the glass window of the shop.

“You really must be yanking my wand! Do you see this?!” The redhead was drooling over a brand new broom. The little plastic sign next to the window model read ‘Firebolt Y.5’

“Oh my go-Is that-” You stood next to him, a look of shock. “How did I walk past this shop and NOT see this??” You grabbed his arm and whisked him away from the window, bringing him into the shop. Quidditch, of course, was your favorite sport. You were even on the Wampus quidditch team! You played a seeker and you loved to believe you were the best! “Oh my god, yes. If I had this across the pond” you spoke while pointing at the brooms hanging on the walls, "I'd be the best damn seeker in Ilvermorny history!” You all but squealed out.

While you were ranting about the possibilities of owning this bad boy, Ron was noticing something. He was noticing, since you grabbed his arm, he wanted to hold your hand. He was noticing how your eyes lit up while you were talking about destroying other teams on the fields and how big your smile was and how cute- Cute. Cute?

Wait.

Hold on. Cute? You? He thought he thought Hermione was cute? But now, now it was you. You suddenly clouded his mind and he'd only know you for less than an hour? He blamed his hormones.. Or maybe it was the way your eyes were sparkling so much more when compared to the photo you sent his brothers. Or your stupid perfect hair was so perfect even if it was a mess from constantly running your fingers through it. Every freckle, every mole, every dimple on your skin, he wanted to memorize it all. Suddenly, you turned to him, the smile wider than before. Shit, you were waiting for a response, but he was too wrapped up in how perfect you were for him to think straight.

“WhUt?” His voice cracked as he basically shouted at you. His face turned pink with embarrassment, but it transformed into a color to rival the Gryffindor red he usually sported during the school year. The poor git basically melted into a puddle when he heard you let out a giggle.

“I was asking if you wanted to split the cost! Fred and George told me when Harry got his Firebolt, but I bet it’s nothing compared to this baby. We could split it!” You were basically jumping up and down.

Ron blinked a few times, his brain trying to process everything. “Split?”

“Yes, Ronnie. Split.” You giggled, wrapping your arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer to your side.

“Ronnie split.” He muttered without realizing it. “OH! Oh- The broom! Split the broom! Cost! Right!” he ran a hand through his hair, his entire face felt hot. Ron was sure his face was blending in with his red locks. “I-I can check! With Fred and George and- and we see?” He squeaked, noticing how close he was to you. He audibly gulped, his tongue poking out to lick his suddenly dry lips.

“Cool! We could all share it!” You reached into your pocket, pulling out all the coins nestled in your pocket. As you counted over the coins, the only words that stuck in Ron’s head were ‘we’ ‘share’ and he could basically hear sirens going off. You’d already gotten to know his older brothers. What if you already liked one? Or both? He didn’t even know if you were single.

“Ah- Well i'm sure we can just handle it. Just the two of us.” He clapped his hands together, choosing not to think of how much attention the noise brought him. You looked at him with a confused expression but let it be with a shrug.

“If you say so, Ronnie.” You smiled, shaking your head. You had no idea the redhead was avoiding the idea of his brothers sharing you instead of the broomstick.”Iiisss there a reason you don’t wanna share?” You asked as you shoved your hands in your pockets, putting the coins away. You missed Ron's face turning bright red as you gazed on at the Chudley Cannons merchandise hanging off the walls.

“I-I’m just sick of sharing with my siblings, y-ya know?” His voice cracked as he spoke, but he tried to cover it up with a cough. “Um.. I do have a lot of older brothers, so hand-me-downs are really all I get-”

“Oooh, right. Right. That’s fair.” you looked down at your feet. You forgot. Gerd and Feorge didn't throw it in your face, but they did mention when money got tight and how they planned on opening a joke shop and how they told their products to kids for extra cash. You should've remembered. You cleared your throat, your eyes darting to him, to the door back to him. Desperate for a way to change the atmosphere, you offered leaving the store. "Honeydukes?” you asked way too loudly in the small shop. ”Wanna.. Go to Honeydukes?" You cleared your throat into your hand. Ron couldn't have agreed fast enough.

The two of you walked out of the store, making small, awkward talk as you continued your stroll across the stoley path. When you came up to Honeydukes Ron, to your surprise, hurried to the door and held it open for you. As you walked in, he did a playful bow as if you were royalty. It brought a smile to your face and things fell into the rhythm from before.

"I'm not too keen on pumpkin pasties, but I do love chocolate frogs. When I was a kid, I dreamed of being put on one of the cards, but that kinda faded. I’m thinking maybe a famous quidditch player? Not quite sure yet." You rambled as Ron grabbed what someone might consider way too much of the chocolate treat. He would call that someone insane and double the batch. While he was literally filling his arms with the small boxes, you were busy looking at the candy wands, your mouth practically drooling at the idea of sweets. "We don't have a lot of this across the pond." you muttered to yourself as you reached across a table to grab a few different boxes of candy you've never tried before, one being Bertie Bott’s Everything Flavored Beans.

"Really? What are you used to?" Ron spoke up behind you, his eyes going from the candy resting in your hands to your forearm. The redhead found his eyes trailing up and landing on your bicep, causing his mind to wonder and basically dive head first into the gutter.

"Well, we had candies like Skittling Soot Poppers. They're these dark chocolate little balls that pop in your mouth once the chocolate melts. It's so cool! If you put one in your mouth and keep it open, sparks will come out. All kinds of colors, too." you smiled, remembering staying up far too late into the night with your Wumpas housemates and munching away. "Oh! And these little cakes called Twinkles. They would glitter like gold in the moonlight, but turn silver in the sun. They always taste like vanilla and cream."

Ron gulped. We all know what he's thinking at this point. He'd love to try some cream, and not the filling of the Twinkles, if ya catch my drift. He blinked out of a fantasy and shook his head. Bad Ronald. He scolded himself, but was yeeted out of his head when he heard you laugh.

"What? What's so funny?" his head tilted like a confused puppy, one of the chocolate frogs falling from the top of the pile and landing with a soft thud. As you bent down to pick up the box for him, you answered his question.

"Nothing, you're just being cute." you set the chocolate frog box on top of his pile and began down the aisle way.

"W.. Wait, really?!"

His response brought a snort out of you. He sounded so excited it made your heart jump. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it, Ronnie. Godric, even that was cute." You spoke as you turned the corner and headed down a new aisle. Your eyes scanned along the other treats laid out on the shelves while your hand grabbed a few sugar quills. “Ok, I think we got enough now. What do ya think?” You turned to where you thought he was, but your view lacked the pale freckled boy. “Ron?” Your voice carried through the store. “Ronnie?” You called out again as you went to the last aisle you saw him at. When your head popped around the corner you were met with a sight you thought was kodiak worthy.

There he was, bright red in the face, bright wide blue eyes standing out against his red skin, mouth hanging open and every chocolate frog box laying at his feet. You broke him. How the hell did he manage to get cuter?

“Ron?” Your legs moved without you even demanding them too and soon you stood in front of him. Has he even blinked? Is.. Is he ok? Shifting the candies in your arms, you managed to free a hand to gently close his mouth. “Hello? Are the lights on inside?”

“You said I was cute.” You were lucky you heard him over the crowded shop.

“Yes, Red.” You spoke, a giggle escaping your lips. “We established this already.” You shook your head, but it was halted when his blue eyes finally landed on your own, causing a heat to spread to your ears.

“Yeah.. But what KIND of cute?”

“Kind? What?”

“There are different kinds. Like am I cute like a crup or am I.. Am.. Like am I romantic-” He froze again when you leaned over and kissed his cheek, hopefully answering his question. You chose to ignore the grumpy customers trying to fit down the aisle and, instead, rested your hand on his hand. You would’ve held it but the stupid boxes of cursed choco frogos where in the way. “I hope that was ok.” You, also, chose to ignore his tiny, squeaky ‘bloody hell’ and dragged him to the counter.

“Ya know, when your brothers told me about you, I couldn’t get you out of my head.” You confessed, laying all the candy out on the counter and turned to him again. His blush had died down and he wasn’t as jumpy or frozen. Ron followed suit and dumped the boxes onto the counter and immediately whipped his hands on his jeans.

“I-I was glad I got to hear about you everyday.” He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared down at his shoes. “I um- I wanted to write, but uh, thought it would be weird.” He didn’t turn to look at you but his crystal blue eyes bounced between you, the candy and the glass counter in front of him. “A-and I’d love to get to know you more. And m.. Maybe do this again? Just you and me? Again?”

Your face almost split in two as you felt Ron’s hand brush against yours.. “I would absolutely adore to do this again, Ronnie.” He intertwined his fingers with yours, his blush coming back easily, causing you to let out a chuckle. While you did end up paying for most of the candy and forgetting about the quills, you managed to leave hand in hand with the red haired Chudley Cannon loving dork. Of course this caused the twins to tease you relentlessly about falling so hard for their baby brother. Hell, they even made a lame song, something about ‘Ronnie I love you’ and ‘when we’re apart my heart beats only for you’. It literally never stopped. In fact it got worse as time went on, especially when you were sorted into Gryffindor once school started.

Oh, but was so worth it.

#ron weasley x male reader #ron weasley #ron weasley imagine #male reader #fred and george #hp x male reader #hp imagine #fred weasley #george weasley #harry potter #hermione granger #x male reader #Ronny Writes #fic #hp male fic #hp fic

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todoscript · 4 years

Text

Corps-à-Corps [ 1 ]

Parts | one ; two

Corps-à-Corps (“body-to-body”): the action of two fencers coming into bodily contact with each other that is deemed an illegal move

Genre | Sports AU. Slow Burn. Angst. Fluff. Future Smut.

Pairing | Fencer!Todoroki Shouto x Fencer!Reader

Words | 10.7K+

Warnings | Pining. Mild cursing. Characters are aged up. Insecurities and expectations. Research was done in order to accurately convey the action of the sport in this fic as I am not a fencer. Whole fic will be two parts.

Author’s Notes | Oh wow, 10k words. I was debating whether or not to just write the entire story in one go and post everything together, but at the speed I’m going, along with my assignments harassing me in the background, I decided to upload as a two-shot. Also please read the ending author’s notes when you’re done!

Also a special thank you to @sadistiks @natsuosfairy and @pat-writes-stuff for being my beta readers! <3

The thought of being late to your very first practice at the fencing academy you’ve admitted to is nothing short of an insult to your former coach, who was the one who recommended you in the first place.

You tell yourself this, yet here you are, running as if your life depends on it. Ragged breaths are ripping from your throat, accompanied by the slick sweat dotting the skin of your temples and a pair of lungs positively burning through every arduous step you compel yourself to tussle through.

“Dammit, why’d I have to be late today?!” you groan through gritted teeth, glancing at the map in your hand to verify the correct path forward to the Tokyo Fencing Center. As you clutch the strap of the duffel bag hanging off your shoulder, you seethe over your lack of time management skills, knowing full well you can’t blame anyone for this disorganization but yourself.

You persevere through, despite the dizzying heat flushing your skin and the fatigue piling in your body, awarded with the fencing center coming into view. You grant yourself only a second of rest before you’re rushing forward again. If you were a track athlete, then this would be the last hurdle.

Finally, with a fierce slam open of the double doors enclosing the facility, you’ve crossed the finish line. The relieved heave of your breaths practically topple you over in exhaustion but you regain your balance by adjusting yourself next to a wall. Little do you know there was still another impediment you needed to face.

The noises that lightly ring and echo throughout the hallway emit down from the main room, indicating to you that you’re definitely past due punctual. Steps heavy and hesitant, you cross into the threshold. Everyone has already clad themselves in their fencing gear, scattering into their respected fencing disciplines to practice amongst each other. You’re left standing there in high contrast compared to the white uniforms dispersed in the room. At this point, you just hope to speak to the primary instructor without disturbing the vibe.

However, your goal is cut short by a quick thrust of a saber. Your eyes view over and behold the fencing match before you, where two combatants ready their blades on opposite sides of the piste—the extended playing area the game takes place on. Their bodies are encased in the standard protective gear, faces obscured by the dense masks covering their heads to the napes of their necks.

“En-garde... Prêtz?” The referee utters two distinct French words before starting the bout—one meaning “on guard,” the other “ready.” Each participant raises their weapons in preparation.

“Allez!”

At the signal, their movements advance into nearly triple time, feet light and flexible as their steps shift across the mat. You’re familiar with this particular fencing discipline known as saber fencing. It’s fast; in fact, it’s the second-fastest sport at the Olympics after rifle shooting. The aim of the game, of course, is to hit your opponent anywhere from the waist up with your sword. It may seem simple enough, but there’s another layer of complication factoring in the game’s speed, for this sport is calculated in as little time as milliseconds.

The fencer on the left side of the piste lunges forward, attempting to draw the momentum. Sadly, it’s a sloppy pursuit; his form is unstable and his efforts are in vain due to a missed strike. He swiftly backs up.

At this error, the opposition takes the reins and progresses forward, forcing his competitor back and back across the mat from his utter retaliation. In an instant, he spots a chance to win priority by taking over the impetus of the battle, and makes no hesitation in slashing with his weapon. Every movement he commits to is as swift as wisps of fire in the wind and burns nearly as fast. His opponent tries following the hit out of sheer panic. In the end, the exchange of strikes is so quick that even a simple blink could deter you from the actions at hand.

The two attacks make simultaneous contact on their lamé—the electric conductive jacket hugging their upper bodies—causing the machine in front of the referee to glow two colors. Left is indicated by red, green for right. If both colors concurrently light up, it’s the referee’s position to decide who earns the point.

Though the battle proved to be hasty and expeditious, you managed to observe every detail as keenly possible. From your basic understanding of the rules of saber fencing, the point should belong to—

“Right,” the referee promptly states, his arm lifted toward the corresponding side. By controlling the initiative of the fight, the right-sided fencer gains priority, meaning he’ll receive the point even if both players hit. The moment his competitor had made a mistake, the opposition had the right to steal the momentum along with priority.

The gush of air that heavily tightens your lungs eventually releases into a breath you hadn’t realized you’ve been holding in the spur of the match. The complication, as well as the speed of saber fencing, has always made you appreciate the aspect of the game, despite how different it was from your own fencing discipline.

“And so the victor of this match is Todoroki,” the referee congratulates as everyone around sounds with applause, at which you can’t help but join in. The triumphant fencer brings his blade down by his side before running a hand over his mask to reveal himself.

You glimpse at a head of white and red tresses that flair elegantly upon layers, sticking to the sweat glistening across his forehead. His pretty heterochromatic eyes gleam at his victory, and exuding nothing but effortless confidence, he stands tall above the crowd. However, there’s frigidity in his expression, an underlying cold beneath frosty irises of turquoise and gray that’s difficult to comprehend.

Movements like fire. Spirit like ice. And together, they collide into an enigma that rattles your thoughts in that infinitesimal moment.

Staring at his form, you can’t help but compare this scene to a shot right from a movie, what with the man’s handsome looks, glowing charisma, and athletic ability. He’d definitely make for a killer male lead—

“Ahem.”

The panorama view is pressed on pause when you hear an abrupt clear of someone’s throat in your direction. The referee greets you, a slender man possessing messy, shoulder-length hair and an unusually worn-out appearance despite his young age.

“Can I help you, miss?”

Everyone’s actions are on hold after the match. They peep over to the commotion surrounding you and their instructor, exchanging choruses of whispers and curious looks. You can’t suppress the urge to cross your arms and nervously rub your skin over the uncomfortable amount of eyes boring into you. After all, it doesn’t take a detective to comprehend how you stick out like a sore thumb in this sea of white.

“Oh, um, I’m a newly admitted fencer… My coach recommended me, and I’m here to attend my first practice,” you manage despite an embarrassing red creeping up your cheeks. The only physical bearings you can hold onto is the strap of your duffle bag, which you grip firmly in hopes of not potentially floating away like a hot air balloon. Though at the same time, you’d also wouldn’t mind drifting off, or perhaps even bury yourself into solid ground if it meant escaping the stares.

While exhaling an arduous sigh, the man’s flat and tired eyes sink into your existence. You honestly can’t tell if he’s annoyed with you or perhaps just having an exhausting day. Maybe it’s both. In that case, you might be fucked.

“Well, you’re about twenty minutes late and not dressed in fencing gear. Though I suppose explanations are long overdue,” says the instructor, adding more heat to the squealing teakettle that is your mortification, “Your name?”

“L-L/n Y/n,” you reply. Let’s hope he’s not asking for it to kick you out of the academy.

“L/n Y/n...” He flips through a page, scanning the contents, “You’re an… épée fencer?”

“Yes, sir.”

As the man continues looking over his clipboard, you notice blue and gray eyes peering right from behind him. Your face lights up, perceiving them to belong to the saber fencer—Todoroki—from the earlier match, and your eyes are drawn to his as if they’re glaciers glimmering in the moonlight. The boy, however, averts his gaze the moment the two of you make brief eye contact. He returns to the mat and brandishes his blade for another bout.

“L/n if you want to stay here,” the instructor’s voice nudges your attention back to him, “I suggest you go get changed in your fencing gear. And quickly. I have an assignment for you.”

Your only reply is a prompt “yes sir” before you hurry to the locker rooms, bag smacking against your side at every step as if it’s physically reprimanding you for getting in such an unpleasant predicament. All you give it is a violent throw into a locker. Your hands rummage inside, hastily scouring for your gear to don on.

The thin clothes you’re currently wearing allow you to slip your long fencing socks over them, along with white trousers that hang onto your form thanks to two straps hooked over your shoulders. Next comes the safeguard for the upper body—a plastic chest protector first, followed by the plastron or the underarm protector. Finally, a white jacket sports over all the upper layers. Everything afterward is self-explanatory, what with only the gloves and shoes left. You won’t need the mask until later, so you grip it next to your hip, leaving the locker room with haste.

By then, everyone resumed their usual business for today’s practice. The swoosh of blades accompany you when you return to the training hall, sights set back on the shaggy-haired man standing on the side waiting for you. His wary expression is a chasm you can’t correctly discern.

“Though you’re not punctual, you dress fast at least,” he says just as you approach, “Now if you want to secure your spot here, there’s something you need to do.” You follow him to a piste occupied by only one other fencer. Assuming the player is also an épée fencer like yourself, you can guess what this “assignment” consists of now.

“If you’re going to be training here, I need to evaluate your skills and see where you currently stand,” he declares and hands you the corresponding weapon to your discipline: The épée, the largest and heaviest sword used in fencing. Compared to foil fencing, it dons a larger guard and is broader and thicker. But unlike saber, which has more slashing in play, this weapon is designated for thrusting.

“So I’m having you perform in a small, quick match right now. I’m only giving you one chance to prove you should stay here and train amongst us, so I suggest you play to the best of your ability.”

You nod, enthusiastic, and ready for the bout. Your opponent wordlessly walks off to the opposite end of the piste, their épée blade prepped at their side while you do the same, also wearing your protective headgear. Due to their dense mask, you can’t distinguish any prominent features or emotions on your contender, but you’re sure the sensations crossing their body are parallel to your own.

“En-garde.”

Inhale and exhale. Your even breaths lull your nerves, and every hindrance you faced today is buried in the back crevice of your mind. Right now, you focus your energy and spirit into this small match, let yourself envelope the vitality of fencing that drives your movements.

“Prêtz?”

Your knees are bent, steps light on your toes while your grip remains steady on the handle of the épée, the shine glossed from the hilt to the tip of the blade points you toward a new adversary standing in your way.

“Allez!”

Even with the signal, the small spring in your step ushers you only a bit forward. Unlike saber fencing, the pace is quite different. Whereas saber is fast and flashy all within as little as a speck of a second, épée is methodical, slow, and plays defensively. For in épée, any part of your body can register as a point. So the discipline focuses on maneuvering cautiously to protect yourself, being wary of your stance, as well as deflecting and parrying attacks.

Saber fencing is equivalent to a real-life scenario. If two people are equipped with knives and face off to see who wins, then the one who makes the quickest move and cuts down their opponent first is victorious. They don’t just trade blows with each other; they go in for the kill. It’s basic survivability. Meanwhile, épée fencing is reminiscent of a duel—a show. The competitors give the crowd a performance to enjoy, watching through every meticulous move and observing their blades clash in a struggle. Similar to the exaggerated fight choreographies seen in action movies and animation.

Every step an épée fencer performs is calculated and strategized in their heads because there are so many vulnerable factors an opponent can exploit. Knowing any part of your body is a target for your opponent’s blade, the most sure-fire way to avoid receiving a hit is to take extra precaution in your form while monitoring the enemy’s.

You regard every movement, every muscle, your competitor makes, indicating how fast or slow they shift when not attacking. Suddenly, the opposition proceeds forward, easing slightly into your range. You grapple yourself, ready for the fencer as they swiftly advance at a possible opening, their épée is thrust in an unyielding path to take you down. However, you foresee the hit, bringing your blade up to parry the attack. When the metal swords collide, you detect a break in your opponent’s defenses and launch your counterattack known as riposte—the offensive action carried after a clean parry.

The point of your blade hits home against the fencer’s chest. With the electric conductive lamé pierced, a high-pitched squeal rings in the air—a distinct indication that you have rightfully gained the point in the bout, winning the short test match.

Typically, a regular bout would continue until one of the contenders reaches fifteen points, but in this case, the coach had already held his hand up to halt your actions only after one round. You remove your mask, vision adjusting to the light, and hearing faint sets of claps in the vicinity. Glancing around, a small ring of onlookers commend your swift demonstration. While it is not on par with the garish applause you witnessed earlier, you appreciate the praise with an elated grin lining your lips. Your eyes cross into the threshold and notice Todoroki sparing a brief glimpse over the laudation, but doesn’t pay much mind.

“Hm, at least your former coach didn’t make a mistake recommending you here. You’re not half bad. Could touch up your technique a bit more, but I suppose that’s what you’re at this academy for,” the coach calls out, but his tone quickly submerges into deep waters. Out of instinct, your back straightens when he nears.

“However, I don’t have time for slackers, and tardiness is not something I tolerate. Here at this fencing academy, we don’t waste our time dawdling. We get in, make the most of every minute, and get our jobs done. So I better not see you twenty minutes late again, understand?”

A creeping veil of severity slithers down your spine, jolting nerves in your body you had no idea existed. If you stared into the man’s eyes long enough, they might shift into a threatening hue of red that could swallow you whole. Your fear over that has you shaking your head up and down in rapid succession, and surprisingly, the oppressive atmosphere disperses instantly like smoke scattered by the wind.

“Good. With that said, I’ll be your coach, Aizawa Shouta.” His narrowed brows soften when he speaks, reverting to his downbeat appearance. “If you have any further questions, you can ask your fellow fencers. If not, then get to practice.”

He walks off to inspect the other fencers on their progress, allowing you to conduct your business. However, before you can conjure any thoughts on how to proceed next, a hand finds its way into your peripheral vision. A girl with onyx black hair tied in a high ponytail comes in view, a singular thick lock framing the kind smile adorning her face.

“That was a great match, I enjoyed every bit participating in it, even though it was so short,” she says. It’s by her statement and when your eyes scan across her form briefly that you recognize her to be your opponent, now no longer concealed by head protection.

You take her hand, grip settling into a light shake while you return the smile cordially, “Ah same, I hope we can play a full bout in the future.”

“Agreed,” she giggles amicably, which you find soothing, “My name is Yaoyorozu Momo, and as you witnessed, I’m an épée fencer like yourself.”

“L/n Y/n, though just Y/n is fine.”

“Well, Y/n, that was quite an entrance in the beginning, coming in twenty minutes late to your first practice,” the girl teases, a playful hand over her lips that leave a pout on your own.

“Yeah, that was my fault…” you drawl, rubbing a hand over your head. Your eyes avert to the ceiling upon remembering the chagrin, “It’s an excuse, I know, but I lost track of time…”

“Haha, don’t worry. Coach Aizawa may seem like a hostile man, who arguably doesn’t get enough sleep, but I assure you he has his soft spots. You just have to get to know him a bit more.”

Your face droops, finding the claim hard to believe when testifying for the man’s daunting character that left your nerves shivering. At this point, all you need to do is not get on his bad side, and you’re good to go.

“Rather, if I did have to point anyone to look out for, it’d be fencers like him,” she gestures off to the side, your eyes following the movement. The person in query is a boy of slick, blonde hair whose lips draw into a smug grin that somehow irritates you enough for your face to gaunt.

“That’s Monoma Neito. Fencing is a chivalrous sport, but he’s as arrogant as they come, all talk and no action. However, his family funds and supports the academy, so he was offered a place here with little regard. Luckily he fences saber so we won’t be running into much of him anyway,” she describes a type you’re fairly familiar with. They’re the kind of people that throw their money at their problems, reaching undeserving plateaus thanks to their authority and status. It’s frustrating to think a prestigious sports academy can still be touched by people like him, considering the lengths ordinary folks like yourself need to extend to reach the same level. In this cruel world, some arrive at the top with a simple touch of a button on an elevator while the rest must burn and sweat and suffer to climb mountains that span the same peak.

Despite that, you’re glad this place still harbors some exceptional skills, judging by the abundant competence surrounding the room in the form of rigorous training and practice. You should join in the grind soon. However, your curiosity piqued at the last second as your eyes have subconsciously been trailing the saber fencers, seeking peculiar tresses of red and white. It’s not long until you spot him again—Todoroki. He’s stepped off to the side, relieving his thirst with water and wiping the lingering sweat dotting his face.

“Hey, Yaoyorozu,” you call, eyes unwavering, “can you tell me about that boy over there, Todoroki?”

She gives a mildly surprised look, “You don’t know who he is? I thought the last name would ring a bell, especially as a fencer.”

“Um, should I?” You raise an eyebrow. Even when you spare another glance at the boy, hoping your mind would jolt with a distant memory, nothing clicks. Only a blank greets you.

“That’s Todoroki Shouto, son of Todoroki Enji, who’s a former saber fencing Olympian. He’s one of the best fencers here. They say he rivals his father in skill and is aiming to participate for the next coming Olympics, but Todoroki doesn’t talk much about it,” she finally answers. Your gaze fills with intrigue, processing the information through a filter that quickly fathoms the different planes you and the boy of ice and fire live across. Little do you realize that your worlds will soon collide faster than sword to body, and mar just as bad.

It’s by the next practice at the Tokyo Fencing Center that you genuinely take Coach Aizawa’s words to heart and let it show in your actions by committing to managing your time that day. Even with university classes and studies before another rigorous training session, you arrive with no commotion, no irritating looks, and no sweat. One thing’s for sure, the coach won’t be biting your head off this time.

You start to consider the notion that you could potentially be the very first person here; if not for a sound you begin to discern louder and louder the more you walk down the hallway toward the training room. You surmise it’s too early for anyone to be here when practice does not officially start until two o’clock sharp. Lighting up your phone, it reads 1:40 PM, twenty minutes ahead of schedule.

A ghost? No, you don’t believe in such things. Unless it’s maybe Coach Aizawa’s exhausted spirit coming to punish you for last time? In that case, perhaps you should be more mindful of specters after all.

You decipher the noise as a swoosh carried by thin metal slicing across the air and resounding in swift successions. Your steps careful and silent, you enter the training hall to peek upon the lone entity. It’s there you spot a white figure, however it’s not a ghost. Instead, it’s a fencer. A saber fencer at that, and one whose form is in peak and perfect condition as they jut their blade out with such a keen technique, you’d want to capture the shot within a sculpture of ice to admire every angle. But, under every chain of moves is a fire that melts and burns the previous images’ glaciers.

Before your thoughts can catch up to you, the fencer stops and lowers his sword.

“Do you usually spy on people while they’re practicing?”

The figure evokes a husky voice from beneath the meshed mask. Had it not been only the two of you here, you might not have heard the muffled words that nearly have your feet stepping on top of each other from how sudden they resonate in the air. You gather yourself and find your balance. When your eyes reach the boy’s again, he’s already swung off his headgear, revealing his heterochromatic eyes peering at you. Todoroki waits silently, expecting an answer.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to gawk at you or anything,” you sputter while unable to look directly at him.

“You kept glancing at me the first day you came in for practice too,” he mentions, his voice relaxed despite the detail making you out to be some attentive fangirl, maybe even a stalker if you stretched it. Surprising to you, however, he furrows his brows.

“Did I do something to bother you?”

You swing your hands up fervently to deny the question and assure to him that was not the case.

“Oh no! I just, uh…” your splayed utters have you fumbling to reach for a response that won’t come off too garish for your standing, “I just… admire your fencing. Saber has always been a discipline that’s fascinated me, considering it’s so different from épée.”

“Right, you’re an épée fencer,” he says.

You nod genially, “Hehe, that’s correct. I’m L/n Y/n, by the way, the new girl, but you probably already knew that when the coach scolded me last week for coming in late,” you chuckled, offering a strained grin to lighten the dreadful memory.

Noticing he’s about to return the introductions, you stop him with a wave of your hand, “Don’t worry, I know who you are, Todoroki Shouto.”

He lifts a brow, and you have to giggle at the perplexed expression etched on his face when comparing it to the icy demeanor he usually sports on pause.

“I watched a bit of your match last week the moment I walked in,” you explain, “Plus, you’re quite the talk around here at the fencing academy.”

“Am I?” Todoroki questions, a hint of inquisitiveness edging the tip of his tongue.

“I thought you’d already be the one to know that. You’re the skilled saber fencer here,” you tease. “So do you usually come so early just to do warm-ups and swing your saber around by yourself?”

His eyes avert to the blade handled in his right hand, then return to you, “I follow a training routine. In the morning, I work out at a gym, and then I come here afterward.”

Your eyes blink twice, interpreting his words, “Wait, so you’ve been here since..?”

“1:00,” he finishes for you. Your mouth hangs open in an almost cartoonish manner.

“You seriously stayed here for a whole hour doing fencing drills before the actual fencing? And that’s after working out?” you relay the questions in a way that expresses the details to be appalling, yet he simply shrugs.

“Isn’t that a bit much? Don’t you want to hang out with people for a bit or relax somewhere else?”

He pauses for a minuscule moment, glancing at the saber’s shining edge that reflects the fraternal twins of his irises across the metal. It’s as if the sword imparts him with an answer to your query, which drops weight in his next statement.

“The way I see it, there’s not much time to waste if I’m going to go for the top. If I’m going to beat him, I need to keep up this momentum, or else I’ll stray off course.”

You stare, eyebrows knitted, and unable to recognize if the words coming from his lips are genuinely his own upon sensing the candle flicker of anguish lit behind his glacial facade. The heat threatens to melt it off at the emphasis of “him.” Whoever “him” is, you aren’t too sure. Unfortunately, Todoroki does not allow you to ponder any further.

“Sorry, but I have to get back to my training,” he says before turning his back to you. The proximity left behind stretches into a tension you know you shouldn’t trifle with, lest risk snapping a nerve that must be left untouched.

“Right, it’s almost 2:00, and I need to get changed anyway,” you offer back, though truthfully, it was a way to excuse yourself and not suffocate under the tense atmosphere.

By the time you’ve entered the locker room and gotten changed, the other fencers have trickled in along with Coach Aizawa. Practice proceeds as usual, and everyone scatters evenly into their disciplines. You train in sets of matches with the other épée fencers, going through the ropes and trying to polish your technique—advice given to you by Aizawa that you needed to improve on.

It’s by the third match that the thoughts lingering in the back of your mind start to surface and cloud your motions, evident when you teeter in your stance and receive a thrust right against your torso you surely would have dodged in time. That bout ends in your defeat. Continuing with practice like this won’t do, so you seize the loss as a sign to take a water break and settle the haze in your head.

“Got something on your mind, mademoiselle?” a voice chimes in, airy, flamboyant, and not a tone you recognize, “You’ve been staring at that bottle of water for an awfully long time.”

The boy that approaches the bench is slim, blonde, and possesses an aura, both foreign and confident. He draws attention to the scrunched bridge of your nose and the pointed crests furrowing your features that you fail to notice you’ve been harboring.

“Well, er,” you’re hesitant to admit it at first, but you relent with a nod.

“Would you like to talk about it with me? I am always willing to lend an ear to any of my fellow fencers.”

You don’t say anything, words trapped in your throat as if lost in an abyss. Instead, you answer with a small nudge in a general vicinity. The boy turns in that direction and bemuses that you’ve ushered his gaze to where all the saber fencers are practicing. There’s a twinkle glimmering in his eyes now, a look that sparks uncertainty for you.

“Ah, some boy trouble?” he inquires playfully. Grasping his words, you fluster and your cheeks color pink. You vigorously shake your head.

“N-No, it’s not like that!” you start, voice rising slightly in volume, “I’m just worried about… OK, this guy. He seems like he has no room to breathe, practicing all the time.”

“Ah, you must be speaking of Todoroki Shouto.” His finger points to him, and you observe Todoroki is diligent as ever during practice.

“You see it too, don’t you?”

The boy you’ve come to know as Aoyama Yuga exchanges an inquisitive look, “Well, I suppose I wouldn’t blame him for living like that, considering the situation he’s in.”

Your eyes perk up, puzzled by his statement as you spare a confused visage, “Huh? Why not?” you ask.

“His father may have been a renowned saber fencer, but he was only runner-up to Yagi Toshinori while they were in their prime. Ever since Toshinori started competing in fencing tournaments and competitions, Todoroki Enji has always placed second since,” he remarks, shifting his gaze back to the dual-haired boy while he tells the story. “People say the youngest of the family was trained to rectify that error.”

Now you’re able to put two and two together, joining the pieces to view the full picture.

You draw a memory in the long film of your life. It’s an old clip from the Olympics you watched when you were only a small child, and from it sparked your ambition to fence in the first place, watching the athletes display their skills and passion on the piste for the entire world to behold. Little did you realize that the men participating were rivals whose bitter strife exists even to this day in the form of Todoroki Shouto and his father’s will carved into him. The will to carry out a petty dream that is not even his own.

You fight against the notion, “But shouldn’t he think about himself rather than his father?”

Aoyama shrugs, “It’s up to him to decide how he creates his path. And if he chooses to walk on it, who are we to stop him?” is his response before walking off, finishing the chat, “Well, it was nice talking to you, mademoiselle, but I must be getting back to my practice. Au revoir~”

The conversation leaves an odd sensation in you that you can’t shake off, with remnants of Todoroki’s struggle swirling. As you glance toward the boy one last time that day, your heart aches for him.

It’s the weekend, and you’ve made some plans to stop by the mall and head to the sporting goods store to replace some of your fencing equipment. Lately, the sneakers you’ve been using have worn out, making it challenging to keep your feet light on the piste, so you thought it’d be about time to purchase some new ones and break them in before the next practice.

When you enter, you’re greeted by the usual cashier at the register, who doesn’t pay much mind to you coming in, his attention glued to a volleyball game playing on the television. You instinctively head to the fencing section of the store, located around the back area where equipment such as blades, safety gear, and other fencing goods are sprawled and laid around for the average consumer to gander.

You navigate through the aisles, but soon discover another patron in the distance, hovering around the section—which to you was strange. Fencing is a sport a majority of people have heard before; however, it isn’t a sport that generates as many fans as basketball or baseball. People who follow the game take the time to understand the swordplay and make a note of what happens during the action, as well as touch upon the complicated rules. An average sports fan would find it hard digesting the contents of fencing, with many regarding that the pacing and action is too monotonous for their liking. Plus, fencing does not harbor as many active players compared to other popular sports littered with sponsorships, so because of all that, this section of the store was usually vacant whenever you visited.

Approaching closer, you decipher the figure obscured by the rows of equipment and goods, and to your utter astonishment, tresses of red and white hair come into view.

Your first instinct is to duck and dodge between the rows, an act which you’ve been repetitively doing as of late. To run into Todoroki outside of fencing practice is appalling to you; though, it seems fitting that if he were not working out at a gym, training at the fencing center, or staying at home, he’d take root in the fencing section of a sports store.

Your head darts out. Man, what am I doing? You gingerly think, relaying to yourself that you’ve already been called out for spying on him the first time you’ve encountered each other. It’s better to act natural and not give the security cameras the wrong idea that you’re potentially stalking this boy.

You ease out from behind a rack of protective gear. Todoroki does not detect your presence in the slightest as his attention is on the variety of premium shoes lining the shelves. So when you suddenly tap your finger against his left shoulder, he turns in haste and is bewildered to be greeted by your stiff facade.

“Oh hey, Todoroki, didn’t expect to run into you here,” you wave, and his expression mellows upon perceiving that it’s you—the épée fencer he spoke with before.

“Likewise,” he replies, then rotates around again to scan through the shoes. Luckily for you (or perhaps unluckily), your reason for coming here is to get your sneakers replaced so you establish yourself next to him.

Todoroki starts a conversation, despite his quiet self, “What are you here for?” he asks.

“I need to get a new pair of shoes, mine are a bit worn-out at the moment,” you answer, following down the rows of footwear to find your particular size and desired brand. “Since you’re in this section, I’m guessing you might be needing some new ones as well?”

He shakes his head, “My current shoes are fine. However, I’ve been thinking about trying out this new brand,” his finger hovers in front of him, drawing his sight to specific footwear, “Been told they’re better for fencing.”

Your eyes go from tracing the shelf to glancing at the boy, curiosity dancing. “Oh? Think I should try them out myself?” you ask while your hand grazes against the natural texture of the shoes you’ve been accustomed to, “I’ve been using these specific pairs for a while now, maybe it’s time to switch it up.”

“From what I hear, the cushion on these makes it easier for your feet to walk across the piste,” is his response before he spots said shoes on a particular row, about to draw them from their display board to inspect closer. However, subconsciously, your hands brush up next to each other while wandering through the litter of footwear among the walls. You’re both quick to separate as soon as they touch—like the sensation singes your skin—creating a distance between your hands.

“Sorry about that,” the two of you murmur your apologies. Upon hearing how in-sync your words sound between one another, you giggle and the boy next to you can’t help but hide a grin beneath his hand, amused.

Then you watch as Todoroki resumes analyzing the pair of sneakers. They’re fresh and matted in white with slick black streaks etched across the material. You nudge the boy to let you have a look, and he passes it to your palm. From a glimpse, you can tell these models were created with excellent quality and attention to detail.

“Wow, these are quite the shoes. A bit fancy, don’t you think? Wonder how much they—” the rest of the question does not leave your lips. You’re hushed the moment you turn over the white price tag strung around the holes the laces weave into, attempting to process the confounding amount of zeroes printed there. It only concludes with your eyes widening and your mouth hanging open. You ask yourself, how can mesh material molded into two simple pieces of footwear cost this much? Baffled, you merely twist the tag back around so you wouldn’t have to read the price anymore, and ease your spirit.

“I think I’m good with my current shoes…” your voice deadpans, swiftly gathering the box of reasonably priced sneakers into your arms.

Todoroki doesn’t make much of your reaction. He pulls the shoes off the shelf and ends up accompanying you to the register.

“It was a surprise to see you here, Todoroki,” you tell him.

“It’s my free day today, so I thought I’d run some errands,” he says.

A free day, huh? Your mind conjures the thoughts of last practice, recalling the rigorous routine the boy performed every other day, memorized into the fiber of his muscles down to the marrow of his bones.

You had to ask, “What do you usually do on your free days?”

“Rest,” his response is blunt and straightforward as expected, “sometimes get ahead on my studies,” he adds. By this point in the conversation, the two of you have arrived at the cash register.

You haul the box onto the counter, an action the cashier isn’t particularly fond of, forced to divert from the game airing on the screen. He scans the shoes, issues the price, and gathers the box in a plastic bag before doing the same for Todoroki, enacting the bare minimum amount of manners throughout the process.

Your purchased goods in hand, you’ve essentially finished your business here. Yet your eyes blink back, mind swallowed by the fact that after you leave the store, both of you will return and go about your day as you always do, likely not sparing a glance at each other until the next coming practice. You trail behind Todoroki, crossing through the exit with your gaze keen at the back of his head as if mustering a thought out. Soon, an idea emerges almost similar to a fast flicker of a light switch. Your voice calls out to him, and he turns back to you as a result.

“Say, Todoroki, since you mentioned today is your free day, how about we go grab something to eat together?” you ask, noting that the clock is currently ticking to lunchtime.

He narrows his brows, expressing uncertainty, “I don’t need to be back home until later, but I’m not sure if—”

“What? Are you gonna tell me you have homework to do or something?” You tease the boy for his overly-strict attitude. “C’mon Todoroki! Hanging out for a bit and eating with a friend shouldn’t hurt,” you chide, tone light, and persuasive.

Friend. You repeat the title in your head, wondering if it was right to designate that status on your own when you haven’t interacted much with him. In the end, you push the tricky thoughts aside for now.

“In fact, I know a pretty neat café around here. It’s right next to this popular soba restaur—”

His entire demeanor reacts in a flash the instant the last words depart from your mouth. Suddenly, he dons a faint, spirited expression, approaching closer as if he had heard wrong.

“Did you say soba restaurant?” His tone conveys an intense zeal at the word soba. You gawk before blinking in quick succession, the almost uncharacteristic gleam in his eyes taking you back. Then, your pupils dilate at the pieces assembling in your head.

The icy, diligent, handsome saber fencer, Todoroki Shouto, has a great weakness for soba noodles.

A smile curls across the line of your lips, “Would you like to come eat there with me?”

There’s a brief pause between you, but surely enough, Todoroki agrees with a nod. You verify with an exchange of smiles—yours wide, welcoming, and his subtle, yet still simmering warmth—before tugging him along with you to the soba restaurant, humming in tune with your steps that the boy can’t help but be amused by. When you arrive there, Todoroki’s quiet enthusiasm is evident while he scans through the menu filled with an assortment of food.

“They even have cold soba served in baskets here,” you hear him mutter beneath the menu. It ensues an amused grin on your lips. You try your best to contain the giggle threatening to chime as you watch the boy’s fervor for the noodles take on its most prominent form when presented and served within a woven basket, the bowl of dipping sauce on the side.

You opt for a hot bowl of udon, a contrast between the colder, thinner noodles on the opposite end of the small table. The two of you eat across each other, slurping your food with gusto to truly appreciate the restaurant’s well-cooked meal that soothes your bones. Just as Todoroki smothers his soba in the flavorful sauce, you speak to him to ease the atmosphere with more small talk.

“Todoroki, you mentioned earlier that you do some of your studies on your free days. Do you attend university?”

He swallows his noodles down to issue a response, “I do.”

“Interested in any particular majors?”

Todoroki shakes his head, “I’m undecided for now,” at his answer, he sets his bowl down for a moment and his sight lines down to his basket of soba.

“I haven’t had much time to think about where I’d head during university. Or what I’d do afterward.” The stare he evokes on his food could delve a fissure through the plate, considering the intensity over the troubling thoughts you’ve accidentally allowed to settle.

You frown, the udon noodles hovering above your bowl, twirled in your chopsticks. “It’s likely because you’ve been fencing all your life, huh?” you quietly surmise yet it’s loud enough for him to hear judging from the pensive look that crosses him. He doesn’t carry a response back because deep down, he knows it’s true. All he’s ever known throughout his young adult years of living is fencing. It has got to the point where the sport is second nature to him like it’s all he wakes up for, all he breathes for.

The shift in the air is apparent as you watch him silently resume eating his soba, but you don’t let the change deter your mood.

It’s up to him to decide how he creates his path. And if he chooses to walk on it, who are we to stop him? Aoyama’s words stir the depths of your subconscious. They ring through you until eventually activating an almost visceral reaction.

With your hardened fist wrapped around your chopsticks, a determined slam rattles the table. Todoroki, along with the nearby patrons encompassing the restaurant, rouse when it connects.

“Hey, look, you’re a great fencer. You should use your skills and talents to mold your future if that’s what you want to do,” you affirm, vigor in your voice, “It’s OK if fencing is integrated into your life. What matters is how you make your abilities your own and how it shapes you as a person.”

Todoroki blinks over your words. You scrutinize his face, searching for a reaction within the delicate seams of his handsome features before your chopsticks meet the broth in your bowl again.

“What I’m asking is, ‘Why do you fence?’” you ultimately inquire. That is the most important question after all, isn’t it? People who live this long in their path as athletes wouldn’t burn so much sweat and energy into a sport without so much as a reason—a goal.

Todoroki swallows the last of his soba noodles while contemplating. “I guess, to put it simply, it’s to become the best. To compete with the best and to go where... my father once stood.”

Your eyes flicker at the note of his father, perceiving the falter in Todoroki’s tone before the mention.

“Maybe even higher,” he adds, setting his utensils across the edge of his depleted bowl of sauce. You understand the reference at the attachment of higher. To head towards the upper step that his father could never achieve on that podium. It’s a weighty, arduous, and grandiose ambition, but the boy is determined to go to any lengths to get there, for the flare beneath his eyes quavers into a blaze too powerful to be doused by even a torrent.

“That would be quite a feat, Todoroki,” you whistle, “I just hope you remember, you’re allowed to go at any pace you want. You don’t need to be running all your life to get there.”

Saber fencers are fencers who live on the speed and adrenaline of the game, and only seem to increase their acceleration as time goes on. People who thrive on the discipline compare it to Formula 1 racing as it’s aggressive, fast, and requires split-second decision making. In a way, these traits reflect the boy’s story—the vigor he feels, the rapid-fire swiftness he tackles his life to attain that one point further to win the bout and achieve his dreams, his glory. He’s forgotten that he’s allowed to go at any pace he desires to accomplish something like this. He doesn’t need to keep his body in a full sprint all his life to make it to the finish line. He’ll get there eventually, and certainly doesn’t need his aspirations to be handheld by someone on the sidelines. He just needs to realize he can make those decisions on his own.

The breath he respires inward, along with the silence that drags amidst the gap enclosed among you two, is enough for you to know he’s absorbing your words. However, you’re blindsided when he leans forward on the table, chin resting on his palm with poise in his gaze.

“Why do you fence, Y/n?” He redirects your question right back. It’s not a move you expected, for you don’t respond immediately, attempting to conceive a reply through a trance in your head. Ultimately, you are scrounging for an answer that doesn’t exist.

“I’m... I’m not sure myself,” you say, returning empty-handed at the question.

Unlike Todoroki, you don’t harbor any challenging or earnest dreams and ambitions. Whereas he strides through his life, steered down a clear, concise path, you course through your existence like a nomad, and wander with no map and no specific directions to guide you except the wind and stars.

Perhaps the “stars” that led you here was that Olympic video you watched long ago, the one that spurred you to fence, and now collided you face-to-face with Todoroki, where he continues his venture to the top, and you’re still settling at the bottom with no particular outstanding talent or skills. Maybe the reason you could never drive yourself to achieve such feats is because you know, deep down, you’d never attain the results you desired. You’re just... average.

He observes as you shroud your figure in a stiff stance, your visage cast down to your own hands intertwined together beneath the table. You do not meet his eyes. Like an épée fencer, you are slow and defensive, putting up a wall hoping that it will be enough to repel the pierce of the deafening question away, along with the sear of his fixed stare.

However, he relieves you of the tension when his hand journeys across the table to tilt your chin up. Your walls teeter down as he allows your eyes to meet his once more, except at glance they do not burn. Instead, they are warm, soothing—parallel to the smile on his lips—like a kindle of fire you could sit by and revel in peace and tranquility.

“It’s OK, Y/n. I know you’ll find it eventually,” he assures. His words comfort you. The stiffness in your nerves mellow upon hearing the smoothness of his voice.

When the waiter abruptly drops off your bill on the table with a palpable clunk, your gazes remove themselves from one another at last, aware that you’re in the restaurant and have cleared your plates and bowls of noodles a while ago. Now was about time you vacated the spot for another set of people to occupy and enjoy a meal.

Your hand rummages into your bag to pluck out your wallet to help pay; however, Todoroki already allots his card atop the tray retaining the receipt, telling you that the food was on him. Even when you deny the offer, he still firmly insists.

“Consider this a thank you for showing me this place,” he asserts, “and for spending your time with me. I enjoyed talking with you.”

You wane, your hand easing out from your bag to wholly accept the proposal upon hearing that he relished your company—that the moment between you two meant something to him within his usual monotonous routine. It was a change, one he realized that, despite his uncertainty in the beginning, proved to conclusively recollect his thoughts and perhaps made him judge his ideals.

In the end, you lug your purchased shoes at your side as the two of you leave the table after paying the bill, now standing beside each other outside the restaurant.

Currently, the sun hangs above the clear sky scattered in the bright azure of late afternoon. You check the time on your phone, grumbling over how fast the hour flew by during your meal. Todoroki simpers, waving a hand out in front of you.

“I think it’s about time I headed back,” he says. You nod in agreement, knowing well you’ve intruded into his free time today, but are glad he enjoyed himself nonetheless.

“Can I borrow your phone, though? I need it to call someone to come pick me up.”

You pass your phone over to him without hesitation. He punches a few buttons through the call app, and the tone rings two consecutive times before he speaks into the mic. From where you’re occupying, you distinguish a muddled feminine voice talking on the other line.

His mom probably? Or maybe he has a sister? Either way, he concludes the call with a click sooner than you can debate further, returning your phone after his fingers dial across the screen longer than necessary. The swift series of motions bemuses you just as he places the device back into your palm.

“I’ll see you next practice, Y/n,” he farewells with a flourish of his hand as he walks off.

“Wait, what was it that—” your question pauses when you gesture your eyes down at the answer in front of you. The light emitting from the screen displays a newly added contact information with an attached number, and interestingly, it’s indicated by a single given name.

Shouto

Due to your inclination and inquiry, the contact rallies you to press your thumb above the series of numbers, clicking the message icon in the submenu. You type a quick text and push your finger on send without delay.

⇒ [ 4:13 ] — shouto?

Oddly enough, a gray bubble of ellipsis materializes as a notion that someone is typing on the other end, and it disappears just as fast as it emerges.

⇒ Shouto [ 4:13 ] — yes?

Of course, you’re surprised by how instantaneous the message appears, noting Todoroki had just utilized your phone to call home a minute ago. But at a tilt of your head, you pinpoint the boy hanging by the lamppost in the distance, turning back at you with—lo and behold—his phone right in between the slips of his fingers, a teasing grin gracing his lips. Your taunting nature quips a similar smirk in response.

⇒ [ 4:14 ] — you sly dog

“My, seems like you’ve been in an especially good mood lately, Y/n,” Yaoyorozu notes the way you hum upbeat melodies in the tune of a song one improvises on the spot, unique and unheard on any radio station, while you clasp the straps of your trousers over your shoulders in the locker room. The beam cast prominently on your face is enough indication that her remark is spot on.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you jest in a dulcet tone, fully aware of your jovial complexion. It’s almost as if a luminosity glows within your ambiance.

Since your run-in with Todoroki three weeks ago—resulting in your furtive exchange of numbers—you’ve been sending messages to one another, holding conversations outside the confines of fencing practice. During these texts, you grasp more and more of each other—your lifestyles, personalities, and interests. Todoroki even mentioned his older siblings to you in one exchange. His sister, Fuyumi, taught children at an elementary school while his brother, Natsuo, worked in the health department. However, his oldest brother, Touya, he wasn’t too sure about though he insisted he must be doing fine on his own, so you didn’t pry, surmising the brother to be free-spirited or some sort. Despite the generous dictions Todoroki spoke about his family, he still maintained a strained effort to not mention his father anywhere in your chats, presumably not to taint the conversation’s mood or flow. Especially considering his mother and his father are not on good terms.

However, through every delicate shift, you made a point to him that if he ever needed to open up to anyone about these sensitive topics that you’d always be willing to listen.

“You’ve even been on fire with all your matches during practice recently. Care to explain?” the onyx-haired girl questions, but you continue to wave her insistent queries away, latching on your last piece of fencing gear. Yaoyorozu quirks an eyebrow as she follows your splendor outside the locker room and into the training hall.

As you enter the room, now hectic with work, you catch sight of Todoroki only a little distance across from you, who’s preparing for a match. When your eyes meet, a smile unconsciously spreads on your lips cheek to cheek while he acknowledges your gesture with his own. Unknowingly, the reciprocation does not sneak past Yaoyorozu’s keen, peripheral vision as she soon emerges by your side with a witting glint in her eyes the moment Todoroki turns away.

“Oh I see now…” she begins musing, her hums pitching toward a chafing inflection, “You and Todoroki Shouto are seeing each other.”

“Momo!” you shrill. Despite Yaoyorozu passing on her remark through a bare murmur, your senses spike into acute awareness, jutting your head side-to-side behind you to perceive if anyone heard. Though your cheeks bloomed a dainty pink, the tips of your ears were suffusing a much more noticeable red that the girl can’t help but giggle at.

You release a sigh after composing yourself. “Shouto and I are most definitely not a thing,” you insist.

“Hm, but you’re already on a first-name basis with each other.” Yaoyorozu is as observant as always. You furiously shake your head, continuing to deny every accusation.

“Look, we’re just good friends! Besides, he doesn’t have time to get involved in things like that,” you tell her, and thankfully, Yaoyorozu does make a point that the boy seems more pressed about fencing than seeking a relationship at the moment, so she waves it off for now. All in all, you’re merely happy you could befriend him and offer your support whenever he needed it. Well, that was a summary of your relationship anyway. With Yaoyorozu mentioning the possibility of you and Todoroki being an item, it does find its way into your mind.

Holding hands, going on dates, exchanging—

But as soon as the idea transpires with vivid imaginations, you drive them away through an impulsive slap of your palms against your cheeks.

What am I thinking?! Shouto has too many things he’s working towards right now. He doesn’t have time for love and relationships! You scold yourself and immediately rush into training to distract those thoughts from appearing again.

On an average day of practice, the schedule follows along the lines of everyone scattering into their respected areas to warm-up before transitioning to drills and matches, mixing it up against different opponents to grasp a broader skill level. Today, you occupy your time as much as possible, taking breaks only when necessary to maximize the session and not allow your eyes and mind to wander towards a certain dual-haired young man again. And you’ve nearly succeeded this feat to the very end if not for said boy popping up at your side unexpectedly while you were placing your épée down.

“Oh, whoa, Shouto,” you sputter, about to tip off balance had Todoroki not caught you through a grip on your arm.

“What’s up?”

“Sorry, Y/n,” he apologizes, “but I wanted to ask if—”

“Todoroki.”

He’s cut short by a call, and when you two turn around you’re greeted by your messy-haired coach standing behind you.

“I need to speak with you real quick.” Coach Aizawa nudged his head toward the sideline. Obliging, Todoroki nearly dismisses himself from your side, but leans into your ear at the last second to mutter in a hushed voice, “Wait for me when you finish changing after practice, I’ll tell you then.”

Your sole response is a swift nod before Todoroki walks along Coach Aizawa. Whatever they’re speaking about is far beyond the curiosity of your mind because instead, you’re pondering the last bit of Todoroki’s words that edged off, making you wonder what he wanted to ask you. At first, you speculated the query to consist of trivial topics, like perhaps he was going to ask for another restaurant recommendation to show his family or whatnot. However, it didn’t take long for you to dive into the depths of your overarching thoughts. You surmised that maybe the other fencers have also speculated the two of you are in a relationship, and the boy came to you to clarify the matter by drawing a clear, defined line between you to rectify the misunderstanding.

“God, I’m just paranoid,” you mumble under your breath. While you do agree with not letting the others misinterpret your friendship, you’d rather it’d be through a means that wouldn’t have to hinder something between you two.

All you can do for now is fend off the rest of today until you’re finally hastening to the locker rooms to get dressed.

You tug the white uniform off to replace it with your casual apparel, shoving the gear back into your duffel bag and latching the strap onto your shoulder before closing the locker much more abruptly than necessary. As you’re about to make your leave in an evidently impatient manner, you still made sure to slip a remark to Yaoyorozu that you’ll be waiting outside the center for when she finishes.

By the time you headed to the exit, Todoroki had already situated himself beside the door, scrolling through his phone until he noticed you approaching.

“Hey, Shouto,” you greet, and Todoroki locks his phone to turn his attention to you. “What was it that you wanted to ask me earlier?” you ask, hoping he didn’t notice how eager you sounded.

“Right, I was recently invited to watch a fencing exhibition, and I wondered,” he starts, his hand brushing against the back of his head, “if you wanted to come along with me.” He averts his gaze to anywhere but your face, stance surprisingly stiff and a dust of pink blotting his cheeks that you don’t catch.

Oh, it was only that. At all your overrun thoughts and misunderstandings that built up beforehand, a grin arises, and you inevitably can’t suppress the laugh that gradually trembles in your gullet. Stumped, Todoroki scrutinizes your sudden animated expression like he’s left out in the ending of a joke.

“What? Was it something I said?” He squints his eyes, deliberating if he somehow said something humorous. You flit your head back and forth while the quivers resonating from your throat cease.

“No no, it’s not that. I’ve just been overthinking things is all,” you explain. Todoroki tilts his head.

“‘Overthinking’?” he repeats.

“Yeah, like I’m looking into certain details too much...” you trail off, voice running toward a dead-end that forces you to shift the tone of the conversation, much to your chagrin.

“Shouto, has anyone… said anything today?” Unknowingly, your fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt when you ask the question, nervous.

“What do you mean?”

At the response and his narrow brows, you shake your head, almost lamenting even asking something so ambiguous. “No, never mind, it’s nothing.”

Todoroki discerns the faint stir in your expression when you wave off the query. However, you’re quick to transition back into the subject at hand before he can even attempt to pry.

“Anyways, to answer your question, yes, I’d be glad to come with you, Shouto,” you answer, but a finger rests beneath your chin, “Though I’m a bit curious as to why you chose to ask me instead of someone else.” If Todoroki was invited to observe an exclusive exhibition match, it’s likely to consist of many other competent players within his league, meaning it’ll be an advantageous way to size up the competition. To invite you of all the people from the academy to tag along with him may be a waste compared to the other talent nurtured in that training hall. You understood your skills that much, at least.

The dual-haired boy raises his shoulders, nonchalantly, “I don’t see why I wouldn’t invite you.”

“I mean, wouldn’t it benefit another fencer better?” you reason. Todoroki remains unchanged in his stance.

“I don’t care about anyone in there. You’re the person I want to go with, Y/n,” he declares, firm with weight beneath every word that you don’t even think to oppose his fortification. So much so that those over-analytical inferences jointly possess your senses once again—the gears in your head beginning to speed up through a motor of hypersensitive nerves that drive your thoughts into ambient fantasies—until you will yourself not to let his words run over you, no matter how unwavering they may sound, or how saccharine they may be. You cannot indulge in cloying mirages, because you tell yourself those word don’t mean anything. They shouldn’t mean anything.

“Alright, alright, I’m going with you,” you ultimately yield, and Todoroki grins like he’s beaten you in a longstanding debate.

“Good.” You hear a car pull up outside the fencing center, right as he finishes. At that, he makes his leave, calling out to you that he’ll see you again for the exhibition between an empty expanse that increases more and more as he walks to the vehicle. Your voice is only a distant holler when you utter back that you can’t wait, tone dying down. The moment his car drives through the broad horizon across the sky soaked in brilliant hues of reds and oranges, your hand reaches into your duffel bag to draw out your phone out of a deep longing for something you can’t properly discern.

An odd pang ripples your cognition, inciting you to unlock and push buttons that lead you back to your texts with Todoroki. You thumb across the keyboard in a gradual process to type a message you have little idea of the repercussions behind.

⇒ [ 5:34 PM ] — shouto what would you think if you and i|

“Oh, Y/n, thanks for waiting!”

Yaoyorozu’s preppy voice disrupts your motions, eluding your attention from the text message that is impulsively transcribed by the emotions running through your fingertips.

“Oh, Momo, you’re done,” you respond, feigning a sprightly tone in your reply to help waver the sensations playing at hand before cutting them off entirely by your thumb squeezing the backspace, suffocating the incomplete message away from your thoughts.

It is better to stab the heart now before it can beat any faster.

You try to ingrain this into your head, yet the lingering sensations you fail to extinguish produce the electric shock that prevents that heart from dying, and you head home, not realizing that it swells back into aching throbs.

Ending Notes | We made it to the end! Hope it wasn’t too boring or anything. If you liked to be added to the taglist for part 2 (which is basically the final part), just ask. However, I just want to warn you now in case you did not read the warnings and genre at the top, that this twoshot will contain smut. While it won’t be super explicit, it is still NSFW content so beware under 18 aged readers, especially since I haven’t posted any explicit content before this aside from sexual undertones and implied stuff on Syndicate. As always, comments and feedback are welcomed!

#bnha #bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #mha x reader #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #bnha imagines #mha imagines #shouto x reader #shoto x reader #my writing

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mydriases · 4 years

Text

Boyfriend headcanons for Epel and Lilia

Anon asked: Hello! Welcome to the fandom! I look forward to your future writing. Can I get some boyfriend headcanon for Epel and Lilia? Thank you!

Thanks, I've kept the format of my first post so I hope it's what you expected!

A small digression to thank you all for the +100 followers! I don't understand how so many people would want to read what I write lol Thank you to everyone who commented or sent messages of encouragement, it touches me deeply.

Epel Felmier

Like loads of people, when you first saw Epel, you thought he was just another pretty boy.

It was at the welcome party for Pomefiore’s new students that you changed your mind.

You heard him fuming over the fact that he wanted to be a Savanaclaw, saw him get reprimanded for his table manners and noticed the way he really seemed out of place, all of this convinced you that he wasn't just another narcissist.

You made a point to become his friend, not out of pity but out of admiration. He was a person with many hidden talents who was able to put up with an environment he despised.

It is true that you were also looking for a type of personality different from the one who invaded Pomefiore like ivy.

One evening, while you were reading in the living room, the incessant chatter of your classmates forced you to leave the room. At least that's what you would've done if you hadn't seen Epel trapped by three other people.

They were talking together about how Epel was a model of elegance and that some people should follow his example. Their discussion was one-sided, judging by the expression of embarrassment that covered Epel's face like a veil.

You made it your duty to get him out of this situation.

You approached the small group, interrupted them and then took your sweetest voice to apologize to these gentlemen because you had to work on a project with Epel.

Of course, they didn’t express any objection and let the two of you go away after a final praise.

Epel showered you with thanks and even asked you if there was any way he could repay you.

« I mean… I wasn’t lying when I said I had a project to work on. »

You don’t feel any shame for asking him that, since as a result the ice broke between you and him.

None of you was close with the other students of your dorm so you spent most of your free time together.

Step by step you discovered Epel’s inner fire, and it was hot pun intended

In spite of his shyness, he could be quite responsive and outspoken when the situation was too much.

He began to open up and talked to you about his insecurities. Specifically, about his own body.

You understood that what was for Pomefiore an asset, was for Savanaclaw a drawback. All the praise was nothing when his own body was telling him he hadn't the capacities.

But some things can't change, so he focused on his magical abilities more than anything else.

It was hard for you to find the right words, but you assumed that sometimes you just need someone to listen to you. You took his hand.

Nothing was really the same after that, from this point there was an unspoken intimacy you two shared.

You held hands and hugged easily. Epel became something more than a friend, he felt closer and soon there was no more words needed for you to understand him. In fact, it felt natural to know.

One evening, while some festivities were taking place in the dormitory, you two apologized and went for a walk in the gardens.

You were chatting on a bench enjoying the coolness of the night. Until a comfortable silence settled between the two of you, and Epel turned to you.

Out of the blue he decided that kissing you was a good idea. yes it fricking was

If you ignore the fact that he withdrew as quickly as he moved forward or the fact that you were so shocked that you almost lost the ability to think properly, it all went pretty well.

The new physical intimacy that came with that kiss was unknown to anyone because of how discreet you were in your pda

He starded to give your little presents more often : carved apple, homemade food and even bouquets if that’s what you like (doesn’t know how to romance but he's not gonna admit defeat let me tell you).

He'd take you flying on his broomstick, he isn’t allowed? Who cares ! For once he can break the rules.

He would use you as an excuse to get away from Pomefiore student, « sorry but my love is waiting » he would said in a polite but slightly smug way

You'd discuss ways to make Pomefiore's uniforms more cool and what should change in the dorm. It would happen most of the time after Vil made a comment that Epel didn’t like.

Kisses in the library between the bookshelves, kisses in the garden, kisses everywhere when no one is around.

The kisses with Epel are such a soft thing, his hair would tickle your face and his hands would slide slowly up to your elbows to cup them.

When the kiss would end, you'd stand a few inches apart and notice the beauty of his eyelashes as his breath would caress your face.

Lilia Vanrouge

It was a hard thing not to notice the strange character that was Lilia Vanrouge.

He could hear your discussions from across the hall, spoke in an archaic way and appeared before you without you seeing him coming.

Actually, that's how you first met him. You were looking for a book in the library and he appeared in your field of vision, the wanted book in his hands.

He introduced himself, asked if you were looking for this book in particular and disapeared after giving it. He literally disapeared. You blinked once and paf ! You were alone.

You understood that what happened wasn’t a dream when he actually called you by your name in potions and asked you to be his partner.

In the first place, you were quite astonished. From what the rumors said Lilia was old, like so-old-I-should-be-dead years old, which means that he is knowleadgeable. Although you surely were not the last in your class, you still didn’t reach his level.

Your regular partner was absent, so you had no reason to say no.

It was difficult to know if he was good or bad at potions because he could propose an ideal solution and then he would assume that « perphaps if we add that the result would be better » (spoilers, it didn’t work but at least the final result didn’t change too much)

Since, he continued to appear unexpectedly next to you, only to disappear the minute you looked away. It was entertaining so you didn’t mind.

« Good evening. I was wondering...is the answer to question number 15 « the heart of a legendary beast »?

Yes, it is…Hey Lilia, as you can see I’m on cleaning duty and it would be nice if you could h-

Thank you very much, it is always a pleasure to discuss with you » and he disapeared the basta-

You would soon start to have tea together, it kind of happened naturally. He asked you once and the invitations never stopped.

At least that's what you would have wished for.

You didn’t get any explanations, from one day to the next he stopped talking to you. There was no more funny stories over tea, no more surprise appearances, not even a glance at you.

Three weeks, three weeks of being ignored. Who can blame you if you were mad at him ?

His absence made you realize many things, the first being how much he had become an essential part of your daily life. It was strange not to talk to him anymore, there was a kind of mourning inside you when you were seeing him, as if he was the ghost of a loved one.

Then, you got a letter from one of your roommates. Because apparently, Mr. Vanrouge didn't have the guts to give it in person.

You've never read such a letter from Lilia before. It was short, to the point and didn't even have a cheap joke as usual. It was for the better, you couldn't bear it if he had acted like nothing happened.

He didn't look up at you when you came to sit in front of him. You waited for him to make the first move.

« Look, I think you're aware that my appearance doesn't match my real age. This kind of advantage is not without a price, I have loved and suffered a lot because no matter what I do ,the end remains the same. Even today, in my darkest moments, I wonder if love is worth if, in the end, I find myself carrying such pain. Some of my loved ones have told me that when they find themselves on the brink of the grave, no matter how much pain our relationship has brought them, they will have no regrets. And it is to honour the memory of those people whose voices I have forgotten that I come to talk to you. What we have between us at the moment may just be a passing infatuation, but I know too well where it's going to lead us. That’s why before we go too far, I need to see your point of view on love. For me, love isn't easy, it's not constant happiness that solves all your problems. It's a complex thing that can pull you down as well as up… I’ve been a bit dramatic on the edges but you need to understand that even if loads of relationships don’t last till the end of a life, ours is bound to be harder. »

You were puzzled. This Lilia was different from the one you learned to know, he was dead serious and his saddened look made you feel a little bit ashamed that you didn’t think about how he felt.

« As you said, loads of relationships don’t last till the end and it’s fine. We don’t need to rush things and we don’t need to think about our future for now. It sounds reckless but to answer what you said : yes, it is worth it. »

You never thought you'd start your relationship with Lilia this way but, oh well here you go.

Everything was the same as before but better. He still appeared where you least expected it but now he hugged you from behind which almost gave you a heart attack multiple times.

Lilia loves passionately. He gives without expecting anything in return and has no reserve with his feelings. He is candid, not hesitating to say what is wrong as well as what is right.

It’s hard to be bored with him. He has always an idea to entertain you or something to tell.

He's quite reserved when it comes to kissing, it's a little dated but for him it's more decent to do it within four walls.

But once in private, that's a different story.

His lips would run through yours, he would take the lead and hold you close to him, it's impossible not to be out of breath after his kisses.

There's a melancholy running through you that you can't explain when he embraces you. It makes you feel small in the face of Lilia's longevity. You can almost feel the dust of those former loves on your fingertips, and one day you’ll be one of them. And Lilia will remember you, because there are some things you can’t forget entirely.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #epel felmier #epel felmier x reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #twisted wonderland headcanons

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jenonctcity · 4 years

Text

Perils Brewing

Charia Kingdom – Mark.

Smut, Fluff, Angst.

Fantasy!Au, Supernatural!Au

Warnings: Blood/injuries, sexual content.

Word Count: 16.9k

(All of this series links up. The timeline of the story runs in the order of the master list from top to bottom, Mark - Jisung. Each members part can be read as a stand-alone, but I would recommended reading all the parts in order so the story adds up.)

Charia Kingdom - A place that has equal amounts of sunshine and rain, hot and cold, rich and poor, and, humans and creatures that couldn’t be identified as that of human status. Ruled by the Lee family with a king whose cutthroat and unforgiving nature is feared by many. The poor not cared for by people who have everything, where disease takes the lives of those unfortunate enough to not have the funds to purchase medicine. A place where humans live among creatures many would find terrifying. It’s no secret that Vampires, Werewolves, Wizards, etc live amongst them like normal people. Unless you murder someone, you’re considered normal. Everyone lives their own lives, whether it be a happy life, or a sorrowful life…

Born into a family of renowned witches and wizards, there came a time for Mark to fly the nest. The nest being their comfortable home in the middle of the bustling kingdom. After the death of the castle’s witch, 17 year old Mark was brought in to take her place. He lives up to his family’s name and has impressed the royal family with his natural talents. Now 20 years old with the trust of the royal family and kingdom, shy, quiet Mark is given a new obstacle when a new maid is brought to work alongside him in the castle. Granted she’s mostly there to clean up his mess, but he finds she plays a much bigger role in his life than just that. With the new light in his life, Mark faces a new task at hand. Keeping her safe from the horrors of the castle.

---

A curt gust of crisp wind swept leaves up into the air. The kingdom having a bout of ghastly weather that left a kiss of chill pressed to all exposed skin. Sudden rain the past week had forced many people retreating to the cover of their homes. Those who weren’t lucky enough to be blessed by four walls and a roof left to suffer under the harsh pelts of water plummeting from the moody sky.

You shuddered, although you weren’t sure whether it was because of the cold wind hitting the back of your neck, or whether it was a side effect of the anxiety blooming like a poisonous flower inside of your stomach. The castle gate in front of you was all you could see. It was high enough that if you stood too close to it, the thick wood and the stone that framed it completely blocked out all sights of the great castle behind it. It was clearly built to keep people out. Most likely to stop the lower class from disrupting the perfect equilibrium of the royal family. The gate was connected to a wall that stretched all the way around the castle grounds. Guards on patrol all day, every day to protect it from any possible threats. You had no idea what laid beyond the gate, apart from the obvious castle you could see from miles away. Rumour spread throughout the kingdom that a dragon terrifying enough to make even the bravest of knights piss their pants was what any intruder would be unlucky enough to be met by, had they been successful in breaching the high walls. Which is why you found yourself hesitating as you stared up at the guard post situated above the gate. You couldn’t see anyone over the high wall where you assumed the guards should be.

“Erm,” You cleared you throat, gripping at your tattered bag full of belongings tighter. “Excuse me?” You called out, unsure whether anyone was going to reply or if they’d even heard you at all. Butterflies started to dance in your stomach when a scuffle of shoes against stone came from above the gate. Shortly after that, a boy poked his head between part of the wall, his eyes immediately finding you and raising an eyebrow. The first thing you thought was ‘thank the gods it’s not a dragon’. The second thing that crossed your mind was how the hell someone who looks so young and cute could be guarding the gate, seemingly on his own as you couldn’t see anyone else with him. You furrowed your eyebrows, staring up at the boy and taking in his features. He had pitch black eyes with black hair to match, it rested against his forehead, making him appear soft and cute. It took everything in you not to coo at him.

“What business do you have here?” He leaned his arms on the wall, looking very casual despite being a royal guard. This also gave you the opportunity to see that he clearly wasn’t holding any weapons. What if you were here to attack the castle? He surely couldn’t defend the place with his bare hands. Your thoughts caused a delay in your response, making your cheeks heat up as he looked at you with a judgemental look on his face.

“I’m here to work as a maid. I was told by Seulgi to just come to the castle gate.” You tucked some hair that the wind had caught back behind your ear, shuffling from one foot to another as you shivered in the cold. It had just started to drizzle with rain, causing an uncomfortable layer of water to spread across your face. He rolled his eyes and let out a soft laugh. Seulgi was one of the head maids at the castle. She’d gone to the town to scout for a new maid and due to your enthusiasm and willingness to learn, she’d chose you for the job. All she left you with was a list of things to bring, and a time and date for you to show up at the castle.

“Oh! Okay I was told you’d be coming soon but I forgot what time. Hang on I’ll open the gate.” He laughed, his childlike innocence shining through in his words. You heard a thump resound from behind the gate, then all of a sudden, the sound of metal cranks turning was all you could hear. The gate rose up faster than you expected, and you took a deep breath before hastily stepping inside the castle grounds. You looked to your left to see the surprisingly tall and slender boy working the cranks as he lowered the gate. To your utter shock, he was doing it alone and making it look easy, despite having just raised and lowered a very large and heavy door on his own. Also, with how fast he opened the gate, he must have jumped from the guard post, which had your mouth dropping open in sheer shock that he’d jumped from such a grand height without being injured at all. “I’m not even surprised that Seulgi didn’t come down to greet you herself. Typical.” He laughed with a roll of his eyes. He motioned for you to follow him as he started to walk up the path to the entrance. “What’s your name?” His voice snapped you out of your trance as you stared at the beauty of the building. He was now walking beside you and had his eyes trained on your face.

“I’m (Y/N).” You smiled as you glanced at him, having to pick up your pace to keep up with his big strides.

“I’m Jisung, I’m the head guard of the gate.” He smiled, giving you an awkward wave with his large hand. You were about to open your mouth to reply but as you got to the castle entrance one side of the large door opened to reveal Seugli, her bright smile calming you quickly.

“Thank you for bringing her Jisung.” She bowed her head to him, and he quickly copied, giving you a shy smile as he retreated back the way he’d just walked with you. “Hello (Y/N), come in I’ll show you to your room and then give you a tour.” Her voice was mellow, and you found yourself enjoying her tone as she talked. As you stepped into the grand entrance you felt overwhelmed from the elegance and finery of the décor. A red and gold rug ran along the floor and up the large stone stairs. The royal family’s crest printed on fabric hanging from the walls next to large portraits of what you could only assume was members of the prestigious family. Silver armour was placed along the wall of the hallway Seulgi took you along, the rug still underneath your feet being nothing like you’d ever seen before. Nobody you knew in the town had interiors like this. You felt that everything you touched was expensive and easily breakable which shot a fear through you.

Seulgi showed you to your room, it was located down a narrow staircase and along a long hallway. No natural light could be seen as you were now underground, but candles lit inside of lanterns hanging from the walls gave you enough light to see. It was nothing like the fine décor located above ground, but it was still better than you’d ever lived in before. The room was small, but cosy. With multiple lanterns lit around the room showing you that you had a single bed pushed against the wall beside an empty bedside table. You sat on the bed and noted the fabric of your bedding was soft to the touch and pristine white. Your black and white uniform laid neatly on the bed for you to put on. Across from your bed was a desk, chair, and a wardrobe. It had everything you’d need, and it was very clean. You changed into the uniform that consisted of a black knee length dress that had a white collar, and a white pinafore to go over it, and on your head, you wore a white mop cap. You’d placed the knee length white socks on and slipped into the polished black shoes provided for you. After this she’d taken you on a brief tour of the parts of the castle that you’d need to go to. She neglected to show you where the royal family’s chambers were, but you knew it was highly unlikely you’d actually need to go there so it didn’t matter to you that she hadn’t shown you.

“This is where you’ll spend most of your time.” She motioned to the closed door in front of her on the ground floor of the castle. The room was situated near the gardens at the back of the castle and from the outside you could already tell it was going to be a large room. “You’ll be working alongside Mark, he’s the castles healer, or wizard some may say.” Her eyes crinkled up as she smiled widely. “Your job is to clean up his mess, because honestly he’s useless at doing it himself.” She giggled as she pushed open the door. “You’ll also assist him in his work, he’ll be in charge of you, so he’ll tell you what he needs you to do.” She entered the room and you followed after her, she took you down a rounded staircase, the temperature getting hotter as you got to the bottom step. The room was lit by many lanterns and a large fireplace located on the opposite side of the room to where you stood. A male stood in the centre of the room by a big table that was covered in bottles, books, and other miscellaneous things you didn’t even know what to label. You could hear him mumbling as he flicked through a book that laid on the table, not having noticed he was no longer alone. His thick black hair covered his forehead and his rounded glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, he had pink lips that were pouting out in his concentration and he wore a white button up shirt that had the top two buttons undone, revealing the top of his pale chest, with black trousers. Seulgi cleared her throat, his head snapping up immediately and his wide eyes boring into your own. His beauty nearly knocked you back onto the steps, but you managed to conceal how stunned you felt by smiling softly at him.

“Mark, this is your new assistant (Y/N).” He continued to stare at you with wide eyes, his lips twitching up into a small smile.

“Hello.” He greeted, bowing his head to you and pushing his glasses further up his nose. “It’s nice to meet you.” His voice was soft but deep, it having a calming tone to it that made you automatically relax.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” You bowed to him and raked your eyes around the room once more. You noticed a display cabinet full of bottles labelled with what contents they had inside of them, it stretched from floor to ceiling and was full to the brim. So far it was the only neat thing you’d noticed in the entire room, the bottles all lined up in alphabetical order. Seugli gently touched your shoulder, gaining your attention back from your eyes scanning the room.

“I’m going to leave you with Mark,” She turned to Mark and he watched her with curiosity in his eyes, obviously not knowing what she was planning. “Mark, she’s your responsibility now so you can show her the ropes.” He nodded quickly, a gulp of nervousness making his adams apple bob. Seugli dismissed herself and you found yourself alone with the awkward boy. You decided it was probably best to make conversation with him as he just slowly went back to the work he was doing before you’d entered the room. It looked like he was making a potion, but you’d never seen it been done before so you couldn’t be 100% sure.

“So…what do you want me to clean first?” You approached him slowly, standing beside him as he stirred a bubbling liquid inside of a small cauldron. He glanced at you as he sluggishly stirred the liquid.

“There isn’t much point in you cleaning until I’ve finished making this.” He watched as you let out a sigh, deciding he didn’t like your let down look already and quickly coming up with another solution. “You can help me with this potion if you like?” You smiled widely, your face lighting up ant getting to see a potion being made for the first time in your life.

“Okay!” You chirped, placing your hands on the table in front of you and leaning to look at the potion closer.

After an hour of helping Mark, you had noticed he was very quiet and didn’t really talk unless you initiated the conversation. You had ruled most of the conversation, asking him every question that popped into your mind about the potion making. You’d found out the potion he was brewing was for Prince Jeno, but when you had queried why he was making a potion for the prince, he’d dodged the question by letting you put some leaves into the potion. Obviously, you were excited to actually put something into the potion and had forgotten to ask him about it again. He studied you with keen eyes, a smile creeping onto his face as you stirred the potion for him. He didn’t know you, but he did know that he liked to see you smile.

“How long have you been at the castle?” You spoke up suddenly, now running a wet cloth over the table where the potion had previously been brewing. The dark blue liquid was now concealed in tiny bottles, put to the side for Mark to deliver to the prince later on. His tongue was poking out of his mouth, giving him an innocent look in his concentration as he wrote with a quill and ink on a piece of parchment, sitting on a stool at a table across the room from you.

“3 years.” He didn’t take his eyes off of the paper as he answered your question. You hummed in acknowledgement, pursing your lips and wiping aimlessly at the table.

“You’re a pretty big deal in the town, your parents are very proud of you.” His head snapped up; his eyebrows furrowed in curiosity at what you’d said. He opened his mouth to speak but you beat him to it. “Word spreads fast, especially when the best family in magic has their son chosen to work for the royal family.” Mark’s family was very well known within the town. They were the most reliable source for medicines and potions, leading them to have a popular status in the town.

“Oh…I didn’t know that.” He put the quill back into the pot of ink, all of his attention now on you. “I don’t often go to the town, if I need anything one of the maids will go and get it.”

“Don’t you miss your family?” You didn’t know if you should be asking him personal questions like this, not sure how he will react. You hoped he didn’t get angry, not wanting to make your new colleague mad at you. He bit his bottom lip and nodded, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“I do, I see them every now and then, but I’m needed here.” He stood up, lining the four bottles up in a perfect line on top of some brown paper. He grabbed his wand from where it laid on the table in front of him, waving it over the bottles wordlessly. You watched with wide eyes as the parcel paper wrapped itself around the bottles neatly, tightly packaging the bottles together with a piece of string sealing it up. “Why did you want a job here?”

“I’ve always wanted to see the castle and it was time for me to get a job.” You shrugged, putting the rag you used to clean the table in a cold bucket of water Mark had gotten for you to clean with. “My parents run the local bakery and they wanted me to work for them, which I really didn’t want to do.” You paused momentarily before continuing with a soft laugh. “Also, my little brother was starting to get on my nerves too much, so it was time to go.” He laughed, picking up the parcel and tucking his wand into the waistband of his trousers.

“I’m going to deliver this to Prince Jeno, you can stay here but don’t touch anything if it’s in a glass bottle.” He kept his eyes on you for a few moments before disappearing up the rounded staircase, the sound of a door creaking open and shutting echoing throughout the room. You thought a lot about Mark whilst he was gone, his chiselled face burned into your retinas as you walked around the room, reading the labels on the glass bottles dotted around the room. You looked at the ones Mark had just placed back into the large cabinet. One really stood out to you, and you wondered why Mark had just used wolfsbane in a potion he was delivering to the prince. This was something you knew you’d have to ask him when the time was right.

---

Your first week at the castle had been probably one of the best weeks of your life. Mark had taken you under his wing and he was actually enjoying your company more than what he thought he would. His potion room had never looked as clean as what it did after you’d blitzed the place, and he found it much easier to find the things he needed now he didn’t have to rummage through piles of rubbish and empty bottles he didn’t need anymore. You also helped him make potions more than what you had originally thought you would have. He hadn’t admitted it to you yet, but he loved the way your face would light up when he handed you an ingredient to put into the boiling liquid. Where you would help him with his potion brewing, he would also help you with cleaning up his mess, the two of you working perfectly in sync and your partnership becoming the best in the castle despite it only being a week in the making.

You stood beside Mark once again, the small cauldron bubbling in front of you with a large book open beside it on the table. He hesitated his hand over the deep emerald liquid, his fingers pinched together holding the fine hair of a horses tail between them. He took a deep breath and dropped the hair into the cauldron, the bubbles in the liquid coming to a stop. The substance was eerily still for a few seconds, and as if Mark knew what was coming, he grabbed you and pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapped around you tightly, quickly turning his back on the cauldron and muttering something in a language you’d never heard before. Just then, the entire cauldron blew up, the boiling liquid that should have burnt you both completely missing you as if an invisible shield was around you. You flinched as the ear-splitting bang shocked you, huddling into Mark’s chest in fright of the unknown. You gulped, wondering why you never felt anything hitting you, but you put two and two together and figured it was a spell that Mark muttered to protect you both.

“Sorry…” He mumbled, staring down into your scared looking eyes momentarily, before plucking you from his grip and turning to look at the devastation on the table. There wasn’t much left of the cauldron, and his book was covered in the liquid that was no longer emerald and instead now resembled water.

“How did that happen?” You felt your heartbeat slow back to its normal pace; your eyes wide in curiosity. You moved to touch the open book on the table, but Mark reached out fast and grabbed your wrist, his fingers feeling warm against your skin and causing a butterfly to flap its wings in your stomach.

“Don’t touch it yet, it’s not like normal water it doesn’t cool down fast, it will still be hot you have to let it cool.” He let go of you and ran his hand through his hair, making his black locks messy. “I must have put the wrong ingredient in.” He sighed, looking annoyed at himself, his tongue poking into his cheek as he thought about it over and over again in his mind. You thought back to how he hesitated before dropping the hair into the potion.

“Did you know putting the hair in it would do that?” You raised an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms over your chest as if accusing him. He looked at you with innocent eyes, biting his bottom lip before smiling coyly.

“Yes, I did, but I was following the instructions in the book.” He took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes before placing them back onto the bridge of his nose. “I did wonder why it wanted me to use horsehair with rose roots when they don’t react well together…” You leaned over the book and read the instructions that Mark had been following.

“It doesn’t say horsehair in here Mark…” You giggled, looking at the wizard stood beside you who now had a frown on his face, brought out of his thoughts by your words. “It says hares’ hair, but the writing it kind of smudged so I can see why you got it muddled.” You’d never seen someone’s face go as violently red as what Mark’s as fast as what it did. He rushed to look at the words and his mouth popped open when he saw you were correct. You laughed at his expression, holding your hands over your mouth to supress your laughter.

“I am so stupid…” He grumbled, slamming the tattered book shut and shoving it back on the bookshelf, his face still glowing red and his mouth trying to fight the wide smile it was so desperately trying to form.

“Who even wrote that book?” You started to tidy up the room, grabbing a clean cloth and wiping down the surfaces that the liquid had hit.

“It was already here when I came.” He started to help you clean as he spoke, his cheeks now pinker than red as his embarrassment dwindled. “It belonged to the witch who worked here before me.”

“What happened to her?” You’d heard the rumours amongst the civilians in the town, some saying she was murdered, others saying she died from one of her own concoctions, and after seeing what just happened to the potion Mark was making you were starting to believe the latter.

“Erm…” Mark gulped, his actions halting momentarily at your question. “She d-died.” He stuttered out, moving across the room and suddenly finding his cabinet of bottles interesting.

“I know that, but how did she die? And didn’t she have a son?” You followed him, knowing he was trying to escape you to avoid the question, but you weren’t letting him go without some answers.

“She was killed by someone and the son ran away, okay?” You heard the desperation in his voice for you to drop the subject. You suspected he was lying to you, but you didn’t want to push him too hard to tell you the truth. You simply shrugged and dropped the subject, going back to working quietly. Mark watched as you worked, feeling guilty for lying to you but not wanting to put you in danger by telling you the truth.

---

The heat from the castle’s greenhouse was causing your skin to perspire. Your maid uniform with its thick fabric wasn’t exactly fit for heat like this, but you assumed whoever made the clothes didn’t expect a maid to be inside of the greenhouse anyway. It didn’t help that the weather had done a complete turnaround from the bought of coldness the kingdom had been subject to. The sun now boring down every day and making everyone uncomfortable under its heat. The enrichments of colours dotted around the glass house brought a feeling of warmth to you, it reminded you of the flowers your mother had planted outside of the bakery in hopes it would look more welcoming for the people of the town. She was right, it gave the place a new lease of life that the morbid colours of wood didn’t do, and your parents found a higher demand in their baked goods.

You missed your parents, and dare you say it, your little brother too. It had been two months since you packed up your bags and set off for a new life in the castle, but you had enjoyed nearly every moment so far. You missed the smell freshly baked pies, the sound of your mothers singing, and the way your father would scold your brother when he was being irritating. You hadn’t seen them since you’d left, but you’d received letters from them in which they told you they were doing well and that they love and miss you. You’d also sent them letters saying the same things and telling them stories of your life working with the castles wizard that you knew they’d have a chuckle at.

You knew you had it easier than some of the maids you worked alongside, but they didn’t have Mark making their job easy and fun like you did. You didn’t envy the maids who worked in close proximity to the royal family. You would hear stories passed from person to person about how the King and the Prince were absolute nightmares to tend to. The Queen on the other hand, you’d heard was a kind individual, very easy to get along with and hated putting people out of their way to do a task for her. The only member of the family that you had met and spoken to was the King’s niece, she was a bubbly person who would take time out of her day to speak to the staff of the castle and ask them many questions she had. She was very beautiful and fit the princess role perfectly. There were more royals that lived underneath the roof of the castle, but you didn’t know how they were related to the King or Queen. You’d personally never met the King, Queen, or Prince, and had only seen them from afar once or twice when they’d walk around the castle grounds. If any of them needed Mark, they’d send a maid to fetch him and he’d leave you in his potion room on your own to continue with your chores, or he’d dismiss you and let you do whatever you wanted to do with you free time.

You found yourself spending most of your free time with the dark-haired, doe eyed boy, he made you laugh and was the person you could trust the most inside of the castle walls. You could trust Seulgi and the other maids, but you knew a lot of gossip and rumours would be spread amongst them, also Seulgi was busy working in close quarters with the royal family, so she never had time to spend with you. You and Mark had spent many hours just talking about your lives prior to working for the royal family, and you’d found out a lot about Mark’s family that you never knew from the words spread throughout the town. Hearing his stories of spells and potions that have gone wrong never failed to bring a smile to your face and a laugh to leave your mouth. He enjoyed making you laugh, seeing the way your face lit up and the way your eyes bore into his own when you were immersed in his stories spurred him on to tell you more and more about his life. You probably knew more about him than anyone else in the castle at this point, but he didn’t care, as long as it kept you smiling and happy then Mark would tell you everything.

“What did Mark say he needed?” You mumbled to yourself as you walked through the rows of vegetables imbedded in the ground. Mark had left you alone with a verbal list of plants and vegetables he needed to craft a healing potion for a sickness one of the staff members had caught during their trip to the town. He was only going to quickly grab a basket from the kitchen as he’d destroyed the last one, he had in his potion room, but he was taking a lot longer than you thought he would have. The glass door swung open and hit the glass wall of the greenhouse with a loud smash, causing you to spin towards it with a loud gasp. Your heart raced and eyes wide in surprise at the sight of Prince Jeno stood in the shards of glass littered across the floor. You noticed the door was completely destroyed in its metal frame, and the wall hard a large crack imprinted into the glass. You were speechless, unsure what to say to the royal upon your first meeting. You’d only ever seen him in the paintings that littered the castle walls, only recognising him because of that. He was panting as if he was out of breath from running, his pale skin glistening under the sun from how much he was sweating with his jet-black hair stuck to his forehead. You’d never seen him this close before, but you could have sworn he had deep brown eyes, not the glowing amber ones he currently was staring at you with.

“Where is he?” He barked at you, stumbling towards you as he struggled to keep his body upright. He was gripping at his abdomen like he was in pain, his eyes scrunching shut and a whine leaving his parted lips. “Where’s Mark?” His voice was demanding, and he sounded angry despite his pained look.

“I-I don’t know your highness.” You snapped out of your trance and gulped, the nervousness at being in his presence shining through in your stutter words. “Let me help you.” You went to approach him, but he held a hand out in front of him to stop you in your tracks.

“Don’t come any closer!” He growled, his face screwing up once more. “Get Mark…NOW!” His command had you confused; he’d told you not to get close to him, yet he was blocking the only exit as he stood in the doorway. Before you could say anything though, your expression turned from confusion into utter shock and disbelief, you were frozen on the spot as the beautiful prince in front of you transformed into a wolf so big that he could no longer fit in the doorframe of the greenhouse. Luckily he’d lurched forward and was no longer in the doorway, instead a wolf with fur as dark as the princes’ hair was stood in front of you, panting and staring at you with the amber eyes the prince had been previously staring at you with. You felt the blood draining from your face in your fright and tentatively you stood a shaky step backwards, not sure whether any movement would cause the wolf to attack you. The wolf took a step forward in sync with your step backwards, the fear rushing through you so fast your eyes rolled into the back of your head and the world in front of you went black.

---

You woke in sheets softer than you remember your own sheets being. Your eyes were met with a canopy above the bed which you certainly did not have on your own bed, which lead you to believe you were in someone else’s room. Your mind felt hazy, and your head pounded with the unwelcome feeling of a headache. You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of pain shot through your head. When you closed your eyes, you saw familiar looking amber orbs in your memory. You shot your eyes open again, and you saw Seulgi leaning over you.

“Hey (Y/N)…” She smiled softly, her hand gently stroking your head, bringing comfort to you despite how your heart thumped in your chest at the gruelling memory. You moved to sit up and she rearranged the pillows for you to sit against. You relaxed against the pillows, looking at her with questioning eyes. She sighed, taking your hand in her own, she was clearly thinking hard about what she was going to say. In the end she shook her head and stood up. “I’m going to get Mark; he can explain it to you okay?” You simply nodded in reply and she left the room, shutting the door gently behind her. You glanced around the room, it was an upgrade from your own room, but not classy enough to be the room of a royal. You noticed a lack of windows, so you knew the room was underground like your own was. The bed was a double bed, the duvet was a navy blue, with white pillows and a white sheet adorning the mattress. There was a wardrobe in the corner beside a large bookshelf, a desk and chair situated next to that. It was the black cloak hanging from the wardrobe door that told you this was Mark’s bedroom. As you scanned the room looking for more clues to back your theory of it being Mark’s chambers, the door slowly creaked open. Mark slowly entered the room, giving you a weak smile as he gently shut the door behind him. He looked stressed; his hair messy from where he’d been running his hands through it waiting for you to wake up. He was missing his glasses and his eyes looked tired, his cheeks tinted red and his white button up shirt had the top two buttons popped open.

“Hey.” He approached the bed, sitting down facing you on the edge of it. You felt a sense of security now that Mark was in your presence, knowing he was powerful enough with his magic alone to stop anyone or anything from hurting you.

“Mark what the hell is going on?” Your stared at him with desperation for answers in your eyes. He took a deep breath, his hand finding your own and lacing his fingers together with yours tenderly. This took you by surprise. Mark had never held your hand before, but you liked the way his warm hand enveloped your own. He let out a sigh, looking you in the eye before directing his attention down to your linked hands.

“Prince Jeno was cursed, he turns into a werewolf and sometimes he can’t help it.” His thumb gently rubbed against the back of your hand and he glanced up at your face. “He isn’t as bad as what he used to be, he only phases now when he gets really angry or upset about something. He used to change every full moon and when the slightest thing affected him.” He noticed that your face hadn’t changed at all, so he kept on talking. “I brew a specific potion for him, that’s why he can control his changes easier.”

“So why did he change in front of me?” You query, wondering if you’d done something to push the prince over the edge enough for him to change.

“He’d had an argument with the King and he accidentally smashed the bottles containing the potion, so he had no way of controlling himself, that’s why he was looking for me.” He lifted your hand up in his own, hesitating for a moment before placing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand. Your heart fluttered at the gesture, and you hoped Mark didn’t notice that your palm was starting to get sweaty. “It wasn’t your fault, and he would never hurt you. Actually, after you fainted, he had controlled himself and he was the one who came to find me to tell me that you’d passed out.” He paused momentarily, biting his bottom lip before taking another deep breath. “I was so worried when I saw you, I didn’t even know what to do at first. (Y/N) you mean a lot to me.” He stopped again, clearly trying to find a way to word what he was about to tell you. “I really like you, more than a friend or colleague kind of way.” He gulped, clearly finished with his words and waiting for you to say something.

You felt a fire start inside of you, you’d always admired Mark and you really enjoyed spending time with him. But you’d never taken a step back to analyse think if you liked him in that way. Staring up into his nervous eyes you could see yourself falling in love with the slightly awkward man. The way his touch was making you feel and how his presence in general made you feel coming together like a puzzle in your mind. You smiled at him, your cheeks heating up and head tilting to look at your joined hands in your sudden shyness.

“I like you too.”

“Ha that’s cool.” He smiled widely, his awkwardness coming out in his words as he didn’t really know how to process what was going on. “I mean, yeah er…can I kiss you?” You looked into his eyes, nodding eagerly and hoping he couldn’t hear the pounding of your heartbeat as it raced with excitement. He untangled your fingers, shuffling forward on the bed so he was closer to you. He gingerly placed his hand on your warm to the touch cheek, gulping before leaning in close to you. You let your eyes slide shut, waiting patiently for him to finally connect your lips in a kiss you didn’t realise you’d been waiting for, for while now. He brushed his lips against your own before placing them timidly onto your own. His lips were softer than you imagined, the kiss being mellow, and it left you feeling like if he pulled away too soon, you’d have a mental break down. He moved his lips against yours for what seemed like hours but in reality, it was only a few minutes before his tongue grazed along your lower lip. You granted him access, opening up your lips and letting his tongue slide into your mouth, it pushing against your own tongue and exploring your mouth. You whined into the kiss Mark was providing, his other hand coming to rest against your waist with a tight grip. He slowed the kiss down, withdrawing his tongue and leaving one last kiss to your lips before he pulled away. You subconsciously chased after his lips but stopped yourself when you realised, gulping down your desire for him.

“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” You found yourself asking with a soft giggle. He blushed and looked down, his tongue poking into his cheek in bashfulness. You winced when the headache decided to remind you of its presence like an unwanted fly buzzing around your head.

“Are you okay?” Mark worried immediately, taking your face in his hands and tilting your head to scan over your features.

“Headache.” You mumbled, closing your eyes as the light from the torches in the room were causing it to flare up worse.

“Stay here, I’ve got something to stop it.” He laid a soft kiss to your forehead before standing up. He tucked the covers over your body and rushed to leave the room. When the door closed you tried to ignore the pain you felt, giddy over your first kiss with Mark.

---

It had been two days since the incident with Prince Jeno. After resting for the days in between, Mark had finally given you permission to continue on with your life as normal. You’d started the day off by cleaning up the mess Mark had managed to make in his work room during your absence. Mark wasn’t in the castle today; he hadn’t told you why he was away but had let you know he’d be back before sundown. This left you to do whatever you wanted to do in whatever order you wanted to do it in. Not that Mark ever bossed you around, but it was nice to clean without having him hovering over your shoulder watching you and offering to help. Mark had worked while you were recovering, but he hadn’t done as much work as he normally would, because every two hours he’d go to check up on you in your room. He’d also surprised you with a small bunch of daffodils to brighten up your dark candlelit room. He’d enhanced the petals so that they had a sparkly purple dusting over the soft yellow colour. It warmed your heart that he went to such an effort just to make you feel better.

After cleaning the entirety of Mark’s work room in record time, you decided to get some fresh air. The crispness of the cool breeze feeling like it gave you a new life under the hot sun beating down on your face the moment you stepped outside. You wondered around the castle grounds, strolling through the beautiful gardens until you found yourself at the large pond. You sat down on the dry grass, sitting on your knees and hoping that your uniform didn’t get any dry mud dusted onto the black material. The water rippled from the life underneath it, water lilies and lily pad’s decorating the surface of the pond as dragonflies danced around each other above them. You closed your eyes, letting out a content sigh at the serenity and beauty of the castle garden when someone cleared their throat behind you. You jumped in surprise, turning around quickly to see who was behind you. You saw Prince Jeno stood behind you wearing a loose, white silk shirt that had the top two buttons unbuttoned, it having slightly puffy long sleeves that closed around his wrists, tucked into a pair of tight black trousers with a pair of shiny polished shoes. You jumped up immediately, nearly losing your balance in your haste but managing to stay upright as you turned to face him. You bowed deeply to him, a pang of anxiety running through you at the sight of him for the first time since you’d found out his secret and he’d caused you to faint.

“Prince Jeno,” You greeted, looking him in the eyes before your eyes fell to the large bouquet of white roses he was holding in his hands, the roses held together by white silk wrapped around them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you’d be out here today; I’ll leave.” You bowed again to him, about to walk past him when he hurriedly spoke.

“No! please stay,” He bowed his head to you, clearing his throat again. He showed signs of nervousness, his hand running through his jet-black hair to push the long locks off of his forehead, his eyes kept darting around the scenery before meeting you own, only to repeat again as he tried to avoid eye contact. In the end he bit the bullet, his piercing brown eyes finding your own and holding your stare. “I came here to see you.”

“How did you know I’d be here?” You raised an eyebrow, not really thinking before asking the prince that question. You winced when you realised you probably shouldn’t be asking him questions. A smile graced his beautiful face, a soft laugh leaving his lips before he spoke.

“I followed your scent. Wolf senses.” He tapped the side of his nose and huffed a laugh again as your eyes widened.

“My scent?” You tilted your head, partially worried that you smelt bad.

“Yes, you won’t be able to smell it because you’re a human. But everyone has their own scent, so I just followed that and here we are.” He noticed your concerned face and chuckled. “You smell good don’t worry.”

“Oh…” You smiled softly, rocking on your heels with your hands behind your back as you tried to not feel awkward around him, the elephant in the room not having been addressed yet.

“Anyway, I wanted to personally apologise to you about what happened. I don’t really remember it much; the memories are foggy before I phased because I was kind of in a haze. But I do remember shouting at you and how you tried to help me. So, thank you for that. I’m sorry I scared you, I didn’t mean to make you faint like that. I hope you’re okay now though?” He sounded sincere, it being a complete contrast to the Prince you’d met in the greenhouse days prior. Granted this time he wasn’t on the cusp of turning into a giant wolf. You nodded quickly and smiled.

“I’m fine, thank you for your concern your highness.”

“Good…oh these are for you.” He held out the flowers to you, a shy smile on his face with his cheeks heating up a slight pink. When you didn’t step forward to receive the flowers his smile fell a little. “You’re scared of me…” You opened your mouth to speak but he beat you to it. “I would never hurt you, I’m still me even when I’m in my wolf form. You don’t have to be frightened of me; I have complete control of myself 90% of the time.” You immediately stepped forward, accepting the flowers from him with both hands.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just never experienced that before. These are beautiful, thank you.” You bowed again, not sure if you were over doing it with the bowing but the last thing you wanted to do was upset or disrespect the Prince.

“Do you mind if I sit with you for a while?” He asked, coming to stand beside you and facing the pond, not waiting for your reply as he threw himself into a seated position on the floor, his legs crossed and his arm supporting him from behind.

“Of course not.” You sat beside him on your knees, placing the flowers on the floor beside you and placing your hands in your lap.

“You can relax you know.” He laughed as he saw how stiff you were sat in his presence. “Please, I just want to feel normal for 10 minutes.” His voice held a slight emotional tone to it that anyone would miss if it wasn’t for how much you were paying attention to him. You quickly rearranged yourself to sit with your legs crossed. “So,” He looked at you and you couldn’t quite believe how stunning he was. His skin was perfect, and he had such a boyish and handsome face. “Mark talks about you all the time.” He had a cheeky smile on his face, his bottom lip between his teeth as he waited for you to spill the gossip to him about his trusted friend.

“He does?” You raised an eyebrow, your cheeks heating up at the mention of your new boyfriend.

“Yep, he’s smitten. It’s rather sweet actually, and yes he did tell me that you two are now a couple.”

“What else does he say about me?” You were curious to hear what Mark had been saying to one of the royals about you.

“He constantly goes on about how beautiful you are, which I must admit, he’s not wrong.” The Prince winked at you which caused your heart to plummet through you. You had never expected the Prince to be such a flirt, but you knew he was only being playful though. Which you assumed was rare due to not many people having good things to say about him. He’d also admitted to wanting to be normal for a short period of time, so you could only assume he didn’t let many people see this side of him.

“Thank you.” You thought it was only polite to accept his compliment, bowing your head in appreciation before training your eyes on a butterfly floating past you gracefully.

“Oh I almost forgot!” You turned to face him again, his smile reaching his eyes and making his them turn into half-moons. His face then suddenly fell, his eyes turning a bright amber colour. “Hurt Mark, and you’ll have me to answer to.” You could have sworn a little bit of urine leaked out of you in that moment, but then his eyes were back to their normal brown, a laugh leaving his lips and his eyes crinkling up again. “I’m only playing with you,” With that he pushed himself up onto his feet, his hand gently touching your shoulder. “I must be going, if you need anything please don’t hesitate to come find me.”

“Thank you, your highness.” You smiled up at him, feeling more comfortable being in his presence now that you knew despite all the rumours about him being a cold, harsh prince, he actually had a sense of humour and a soft side.

“Please, just call me Jeno when it’s the two of us. Goodbye (Y/N).” He patted your shoulder and made his leave. You glanced down at the roses beside you, your heart warming at how beautiful they were and how he went out of his way to deliver them personally to you. You then remembered what he said about Mark and a blush raised on your cheeks. You had no idea that Mark spoke about you to other people, especially the prince. You were happy that Mark had someone he could confined in within the castle walls though.

---

Since establishing your relationship with Mark, you can surely say life at the castle has been different. A lot of the maids now approached you as if you were higher ranked than them, which confused you to say the least, considering your job role hadn’t changed at all. You spoke to Seulgi about it and she brushed it off as them making sure to be on your good side, as many wizard’s can be very protective over people they love. You’d also found out people thought this way because of the son of the last witch who lived in the castle. Apparently, his mother was murdered by order of the king for some unknown reason, which is what lead him to curse Prince Jeno. Now it made sense to you why he’d ran away.

You didn’t know whether to tell Mark about your encounter with Prince Jeno, but when he’d come to your room and saw the extravagant bouquet of roses making his little bunch of daffodils look small in comparison, you had to explain to him how you’re acquired them and who from. He was shocked that Jeno had reached out an olive branch to you, stating it was out of character for him to do that. You noted the hint of jealousy in Marks voice as he said “Nice flowers though…”

In your free time Mark would now take you on dates. Your first official date was to the town, where he’d surprised you by taking you to the bakery your parents owned. Your heart felt so full of love and contentment that day when you got to see your parents for the first time in months and introduce your new boyfriend to them. You guess seeing your brother was alright too, (you had hugged him and squeezed him super tight). Every other date after that was just as romantic as the first, but you weren’t sure he would ever be able to top the thoughtfulness behind the first date. It had been a month of dating Mark and you were already 100% sure you were head over heels in love with the slightly awkward, shy, but completely lovable man. He showered you in love and affection and made sure you knew how he felt towards you daily.

It was your day off, so you got dressed into a pale blue knee length dress and a matching long cardigan, slipping on your comfy shoes when you saw a stray piece of parchment on the floor. It looked like it had been slipped through the gap at the bottom of your bedroom door.

Good morning my angel, meet me in the courtyard when you wake up.

Your love, Mark.

You smiled as your stared at his slightly messy handwriting, rereading his words multiple times as your heart soared. You did wonder why he wanted to meet in the courtyard though. You hadn’t been there many times but every time you’d been there, guards were training or Jisung had been mulling around in his free time. You’d gotten to know the young guard very well, but never had the heart to ask why they had someone as young as him guarding the front gate when most of the knights and guards were twice the size of him and looked like they had experience behind their belt. He was a total sweetheart and he got excited about things very quickly. There was a time when you’d baked cookies in the castle kitchen for Mark, but you encountered Jisung on the way to deliver them to Mark, so you gave Jisung a cookie and he acted like a child being given a crown.

As much as you like Jisung, you hoped Mark was alone in the courtyard. You walked to the courtyard with a skip in your step, greeting anyone you came across politely. The hot breeze hit you as you walked through the exit, the sun beating down on your exposed skin causing you to squint until your eyes adjusted to the sudden light. You navigated your way to the courtyard, walking past the gardens and greenhouse, your skin starting to dampen under the sun much to your dismay. You heard Mark’s voice as you neared the courtyard, his voice uncharacteristically loud as you could hear his words clearly from around the corner.

“You have to leave, please!” He sounded like he was begging whoever was stood beside him. You didn’t hear anyone respond to him, so you assumed they’d wordlessly left the courtyard. You brushed down any creases that had formulated in your dress, putting on a sweet smile as you rounded the corner. Before you laid your eyes on Mark, your eyes had glued themselves onto the creature that was too big to ignore. It was then that you realised Mark had been talking to the gigantic dragon beside him. The sheer size of the dragon made Mark look like a toddler in comparison. It had an ombre of different shades of red scales, its folded wings as black as a night sky that was void of any stars, and its golden eyes trained on your stilled figure. You gulped in fright, having only ever heard bad things and horror stories about dragons. Not once had you ever heard a story that started with ‘The great dragon who didn’t eat people’. You remember one particular story told to you by the seamstress in the town, about a dragon who had destroyed a whole village with only two breaths of fire leaving its throat.

Taking a step back on instinct, you remembered that Mark was still stood beside the dragon, your eyes finding his. He looked panicked as he watched you, his eyes wide and mouth parted like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the right words to explain what was going on. He was monitoring your reaction, trying to figure out how you were coping with seeing a dragon in the flesh for the first time. Mark had clearly not planned for this dragon to be there when you arrived.

“(Y/N),” He spoke up timidly, holding a hand out to you as a silent encouragement to join him. “it’s okay, he won’t hurt you.” You thought back to seeing Prince Jeno turn into a wolf in front of you, that suddenly feeling like nothing now you were stood in the eyesight of one of the most dangerous creatures known to man. You’d take an angsty wolf over a dragon any day. Mark opened his mouth to speak again, but before any words could leave his mouth, the dragon took two steps towards you, its body looming over you and blocking your view from the sun, a shadow casting over you as a result. Although, you didn’t think that it was the heat from the sun that was causing you to sweat anymore. It, or as Mark had addressed it as, he, dipped his head down to your level. His face getting closer to you by the second. You could feel your heart start to beat faster in your chest, a wave of chills rippled through your body, and your palms started to get clammy from the anxiety coursing through your system. The dragon puffed some air from his nose, like it was letting out a sigh. You felt your hair and dress flutter from the gust of air hitting you, just as Mark tried to approach you. He wasn’t able to though, the heavy tail of the dragon slamming hard onto the ground between the you and Mark, separating you both. You flinched at the loud noise, gulping from having your security blanket of a boyfriend blocked from you.

“Mark what’s he doing?” You voice was shaky from the anxiety you had bubbling in your stomach like a boiling potion that Mark brewed, ready for it to explode at any moment.

“He’s pl-” Mark was cut off by the low growling of the giant beast beside you overpowering the sound of his voice, it sounding like it was rumbling throughout its entire body. The dragon bared his teeth at you, lowering his head down until he was at eye-level with you, his eyes narrowing at you as if he was ready to attack you at any given moment. Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over the brim of your eyes as you stared at the beast, its mouth opening with the light of fire building in the back of its throat. Your fight or flight mode suddenly kicked in, adrenaline sparking up in your veins and causing your legs to take off before your brain had even processed what your body was doing. You didn’t hear Mark calling out to you as you ran, too in your own head to notice his frantic shouts. You ran out of the courtyard the way you came in, dashing through the castle grounds and back inside the castle.

“(Y/N)?” Seulgi caught your arm as you went to run past her, stopping you instantly. “What’s wrong?” You gulped, trying to catch your breath as your started to hyperventilate from what you’d just experienced. Everything that happened with Prince Jeno came rushing back into your mind, it all hitting boiling point as bursting inside of you. You weren’t used to things like this happening, you came from a quiet family in a part of the town where not much crime happened and any creatures other than human were rare.

“Dragon.” You managed to squeak out between soft sobs leaving your lips, your hands running through your hair in your distress.

“Oh! Hey that’s ju-” You didn’t let her finish, shaking your head and pulling your arm away from her hold.

“I can’t stay here anymore. I’m going, I-I can’t.” You mumbled in a frenzy, turning away from her to run down the hall to your room. After you’d left her, she’d hurried down the halls to find Mark, poking her head in multiple rooms he could be in as she didn’t know his whereabouts. She finally found him as he jogged into the castle, sweaty dripping off of his forehead and a worried expression marred on his face.

“Mark!” She called out, gaining his attention quickly as he approached her. It was then that she noticed that he had Jisung trailing behind him looking like a scolded child, his head tilted down and fingers knotted together.

“Have you seen (Y/N)?” Mark’s adams apple bobbed as he gulped, his hands shaking slightly as he brushed the hair off of his damp forehead.

“Yeah she came running through here in a complete state! Jisung what did you do?!” She frowned at the young boy, his head sinking into his shoulders like he knew he was about to be scolded more.

“I was only playing…” He mumbled in a soft voice, his lips coming out into a natural pout as he tried to defend himself. Seulgi opened her mouth, about to yell at Jisung when Mark held his hand up to her.

“Don’t. I’ve already shouted at him enough.” Despite the fact that Jisung had really frightened you in an immature act, Mark still had a soft spot for the boy, and didn’t see much point in Seulgi just repeating everything that he’d already shouted at him. “Where is she?”

“She ran that way, I’m assuming she’s gone to her room.” She pointed down the hall to where you’d retreated to.

“Thank you, Jisung, stay with Seulgi, you can apologise to (Y/N) later.” He pointed his finger at Jisung to show the severity of his words, then turned to Seulgi and nodded in appreciation at her for sharing your possible whereabouts with him.

“Mark, she wants to leave, you need to hurry before she goes.” He nodded again, taking off in a run down the hall to where the maids’ quarters were situated. He ran down the stairs and along the long hallway to your door, not bothering to knock before he burst through the door. He let out a sigh as he was met to an empty room, all of your belongings and the backpack you used to bring everything in was gone.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, dashing back down the hall and up the stairs. He stopped for a moment, racking his brain for ideas of your whereabouts until an idea spark in his head. He remembered the crystal ball he rarely used tucked in the back of one of his cupboards. He knew if he used it correctly, he would be able to see you and use it for clues as to where you were. He sprinted, ignoring the burning in his lungs, passing his potion room, and hurrying down a flight of stairs, almost tripping in his haste, before bursting into the room that he used as his bedroom. He paused when he saw you hurrying to stuff what he recognised to be one of your books that you’d leant him into your already full bag.

“(Y/N)!” He rushed over to you, noticing your tear streaked and flushed face which made his heart sink. Without thinking he grabbed your bag, tearing it out of your hands with a hard tug and throwing it onto the floor. “You can’t leave me.” He shook his head, tears building up in his own eyes as his eyes bore into your own.

“I have to go; I can’t stay here something will end up killing me Mark!” He went to reach for your bag, his hands coming out and gripping both of your wrists to restrict you.

“No. Please, I can’t lose you over something this stupid.” His voice cracked, his throat drying up and stinging from the emotions he was feeling.

“It’s not stupid! I’m scared. I don’t want to be here anymore, let me go.” You tried to pull away from Mark, but his grip got tighter, desperation coursing through him as he refused to let you go.

“It is stupid!!! The dragon is Jisung, he was being stupid and trying to scare you because he was bored (Y/N). He’s a dragon hybrid, he wouldn’t ever hurt you, if anything him being here means you’re safer than you could ever be in the town without him.” He tried to think of all the words he could say to change your mind, his heart cracking at the thought of you leaving him. The desperation in his eyes was hurting your heart, you hated that his was upsetting to him, but you couldn’t help the flight mode you were currently in. “I’ve already told him off, please you can’t just go! What about me huh? Were you just going to go without even telling me?” He sniffed back his tears, letting out a breath as he tried to cope with the horrible thoughts going through his head. You looked down, knowing the answer to his question but not wanting to admit it to him.

“What about when Jeno just turned into a fucking wolf in front of me Mark?! Every time I think I’m safe another person I think is normal turns into a creature that could kill me without a second thought! I don’t want to live in fear!” You diverted the conversation away from what he’d asked you, instead trying to justify your reasons to leave because as your adrenaline dwindled you started to realise how stupid and dramatic you were being.

“You know damn well I would die before I let anything hurt you…do you not trust me?” A lone tear fell onto his cheek, his eyes bloodshot from his emotions taking over him.

“I’m sorry Mark.” You whispered, stepping closer to him until you were chest to chest with him. You looked up into his eyes, noting the hurt behind them as he gazed into your own eyes. He let go of your wrists, slowly moving his hands up over your arms to your hips. He blinked, another round of tears cascading onto his red cheeks. He swallowed his emotions down and let out a sigh. “I’m not going anywhere.” You whispered, cupping his cheeks in your palms and wiping his tears away with your thumbs. He nodded, not trusting his voice and instead opting to lean down and place a lingering kiss onto your lips. You kissed back, the kiss tasting salty from yours or his tears, you couldn’t tell who they belonged to. He tilted his head to the side, kissing your more passionately and not waiting for permission to force his tongue into your mouth. He brushed his tongue against your own and his hands held onto your hips with a strong grip. You let out a soft whimper into his mouth, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders as he pulled you flush against him, his mouth moving frantically against yours like your kisses were what was keeping him alive. He stopped kissing you, his lips just a hairs width away from your own as he panted, trying to catch his breath from your heated kiss.

“I love you, never leave me.” He whispered, his lips finding yours again in a very brief but soft kiss. One thing you’d heard from the whispers that went around the castle was that wizards could be naturally clingy to their significant others. People suspected it was the constant danger that they possessed within their own powers that caused them to be this way when they cared for someone. Mark had shown this within your month-long relationship. He had cared for you more than anyone, apart from your parents, ever had. And you also found that wherever you went, Mark would be not far from you ready to protect you if he had to. There one time when you thought you were walking down the castle halls alone. You’d tripped on a bunched-up bit of rug and had nearly face planted the floor when a sudden force made you feel weightless and situated you up right again. You hadn’t seen Mark around, but you knew for a fact that you not falling was because of his handy work.

“Never,” You pressed your lips to his again, kissing him with heat behind the kiss as you held onto his shoulders. “I love you too.” You mumbled between kisses. He smiled into the kiss momentarily before backing you up to his bed. He reluctantly pulled away from the kiss to lay you on his bed on your back, climbing over you when he was sure you were comfortable with your head rested against his plush pillows. You hadn’t yet had sex with Mark. Sure, you’d made out with him, but the kisses had mostly been reserved and had been stopped by him after his hands started to wander. He pressed his body to yours; his body weight being held up by your own body with the help of his forearms pressed to pillows on either side of your head. His kisses trailed from your lips, to your jaw, and finally found their stop at your neck. He started off with laying soft, wet kisses to your neck, then he started to suck at your hot skin. You felt arousal spark within your heat, butterflies tumbling around in your stomach as he stopped sucking and licked a stripe up your neck where he’d just made a dark bruise. He blew cool air against the bruise he’d just made, his eyes admiring his handy work at making his mark on you. Shivers ran down your spine from the cool air hitting your damp skin, causing you to squirm underneath him and roll your hips up into his, hinting at what you wanted him to do to you. He smirked, leaning back in and placing a lingering, timid kiss to you parted lips. He ground his hips against yours, and it was the first time you’d felt his own arousal against you. His hard bulge pressed against your covered centre and making a whine of want rip from your throat.

“Mark…” You whined in a breathy moan, wrapping your legs around his waist and cupping his cheeks in your hands, leading his lips back to your own. He pulled away after a moment, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Do you want this?” He whispered against your lips, his eyes still shut as he started to roll his hips into yours, not being able to stop himself as the friction against his hard length felt too good. You nodded, running your hands through his hair and connecting your lips once more. “I’ve never done this before, tell me if I hurt you.” He didn’t know whether you had done this before or not, he assumed you hadn’t, but in the moment, he was too shy to ask. He reluctantly sat back on his knees, your parted legs falling either side of his own as he quickly unbuttoned his white shirt. He slipped it from his shoulders, and you smiled at the sight of his bare chest for the first time. He was beautiful, his muscles looking defined from the shadows of the light of the flickering candles. You noticed the dark trail of hair that lead into the confines of his black trousers, licking your lips in wonder at what he was packing underneath. You looked up at his face and noticed for the first time that something was missing.

“Where’s your glasses?” You tilted your head and raised an eyebrow, not used to seeing him without the pair of rounded glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He paused, his eyes slightly wide and his mouth pursed.

“Er…” He looked around his room from his spot on the bed, squinting a little as if it would help before he shrugged. “I don’t actually know…” You giggled, sitting up and pecking his lips once. You started to unbutton the front of your dress, only the top half of it having buttons. The material fell from your shoulders, revealing your plain white bra underneath. It wasn’t anything special, most people only wore plain undergarments, but you’d heard people were starting to make pretty looking bras and panties from lace material. You hoped one day you could own something like that. Mark bit his bottom lip as he stared down at your chest, his heart beating faster and he felt more blood rush down south. He helped you slip the dress off your body, holding the material in his hands as he debated whether to fold it or not. He chose not to, throwing it to the floor before turning his attention back to you as you laid back against his pillows. He could see a damp patch on your panties, his throat feeling dry as he reached a finger out and ran it from the top of your panties to where the little wet spot was. You shuddered, subconsciously parting your legs wider. He shuffled out of his trousers, leaving him only in his white boxers. You could see the outline of his hard cock underneath them and you felt a buzz of excitement cause you to get wetter at the thought of him putting it inside of you.

“I haven’t done this before either.” You blurted out, a pang of nerves hitting you as he slowly pushed down his underwear, his hard cock springing up which is what had caused the little sparks of anxiety to flare up in you. The more you looked at it the more you were sure it would never fit inside of you. Mark let out a small sigh of relief at your confession, glad he didn’t have to live up to the expectation of another man on his first attempt, but also because the thought of another man seeing you in the same way Mark currently had his eyes on you, made him feel a little bit sick with jealousy. He leaned over you, motioning for you to arch your back so he could unclip your bra. He wrapped his arms around you and started to fiddle with the clasp, struggling to undo it with his shaky hands. You bit your bottom lip, your chest starting to shake from how you were holding in your laughter at his failure to open your bra. He groaned, stopping and sitting back on his knees. He snapped his fingers and as he did, the clasp popped open, leaving the material loose on your chest. Your mouth dropped open in surprise at his little trick.

“Impressive.” You smiled widely at him, his own mouth breaking out into a wide smile too.

“Thank you.” He winked, pulling the bra from your body and pausing before leaning down and taking one of your nipples into his mouth. You gasped at the unfamiliar feeling flushing through you as he sucked at your sensitive bud. His tongue swirled around your nipple, flicking at it before sucking it into his mouth again. He rolled his hips into yours, his cock rubbing against your clothed clit and giving you a pleasure you’d never felt before. He moved over and did the same to your other nipple, paying close attention to it until he descended down your torso, placing soft kisses to your stomach as he got further down. You lifted your hips and he slid your panties down your legs slowly, throwing them behind him without a care as he stared down at your glistening entrance. He gulped, pushing your legs up to your chest as he leaned in and tentatively licking from your hole up to your clit, lapping your juices up on his tongue and closing his eyes at your taste. You moaned quietly, biting your bottom lip as Mark leaned back in and flicked his tongue against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Mark!” You gasped as he sucked on your clit, sliding a finger inside your wet walls, pumping it slowly in and out of you before adding another finger alongside it.

“Does it feel good baby?” He whispered against your folds, running his tongue over them repeatedly and nipping at them with his teeth. You nodded quickly, biting your bottom lip and humming in contentment. He smirked, pressing a kiss to your clit and pumping his fingers in you faster. He withdrew his fingers, climbing over you and pressing his chest to your own. He wrapped your legs around his waist and pressed his face into the crook of your neck, lining up his length to your hole. “Tell me if it hurts.” He pressed a kiss to your lips, leaving his lips lingering over yours as he nervously pressed into you. The slight pain you felt took your breath away, a soft gasp falling from your lips as you gripped onto his back. He paused for a second before continuing to push into you. You winced slightly, Mark’s lips finding yours to comfort you as he noticed the pained expression on your face. When he was fully sheathed inside of you, he waited until your posture relaxed. You let out a soft sigh, rubbing your hands on his back softly as a wordless hint that you were ready. “I love you.” He whispered against your lips, slowly pulling out of you only to push back inside of you slowly, repeating this multiple times until he had a slow, steady rhythm going.

“I love you too Mark.” You let out a gentle moan, tilting your head back as his thrusts become stronger, his confidence building the more he was making sure you were enjoying it. You weren’t sure for how long you and Mark were making love for; it could have been minutes or hours. But one thing you did know was how much you felt for him. He was gentle and kept asking you if you were okay, he gave you kisses and varied between fast thrusts and slow thrusts, dragging out the whole act so he could spend a longer time showing his love for you during the intimate act. He finished before you, drawn out, incoherent words falling from his lips as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck, his hips slamming into you one final time as he coated your walls with his load. He attempted to thrust into you more to finish you off, but the oversensitivity he felt made it impossible for him, so instead he pulled out of you and used his fingers to bring you to your high. You’d never experienced an orgasm before, and the one Mark provided you with made your toes curl, your back arch, and stars to fuzz your vision up. He looked proud of himself as you whimpered out his name, your pussy constricting on his fingers as he watched you in awe. You went to sleep that night, curled up in Mark’s arms feeling safer than you’d ever felt in your life.

---

Since you and Mark had hit another milestone in your relationship, you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. It had been two months since you made love for the first time, and since then you were stuck in what a lot of people would call the ‘honeymoon phase’. You would spend most of your nights in Mark’s bed, but you wouldn’t always be having sex. Some nights you would simply cuddle up under the candlelight with him whilst he told you stories he’d heard throughout his life, or you’d read a book while Mark wrote down his to-do list for the next day. You just loved being with Mark and found yourself infatuated with the quiet wizard. Although he wasn’t nearly as quiet around you as what he used to be. Mark was so wrapped up in you that he’d accidentally brewed the wrong potion for one of the maids who was suffering with a common cold, she ended up with pale white hair that was quite a comparison to the red hair she had before she drank the potion. Luckily. she wasn’t too mad, and Mark had brewed a perfect potion to fix the problem.

You walked into Mark’s work room, a feather duster in hand and a cheeky smile on your face as you got to the bottom of the rounded staircase. You spotted him immediately, stood by his small cauldron that was situated on his large table, his glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and his hair neat against his forehead, signs he was brewing a potion that didn’t stress him out. When Mark got stressed, he would run his hands through his hair, consequently messing up the dark looks and making them look untidy. He was wearing his normal uniform, a white shirt and black trousers, but today he opted for a short-sleeved shirt instead of his usual long sleeved ones.

“Is that for the Prince?” You approached him, laying the duster on the table and gently placing your hand on Mark’s arm, rubbing your fingers against his bare skin in circles. He turned to you and smiled, nodding his head before leaning down and pecking your lips lightly with his own as a way of greeting. “I saw him earlier actually, he mentioned that he needed more potion as tomorrow is a full moon and he’s completely out.”

“That’s why I’m making this for him now.” Mark chuckled and bumped his hip into yours. You rolled your eyes and wrapped your arms around his middle, nuzzling your head into his chest as you watched him continue to make the potion. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a sigh. “No, I did put eight elder wood berries in…yes I definitely did.” You heard him mumble to himself in doubt.

“If you get any spare time can you make more of that potion you make for me please?” You knew Mark would know what you meant without naming the potion. Since you’d started having sex with Mark regularly, he’d been making a particular potion that with one sip would prevent the chance of pregnancy after sex. It was a well-known potion amongst people in town that cost a lot of money, often leading to people forgoing it and ending up with a lot of kids they’d struggle to cloth and feed. Luckily for you, your boyfriend was a wizard, so you got all the sex and contraceptive juice for free.

“Yeah of course, I’ll start brewing it later, but it won’t be ready until tomorrow.” He looked at you and noticed your pout, a soft laugh leaving his lips. “You can go one night without sex.”

“Fine!” You sighed dramatically, picking up your feather duster and starting to dust around the room, purposely leaning over surfaces and watching Mark to see if he had his eyes on you. He didn’t, too focused on his job.

---

You and Mark had normally retired to his chambers by 9pm on his workdays. But you found yourself in his work room with him at 11:50pm, sat on his worktable as you waited for the potion he’d brewed for you to cool off before you could consume it. He’d promised it would be ready within the next 20 minutes, so you found yourself staring at his enchanted clock often, hoping the time would go quicker.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted time to go quicker than what I want it to now.” You mumbled against his lips, your hands having found their way into his untucked shirt as you trailed your fingertips over his abs, his stomach flexing as it tickled every now and then.

“I’ve never seen you so desperate before.” He laughed softly, connecting your lips and tangling his hands up in the locks of your hair. He pulled back from you as a loud bang echoed through the room. You looked up to find the source of the loud noise in surprise.

“Mark! Are you down there?!” A breathless voice called out from the top of the rounded staircase; the crash having been from the heavy door hitting the stone wall loudly.

“It’s Jeno.” Mark commented, pulling away from you, he rushed to the staircase, you following behind him in curiosity. “Yes, do you need me?” He called out, jogging up the stairs with you hot on his tail. When you got to the top of the stairs, you saw Prince Jeno slumped against the wall, his cheek pressed to the cold stone and his face covered in a sheen of sweat. His white shirt was nearly see-through from how drench in sweat it was, the material sticking to his chest and abdomen. You also noticed he was panting fast, finding it hard to catch his breath.

“S-something’s not right.” He gulped, his throat dry and his voice coming out raspy. “I feel really bad, an-and it doesn’t feel li-like anything I’ve ever felt before.” He groaned, hunching over and holding onto his stomach as if he’d just been kicked hard there. You saw how his whole body was shuddering like he was freezing cold despite the perspiration he had on his skin. “I think I’m sick.” Mark furrowed his eyebrows at the Prince, going through his head to try and figure out what it could be he was suffering from.

“Did you take your potion earlier?” He asked with a nervous tone to his voice. Jeno nodded, groaning and stumbling out into the hall of the castle. You followed, rushing over to him and holding onto him to stop him from falling. There wasn’t much light, all the torches and candles usually lit in the halls having been put out earlier on in the evening. There was limited light coming through the big window beside you, but not much as the moon was situated before clouds.

“You’re burning up Jeno.” You placed your hand on his forehead, not caring about getting your hand wet from his sweat, just wanting to figure out what was happening to the poor boy. His forehead was hot to the touch, almost too hot for you to be able to handle and you’d never felt anyone have a temperature like this before. Mark was still racking his brains, now doubting the potion he’d made the day prior, he looked at his feet, retracing all of his steps and actions. You watched Jeno, his body slumping more before his body was illuminated under the bright light of the full moon appearing out from behind the cloud it was behind. At the same time, you heard the enchanted clock chime to signify midnight from the workroom. Jeno gasped, his body becoming completely rigid in your hold and his eyes turning in a bright amber colour. Mark looked up quickly, realisation hitting him as he remembered only putting in 5 elder wood berried instead of the required eight. Jeno seemed to realise what was about to happen as he tried to push you away from him, but he was too late.

“(Y/N)! Let go of-” He never got to finish his sentence. Jeno’s body erupting into a giant black wolf with you stood far too close to him. In his attempt to shove you away, his hands had turned into large paws with razor sharp claws, ripping down your right arm and shredding the skin, leaving big gashes that oozed with blood dripping down your skin. You’d been pushed to the floor from the strength of the Jeno, the pain not hitting you yet as adrenaline pumped through you. Jeno backed off, his eyes trained on you in disgust at what he’d just done to you. He turned around and took off, the wolf disappearing from sight and leaving you alone with Mark. Mark stood shellshocked, his brain not kicking in until you let out a sob in pain. He grabbed you and picked you up into his arms, not caring about the blood soaking into his clothes or dripping onto the floor as he rushed you into his workroom. “It’s going to be okay baby.” He muttered, looking around the room for the most comfortable and appropriate place to set you down. In the end he opted to sitting you on the floor. You felt your body shaking from the adrenaline pumping through you, the pain in your arm feeling like nothing you’d ever felt before. You didn’t look at your cuts as Mark rushed around the room, gathering up different pieces of equipment and bottles.

“Mark it hurts.” You whimpered, wanting him to drop everything to wrap you up in the confines of his arms. He glanced at you and gulped, letting out a harsh sigh and rushing back to you.

“I’m sorry please forgive me.” He took your face in his bloody hands, looking you in the eyes before shutting his own tightly, muttering some words that you’d heard him use before on someone else. You knew what was about to happen and it freaked you out.

“Mark no wait please don’t.” You cried harder, trying to pull his hands from your cheeks. “No Mark pl-” You stopped talking as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your body going limp in his hold as he knocked you unconscious using a spell. He knew this way you wouldn’t feel any pain and he could fix you up with more ease, he’d also be able to confine in other people without worrying you. He gulped, feeling sick with guilt as he knew this was all his fault for not being careful enough when brewing the Prince’s potion.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He held you to his chest and let out hard sob, tears falling down his face as he broke his promise of you never getting hurt.

---

Mark hadn’t slept; his eyes were dark underneath from his lack of sleep and were bloodshot with tears. His hair was a mess and he was still wearing the blood-stained shirt even 13 hours after it had been bloodied. He was torn, he didn’t know how to treat your wounds with magic until he’d figured out the logistics behind your cuts. He’d bound them in material to prevent too much blood loss, but he knew time was running out.

“I don’t know what to do, I’m at a loss.” In rage, he threw the book he was holding across the room, clenching his fists up and resisting the urge to slam his fists into the wall. Seulgi flinched in shock at his sudden rage, having never witnessed the placid man get this emotional before. They’d left you tucked up in his bed, still unconscious as the spell Mark had used on you would keep you asleep for five to seven days.

“Mark, I doubt that it’s going to change her.” She softly spoke, picking up the book he’d thrown and placing it gently on the table.

“You don’t know that Seulgi, he’s a fucking werewolf and he scratched her! You know how it works.” He mumbled in anger, shaking his head and running his hands over his face. “I have two options, I can heal her quickly, the wounds will close up within days, but it won’t stop her from turning into a werewolf. The other option is…” He winces at the thought of the second option, sighing before continuing. “It will heal her slowly, she’ll be in so much pain for weeks, but it will eliminate any chances of her becoming one of those things.”

“You will make the right choice; I know you will.” She rubbed his arm comfortingly, smiling weakly with a horrible feeling in her gut at the horrible choice he has to make. “Just remember that Jeno isn’t a purebred werewolf, he was cursed, it could be different. Besides, it’s never actually been proven that a werewolf’s scratch can turn a human into one of them.”

“Hm…there is a third option.” He walked to the large cabinet that had a lock on it, one only he could open. He pressed his thumb to it and the lock popped open. Opening the cupboard, he took out a black, opaque bottle. “Dark magic.”

“No. Mark if the king knows you used dark magic, he will have your head.” Seugli’s voice had a commanding tone to it. “It’s not worth the risk, when she recovers, she will need you more than ever Mark.” He placed it back in the cupboard and locked it up again.

“Like she needs me, I promised her I would never let anyone hurt her and look at the situation we’re in now!” His rose his voice again, before letting out a sigh and nodding. “You’re right…I’m going to change her dressing.” He left the workroom without another word, walking to his room with his head down and letting himself in. When he looked up to check on you, he frowned, his face hardening as he saw Jeno sitting at your bedside, your hand tucked up in both of his. “Get out.” Mark growled, not caring for formalities as anger sparked up in his chest. Jeno looked over at him and shook his head, his eyes red and cheeks wet from where he’d been crying.

“Mark I’m so sorry.” He let out a choked sob, fresh tears falling from his eyes. He felt guilty, but he knew there wasn’t anything he could do. “It wasn’t my fault!”

“It was. Get out Jeno.” Mark had never been this harsh to the Prince before, never having raised his voice out of respect, but he felt that if he blamed Jeno it would make his own guilt dwindle. But as he looked at the Prince, he let out a sigh, feeling more guilty at trying to pass the blame on. Jeno opened his mouth to speak but Mark beat him to it. “It’s my fault…”

“How?” Jeno sniffed, his hands still encased over your own.

“I was too distracted when I made your potion, I didn’t put in enough of a certain ingredient, which made the potion too weak a-and,” He struggled to confess, his stomach twisting in anxiety. “That’s the reason why you couldn’t resist changing at the full-moon. The reason why you’d never felt that way before was because your body was trying to use the potion to stop you from changing. But due to the weakness of the potion, it was like a battle inside your body. I’m so sorry your highness.” He went back to using formalities, bowing to the Prince in front of him. Jeno’s eyes darkened, his mouth hardening into a line as he tried to control the temper, he felt rising in him, knowing if the potion he had was weak, it wouldn’t stop him from changing when his emotions flared up. He was lucky to have not changed from his sadness, but he guessed the potion, although weak, was having a slight effect on him.

“You tried to blame me, tried to make me feel as if I had done this to her.” His voice was low, and Mark was starting to get concerned about Jeno’s temper. “You did this to her.” He stood up, letting go of your hand and storming from the room, deciding it was best to subtract himself from the situation in case he made it worse.

“Fuck.” Mark groaned, grabbing the clean cloth on his bedside table before looking down at your peaceful face. “I’m sorry my love.” He whispered, laying soft kiss on your warm forehead.

---

A week had passed before your eyes blinked open slowly, your head feeling groggy and you’d never felt so hungry before in your life. You gulped as memories flooded back into your mind of what happened. You were hurt that Mark had gone against your will and used a charm that would render you unconscious when you’d pleaded with him not to. You moved your left arm, the one that was injured ad let out a yelp in pain. It was wrapped up tightly in white cloth, your injuries not visible but going by the pain you felt, it wasn’t any better.

“Mark?” You called out, your throat dry and voice barely there. When you received no reply, your hesitantly swung your legs out of his bed, pouring yourself a glass of water from the jug he always had on his bedside table. You drank the liquid fast, feeling a wash of relief at the cool water. You slowly walked out of the room, up the stairs and to Mark’s workroom where you assumed, he’d be. You pushed the door open slowly when you heard voices, making your way down the rounded staircase slowly.

“You’re lucky Mark, if you were anyone else, I would have ripped you to shreds.” You recognised the voice as Prince Jeno’s. “But I have forgiven you. However,” He stopped talking, sniffing the air as he smelt your scent waft into the room. “Never mind.” You appeared at the bottom of the stairs, looking at the two men as they stood by the fireplace that had a large cauldron bubbling over the top of it.

“Baby!” Mark rushed over to you, cupping your face in his hands and scouring his eyes over you to make sure you were okay.

“I’m fine.” You snapped at him, turning your face away from his as you remembered what he’d done. “Care to explain what happened?” Jeno approached you slowly, worried in case you would turn away from him in fright. On the contrary, you walked up to him and stood close to him. Mark gulped down his jealous and told you from start to finish what had went wrong. You listened carefully and nodded along, taking in all his words and his constant apologies.

“I’m sorry too.” Jeno spoke quietly, hesitating before taking your good hand in his. He placed a soft kiss to the back of you hand and let out a sigh. He leaned in close to your ear and whispered. “Forgive him please, he has hardly slept, and he’s been going out of his mind trying to make you better.” With that he left you two alone. You looked at Mark, your eyes not showing any emotion as you stared at him.

“Can I have a hug? I really need one.” His face crinkled up as he tried to hold back the tears in his eyes, them threatening to fall like a water at a flood barrier. Your face softened as you watched the boy you love break down in front of you.

“Come here.” You raised your good arm, motioning for him to come to you. He rushed to you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and wrapping his arms around your middle. You felt his body shake as he let out small sobs, all the emotions he’d held back for the past few days finally coming to light at the sight of you up on your feet. “I love you; I don’t blame you.” You whispered, rubbing his back with your hand and squeezing him tightly. “Thank you for making the choice, I know it must have been a hard decision.” He’d told you about the choices he had to make, and how he opted to heal you slowly to prevent any changes in you.

“Are you in pain?” He pulled back to look into your eyes.

“A little, I’ll be okay.” He smiled softly, leaning down to capture your lips in his own. You didn’t feel hungry anymore, all your appetite washed away with Mark’s tears.

“I haven’t got anything I can give you to stop the pain, it could interfere with what I’ve already given you.” He sighed, placing a soft kiss to your jaw.

“I just want to lay with you.” You whispered softly, clinging onto Mark’s body. He stiffened and widened his eyes at you.

“I-it’s a bit too early for that! You’re still too badly injured I could hurt you!” Mark had clearly misunderstood you. You laughed gently and smiled at him with a roll of your eyes.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant I want to lay beside you in bed Mark.” His eyebrows raised in realisation, his mouth opening in an ‘o’ shape.

“We can do that.” He took your good hand in his own, leading you back to his room. He pulled back the covers and got into his bed, opening his arms up for you to crawl into his embrace. You wasted no time in cuddling up to him, closing your eyes in contentment and ignoring the pain you felt shooting up your arm.

“Thank you for everything you did,” You snuggled your head into his chest, his arms wrapping around you tightly but with caution of your injury. “I hope you don’t think this means I trust you less, you couldn’t have stopped him from changing as quick as he did, and everyone makes mistakes sometimes.”

“I broke my promise to you though. I promised you’d never get hurt and you did. I messed up his potion which caused him to turn.” He closed his eyes, squeezing them hard to get the image of you covered in blood out of his mind. “It won’t happen again.”

“I’m so in love with you.” You opened your eyes, letting them trail up his delicate features to his closed eyes. He slowly opened his eyes and looked down into yours.

“As am I with you.” He smiled, leaning his face down to press a tender kiss to your lips. You kissed him with a burning love in your heart, the feeling of your injuries being nothing when you had Mark by your side.

(A/N: Thank you so much for reading this, it’s my longest piece so far and I’m really proud of this work. Please give me feedback and keep an eye out for the next part in the series, which will be Renjun’s part. It will go into more depth about his story that was briefly mentioned in this part. Again, thank you.)

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years

Text

Beyond a Seasonable Doubt

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: T Word count: 7478 @spideychelleweek

Spideychelle Week Day 2: Soulmate AU

Summary: Peter's been living in winter for 17 years. A single smile from his soulmate would bring him into spring. Today, he finally has a real conversation with MJ, the girl he's pretty sure is the one.

Every day, Peter Parker wakes up certain of three things: that he won’t leave himself enough time to finish his cereal, that he should dress for snow, and the (probable) identity of his soulmate.

Ok, the first one’s not a certainty per say―sometimes he has microwave oatmeal or blueberry toaster waffles―but the second one’s been true his whole life. Every single day, for the past seventeen years and change, he’s been swaddled for winter weather. Could be January when he’s three years old and his puffy snowsuit looks totally appropriate as his mom pushes him down a slushy sidewalk in his stroller. Could be August 10th just last year and he’s wearing a woolen fisherman sweater (inherited from his Uncle Ben) and two pairs of socks to his own birthday pool party. Until his soulmate is confirmed, he won’t be part of the regular changing of the seasons that, up to this point, he’s only heard about and seen pictures and video of. For all intents and purposes, in Peter’s world, it’s winter. Some people say the date they’re stuck on bothers them. Personally, he doesn’t know how it could, since he’s never known anything different. You just have to layer up and get on with it.

His arm’s deep in his backpack, feeling around for the scarf he could swear he stuffed in there yesterday, as he walks into the kitchen. It’s a rare day; both Happy and May are at the table, working from home today. With ambivalence to the inevitability that he’ll be dumping half of it in the sink, Peter starts in on his Cheerios. He’s less apathetic about watching his dining companions. They haven’t had the easiest path, so he studies them for clues. May’s first soulmate was Uncle Ben. That’s not up for debate. Within 24 hours of when they met, the seasons adjusted themselves and two more people joined the rest of the world’s matched soulmates in enjoying the proper rotation of the earth around the sun. After Ben’s death, May told Peter that the seasons continued to change for her, but they slowed. Once a couple of years passed, there was a noticeable lag. She fell out of step with the world. When Happy came on the scene, things got back on track. Voilà, soulmate number two. From what Peter’s read, it’s not that unusual to find another soulmate if you lose your first, but honestly, he’d be happy just to get one.

May and Happy are dressed for mid-spring.

“Rain today?” Peter wonders, spooning Cheerios into his mouth.

“It’s holding off for now,” his aunt informs him.

When he turns to look out the window, there’s a cottony haze of thick snowflakes, like all of Queens is having a pillow fight on the rooftops. He sighs with acceptance rather than despair. Nothing was going to change overnight. It couldn’t, not without her, whoever she is. (He thinks he knows.)

“Cool.”

He leaves in a rush, slopping milk into the sink, and pulling on a hat.

A season isn’t much of a clue, but that’s not exactly how everyone experiences their pre-soulmate life. Instead of cycling through an entire spring, for example, and then starting again, each person exists in the weather as it was on the day their soulmate was born. The universe was kinda against Peter from the first. Snow, in his mind, goes with winter, but of course, in their New York climate, snow isn’t trapped between the boundaries of December and March. It wasn’t until he got his second clue that he figured out the first. The second clue was that this one girl would never smile at him. Soulmates need to smile at each other. That’s it. Just smile and everything else falls into place. No more dressing for the same temperature every day or involuntarily shivering when they see people in shorts and t-shirts in a world they observe to be covered in snow. Most people who haven’t found their soulmate yet smile a lot, trying to catch everyone’s eye, in the hope of locating the right person, so the fact that this one girl refused to smile at him (and continues to refuse) made Peter curious―curious enough to do some research to find out her birthday. End of November. Meaning autumn, not winter. He checked the weather for the year he was born, assuming he’s got the right girl and they share a birth year. Bingo. Big cold front, unexpectedly heavy snowfall that day. Plus, this girl dresses like it’s the peak of summer, which fits with when his birthday is, and he’s never seen her wear an outfit for cooler weather or hang around with any one person in particular (soulmates, especially those his age, tend to cling).

So, the third certainty. Peter’s pretty sure he knows who his soulmate is. What he doesn’t know is why the hell Michelle Jones won’t smile at him.

―

Every day, Michelle Jones wakes up certain of three things: that the inevitable sweat patches in the armpits of her uniform shirt will aid her in bullying Coach Wilson into letting her sit out during gym, that Peter Parker is her soulmate, and that she’d really prefer that he wasn’t.

People think she’s rude, which is maybe correct in the effect she has on them but not in the intention of her actions. She doesn’t like acting a certain way because it’s how she’s supposed to act. She doesn’t like etiquette, she doesn’t like rules, and she doesn’t like soulmates. Doesn’t want one, doesn’t need one. It’s an opinion adults condescendingly informed her she’d grow out of―as if accepting that she’s being denied free will is the kind of thing she’d mature into―until she quit voicing it. People love the system as long as they believe it’s working for them. What’s childish, as far as MJ is concerned, is placing complete faith in something as pervasive as soulmates simply because it seems too big to fail. That expression always makes her think of the Titanic.

She knows it’s not the cotton candy fantasy everyone wants to believe it is, and she’s not just disillusioned because she wakes up to a heatwave every day and has to carry deodorant with her all the time. Like most people, she was born the child of two soulmates. They met, they smiled, they took the soulmate bait, hook, line, and sinker. And then, even though they loved each other and got married and made MJ, her mom became mildly depressed. Her doctor thought it was the consequence of the seasons. MJ’s dad was a late-April baby, so maybe her mom was just one of those people who took longer to get used to variations in temperature and hours of daylight. The doctor thought she’d snap out of it when winter ended and nice weather came again. The problem was that MJ’s mom packed up and left in February. MJ’s never going to know for sure if it was the weather that made her go, but she does know that the soulmate bond wasn’t enough to make her mom stay. It taught her that, if a person’s determined enough, they can override destiny.

So she’s thankful to her mom, wherever she is, for that.

Based on her motives for distrusting the soulmate influence, the reason she doesn’t want Peter should be because she doesn’t want anybody, but no, it’s him in particular that MJ’s pretty much convinced she could do without. He’s smart, funny on occasion and mostly by accident, and he’s experienced family tragedy that’s different from hers, so they could connect over their messed-up pasts without too much overlap. All of that is more than she wants to deal with. If the universe attempted to shack her up with some trust-fund-having, loafer-wearing, future-frat-house-keg-meister, she could’ve worked with that. She would’ve smiled at the silver-spoon-suckling to confirm they were soulmates, then let that puppy-dog trail her from protest to protest while she told him when to pull out his chequebook and how many zeros to put down. There would’ve been a clear, Robin Hoodian purpose to that relationship. There’s not a point to Peter, besides him being someone she could very probably, very quickly fall in love with. Obviously, she can’t do that because soulmates are bullshit and true love is a con and long-term monogamy is a doomed enterprise.

…And she’s going to be late for her first class, Biology. Ugh, Peter always does this to her―intentionally walks slow to try to trick her into catching up with him. All that does is make MJ take a longer route and misjudge how quickly she needs to move. She wishes he’d knock it off. He’s backed off on a lot of other things for her sake (that’s an assumption based on observation because, of course, she’s never initiated a conversation with him), like sitting across from her in the cafeteria and dropping out of marching band (he plays trombone, she plays euphonium, and the brass section was too cozy a space for successfully avoiding someone). That second one was a waste because she was about to quit anyway, so now neither of them are in it and the whole band’s off balance. Too many fucking flautists. If Peter would commit to doing one or the other―pestering her or ignoring her―that would be convenient, but he’s inconsistent and she’s annoyed.

Oh, here’s another thing that happens every day: MJ hopes her displeasure will protect her from the urge to smile at the adorable, well-intentioned pain in her neck that destiny wants to tie her to until one of them drops dead or, marginally less dramatic, runs out on the young family they’ve created. It really pisses her off that Peter seems like he’ll be a great dad in another decade or two.

“Hey, MJ,” he says, when she finally makes it to Bio and slides behind the lab desk in front of his.

“Kiss my ass, Parker,” she mutters back.

He’s the reason for the sweat running down her spine. MJ pinches the front of her t-shirt and flaps it away from her skin, trying to stimulate enough airflow to make it through the period.

―

“You could trick her into smiling at you,” Ned suggests. They’re sitting together at lunch and Peter has a glumness hangover from MJ ignoring him (again) that morning.

“Babe,” Betty admonishes.

“Babe, he’d only feel bad if MJ really is his soulmate. If she’s not, then at least they know for sure and they can quit being weird with each other.”

“I’m not being weird with her,” Peter objects. “I’m just being nice! And I told you, I know it’s her.”

“You get that feeling?” Ned checks. “That warm feeling like I got the first time I saw Betty’s beautiful face?”

“Aw, babe!”

Their arms are already linked as they eat, but now Betty lays her head on her soulmate’s shoulder. If they get much closer, she’ll be in Ned’s lap, at which point Peter will have to make himself scarce. Though love is cute, it’s also kind of an affliction with a lot of messy symptoms.

“I don’t feel like I’m doing anything wrong!” he blurts out in frustration, jabbing at the salad May made him for lunch. “How could we be so incompatible?”

“You’re not though,” Betty counters. “You’re totally compatible.”

“Yeah, but we haven’t even taken the first step.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t think of it as the first step,” Ned suggests, being all wise.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked cautiously.

“Babe, you couldn’t be more correct,” Betty gushes. Peter sighs impatiently. He shouldn’t―they’re trying to help him―but it’s hard having paired up friends while his own soulmate stays just out of reach.

“Elaborate please,” he prompts.

He shifts in place and shivers when he accidentally moves out of the space his butt’s been warming. Meanwhile, here are Ned and Betty in their lightweight sweaters and sneakers. Peter’s boots clomp under the table.

“Well,” Ned posits, “isn’t confirming you’re soulmates more like the final step? You’ve done your waiting and now you get to be together?” Betty kisses his cheek in agreement.

“Maybe,” Peter allows.

“If you accept that confirming your bond isn’t the very next step, then you can start considering what is the next step. What do you think that might be, Peter?” Betty asks.

“I should… get MJ to tell me why she isn’t ready or interested in confirming it. In a respectful way that doesn’t pressure her,” he adds when Betty narrows her eyes judgementally.

“And how do you plan to achieve that?”

“Babe,” Ned intercedes, “let’s give him a minute to think about it.”

Peter tries to do that while he finishes his lunch. There are a lot of vegetables in here and they’re seasonal, just not for the season he’s experiencing. May’s always trying to load him up with vitamin-rich foods, since most of his day’s snowy; the clouds clear for a while around the time he gets out of school, allowing him some sun on his face as long as he doesn’t dawdle or land in detention. That train of thought makes him realize that detention would be the perfect place to talk this out with MJ, except that he’s against Ned’s plan of tricking her into becoming his soulmate and making sure she landed in detention with him would probably involve tricking. He knows she used to hang out there voluntarily from time to time, but not since they became aware of their connection. Now, she seems to avoid any place she might get stuck in and be cornered by Peter.

Ugh! He’s so ready to love and be loved! It’s super awesome to have people to love and worry about and have breakfast with. Love and breakfast are precious, in Peter’s opinion, and so is time. Getting enough of it isn’t something to be depended upon. After his parents and then Uncle Ben, he can’t trust quantity―he gives and gets quality love these days. He doesn’t know everything about Michelle Jones, but he’d like her to understand that, the irreplaceable value she represents to him. If she’d just be a plain envelope, he’d do all the work; put on the stamp, write out the address, compose the note it would hold. Right now, she’s like a sheet of paper, he guesses, one that they fold up into an envelope. She hasn’t been cut out or had that gross glue strip applied and it seems like it might be a long time before she’s ready for a letter or, like, a Happy Bar Mitzvah card. MJ might not want to be his envelope person, or she just might not know the things he could be for her (glue-licking, stamp-applying, Mazel Tov!-writing). If she at least knows, then he’ll concede that he’s done everything he can. If she knows, it’ll hopefully be enough for her to make a decision. Peter can’t force her to decide in his favour, but even if she understands and decides that she needs another five years before she wants to talk to him about the probability of their being soulmates and maybe revisit the smiling thing, he’ll know something too. Waiting is really tough.

―

“Don’t smile at me,” Peter requests, both hands up, when MJ shuts her locker to see him standing there.

She rolls her eyes. Nothing about the one person she’s actively avoiding hanging out at a place she has to be makes her want to smile. Did he decide that if he couldn’t be her soulmate he’d settle for being her stalker?

…Probably not. He’s way too good a person for that. Seriously, she tries to make these made-up accusations stick to him, but he’s just not that guy. That doesn’t mean she accepts, likes, or appreciates this latest move to get her attention.

“Are you trying reverse psychology now?” MJ demands.

“I’m just trying to make it extra clear that, whatever your reasons are for not smiling, I respect them.” He shrugs his shoulders and she glances down at the lunchbox he’s carrying. She wonders what he ate today.

“What if I’m not smiling because I’m plotting a bank heist in my head? Do you respect that? Do you respect theft, Peter?”

His expression is so satisfyingly startled that she almost does smile. No, fuck this. There are only ten minutes or so left in the lunch hour and she can wander the halls until the next class starts. She goes to step around him, but their shoulders brush and she feels something. It’s more aggressive than the welcoming warmth the bond (that’s what she attributes it to) usually makes her feel when she sees him. This is pure affection and it’s really hard to put her back to it. MJ pauses, facing away from Peter, and she’s almost got the new feeling under control when he turns and starts walking beside her.

“I think we can figure this out,” he says eagerly. Dammit. His enthusiasm for learning is one of the traits she finds most attractive in him. Can’t he just lay off with that fucking fated appeal?

“I think I already have,” she shoots back, not looking at him. “The universe wants to play sock puppets and guess what? We’re the sock puppets.”

“Look,” Peter says. He’s shockingly persistent today as he jumps in front of her and catches her eye. “We don’t have to play by its rules. We can make our own.”

“You wanna be with me?” she asks point-blank. Her chin jerks up instinctively when she questions him, eyes appraising. Either the question or the blunt stare makes him blush.

“Yeah, I, I think I probably do.”

“You want me to fall in love with you? For us to get married? Live together? Have kids? Me and you against the world, forever?”

“Maybe?”

“Well, you can’t just want one thing, Peter,” MJ tells him. Her fingers grip hard at the books in her hands. “There’s no shallow end of the soulmate bond. Its plan is not for us to casually date and let things plateau if it doesn’t work out.”

“But it would work out.” Poor thing looks confused.

“Says who?”

He shrugs.

“Everybody.”

“Check your sources.”

She hangs a left into the girls’ bathroom before Peter can respond, but he’s waiting in the hall when she returns.

“You can’t ignore it,” is the first thing he says to her, pushing off the wall. This time, MJ plants her feet.

“Or you, apparently, if you keep stalking me.”

“I’m not trying to. I just want us―”

“To talk,” she finishes for him. “Which is pointless. You’re not going to gain any ground with me, Peter. I have no ground for you to gain on this issue.”

“Maybe, if you told me why you won’t smile, you’ll feel better.”

“I feel fine.”

“You do not. You’re trying not to let someone care a lot about you when it’s guaranteed that they would. He would. I would,” Peter rambles. He takes a deep breath and looks her firmly in the eye. “Isn’t that, like, the one thing everybody wants? To be able to count on someone caring?”

“I’m not broken just because I don’t want what everybody wants,” she bites back, feeling herself flush with annoyance and, beneath that, embarrassment at being assessed.

“I would never call you broken,” he swears in a quiet voice. He is not going to make her tear up right now. She’s softening though, she can feel it. Stupid sincere soulmate. “I mean, if anything, I’m broken, so I could never judge, even if I wanted to. I know people try hard to find their perfect match, but I feel greedy sometimes with how badly I want it to happen to me. I know it’s not fair to you, I’ve been coming to terms with―”

“You’re not broken, Peter. Wanting someone to love you doesn’t make you broken. Or, if it does, then most people are. You’re not alone just because you don’t have me.”

Clearly, the time to stop herself was one sentence sooner. Because the jerk smiles at her and the next thing she does is agree to discuss this further after school.

―

There was something she said, while they were talking after lunch, that has him considering their potential as platonic soulmates well into third period. That’s what soulmates are for some people―they want all of the kindness and support of the bond with none of the romance, and the universe gives them what they need. When MJ said that stuff about marriage and babies and forever, Peter began contemplating whether they could achieve the third thing without the first two. Almost immediately, he ruled it out. He knew what attraction felt like. Sure, being soulmates was probably influencing him towards MJ, but she wasn’t the only person he found attractive. He used to have a crush on Liz. One day, when his Business class was on a field trip and it rained, he saw Flash with all the product washed out of his hair and was attracted to him (right up until Flash made a few loud comments about getting ‘Penis’ out of the cold weather before he shriveled up).

The conclusion he comes to is clear: Peter’s definitely hot for MJ. While marriage can wait, falling dizzily, hopelessly in love―and properly, in the kind of love they could have with their soulmate bond confirmed―is something he can only ever half-heartedly postpone. He wants to give her presents with love on her birthday. He wants to hug her and feel a new kind of complete. He wants to be her Valentine.

When Peter sees MJ hanging back to wait for him once the final bell rings, he’s relieved. Then tense. Not screwing this up might literally be the most important thing in his future. Trying to reassure her that he isn’t planning some sort of ambush to force a smile out of her, he suggests they talk someplace where other people will be around. She flat-out refuses to go to a coffee shop with him because it would be way too date-like. (Yeah, he gets that, picturing an awkward moment in which he attempts to pay for both their orders, or their shoes bump under the table.) They agree on the gym, where the girls’ indoor soccer team is having practice. Together―him in flannel-lined jeans and her in shorts―they thud up the bleachers to sit at the very top. MJ catches her foot and Peter notices that, when he instinctively reaches out to steady her, she shies away with a regretful look on her face. He really doesn’t expect her to explain, but then she does as they sit down.

“It does something to me,” she says, jerking her head as though to reference their near-contact.

Peter shrugs.

“Yeah, me too, but I’ve never been trying to avoid that feeling. I’ve gotten used to, like, um,” he stammers, “leaning into it. But I’m sorry. I won’t touch you.”

“Well, you know that I have the opposite habit.” MJ takes a deep breath, and Peter gets the sense that this would be the moment for her to be vulnerable with him and explain why she works so hard to ignore him. Ultimately, volunteering that information appears to be too much of an emotional effort. She decides to ask, “Is that something you’re interested in knowing more about?”

“Anything you wanna tell me,” he says quickly. He’s been waiting forever for this opportunity. “You can ask me things too. Open book.”

“I’m… not used to just spilling stuff about my life.”

He considers that.

“Why’d you say yes to this?”

She sighs and leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees. Then, she cups her face in her hand and turns to meet his eye.

“I’m tired of the way seeing you is always such a big deal. The bond says it’s wonderful and my brain hates it. I don’t want to be so torn all the time.”

“So…” he begins uncertainly. “Which outcome are you hoping for? Thinking I’m wonderful or hating my guts?”

The speed with which MJ turns her face away from him makes him wonder if she’s hiding a smile. He wasn’t trying to be funny.

“Quit twisting my words,” she requests, straight-faced as she stares straight ahead to where the soccer players are booting around what looks like an oversized tennis ball. “I didn’t say I hate you.”

“Just your brain.”

“Mhmm. My brain hates the idea of you.”

“MJ,” Peter says earnestly. She looks at him. “Why?”

“You control my whole life!” she says abruptly. “I’m sweating from climbing these stupid bleachers because of you. I have the urge to smile right now, when I’m irritated, because of you. Your existence tells me what to wear even when I’m not with you and how to feel whenever I see you.”

“I’m sorry―”

“And I can’t even seriously blame you because it’s not actually your fault!”

The girls’ team has quit weaving and shooting the ball, heading and passing it. Peter gets that MJ wanted a public place, but now he knows they’re being eavesdropped on. He’s quiet, though not because of the potential listeners; he doesn’t want to stop MJ from saying whatever she might tell him next. He’s been longing to hear her thoughts for ages.

“And that’s just, like, surface stuff!” she huffs. She’s flushed. If he could hold her face between his hands, the warmth might stay with him all the way home while he trudges along the sidewalk, ploughing snow aside with his shins.

“Please,” Peter says softly, “tell me more. Tell me anything you want.”

―

She went into it knowing she wouldn’t be allowing her soulmate to make her smile, but MJ didn’t anticipate letting him see her cry. He’s so open and she’s fortified her defenses against this topic for such a long time. Apparently, that’s enough for discussing her emotions and fears to make her crack like an egg. Peter doesn’t rush her or tell her that her feelings are the wrong feelings and the whole time he watches her face with a startling amount of attention. Has anybody looked at her like this? Really looked at her? Ever? She feels like a mom would’ve, but she can’t remember if her mom did. And that’s who she’s talking about, that’s the part of the story she’s at, when she feels the tears dribble out and tilts her head to let them drain away over her cheek. God, this is embarrassing. At least the soccer team packed up and left before she felt her throat getting thick.

“I don’t know if I’m still just letting my mom decide whether or not I get to be happy,” MJ admits, face wet until she catches her tear tracks with the back of her wrist. “I’m trying to do this, ignore the soulmate bond, for me, but maybe… I don’t know…”

“You’re forcing me away from you?” Peter suggests.

“Yeah. I’m abandoning you before we can get attached.” Somehow, this dork has Kleenex in his backpack and hands her one. She blows her nose hard, then crumples the tissue in her hand. “Pretty fucked up.”

“Ok, this is gonna sound really stupid, because we’re not even together, but I don’t think I’m the kind of person who could leave you.”

“You can’t promise that though,” MJ says―so, so quietly. She wants her words to run away and hide under the bleachers with the dust bunnies.

“Would you rather have nothing?” he asks.

Coming from someone else, she’s pretty sure that would be an ultimatum, some kind of threat to accept him as her soulmate now or never get another chance. Peter asks it with as little agenda as he’s asked everything else, easing her through her memories and her dreads.

“I’m not sure,” she says.

“Can I tell you something? I’m not sure I could be with someone whose goal was to resist getting or giving love. I mean, I’ve heard everything you’ve told me and I can see why you’ve been dodging the soulmate thing, but if you get to look way ahead and worry about things that are only possible and far in the future, like me leaving you, then I get to look ahead too.” He pauses and she nods to indicate that, yeah, that’s fair. MJ thinks this is very brave of him, stepping out of the situation for a second to consider what he might need later when what he wants is to be with her right away. “I don’t wanna be left either. I don’t want you not to be able to overcome the idea that soulmates are bad and wrong. Maybe it doesn’t matter if you think that in general, but if it’s a part of our relationship, then you’re always going to be expecting things to end. It would be like you were trying to think your way out of it instead of enjoying whatever we could have. And what we could have, by the way? I don’t think the bond has anything to say about that. Does it encourage us to get together? Yeah, sure, fine, it does and we accept that’s how it works. Once we are together though, isn’t the rest on our terms?”

Finally, Peter takes a longer breath and some of the intensity fades from his expression.

“You’re looking at me funny,” he notes. “I know I talked a lot. Are you gonna say something?”

“Just that you sounded smart and it’s pissing me off.”

He gives her dry joke a sad smile.

“Losing people sucks.” His voice is like a rock falling, falling, falling through deep water. “For as much as you don’t want me to make promises, I know that I’d try really fucking hard not to lose you. You can’t hate me, or your brain can’t hate me, for that. It’s the human element of this whole thing, which should be the part you like, since you’re so anti-destiny.”

Looks like Peter’s raised his own spirits enough to offer a conspiratorial little smile at the end there.

“Another repulsively astute point,” she says flatly and watches his smile broaden. Fuck, it makes her heart feel like a marshmallow that’s melting onto a s’more and simultaneously being stretched until it tears into sticky ribbons.

He checks his watch and gets to his feet.

“I gotta get home.”

“Did I miss the soulmate-decision deadline?” she teases. Feels weird. She stands too and they clomp back down to the gym floor.

“No! God, no, I wasn’t trying to rush you by looking at the time!”

“Parker, I’m messing with you. Chill.”

She eyes his winter clothing.

“Or maybe don’t. Looks like you’re chill enough already. Sorry for being born during a blizzard. My dad told me he and my mom barely got to the hospital in time for me to not be born in the car, the roads were so bad.”

Peter appraises her right back.

“Sorry for being born during a heatwave. I wish I could ask my mom what that was like, but you already know about my parents.”

“Shit, I didn’t mean to start comparing…”

“No, I know,” Peter says. “I miss her, but it’s not always the worst, having a certain moment make me notice that I could’ve learned something from her here. It’s actually easier to appreciate than forget, even if it’s sad for a little while.”

“If I promise to try it, will you cut it out with the insightful bullshit?”

Instead of answering that question, he springs something else on her.

“For the record, I know the only reason you didn’t smile at me is because you were trying so hard not to.”

Immediately, MJ turns her back on him and smirks as she heads for the far exit.

―

Peter’s seen a lot of snow. Almost all the weather he’s ever seen is snow, and even at the point in his day when the snowfall takes its lunchbreak, there’s over a foot on the ground and dense grey clouds up above. He thinks it’s crazy how snow fills people with wonder―mainly in Christmas movies and holiday episodes of TV shows. The way he feels about snow is probably how people living in late-spring-to-early-fall weather feel about grass. It’s just there, the base layer of their environment.

Except tonight Peter has his blind up, watching the thin sprinkle the blizzard has slowed into catch the light from other people’s apartments, a clean, meltable glitter. He’s tired and can’t sleep, but it’s a quiet comfort of sleeplessness, not the kind where he stresses and twists around between his sheets. The weight of the day keeps him flat on his back in bed as he thinks it all over. His feelings, MJ’s, the satisfaction of finally having a long talk with her, the biting pain of seeing her cry. In his mind, since he first guessed it might be her who’s his soulmate, he’s been tailoring their love. Their potential love. He didn’t know what it would look like before having her to mould a concept around. Learning that she was probably his soulmate, studying her, Peter decided they were meant for a slow love. Love would be something that slipped gradually across them, like pulling up the sheet on a bed or stepping into a long summertime shadow.

He’s surprised at the kind of love MJ envisioned; from the berth she gave it when she talked that afternoon, it sounded big and powerful and immediate. Faster than an avalanche, ringing through their lives louder than a thunderclap. He wanted them to confirm their bond soon so that unhurried love could begin to develop and she was afraid that the second they started would be the second they were swept away. No wonder she avoided him, Peter thinks. The love she anticipated would equal an act of god and he isn’t ready for that either. He turns his face away from the direction of the window and stares at his dark ceiling.

Peter has plenty of forceful love in his life―he can’t consider it enough forceful love, because there’s no such thing as enough love, is there?―thanks to May. She took on the mom-ish role of caring for him after his parents were gone, then the single-mom-ish role of raising him into approaching adulthood without Uncle Ben. While her aura is soft, her whole attitude has been very roll-up-your-sleeves where he’s concerned. May faced down his extreme need for parental TLC like it was a battle and continues to love him fiercely, even if his steadily increasing age and Happy’s calming presence temper her a little these days. So Peter’s covered in the department of that kind of love. He hopes his forever person doesn’t feel the need to bombard him with a truckload of love from the start; it would make him feel pitied, somehow, like they were putting all their effort into making up for the fact that he doesn’t have parents anymore. Peter knows he doesn’t have parents, he doesn’t want or need to be smothered to make up for their absence.

This chance (it still isn’t a solid thing) with MJ could let him grow into devotion. He’s kinda longing to know what that feels like. The theoretical adjective he’d attach to it is normal. Whatever the universe’s input here, Peter really believes the most normal thing after confirming their bond would be to allow things to develop however felt right. And with the bond backing them, technically anything they do would be right, right? He wants them to grow up together and grow into each other. He doesn’t want MJ to be the bond or a love lightning bolt, zipping down to fry him. The assurance that they’ll fall in love is enough to start. It’s an invaluable forecast, as dependable as the weather he’s been experiencing all his life.

When his phone buzzes on his nightstand, Peter feels as though he’s being retracted like a telescope―thoughts way far out in space drawing back to his building, his bedroom, his body. He rubs his eyes with his knuckle as he looks at the screen.

So… you were unexpectedly deep today, MJ’s text reads.

They never exactly exchanged numbers, but he got hers from Betty one time and saved it just in case. His heart beats faster at the thought that maybe MJ did the same.

And you’re still mad about it? Peter guesses, tapping out his reply.

Oh, you are up.

There was a lot to think about, he tells her honestly. Why are you still awake?

Because the day you were born must have been the most humid day of the year. It’s too hot to sleep.

Also, MJ tags on, that crap you said about thinking.

―

She lets her phone drop onto the thin cotton sheet of the mattress and uses its light to help her see as she rips nervously at the skin around her fingernail. Texting Peter wasn’t even really a thought―she just found herself doing it, surprised by how natural the instinct felt and despite the fact that she really doesn’t reach out to people. That she would reach out to the one person she was utterly vulnerable in front of less than 12 hours ago is something MJ would never have expected of herself. But she’s let him in this far.

And you decided to talk to me about it? Peter finally responds, postponing further anxiety.

I know. My boundaries are completely fucked after this afternoon. I might never be able to bottle up my feelings again. Hope you’re happy, loser.

Well, Peter texts, you don’t have to do that. If you need to empty the bottle every once in a while, I get it. I can be your glass. Or your straw?

You want to suck up my feelings? Like some kind of feelings-vampire?

God, she is fucking this up so severely. He’s going to wish she’d just kept ignoring him instead of caving to his persistent friendliness and that look he gets that’s all eyes, totally impossible to say no to. Amazingly, her last stupid text isn’t enough to make him say he’s going to sleep now, or worse, not respond at all.

Just a feelings-relief, he corrects. Unless you like the idea of the feelings-vampire better.

You don’t need to bend to my will like that, Parker. Suddenly, MJ’s kind of angry.

Don’t give me what you think I want just because you feel bad about seeing me cry, she continues. Or because you think you can make this work by doing whatever I want. Never appease me.

I care, he says simply.

Wow, she feels like a jerk.

Because destiny told you that you could take that care and trade up for the promise of eternal love? she snarks back, apparently not quite done with the jerk thing.

I had no idea texting you would be even more fun than talking in person.

Is he… is he being sarcastic with her? MJ smiles at her phone. Incredible.

I’m fun in all mediums, she says, not having a clear idea of what she means and looking forward to Peter trying really hard to interpret it.

Knock knock, is his response.

Who’s there?

Ummmm idk.

‘Ummmm idk’ who?

No, I seriously don’t know, he says.

MJ snorts in confused laughter and shifts around to find a cool spot on her sheet; she wasn’t lying about the heat.

Why would you send me the beginning of a knock-knock joke with no joke? she asks.

I thought I’d think of the rest of it in the moment. I know that’s dumb. It just felt like we were maybe in a zone there and I wanted to keep it going.

Relax. I’m not going to strike you out for one ill-conceived knock-knock joke.

What about two?

I wouldn’t test your luck, MJ counsels, still smiling.

She can see that he’s composing a reply, but she beats him to it: I was thinking about what you said about destiny. Actually, what you said about the opposite of destiny, the thing about the human element.

And?

She can practically sense his tension as she holds her phone in her hand.

I think it’s a good thought. That two people can still make a relationship theirs.

Ned said something to me today.

How unusual.

Shut up, Peter quips back. He said that confirming you’re somebody’s soulmate is like the last big step.

Oh?

Yeah, I think he’s totally wrong.

So do I.

Replying that way felt like a huge leap and yet, MJ took it. It doesn’t take long after that for her to start getting tired, blinking long and slow until she’s only opening her eyes when her phone vibrates against her fingers. Peter says he’s tired too and they wrap the conversation up. There’s a suggestion of seeing each other at school the next day. It shouldn’t have any special meaning―it’s a throwaway farewell, less than a promise―but she reacts to it with her last bit of focus. See you in the morning, are her exact words.

She cranes her phone out over the side of her bed with her arm, then lets it go just a little too far from the floor. Probably fine, though it clatters against the surface. Protected by the night and her closed eyes, MJ feels around inside her mind, looking for the taut tug-of-war rope that should be telling her that, one, she doesn’t want to meet with Peter because he’s probably her soulmate and soulmates are a lie and a scam, and two, that she does want to meet with Peter because he has a cute smile that he shows her even when she doesn’t give him much reason to. Then she thinks about how much she prefers first steps to last steps.

―

He could be a clone. He could be a clone in a programmed world, living his programmed life the same every day, but with, like, fake memories that fool him into believing in variety. Because he does believe in it. Today, Peter wakes up and change seems possible.

There’s snow on the ground outside and he has to get his socks on before putting his feet on the floor and he’s eating his breakfast too slowly and the way his aunt and Happy are dressed says it’s still spring. Peter asks about rain. May says, “Any time now,” and keeps reading the paperwork she has folded open on the table as she scratches absently at her arm.

“Amazing,” Peter replies, meaning it, as he picks up his bowl and slurps the rest of his cereal until milk runs down his chin.

His aunt glances up to give him a funny look. He’s pretty sure it’s not about the milk, but there’s no time to ask. If he hurries, he’ll leave ahead of his usual schedule, thanks to this new breakfast hack. He wants to get to school. School is such a great place to be.

Peter races out of the apartment and down the stairs like he’s 10 minutes late instead of 3 minutes early. It’s in the building’s entryway that he gets a feeling. Four feet from the glass door that he sees her standing on the sidewalk, snow she can’t feel partway up her mostly-bare legs. Pushing the door open when she quits looking away down the street and stares straight back at him instead. When MJ smiles, Peter smiles back. It could be a life-changing moment, or it might just be a reflex. Because they started to let each other in, he’ll probably never know the answer. Anyway, why does there only have to be one?

“I’ve been waiting,” she says. “I thought you’d be down sooner.”

He laughs self-deprecatingly.

“I tend to cut my timing kinda close in the morning. You wanna get going?” Peter jerks his head to the side.

“Yeah, we should. You’re probably getting cold just standing there.”

With his timing slightly off, they’re ahead of schedule for the bus he’s usually running to catch, so they decide to walk up to the next stop. As they approach the intersection, the light changes to yellow.

“We can beat it if we run,” Peter suggests, trying not to strangle himself by catching his scarf as he hikes his backpack higher on his shoulders.

But MJ goes, “Wait,” so urgently that he stops at the corner.

“What is it?”

“I thought I just…” With a puzzled expression, she extends her hand, palm up. Not towards Peter, but away from him. “…felt a raindrop.”

They lock eyes.

“You want my coat?” he offers. MJ smiles again.

“I’ll let you know.”

#my writing #spideychelleweek2k20 #spideychelle #spideychelle fanfiction #spideychelle fic #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones #May Parker #happy hogan #may parker x happy hogan #ned leeds #betty brant #ned leeds x betty brant #nettypot

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spnsimpleman · 4 years

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With a smirk and a toss

Part four of Anon request series- Unknown gang daughter.

Part one of the series- read this first! With the strike of a match Part Two- With a wink and a smile. Part Three- With a flick of my blade

Dean x unknown Daughter, Sam x unknown niece, badass!winchester Reader- is this a thing? Because it should be.

Word Count: 2325

Sam sat in the passenger seat of the impala glancing at his brother every fifteen to twenty minutes for the last hour. They were parked a block down from the girl’s apartment and the car didn’t exactly fit in but Dean refused to move. He also refused to take the easiest route and just go talk to the girl.

San rubbed his eyes and sighed. Even with taking shifts sleeping, it was a whole night wasted.

“Damnit Sam, you didn’t see the girl fight.”

“What does that have anything to do with it? You could ask her if there’s any way we could help. You have a certain set of skills…”

Dean snapped to the side and pointed at him, “don’t.”

Sam stuffed down his laugh and looked back out the windshield. Finally, something. “She’s on the move.”

Dean faced forward and watched her slip into the back of a taxi. “Where the hell is she going?”

“Well, stalker, might as well follow since that seems to be what we’ve been doing since we got here.”

“Shut it.” Dean started the car and pulled out into the light traffic.

They followed the taxi through the streets onto the highway and then off into a more rural area. Sam was typing away on his laptop as Dean made sure to keep a good distance so she wouldn’t be able to make out the type of car if she looked back.

“What the hell?” Sam glanced up at the taxi, “if it takes the next right.” The taxi did and Sam blew out a breath, “she’s going to the prison down this road.”

Dean clenched the steering wheel but stayed silent. They followed the taxi but turned off into the parking lot. They waited twenty minutes before going inside. Dean flashed his FBI badge at the first desk he came to and glanced down at the list in front of the middle aged, dark skinned officer with a trim beard on the other side of the partition. Dean glanced at the name plate on the officer’s uniform then pointed to her name, “who is she here to see, Garvin?”

Officer Garvin was still scanning the badge and then wrote the name down. “Fiance, maybe just boyfriend.” Dean raised his brow as Sam stepped up to the desk and flashed his badge. “Gangbanger on a murder charge. Typical gang on gang violence.”

Sam frowned, “how long has he been in?”

“Two years on Twenty, if he keeps up the good behavior.” He wrote down Sam’s badge name.

“Good behavior? Is he a model… prisoner?” Sam put his badge away.

Officer Garvin shrugged, “from what I’ve seen. I mean I’ve only been here five years but JJ might’ve been a good kid if he didn’t come from where he did. Not always the case but,” he clicked his pen and put it down, “he keeps to himself and follows the rules.”

Dean looked down at the list again, “do you usually know the stories of all the inmates off the top of your head?”

Garvin frowned and looked down, “no, I don’t. What is it about this girl you’re trying to look for?”

Sam leaned on the counter, “arson case, the cops are looking at her for it. We think there might be more going on.”

The officer frowned and rubbed his beard, “the boy’s case… rival gang member almost beat his brother to death the same night this murder happened. The boy didn’t fight the charge and his brother barely survived. I hear he’s in a mental institution which is probably better than the streets, but if someone beat my brother that bad? I don’t know if I would’ve been able to hold back, you know? Now, I’ve seen a lot of different inmates in my twenty years as a guard and that boy? Doesn’t seem like he’s got it in him, but family makes all the difference. She seems like a good kid too, here at least once a week since he came here, but what do I know?” The way he frowned made Dean and Sam think not many people here seemed to share his views.

Another officer, this one younger, clean shaven, and tan skin walked into the small room behind the partition and looked between Sam and Dean. “What is this?”

“Just a few questions,” Sam said watching the way the officer sized them up.

“About what?”

“Any unusual activity lately?” Dean asked and Sam glanced at him.

“Just a few questions about some of the inmates.” Officer Garvin said, meeting the other officer’s gaze.

Sam spied the name badge, “Officer Martinez, have you noticed any unusual activity with the inmates?”

“There’s always unusual activity with these animals. You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

Sam caught the frown on Officer Garvin’s face before the man spoke up, “they are human beings, not animals, Martinez. You better watch your mouth. It’s not your job to judge.”

Martinez dropped his gaze sneering at the list then taped on a smile, “right, sir. I’ll make sure to remember that.” He reached the cabinets in the back of the room and pulled out two small note pads then left the room without another word.

“Like I said, JJ might not have ended up here had he been born into a different place. He’s a good kid.”

“Thanks for your time, Garvin,” Dean held out his hand and Garvin shook it.

Dean and Sam walked out to the impala, both quiet until they reached their respective doors. Sam stopped with his hand on the handle while Dean opened his door then paused and looked at his brother, “so, maybe there’s more going on. I still don’t see how we can help anything. There’s nothing supernatural about any of this.”

“There still might be a way we can help her before she’s behind bars for nothing more than getting stuck in something she shouldn’t have been involved with anyway. If there’s more officers like Martinez in her neighborhood, this girl, your daughter might not have another chance.”

“That’s if the girl didn’t start the fire. We don’t know anything about what is happening on those streets or what she has to do with it. She tore that man in the alley way up. She seems like she can protect herself.”

“She can’t fight police if they want to pin something on her.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, “get in the car. We have a lot of homework to do. I don’t know a damn thing about this kind of bullshit.”

Sam smiled and slid into the seat, “Dean Winchester hitting the books.”

“Ah, no. I’m gonna find a cop bar and see what I can find out. You can hit the books.”

Sam rolled his eyes then looked at his brother, “what?”

“I’m waiting until she leaves. I’m not gonna know a damn thing if we don’t follow her a little more. Once she goes back to her neighborhood, we’ll figure it out.”

After following her new taxi to a mental institution that probably housed JJ’s older brother, Dean followed the taxi back to her neighborhood and parked in the same spot a block back from her apartment.

Sam was still on his laptop probably looking over the news articles about the death of yet another gang member and the guilty plea and sentencing. Dean didn’t want to hear any more. If someone had done that to Sam, Dean couldn’t blame the kid but he wondered why this girl was still here. There had to be other places she could go. From what he had seen there was nothing holding her here. She could’ve moved on somewhere else, gone to college or just got a job somewhere.

“Oh shit.”

“What?” Dean looked over at Sam and noticed the figure walking toward the impala. “Shit.”

She got to the car, leaned down and knocked on Sam’s window. He rolled it down and Dean asked, “can we help you, ma’am?” He almost winced. Sam’s jaw clenched as he stared at him.

“Yeah, you can tell me why you’ve been tailing me all day. Why don’t you get out of the car and introduce yourself, old man?”

Sam snorted and tried covering it with coughing. She smirked and backed away from the door. Dean and Sam got out. Sam scratched the back of his neck looking around. It was pretty clear from the amount of lingering kids they had noticed on other streets. Beside the kid at the corner, there was no one. “You sure you want to talk out here?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the building, “you really think I’m gonna be seen bringing some agents into my place? Or whatever you’re dressed up as.”

Dean pulled his FBI badge from his pocket and handed it over. She studied it then smirked as she looked up at him, “do you really think this is gonna fool me? Just who do you think I am?” She tossed it back and Dean caught it frowning down at his badge that never failed him.

“I think we’re people who can help you.”

She raised a brow, “help me with what?”

“This arson charge for one.”

“With that fake badge? Listen I don’t know what it is you’re…”

“He’s your father,” Sam blurted then forced a smile, “we just don’t think you should be here when you don’t need to be. We can help, just let us…”

“You’re adorable, you know that? I’m sorry you came all this way or whatever for nothing, but I don’t need any help.” She pushed off the wall and turned but Dean stepped into her way.

“Hey, we’re the only family you’ve got left, kid and we’re offering to help you out of this hell hole!”

She sneered, “you may be blood but that don’t mean shit. I’m working for my family and I will do anything to protect them and make things right. You will stay out of my way.”

“That gang is not your family,” Sam said as gently as he could.

“What do you mean make things right? You really think you can get that gangbanger…” Dean grimaced, “that’s not…” Dean shoved his hand through his hair and tried to fix it but the feral look she sent his way froze him.

“Fuck. Off.” Then the sweetest smile crossed her face. It was somehow more terrifying. “Or I’ll make sure you join all those gangbangers in the box, got it?”

Dean threw up his hands, palms out, clenching his jaw, and trying to force a smile, “I didn’t mean that. This is my brother Sam and he’s way better at this shit than me, okay? I didn’t know about you until a friend of ours, a sheriff, sent us the APB about the arson. We can help you if you just let us know what’s going on. We’ve gotten out of some really tight…”

“With your monster stuff? You really think that gives you a leg up in this jungle?” Her brows rose, “you think that gives you some kind of magical power to deal with this world? It doesn’t, so take your stupid white collar, monster hunting help and shove off.”

“Wait, you know… how do you know what we do?” Sam walked around so he could see her face.

“Do you really think I believe my parents were torn to shreds by normal animals that somehow got into our locked house? I snuck out that night, I know the house was locked up and yes, they shoved your rap sheet into my face when trying to get me to cop to a theft four years ago. Like your blood would somehow make me just like you. I never knew who you were, mom said it was a nice guy who traveled a lot but I also found her journal and know she met you while you were hunting vampires. Yes, I thought it might just be some weird novel idea or something but she was never that kind of writer.”

She looked down, “why am I even telling you all this?” She looked up, “you can leave whenever you want but do not interfere with me, you get that? I’ve been doing just fine without you. Stay away from me.”

Dean clenched his jaw but Sam nodded, “got it.” He pulled his wallet out, slid a card from it, and handed it to her. “Just in case. We may not know what you’re going through, but we have gotten ourselves out of a lot of sticky situations and some of them have been with the police. If you need anything, please call.”

She glanced down at the card, looked back up at him, then threw her head back and cackled.

Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and pulled him back to the car when she walked in the opposite direction shaking her head and wiping away tears. “Let her go.”

“That’s not what you were saying before.” Dean glanced back over his shoulder.

“You can’t help her if she doesn’t want it. Not this way. We’ll keep an eye on the area, if you still want to go to that bar…”

Dean walked around the impala and got in the driver’s seat, “let’s do that.” He watched the little badass enter her apartment and couldn’t ignore the pride at the way the kid carried herself. Maybe it was good he didn’t have any hand in raising her. He probably would’ve screwed that up somehow.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and scrolled through his contacts until he found what he was looking for. He tapped the screen twice and brought the phone to his ear waiting for the answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sheri, it’s Dean. How about that drink? You guys have a place around here?”

Dean looked over at Sam feeling his brother’s eyes on him and winked.

Taglist: I see you! @thefaithfulwriter ,@dalia-artistik ,@justkending , @the–real-wombat , @donnaintx was there anyone else?

#spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic #dean x unknown daughter #spn x reader #spn fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #sam winchester fan fic #spn badass reader #let's be honest I'm super rusty #I'm not sure I even know what I'm doing anymore #with a smirk and a toss #im sorry this is so bloody late #that little badass is his daughter

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bnhascribbles · 5 years

Text

Love at First Sight

Shinso x Reader

Coffee Shop AU, Fluff, First Meetings; For the lovely kazooli‘s competition. It’s based on their “Love at First Sight” scenario! Now, I may be a dumb-dumb and be late, but either way, I’m posting this because WHY NOT.

Words: 1.5K

Warnings: None

Shinso isn’t an idealistic sort of person. He knows he doesn’t love you–won’t entertain the thought–even when time seems to stop the second you walk through that door. “Love” wasn’t something that just happened. Not in a minute, not at a glance, and certainly not with a complete stranger.

Even so, he’s utterly fascinated by you, unable to pry his eyes away as you settle into a booth in the corner.

It hadn’t been your smile that’d done it, soft and just-barely-there as you stretched the edge of your hoodie over the bottom of your face, like the gesture was a secret meant for you alone. It hadn’t been the way you’d clumsily tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and exposed silver studs, twisted in the wrong direction, but unmistakably cat-shaped. It hadn’t even been the way the steady thrum of your fingers against the countertop had matched the pace of his heart exactly–the fact that when they stalled, he could feel his breathing halting, getting caught in his chest, waiting for the moment those nails would resume their concert upon the wood.

No, it’d been more than all of that. It was just...you. The things he could see along with something else that lingered just beneath his skin. Something silent, but present nonetheless. Something he couldn’t possibly put into words–couldn’t understand–but could experience. Like gravity. He can’t even begin to explain the reasons why it existed, how it worked the way it did. Still, it’s tug was undeniable.

Even though Shinso knows better, some part of him still wants to believe it’s possible–that there’s a single person in the world made for him, and they’re lounging about in the coffee shop he works at.

Work. He’s supposed to be doing that. Right.

Shinso forces his eyes back down to his register screen, and for a while, he manages to ignore you. He wipes at a wet spot on the granite and pretends you aren’t just a couple feet away, convinces himself that you’ve wandered out or disappeared into thin air or, maybe, you hadn’t even been there to begin with. Maybe he’d imagined you. That possibility makes it much easier for him to focus. It works right up to the moment you walk over to his counter. When that happens, he glances up for just a second and knows all hope is lost.

“Hey.” This is the very first time Shinso has ever heard your voice. Still, he’s certain he’d be able to pick it out in a crowd if given the opportunity. No other sound has ever made his skin buzz like this before.

But the fact doesn’t change: It’s still not love that he feels. Attraction maybe, but definitely not love.

“Hey.” Shinso chimes back, thinking for much longer than he should about how to phrase that one word. Despite his best efforts, it sounds wrong to him. Not smooth like yours had been. It’s too blunt (even though it was only a one-word response). Too nervous (not that he had any reason to be nervous). Too–

“This is where I order right?”

He’d spaced out. Dammit. That wasn’t something he usually did.

“Yeah, it is.” He’s still doing it–overthinking everything. Shinso inhales deeply, channeling hours of customer service training videos, willing himself to forget about everything that isn’t the espresso machine or service with a smile. “What can I get you?”

“Hm.” You place your palms flat on the counter, leaning in to get a better look at the menu board. Your eyes flit between the messy scrawl there and the register. “Tell me: What does the master recommend?”

A lesser man might have choked. Shinso just stops breathing.

“...Or is that title on your apron just for show?”

The title. The title, for god’s sake. Gaudy golden letters embroidered just below the pocket of his apron, proudly proclaiming “COFFEE MASTER” like it wasn’t something every employee had to wear as part of their uniform. He makes a mental note to smother the lettering in coffee grounds the very next opportunity he’s granted.

“You can’t go wrong with a latte.”

Your lips purse and your gaze narrows playfully. “Mm, not the most adventurous choice, is it,” your eyes drift down to his name tag, “Shinso Hitoshi?”

Shinso usually hated when people did that–deliberately sought out and used his name while he was working–but, not surprisingly, you seem to be an exception. He swears it sounds like you’re singing when you do it.

“Classic is classic. ‘Adventurous’ is great until you end up with something undrinkable.”

“Oh come on. Undrinkable? Sure you’re not just being a coffee snob?”

Shinso raises an eyebrow. This whole situation might have been new to him, but coffee was something he knew. “Ever had a raw, deconstructed espresso?”

“Nope, but it sure sounds interesting.”

He scoffs. “I thought so too at first. But trust me, chewing on espresso beans at 6 AM isn’t as fun as it sounds.”

You snort, covering your mouth to muffle some of the giggles. When you recover enough to speak again, you do it through your fingers. “You got your caffeine fix and a snack. Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Yeah?” Shinso smiles, draping an arm over the screen of his register. “Well if that’s what you want, I’ve got some really tasty beans in the back. I can whip one up for you real quick. Takes less than 10 seconds to make, and let me tell you, the crunch is something else.”

You hum for a moment, tapping your finger against the countertop. “As enticing as your offer sounds, I think I’ve already figured out what I want.” You don’t say anything as you reach into your bag and pull out your wallet, even though the sly look plastered across your face makes him think you have a lot of things to say.

“I’ll take a latte.”

Shinso raises an eyebrow, trying to seem incredulous, but smiling still. “What, don’t feel like being ‘adventurous’ anymore?”

Your jaw hangs to the side, but the subtle twist of your lips betrays the playfulness behind the gesture. As it turns out, both of you are terrible fakers.

“Oh hush. I may not work here, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to sass the customers.”

It was true, of course. Still, if it means getting another snarky response from you, seeing those bright eyes light up with every quip, he’s more than willing to break a few rules.

Shinso grabs a cup and scribbles the order number across it with a sharpie. “Of course, because the customer is always right.” He makes sure his words are dripping with sarcasm.

“Absolutely. Glad you’re not too prideful to admit it” You tease right back at him, and the confidence in the way you tilt your chin upward and beam (adorable) has him chuckling.

“Wanna tell me your name, oh valued customer? Or am I just drawing a smiley face on the cup?”

Shinso could have very well poured your coffee, handed you the cup, and been done with it. He didn’t need a name to do his job, not when you were already standing right there and it was a slow day like this. He wanted it though, wanted to hear the way you said it, watch the way your lips twisted as it formed each syllable. More than that, he wanted to say it himself–to see if repeating it back to you would break his trance, cool the heat searing his insides.

Something mischievous flickers in your eyes. You make a show of scratching at your chin, smirking like you hold all the power in the world at that one moment. And you do, as far as he’s concerned.

“I kinda wanna see you draw a smiley face on it,” you pause, shifting your weight between both feet, “Or a heart. Whatever scribbles you feel compelled to leave for me.”

He stands there for what feels like hours, considering his next move. You’d been flirting with him–that wasn’t even an opinion, it was cold-hard fact. The question was, how was he supposed to respond without making a complete fool of himself? He could barely think, what with the buzzing in his ears, the tightness in his chest–

“How about my phone number?” Shinso doesn’t remember thinking the words, only the feeling of them sprinting up his throat–quick and jumbled and abrupt.

You stare up at him as if to see if the question isn’t some joke–another piece of banter thrown around for the sake of earning a laugh. Your gaze falls to Shinso’s fingers, trembling as they clutch the sharpie in his fist, and your expression suddenly softens.

“I think I’d like that.” You inhale. “A lot, actually.”

“Awesome.” He mutters, almost unconsciously. The nervousness bundled into that one word is enough to make him wish he could sink into the floor. Still, he doesn’t do that. Partly because it isn’t possible, and partly because he still has something he needs from you. “Afraid I still need your name though.” Before he can blink, your smirk is back, as playful as ever.

“Need? Or want?”

“Want.” There’s no hesitation in the word, breathed out like the prayer of a dying man–one with nothing left to lose and everything to gain.

You snicker when you finally say it, and he knows he’s been right all along–that it doesn’t take a minute to fall in love.

It takes five.

#kazcontest #bnha x reader #bnha reader insert #shinso x reader #shinsou hitoshi #shinso hitoshi #bnha shinsou #bnha hitoshi #Coffee shop au #bnha #mha #bnha imagines #mha imagines

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nutellamilkshake · 3 years

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A SPORTS BLOG: Monica Puig (PUR) vs Angelique Kerber (GER): Women’s Tennis Singles Final

Video Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-iONJOk4NM

Introduction:

Tennis is a racket sport that can be played individually against a single opponent or between two teams of two players each. Each player uses a tennis racket that is strung with cord to strike a hollow rubber ball covered with felt over or around a net and into the opponent's court.

Court Dimensions:

The 2016 Olympic Games in Rio de Janeiro was held in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Specifically in the Barra Olympic Park.

A tennis court is 78ft (23.77m) in length and 27ft (8.23m) in width, with the service line being 6.4m from the net. A singles court has a total playing area of 195.65m². The court is divided into two equal areas by a net suspended by a cord or metal cable attached to two net posts. The net is 1.07m high and is fully extended to fill the space between the two nets posts. The net is 0.914m high at the center, held down tightly by a white strap. A white band covers the cord or metal cable and the top of the net. For singles matches, the net posts’ centers are 0.914m outside the singles court on each side.

The lines at the end of the court are baselines, and the lines at the sides of the court are sidelines. The baseline is up to 8m wide. Service lines are two lines between the singles sidelines, 6.40m from each side of the net, parallel with the net. On each side of the net, the area between the service line and the net is divided into two equal parts called the service courts. The line dividing the service courts is the center service line and is drawn parallel with the singles sidelines and halfway between them. The center service line is 4.11m wide.

Equipment

· Headband – It helps organize the hair of the player and to stop sweat from moving towards the face.

· Cap – It is a headwear that helps you prevent from not being able to see the opponent due to direct sunlight.

· Racket – It is a bat with a long handle attached to a circular frame covered in a network of tight strings; used to strike the ball.

· Uniform - Most players usually wear a shirt. If you wear a sleeved or sleeveless cotton blend top, you will feel cooler and more relaxed. However, some courts do not sanction sleeveless shirts, so double-check their policies first.

· Water Bottle – It is where you can store your water to prevent from being dehydrated.

· Shoes – It is sports shoe with a rubber bottom and a leather or hard cotton top that is ideal for tennis sport.

·Tennis Balls – It is wrapped in a fibrous felt that alters their aerodynamic properties, and each is adorned with a white curvilinear oval.

· Bag – It is a bag used to transport a player’s tennis rackets.

Basic Skills

Footwork

Although you’re not traveling a far distance to the naked eye, tennis players actually rack up miles of walking and running throughout the course of a match. Endurance is key, but so is your footwork because there are tons of quick movements that you need to make in a short period of time and over a short distance.

Serving

This is a crucial part of the game because if you’re not able to effectively serve a tennis ball, it’ll be hard to take control of any game or match you’re participating in. The actual act of serving a ball takes but a few seconds. However, there are tons of small movements within the act itself that make up a successful experience with honing this skill. These small movements include mastering the ball toss, gaining a consistent point of contact, and properly timing each of your movements.

Forehand and Backhand Strokes

There are a number of different strokes used during a tennis match, but forehand and backhand strokes are easily the most common. Learning how your body responds to the backswing, the point of contact, and the follow-through of each stroke is crucial before going on and learning anything else.

Shots:

Serve – It is what players begin every single shot in a tennis match. While one player is serving, the other is receiving, and they take turns after the end of every game. Serves can take different shapes and forms, but they are generally characterized by a movement where the player swings the racket above his head, while still standing behind the baseline.

Return - It is a shot where one player waits to see where the other player’s serve lands and then attempts to hit the ball back to the other side. A return can be executed in several different ways, with a forehand, backhand, slice, block, or chip. The most important aspect of a return is just getting the ball back to the other side, no matter how.

Forehand – It is for the vast majority of players, their strongest weapon. A player hits a forehand when he allows the ball to bounce once on his court before hitting it, and hits it with his dominant side. With very few exceptions, players hit forehands using only one arm.

Backhand - It is another one of the main shots in a tennis game. It is the equivalent of the forehand but executed on the player’s non-dominant side. For instance, if a player is right-handed, the backhand will be executed on the left side. If a player is left-handed, the backhand will be executed on the right side.

Slice – It is essentially a variation of the backhand shot. Instead of hitting the ball on the top, your racquet swings through the bottom of the ball. That adds underspin to the shot, so after the ball bounces on the other side, it stays low and close to the ground.

Forehand volley - It is a fairly simple movement, in which you use only one arm to hit a ball by your dominant side, without letting the ball touch the ground. It requires firm hands and fast reflexes.

Backhand volley - It looks a lot like a backhand slice, but without letting the ball touch the ground. Once again, a volley usually occurs when you are standing close to the net. A backhand volley always happens on your non-dominant side.

Overhead - It is the last basic shot you should become comfortable with is the overhead (also called smash in some countries). You must be standing close to the net and hit the ball without bouncing. You need to hit the ball over your head (similarly to a serve), and that is why this shot is named the way it is.

Technical and Tactical Skills

Talking about Angelique Kerber, she really tried her best in portraying a good tennis player. She showcased such strategies and skills that helped her fight all throughout the game such as having a tremendous return, slice and backhand volley. Kerber’s return is somewhat astonishing because of her unique ability to react towards the rally between the two opponents. Another is her slice, she really executes it well hitting the racquet through the bottom of the ball that helped her have an underspin shot and when usually the opponent hits the ball in an easy manner, Keber uses her backhand volley when running towards the net.

On the other hand, Monica Puig has showcased such beautiful performance, from her skills, abilities, decision-making and etc. Monica Puig was really dominating the game due to her wise technical and tactical skills. She commonly uses shots such as overheads, backhand and forehand shots and her serve. Monica’s ability through her overhead shots helped her dominate the game as she has right timing using this shot. Monica’s forehand and backhand shots are also captivating as she performs it like she had been practicing it for how many years since you can really observe the both her backhand and forehand are executed smoothly and has the right power depending on her strategy to drain the opponent. She really is a praiseworthy player since she really tried her best to have a wonderful performance. Winning her gold medal made her the first Olympic gold medalist in her country.

Rules of the game

Who Serves First

Usually the age old question of who serves first is settled by a simple coin toss. The person who wins the coin toss may elect to serve first or select a side of the court which he would like to receive his opponents serve.

The server will continue serving the ball to the receiver until the set has ended. After the set has ended, the receiver will become the server and serve the ball until the next set has ended. This process is repeated throughout the match.

Fault and Double Fault

The server is given two opportunities to serve the ball within the service court as marked in the diagram below. When the server fails to get his first serve into the diagonally opposite service court, it is called a fault serve. A double fault is committed if the server fails to get his second serve into the diagonally opposite service court and the receiver will then earn a point.

If the ball hits the net and falls within the service court, this is called a “net serve”, the server will be entitled to re-serve the ball into the service court. For example, if a “net serve” is made on the server’s first serve, the server will be entitled to re-serve his first serve. There are no limits to the number of “net serves” a player can commit.

The server should stand before the right side of the baseline and serve the ball diagonally across to the receiver’s right service court and then proceed to serve from his left side of the baseline diagonally across to the receiver’s left service court.

Counting Scores

Counting score in tennis match is some tricky business. The server’s score is always announced first before the receiver’s throughout the game.

The point system of a tennis match is as follows:

• No points are scored = Love

• 1 point scored = 15 points

• 2 points scored = 30 points

• 3 points scored = 40 points

• 4 points earned = set point (set over)

For a tennis player to win a game, he/she must win with at least a two point lead.

If the score is tied at 40 to 40 (what is called as a “Deuce”), a player must earn two consecutive points (an “Advantage” point and “Point”) to win the game. If the player who has an “Advantage” point loses the next point, the score will be “Deuce” once again.

A set is won when a player has won a minimum of six games with a two game advantage over his opponent.

In or Out

In a game of singles, the ball must be hit within both “SERVICE COURTS”, the “BACK COURT” and the “ALLEY LINE” as marked in the diagram below for a point to be scored. Balls hit in the between the “SIDE LINE” and “ALLEY LINE” are considered balls hit out of court and thus earning your opponent a point.

In a doubles game, the ball must be hit within both “SERVICE COURTS”, the “BACK COURT” and the area between the “ALLEY LINE” and “SIDE LINE” for a point to be scored.

How to officiate the sport

Chair Umpire:

The chair umpire is the person sitting in the highchair at the side of the court officiating over all decisions made out on court with the power to over rule any judgements made by lines persons or indeed players themselves. They are the ones keeping track of the score and more recently the amount of challenges each player has left to call upon. Basically, out on court, the buck stops with them. They vocalise the score after every point and in between games. They complete the scorecard as the match progresses and they maintain order throughout. They keep the audience quiet and make sure they follow the rules of spectator etiquette. If a player has any queries then they are the first stop of call and often the final decision maker. They ensure players adhere to time constraints and acceptable behaviour on court. They have the ability to award code violations to players amounting to warnings, the loss of points, games and even matches. There is only ever one chair umpire per match played.

Line Umpire:

The line umpires are the officials who have the responsibility of calling the ball in or out during all calls and especially the close ones. They can be over ruled by the chair umpire but this rarely happens. There can be up to nine lines umpires on a court at any one time. Three at either end of the court looking after the side lines and the centre service line, one each judging the baseline and a final line umpire looking after the service line depending on who’s serving at the time. Nine is the maximum amount of line umpires on a court and in reality can vary from anywhere between two and nine.

Net Court Umpire:

The net court umpire is an umpire sitting at the net to call any ball that hit the net during service called a “net court” or “let”. If a ball hits the net during a serve then the server is asked to replay that shot again if the ball lands in or to play their next serve if it has landed out. If it was their second serve and the net court serve landed out then it is deemed to be a double fault and the next point is played. Most tournaments today no longer have this umpire as new technology has placed a sensor on the top of the net to detect any ball hitting the net and thus replacing the need for this type of umpire. Either that or the chair umpire will make the decision.

Ball Persons:

The ball persons are the ones that are essential to make the game run smoothly in terms of operations. There are usually six ball persons on a court to look after this job. There are two at the back of each side of the court and two more at the net, covering each side of it. Their job is to ensure that the server always has a choice of tennis balls to choose from before they start to serve. They change the balls after every nine tennis games and ensure that the players want for nothing. This might include new drinks, an umbrella in the sun, taking plastic covers from racquets or ensuring that they always have a towel to hand.

Referee:

the tournament referee is the person in charge of making all decisions regarding all the matches. They oversee the schedule of play and is the person assigning matches to specific courts. They make sure that all the ITF’s regulations are enforced including the conduct of all involved and must be present whenever any matches are being played. They can over rule chair umpires and in fact their decision is final. They are present at the draws and are responsible for allocating the seeding. They are the person who has the say in whether play is suspended on account of rain and must be available to resolve disputes regarding to tennis rules.

Summarization:

The match between the two skilled athletes was very exciting and thrilling. In every game, there will always be one player who will dominate the game and that is Monica Puig. Monica Puig obtained the gold medal as she knocked off Kerber with the scores 6-4, 4-6, 6-1. The game was very entertaining as the supporters of Puig was dressed in their country’s colors which gave confidence to Puig and all of her supporters boosted Puig’s confidence as they were cheering for her whole-heartedly. Monica Puig got the gold medal of the Rio 2016 and was known for the saying “ The underdog who became a champion”.

References and Photo Credits:

Tennis Court Dimensions & Size. (2020, March 27). Retrieved from Harrod Sport: https://www.harrodsport.com/advice-and-guides/tennis-court-dimensions

Basic rules of tennis. (n.d.). Retrieved from Active SG: https://www.myactivesg.com/Sports/Tennis/How-To-Play/Tennis-Rules/Basic-rules-of-tennis#:~:text=For%20a%20tennis%20player%20to,%E2%80%9D)%20to%20win%20the%20game.

Tenniswithalan. (2013, 26 August). Officials at a tennis match. Retrieved from Bounce Tennis Academy: https://bouncetennis.wordpress.com/2013/08/26/officials-at-a-tennis-match/#:~:text=The%20line%20umpires%20are%20the,court%20at%20any%20one%20time.

The 8 Basic Tennis Shots & Skills (Explained). (n.d.). Retrieved from My Tennis HQ: https://mytennishq.com/the-8-basic-tennis-shots-skills-explained/

Adidas Tennis Camps. (2020, January 27). Retrieved from Tennis Camper: https://tenniscamper.com/3-tennis-skills-all-beginners-need-to-master%EF%BB%BF/

https://tennismash.com/2016/08/14/gallery-womens-gold-medal-match/gold-gall-09/

https://tokyo2020.org/en/news/classic-finals-the-underdog-who-became-a-champion

https://bleacherreport.com/articles/2657559-monica-puig-vs-angelique-kerber-olympic-tennis-womens-final-score-reaction

https://tennis-uni.com/en/tennis-court/

https://www.vecteezy.com/vector-art/137382-tennis-equipment-free-vector

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missjosie27 · 4 years

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Year 3 Part 7- Keeper of the Keys

Hey, guys. I'm sorry this update took so long. Shit has been well...weird. Hard to explain. However, rest assured I am not abandoning this pic, not by a long shot. Updates just won't be consistently regular as a warning to all my readers. To make up for some lost time, this is a longer chapter and I hope you all enjoy!

To say that Tulip Karasu was eccentric was an understatement. Nevertheless, David had no choice but to play ball for now if he wanted any of the information he sought. He was a bit apprehensive sitting at the Ravenclaw table during dinner, but luckily Andre’s assertion proved to be correct. No one desired to sit near her and therefore they could spend the meal alone and in peace.

Stuffing Dennis into her shirt pocket, the Ravenclaw began to serve herself and cut up her chicken into several tiny pieces before eating. The young Gryffindor was hungry, but he preferred to focus on the matter at hand. Something about this girl was oddly fascinating. He also had many questions to ask.

“So how exactly did you stumble across my brother’s room and how was I not aware of that? Furthermore, since when are multiple people looking for the vaults?”

“One question at a time,” Tulip countered with a smile. “I still need to know why I should work with you, David Grant.”

The use of his full name was another idiosyncratic habit she seemed to demonstrate. That being said, it couldn’t hurt to give her a pitch. Especially since it sounded like she had been working with another person, possibly more than one in searching for the vault. From the looks of it, their progress was better than his in finding the latest one.

“I don’t usually play this card but...I’m the best chance you have at getting inside of a vault. I’m one of the strongest duelists in our year and I’ve broken one curse already.”

“You’re a very determined and talented person, there’s no denying that,” Tulip replied thoughtfully. “But it seems like I’m closer to finding the next vault than you are. Why shouldn’t I just go off on my own?”

“Because if we assist each other, it’ll help us solve the mystery faster,” David explained. “You found my brother’s room, but I doubt you’re any closer to knowing the vault’s location.”

“True. You make logical points. But Dumbledore forbade any student from searching for them this year. What if something goes wrong and you try to pin the blame on me?”

Tulip was testing him, he knew that. She followed rules no more than he did. But clearly this was a person who didn’t trust people easily.

“I don’t rat on my friends,” David said simply. “When I thought Bill might not make prefect, I tried to take the blame from McGonagall. I’d do the same for you.

“Perish the thought of me ever becoming prefect,” Tulip laughed. “However, I am glad that you value the people around you.”

“I’ll put this simply: I don’t care about whatever so-called power the vaults have. I’m only in this for one reason and that’s to find my brother.”

The Ravenclaw girl scanned him up and down, as though he were a mildly intriguing piece of modern art. David felt a bit uncomfortable but said nothing. Finally she spoke again.

“I don’t know that I like you yet, David Grant, but I do trust you.”

Okay that’s a start...I guess

“Then will you tell me who your accomplice was?” he asked her.

“Merula Snyde.”

David immediately spit out the pumpkin juice he’d been consuming causing a few Ravenclaws to look over with mild disgust.

“WHAT?! But why would you team up with her of all people? You seem way too smart to trust Merula.”

Tulip gave him her most serious look yet.

“Merula is a lot smarter than you give her credit for. You may not like her personality, but there’s no denying her skill.”

David scoffed. “Yeah I’ll get back to you on that one. I’ve beaten her so many times in duels I’ve lost count. She’s always trying to one up me but never succeeds.”

“Her greatest weakness is that she believes she’s invincible. But more on that later. The point is we were working together at one point but then we had a falling out. Unfortunately she still has the other key to your brother’s room.”

“Then we have to get it back.”

“Agreed,” Tulip said. “But the question is ‘how’? She’s not going to hand it over willingly.”

“I’ve found over the years that the only way to get Merula Snyde to do anything is by forcing her. Typically after one beats her in a duel.”

“That may work, but this situation is also quite delicate and we don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves from the teachers. Especially if they caught us fighting.”

David agreed with that conclusion. They would need to try another method.

“Then what do you suggest?

Tulip gave another sly smile.

“Leave that to me. I’ll come up with something that will turn Merula on her head.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tulip told him she would need some time to plan and would message him when ready. In the meantime, David kept busy with homework which was significantly heavier this year with two added electives. He also enjoyed the start of Quidditch season given it was the first week of November. Unfortunately, unlike the previous year, things didn't go as swimmingly for Gryffindor this time around. Slytherin edged them 300-260 in the opening match. None was as ecstatic as Merula and she constantly reminded him about it during the week.

“I really hope Tulip comes up with a plan soon,” David muttered one day while sitting in the common room with Rowan and Bill. The two third years were finishing Transfiguration homework while the prefect looked over potions he might expect to find on his OWLs. “If I have to listen to Merula brag about Slytherin’s victory any longer I might just have to learn the silencing charm in order to shut her big mouth.”

Rowan chuckled as he turned the page on Intermediate Transfiguration by Emeric Switch.

“You’ll get your chance at payback soon enough, especially if you intend to get that key.”

“I know...I just wish she’d hurry up. Losing to Merula in anything is unbearable.”

“Be thankful you weren’t directly responsible for the loss,” Bill said to him, indicating the somber figure of his brother slumping in one of the chairs. Charlie had been noticeably quiet since the match, avoiding crowds and shutting himself up in the dormitory most of the time outside of class.

“Is he going to be alright?”

“He’ll get over it,” Bill assured them. “But despite what you may think, Charlie is super competitive when it comes to Quidditch. He hates losing and this was the first time in his career he’s never caught the snitch.”

“Can’t win them all I suppose,” David sighed. “We should have won, though. Skye was flying circles around them again. And that Slytherin beater totally committed a foul before Charlie could seal the deal.”

“It happens. I hate losing to Slytherin too, but a little perspective never hurts. There’s another cursed vault out there we need to find.”

David and Rowan nodded. You could always count on Bill to be level headed when it came to these situations.

“Speaking of, any luck with deciphering the rest of that book?”

“It’s slow going,” Rowan said shaking his head. “I swear I’m going barmy from trying to make out all the symbols. It gets more complicated the deeper you get into the book.”

“Don’t overwork yourself,” Bill said kindly. “The best thing we can do now is getting into that room.”

As it happened, there was more progress on that front. Jae Kim suddenly appeared in front of their group.

“I was told by a certain Tulip Karasu to tell David that she wants you to meet her in the courtyard straight away.”

The three Gryffindors looked at each other with anticipation.

“Did she say anything else?”

Jae shrugged.

“Nope. I’m just passing along the message. If you’ll excuse me, I have orders to fill.”

Bill gave an uneasy expression as the Korean boy walked off.

“I sometimes wonder if I shouldn’t be doing more to prevent him from running that little black market of contraband he has.”

“Jae does plenty to get himself in trouble without your involvement,” David chuckled. “I swear we don’t even need Zonko’s. He supplies half the school with Fanged Frisbees by himself.”

He stood up and brushed off some of the couch lint on his jeans.

“Guess I better see what Tulip wants.”

“Hopefully she’s got a plan,” Rowan said eagerly.

“Yeah...hopefully.”

Despite barely knowing her, David had a feeling that whatever Tulip Karasu wanted, it was bound to be interesting to say the least.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He made his way down to the specified area where Tulip was waiting just outside the entrance. Unlike her uniform, she wore a blue coat over a thick sweater with a matching beanie hat with a puffball on top combined with a flowy skirt, black tights, and flats. It was a brisk day despite the sunny weather and winter was well on the way.

“Good. You made it,” she greeted him. “Are you ready for my plan?”

“Don’t need Trelawney’s ‘Inner Eye’ to predict you’ve got something cooked up.”

“You’re becoming more perceptive,” Tulip said with a mischievous smirk. “Merula is over there, holding court with her lackeys.”

David gave a small peek, and sure enough the Slytherin girl was there alongside Barnaby and Ismelda. What they were talking about, he couldn’t hear but Merula was clearly animated about something.

“I’d recognize that orange tuft of hair anywhere. So what’s the big plan?”

“Even though they aren’t that bright, Barnaby and Ismelda are still tough and ruthless,” Tulip explained. “We need a diversion to lure them away from her. And luckily, I have the perfect item for the job.”

Out of her coat came a dungbomb, except twice as large and covered with some kind of outer shell.

“I call it the ultimate dungbomb,” she grinned. “Mixed in with some stinksap. I used the hardening charm ‘Duro’ to give it some heft. We toss this into their little circle and they won’t know what hit them.”

“Wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that thing,” David said, eyeing the putried projectile. “So now what? Do we levitate it or something?”

“Follow my lead. We hide behind the fountain until the perfect moment to strike.”

And so they entered the courtyard, tiptoeing along the way, careful not to make too much noise. The wind aided them in this goal and as they drew closer David could make out the conversation the three Slytherins were having.

“...can’t believe this! We’ve searched everywhere! We’re never going to find a cursed vault!”

“We should cast the Cruciatus Curse on Grant on his friends. Torture makes everyone talk,” Ismelda suggested with dark glee.

“Talking to you is torture. You have some serious issues, Ismelda,” Merula responded.

“We should ask Dumbledore. He’s really smart,” Barnaby said thickly.

By now Tulip and David were crouched low behind the fountain, peering over slightly to get a sense of distance from their opponents.

“Dumbledore spent half his welcome speech telling us to stay away from the vaults. Or did you forget that, you nitwit,” Merula chastised.

“We could give him Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. I heard he likes those.”

“Sometimes I wonder if your brain was replaced by a Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Bean.”

“I still say we should use an unforgivable,” Ismelda cut in. “I’d like to cast the killing curse on the next Gryffindor I see.”

That earned a look of derision and disgust from her leader.

“You don’t even know the killing curse.”

“I sat on a bowtruckle once!” Barnaby pipped up.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Ismelda asked, looking at Barnaby as though he had a second head.

“I thought we were talking about killing things.”

“Ugh, I hate you both,” Merula commented, rolling her eyes.

David shook his head behind the fountain.

“Merlin, this is literally too stupid to listen to. Now?”

Tulip nodded.

“Now!”

Using her wand, the Ravenclaw sent the ultimate dungbomb flying into the air towards the Slytherin trio. It exploded upon impact causing a toxic mist of green and yellow to fill the air and all three began to tear up, covering their noses with their arms.

“Dear, Merlin that is awful!” Ismelda cried, coughing into her arm.

“I can’t breathe!” Barnaby said coughing as well. “Let’s get out of here!”

Merula was hacking and wheezing too, but she still had enough oxygen to call after them as they ran.

“Get back here you cowards! It’s just a dungbomb!”

David wasted no time in stepping out of the shadows, Tulip in tow. They both confronted the angry Slytherin, who became irate upon laying her eyes on them.

“I should have known it was you!” Merula shouted, trembling with rage.

“Your powers of perception are truly dizzying,” he said to her in a bored tone.

“Hand the key over to us, Merula. I don’t know how long I can stand your stink,” Tulip demanded.

The look on the Slytherin’s face went from rage to incredulous.

“Us? You betrayed me, started working with Grant and have the audacity to ask me to give you the second key?”

“Actually...yeah.”

Merula’s expression returned to its usual nasty leer.

“Well too bad. I’m not giving you anything. How does it feel knowing I found your brother’s room before you did, Grant?”

“I don’t have time for this, Merula,” David said sternly. “Give us the key, now.”

Tulip then did something unexpected, stepping forward, a note of sympathy in her voice.

“We could use your help. This doesn’t have to turn ugly. Work with us.”

David was surprised at the offer of assistance and wondered where it stemmed from but predictably, Merula turned it down.

“I don’t want to work with you, I want to duel. Specifically you, Grant. Beat me again and the key is yours…” she withdrew her wand from her sleeve. “But I don’t plan on losing to you. Not this time.”

David withdrew his own wand and prepared for battle. In truth, he was looking forward to pop her ego once more.

“You never learn, do you Merula?”

He quickly fired a disarming spell, but she ducked while sending one of her own which missed over his shoulder, causing Tulip to dodge.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Despite it heading straight for her chest, the Slytherin demonstrated remarkable athleticism by rolling to her side and firing back a retort.

“Flipendo!”

David was forced to copy the same maneuver, scraping his elbow on the stone but managed to avoid the knockback jinx. Wheeling back around he aimed a jelly legs jinx but again it missed due to Merula’s agility.

She’s clearly learned a thing or two since last year

The Slytherin began pressing forward, drawing closer with each curse she fired off, putting David on the defensive retreating from his original spot back towards the wall. Some of the spells he recognized, some he didn’t and he was fairly certain a few were the kind a thirteen year old girl wasn’t supposed to know. All the same, he had to think of something before one of them landed on his person. Then, he remembered her weak spot, the same one as always.

Too aggressive. Too wild with her spells

Indeed while she was driving forward, he could see a manic look in her eye, the kind that someone had when they were determined but unhealthily obsessed. David then came up with an idea. Dropping his stance and his wand into a wide, lazy position, he allowed his opponent to think she was catching him off guard. Sure enough, Merula took the bait.

“Remollio!”

A jet of sickly, yellow light headed straight towards his head. Smiling slightly, he ducked forward into an almost ninety degree angle and sent back a spell of his own.

“Fumo!”

A mass of black smoke issued in front of Merula, blocking her vision and senses. It was all the time he needed to strike the winning blow.

“Depulso!”

The banishing charm smashed into the Slytherin girl sending her flying back and hard onto the ground into a groaning heap, wand dislodged.

Dissipating the smoke, David walked forward, wand aimed and ready in case she tried to cheat or lash back out.

“I win again, Merula. I won’t ask a third time. Give me the key.”

Clutching her shoulder painfully, she rose from the ground, grabbed her wand, and proceeded to chuck a golden key at his feet.

“Fine! Take the stupid key! I already got what I needed from that loser’s room anyway.”

Tulip came up behind him now that the duel was over, picking up the key, sympathy still lurking in her dark brown eyes.

“Merula, please we could still use…”

“My help? Save your breath. I don’t work with traitors!”

Lavender eyes switched over to David and for the first time, he saw that they were on the verge of tears.

“Watch out for this one, Grant. It's only a matter of time before she stabs you in the back.”

Without another word, Merula brushed past them, the sound of combat boots hitting against stone echoing across the courtyard as she ran back towards the dungeons.

David wondered what Tulip’s reaction would be to these thinly veiled accusations but to his slight surprise her sympathetic expression was gone, replaced by her usual mischievous delight.

“Mission accomplished, David Grant. Let’s go to your brother’s room.”

Though satisfied with receiving the key, Merula’s reaction unnerved the teenage Gryffindor. He didn’t bring it up further but there was no doubt Tulip hadn’t told him everything about her history with his chief rival.

At least not yet.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The two teens wasted no time in heading towards Jacob’s room and soon they were standing in front of the dark brown, wooden, door. However, there was one question still burning in the back of David’s mind.

“Tulip?”

“Hm?”

“What did Merula mean when she said she already took what she needed from my brother’s room?”

Tulip shook her head.

“She was lying. We used this room because it was full of valuable information and research but there was nothing worth taking or pointing to the location of the vaults themselves...at least nothing that I saw.”

“Jacob was always pretty savvy at hiding things,” David informed her. “It’s perfectly possible you missed something. Hell, I just found a quill that turned out to be his transfigured notebook. I know this will sound strange, but I haven’t felt this close to him since he disappeared. There are a lot of things I’m still finding out.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” the Ravenclaw teen asked him seriously. “You may not like what you find.”

David didn’t hesitate with his response. Any potential negative revelation about his brother could not outweigh the possible benefits of discovering more about his whereabouts.

“That’s a risk I’ll have to take. I have to see where he did his research.”

Tulip nodded, taking out her key and inserting it into the first part of the lock. She handed him the one they received from Merula.

“Do the honors.”

He did so, unclicking the lock, the golden seal falling to the floor with a metal clank. The door creaked open and the two teens entered the mysterious space. However, it was dark and impossible to see anything.

“I can’t see two feet in front of me,” David said aloud. “Tulip, you there?”

“Yeah. Lumos.”

The sight that greeted them was both unexpected and horrifying. Out of the shadows stepped a tall, bald, sickly pale man cloaked in black robes. His features were gaunt and waxy as though they had been warped or burnt, especially his nose, which was disproportionately smaller. But that was not the most disturbing aspect of this person. Within the skull like head were a pair of deadly, luminous blood red eyes that reeked of menace and murder. There was no mistaking who it was.

“Y-Y-You Know Who! It can’t be!” David cried.

“Run, Grant! RUN!”

Tulip immediately pulled him back before the figure could pull out his wand and slammed the door shut behind them.

Catching their breath from the near heart attack they both suffered, it took a few moments before either one could say anything.

“How is that possible? You Know Who is dead,” he panted.

“Use your common sense, David Grant. That was clearly a boggart. Hogwarts is crawling with them these days.”

Regaining his wits, the Gryffindor realized Tulip was right and mentally smacked himself for being so gullible.

“Merlin, that was embarrassing.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself,” Tulip reasoned. “A lot of grown witches and wizards would have reacted the same way, if not worse.”

She paused before adding. “I am curious, though. Why is your boggart, You Know Who?”

The truth was, David didn’t know the full reason why but before he could explain that to Tulip they were interrupted by another very unpleasant presence.

“Well, well...David Grant and Tulip Karasu...why am I not surprised to find you two here together?” Severus Snape spoke in his usual dangerous, silky tone.

Oh, shit

“Professor I-”

“Silence,” the potions master cut across him. “Your brother was the most disobedient student Hogwarts had seen since James Potter. You may have overtaken him.”

“But we’re allowed to be here, sir. It’s not after hours yet.”

“Do you really believe me to be a naive simpleton, Grant? Stay away from this corridor and give up your search for the vaults, or I will ensure you will share your brother’s fate. Now back to your common rooms, both of you.”

The two teens did not dare argue but before they parted company under Snape’s watchful eye he saw Tulip mouth to him, ‘We’ll talk later.’

They would need to. With Hogwarts' nastiest professor onto them and a boggart taking the form of Voldemort blocking the way, another method of gaining access to the room was needed.

David sighed as his brother’s room went out of view. He really hated roadblocks.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thankfully, Snape couldn’t be everywhere at once and that included meal times as well as meetings after Transfiguration which the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws shared together. Though both David and Tulip were eager to try and go back to the room they mutually agreed to stay away for the time being lest the head of Slytherin catch them again. The main priority was getting rid of the boggart.

“Professor Sprout used some kind of spell to defeat the boggart that scared Penny earlier in the year,” David mused while he and the Ravenclaw walked together after class one day.

“Well technically we’re supposed to cover boggarts in Defense Against the Dark Arts this year. But we can’t wait for that incompetent buffoon to actually bring it up or teach us for that matter.”

“I swear these gormless prats are more and more useless with each passing year,” David agreed. “Guess it’s time to hit the library.”

“Let’s agree to research there after lessons are done every Friday,” Tulip suggested. “I’m sure there’s a lot we can learn before the holidays come around.”

“Sounds like a plan. I can bring Rowan along too. He’s one of the smartest people I know. Super brainy.”

Tulip suddenly hesitated.

“Actually, I’d prefer it to just be the two of us...for the time being. I can’t really explain it right now. Just trust me.”

As it was with Merula, David didn’t press the issue but he was steadily growing evermore curious about his new partner’s past. Whatever happened between her and the Slytherin teen must have been severe but he sensed there was more to it than that.

Adding to the surrounding mystery was another anonymous message he received one night. He had just come back from dinner with Penny, Tonks, and Diego when Rowan rushed to greet him quite frantically.

“David!”

“Whoa, steady on. What’s up?”

His best friend proceeded to pull out a letter from his robe pocket and hand it to him. The envelope was not addressed and carried no visible distinction.

“I found this on your bed,” he explained. “It just...appeared there. I didn’t open it in case it was private or cursed.”

David stared at the mail for a split second debating his chances. If it was a message from ‘R’ once again he was mostly certain it wasn’t cursed. Such a group would have tried to kill him by now. Then again he also had no idea what they were capable of given the general mystery surrounding them.

Taking his chances, he slit open the envelope, removed the parchment inside and read the contents aloud.

“You are in grave danger. Your investigation into the Cursed Vaults has drawn the attention of a group who is not to be trifled with. Be careful, but remain courageous. I’m depending on you to reach the final vault before the others. I will assist you when I can. I hope the next time I deliver you a message, the circumstances are far less mysterious.

Sincerely,

A Friend’”

Taking a moment to reread the letter and analyze its contents David looked towards his brainiac friend for a possible explanation. Rowan appeared to be as lost as he was.

“For the record, I have no idea who wrote you that letter. Do you?”

David certainly had no more inkling than the hippogriff by Hagrid’s hut. There were a number of possibilities, which included his brother, an enemy playing tricks, or even the Headmaster himself.

“I’m as lost as you are. I’d say it was a ruse except for the fact none of the Slytherins know how to get into our common room. If anything, it sounds like an ally of some sort.”

“I sure hope so,” Rowan responded with a bit of anxiety. “These anonymous messages are starting to creep me out a bit.”

He paused before asking another question.

“By the way, what’s with this Tulip girl? Why does she insist on working with you alone?”

David genuinely shrugged.

“I wish I knew. Your guess is as good as mine.”

In truth, David had little time to reflect on it at the current moment. Tulip was a vital piece in all of this and he could scarcely afford to scare her off. Whoever the mystery man was that claimed to be on his side, there was no use in dwelling on that either. Aside from his schoolwork, which he was careful to pay close attention to, the only thing that mattered was learning how to get rid of that pesky boggart in his brother’s room in order to properly access it.

Thankfully, that wasn’t too difficult in principle. Within their first round of research the Ravenclaw girl discovered the spell ‘Ridikkilus’ which was the same one Professor Sprout used to disperse the boggart in the Herbology classroom. However, given the risks of using the spell without prior experience and with Snape still looming over their heads, Tulip advised against going back to the room before they were ready. David wanted to head back as soon as possible but he eventually relented as his new partner in crime told him to practice over the holidays while she thought of a plan.

Honestly, she’s always scheming that one

However, with Christmas around the corner, the dreaded return back to West Country loomed over his head and he was not looking forward to the strained, emotionally stunted holiday as was per custom in the Grant household. But on the eve of his departure, he received a distraction of sorts, something quite unexpected.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was the last Hogsmeade trip of the season before the holidays and David used that time to share a glass of butterbeer with his friends namely Rowan, Ben, Tonks, Penny, and Charlie. The Three Broomsticks was even cozier and warm this time of year and full of festive cheer and decorations, many of which he helped Madam Rosmerta put up before the big customer rush as a ‘thank you’ for giving him the quill. In return, he and his companions received a round of free drinks.

“I tell you what. Life doesn’t get much better than this,” Rowan said, taking a satisfying swig.

“I can’t wait to go home and see my family for Christmas,” Penny beamed. She was snuggled up in a blue coat with a matching beret, leggings, and snow boots. David couldn’t help but notice the rosy glow on her cheeks and how pretty she looked. “My sister is dying to know more about Hogwarts even though I’ve told her so much already.”

“What about you, Dave?” Ben asked genuinely.

David tried to hide the fact that he was secretly conflicted and tried to play it off with his usual sarcasm.

“Well my mom will stress herself needlessly from making the dinner, my dad will read his newspaper and do paperwork, we open some presents followed by an awkward crying session from said mother who tops it off with a bottle of wine….so yeah. Merry Christmas to me.”

The blond boy was unsure how to respond to that as flushed with embarrassment.

“I...uh…”

“Relax, Ben,” Tonks cut in. “Dave knows you didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, I know exactly how to cheer him up.”

She transformed her face into that of a toucan’s beak, something usually never failed to elicit a laugh. But this time the Gryffindor teen didn’t budge.

“Oh come on, David that always works. Show a little festive cheer!”

Before she could stick another butterbeer under his nose the second Weasley brother came back over with another round and a message.

“Drink up you lot. Also David, my brother wants a word with you.”

He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“For what? Did he mention a reason?”

“Just said it was urgent. He’s over there sitting by himself. Pretty moody by his standards.”

Shrugging, he took the spare butterbeer weaved and ducked his way through the Christmas crowd and found Bill seated at one of the tables meant for two people. Indeed, he had a curious expression on his face.

“Charlie told me you wanted to talk?” he said, taking his chair. “Is everything okay?”

“How are you in the ways of romance, Dave?”

It was a loaded question, one he was not prepared to answer at all. Because the answer was not at all.

“Uh, Bill...I think you may want the tea shop down the street,” he joked referring to Madam Puddifoots. “What’s this about, anyway?”

“I’m obsessed with this girl named Emily Tyler,” the prefect explained and there was a swooning glint in his eyes. “She’s not only beautiful but in Defense Against the Dark Arts she single handedly stupefied an entire swarm of vampire bats.”

“That’s not saying much given the current state of that class,” David joked again, taking a sip from his glass. He did, however, see Bill’s point. He knew of Emily Tyler and many older Gryffindors had the hots for her. She always hung out with the same group of friends chatting away about gossip, makeup, Witch Weekly, and whatever they found interesting that day. She was also quite wealthy on both sides of her family. “So what’s the next step then? Are you going to tell her?”

“You make it sound so simple. But I was actually hoping you could talk to her for me.”

David had never seen Bill this...timid before and it was a bit unsettling. The tall, lanky, long haired Weasley was usually the cool one of their group- collected, confident, the voice of reason and was a favorite among the student body in the way he conducted his prefect duties. To witness him as being so unsure meant this girl meant a lot to him.

“Bill, no offense but you’re asking the wrong bloke. I know less about this stuff than you do. I’ve never even had a girlfriend.”

“Well neither have I. I’ve also never been in love before.”

“And what makes you think...wait you’re in love?” he asked, completely floored.

“Am I? I don’t even know anymore. What’s happening to me?”

It was then the adolescent Gryffindor knew just how important this was to Bill and the least he could do was try and spread some cheer before Christmas. Just as Tonks pointed out. If he could play matchmaker for one of his best friends, what was the harm?

“Don’t worry about a thing mate. I’ll go talk to her. No problem.”

Bill smiled in response, his worried brows relaxing slightly.

“Good. She’s actually right over there.”

He pointed behind him ever so subtly to indicate her presence, and sure enough, there she was hanging out with her usual assortment of friends, holding court at one of the wall booths.

“You sure you want me to do this?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t serious.”

“Then I will,” David replied simply. “I’ll be right back.”

He drained the latter portion of his butterbeer and made his way over through the vast crowd. Upon finally reaching the booth it didn’t take long for the group of girls to look up at him with curious looks as though he were some kind of exotic alien. That certainly didn’t help his nerves but he pressed forward anyway.

“Emily Tyler?”

David didn’t need to ask as he recognized her right away. He could see what the elder Weasley meant. Like Bill, Emily was a fifth year but physically quite mature, and could have passed for two or three years beyond her age. True to word, she was very pretty, piercing brown eyes to go with high cheekbones and a slim, feminine jawline to go along with extensive makeup. Dark brown hair formed a widow’s peak along her forehead and was pulled back into a high ponytail. She also appeared to be quite fond of the color pink as she wore a long sleeved magenta dress complete with thick, pink tights, a cardigan and boots. It was indicative of someone who grew up quite upper class.

Though she did not look annoyed, there was a haughtiness to her expression that was a tad unsettling to the third year cursebreaker.

“That’s my name,” she responded evenly, ignoring the whispers of her posse. “And you’re that cursed vault kid, David Grant. What can I do you for?”

“Well I’m a friend of Bill Weasley’s…”

This didn’t seem to impress her.

“Okay?”

Out with it. She’s not going to wait for the grass to grow

“He fancies you and wants to know how you feel.”

On cue the rest of Emily’s friends began to giggle though she gave no indication as to how she personally felt.

“If I can speak in his favor, he’s a solid bloke. You couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

“He fancies me? I have to say I’m surprised,” Emily finally responded.

“It’s true. Haven’t seen him this frazzled...well ever really.”

“Is this some sort of joke? Because I don’t want to look like an idiot. What did he tell you?”

“Fair warning: I know as much about romance as I do about advanced Arithmancy, don’t hex the messenger,” David told her bluntly.

“Perish the thought. I want to hear this,” Emily said as much to her friends as she did to him to stop them from giggling.

“What else can I say? He thinks you’re amazing, powerful, beautiful, strong. Bill is as cool as any person in this school but he’s a mess over you. And you couldn’t ask to date a finer person.”

There it was. A glowing recommendation and an honest account of his friend’s intentions and feelings. Surely that was enough to win over a girl right?

He thought wrong. A very unpleasant, arrogant smirk crossed Emily Tyler’s face as she began playing with her pink, manicured nails.

“What a prat.”

David did a double take.

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t get me wrong he’s reasonably handsome but why would anyone date a Weasley?”

Anger surged through David as his right hand turned into a fist around his glass mug. Was she really turning him down for the reasons he thought she was? The resumed giggling from her cronies made it worse.

“May I ask why?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Everyone knows the Weasleys are one the poorest wizarding families in Britain. They have no means, no manners, and no prospects. Why would I lower myself to such a standard?”

“I think you should take that back,” David said with quiet fury.

“And so what if I don’t?” Emily sneered. “Tell your friend thank you for sharing his feelings, it was a good for a laugh but he’s delusional if he ever thought he had a chance with me.”

By now, pure hatred surged through his veins, temper getting the best of him. More from the shock of someone actually insulting Bill, Emily Tyler was now the queen bitch in his eyes. Slamming his mug on the table with tremendous force, causing the four girls to jump with fright.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” he growled. “Bill must be attracted to your looks because your personality is pure rubbish.”

Emily recovered from the shock and shot him a venomous, threatening stare.

“You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“I know enough. You sit over here prattling on like my mother at a book club thinking you’re the greatest thing since Merlin’s first bowel movement. But you’re nothing but a stuck up piece of shite. I’m just glad I can tell Bill before he wastes any more time on you.”

He flipped the glass over, spilling the small amount of butterbeer left inside.

“Get bent...snobbish twit.”

Without wasting another second, he turned and left, still fuming over the audacity of Emily Tyler to call his mate ill mannered and inferior. It was also a highlight into the flaws of his own house. Just because you were bold and confident didn’t make you a good person. So pissed he was, he barely noticed Bill’s reaction when he sat back down at the table.

“Dave?”

“Huh?”

“You look like you’re about to explode. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

Of course, Bill didn’t believe that.

“What happened and what did Emily say?”

On the one hand, David really didn’t want to reveal the full extent of Emily’s denigrating insults. It might shatter his heart given how much he liked her. Then again, it wouldn’t do to have someone he looked up to pining after someone who would sooner rip his heart out and stomp on it than date him. The truth was more important than protecting him from it.

“Bill...I won’t lie to you. It wasn’t good.”

“What do you mean?”

He hated seeing Bill’s confused face and he suspected that what was to follow would be equally as painful.

“Mate, she’s not interested. And she didn’t mince words.”

The eldest Weasley’s expression fell dramatically.

“Oh.”

“You can do better than her,” David tried to reassure him

“But-but she’s the most beautiful girl in our year...this whole school.”

“She’s also mean, arrogant, and generally awful. Bill, she insulted you and your family.”

He didn’t want to go there but there was little other choice than to prevent his friend from continuing his obsession. And he wasn’t fibbing. Bill did deserve better.

“She did?”

“Heard it with my own two ears.”

“But what did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” David emphasized. “And that’s the point. You’re too good for her. And not the other way around.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” Bill said with the slightest of tremors in his voice.

The third year leaned forward, speaking with the utmost sincerity he could muster.

“Listen to me...you’re one of my best friends. You’ve taught me a lot about dueling, magic, and Hogwarts itself. Everyone I know looks up to you as a person, prefect, and role model….and so do I. Don’t let someone like Emily Tyler change that. Be good to yourself.”

His impassioned speech seemed to finally break through and the Bill Weasley of old shone through.

“Thanks, David...I’m sorry for acting like an idiot. She’s the first girl I really fell for...it’s hard you know?”

He didn’t, not truly since he’d never had a crush on a girl before. But David felt a great deal of sympathy for his friend. Anything that could rattle the cool Bill Weasley could rattle anyone else.

“Of course.”

“Now let’s grab another butterbeer. Next one’s on me.”

“Cheers, mate. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

He and Bill made their way back towards their friend group where Charlie, Rowan, and company were waiting, greeting them warmly. Though the drinks were sweet and the atmosphere quite merry for the upcoming Christmas season, David own’s spirits were far from being satiated. A part of him knew his angry reaction to Emily’s rejection of the eldest Weasley was due to his own misapprehension and unhappiness that plagued him this time of year.

Images of his brother flashed before his mind as though it were a dream sequence.

For all the faith people placed in him, he wished he could take his own advice.

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #mc #hphm fanfiction #Gryffindor #David Grant #merula snyde #tulip kasaru #penny haywood #rowan khanna #ben copper #bill weasley #charlie weasley #barnaby lee #ismelda murk #emily tyler #severus snape #nymphadora tonks

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amydancepants-peralta · 5 years

Text

Hey there @storyinmyeyes! Here is the prompt we talked about - a fic based on how Jake & Amy came to love each other’s butts. 😆🙊

Just a short little ficlet based on the idea - I hope you enjoy!

Special thanks to @fezzle and @kamekamelea for helping me out when this story kicked my butt (pun intended) 💕😊

peachy 🍑

The first time Jake notices the perfect proportions of Amy Santiago’s butt, he genuinely hadn’t meant to be looking.

She had been in the process of storming away from their desks, heading for an unsuspecting Captain McGintley, furious at his most recent move that, according to her, was ‘a blatant disrespect for the rules’. (Which, okay, she might have been right on that, but also - it worked, and he got the perp, so … what did it matter?)

His eyes had followed her figure as she reached the doorway to their C.O. until they landed on her ass. Her perfectly shaped, obviously toned ass.

Being raised by a single mother, Jake had long since learnt the importance of not objectifying women, and so he had immediately diverted his attention back to his computer screen. He could not stop, however, that solitary thought that kept creeping back into his mind. That despite how much she frustrated him, Amy genuinely did have a great butt. And that Gina was completely wrong about the pantsuits. They were actually … kinda hot.

And then she storms back into the bullpen, their captain in tow, and he braces himself for another half-hearted lecture. The satisfied smirk on her face is surprisingly less irritating than he thought it would be and, looking back on it all a few years later, Jake realised that this was one of the many little moments that slowly grew into a gigantic crush on his partner.

The second time Jake allows himself to pay attention to the perfect curves, they’re at Bouche Manger, and Amy has just excused herself from the table. She walks towards the bathroom in that perfect red dress, matching heels lifting her derriere in the most alluring way, and Jake has to convince his brain to stop staring.

Tonight held so much promise, and was equally terrifying and exciting for him. Amy was his partner, and had been for years, but somewhere along the way she had become his best friend as well. And now they were dressed up in a restaurant, finally acknowledging the feelings they’d both been repressing for so long.

God, he wants to kiss her.

The memory of holding her in his arms in the evidence locker, even as brief as it was, has been playing on a loop in his mind for hours now. He craves a live reenactment - except maybe a little longer this time. But more than anything, he wants the chance. To hold her until morning - fall asleep in her arms and wake up to brown hair spilling over his pillow. Rules were important, and so was light and breezy, but there is a part of him that already knows that if she only asked, he would dive in feet first without hesitation.

What he felt for her ran deeper than some little crush. It terrified him to admit it, because feelings didn’t come easy, but he wanted to be the person she returned to at the end of a long day, exhausted but exhilarated from putting away the bad guys. To listen to her stories as they stood side by side in the kitchen, taking turns at not burning dinner, and laughing as they inevitably did. He’d had crushes before. Amy was more than that.

He’s watched her butt walk away before after putting it all on the line. And he wasn’t sure if he could handle it again.

Then she returns, that gorgeous smile on her face as she catches him watching her, and he’s certain that he’s turned into one of those Nickelodeon cartoons - you know the ones. Eyes bulging, tongue falling out onto the table, heart pounding a mile outside his chest. She sits down, chair a little closer to his this time, knees brushing underneath the table. Their eyes meet, both reaching for the fourth kamikaze, and just like that, it is on.

The third time he notices the master stroke that is Amy Santiago’s butt, and the moment that he realises that he will be a fan for life, it’s the morning after their first date and his bleary eyes have only just fluttered open. As the memories of the night before begin to fill his mind, his arm reaches out for the other side of his bed, and when he finds it empty he sits up, desperate to find the other occupier for chance that this was all an amazing dream.

And that's when he sees her. Standing in his kitchen, wearing only his shirt, up on her tippy toes trying to reach for the spare coffee filters. The height of her stretch, combined with the length of his shirt, meant that her very naked ass was peeking out from the bottom, and the view was enough to make him want to drag her immediately back to bed.

Everything between them was still so new, and he should probably be careful about what he says next because this was the morning after the night before - the night that has changed everything, the bell that they cannot unring - but this was Amy, and if there’s anybody that will understand him, it’s her. And so, he says exactly what he’s thinking.

“I’ve gotta say Ames, I am loving the view from here.”

She turns her head, tucking her chin into her shoulder as she looks back at Jake, a soft blush turning her face a delicate pink. A silence falls between them and he can feel himself panic, because maybe she’s not feeling as great about what happened last night, and maybe she was looking for an escape hatch and not the coffee filters and oh god what has he done?

Then she smiles and the whole world begins to spin again. Dropping her feet back to the floor she begins walking over towards him, affording Jake the view of his barely buttoned shirt doing a (thankfully) terrible job of concealing the amazing body underneath. She tucks her hair back as she approaches, lifting one knee onto the bed then the other as she climbs the sheets, stopping only once she is straddling his lap.

His hands are on her again, on her perfect, perfect butt like a moth to a flame, and he hadn’t been sure that paradise was a real thing until now. Because if there was anything greater than this, he didn’t want to know it.

He wants to tell her how beautiful she is. Really tell her, and say it over and over until she believes it - because he’d always thought she was a confident person who believed in her appearance until he noticed the blush that fell across her face last night when he told her just how beautiful he found her. He wanted to tell her in every moment, in every way, however long it took, until it finally sunk in. That she was incredible, and that he was pretty sure that she was everything he could ever want.

He hopes - oh, how he hopes - that he doesn’t do anything to screw this up. Because this was easily the greatest thing that has happened to him so far - graduation day and detective promotions included - and he wants so much more of this.

In a little over an hour, they’ll need to get up and go to work - paint on the facade that they were just two colleagues who had definitely not just spent the night together. Pretend that everything was normal, and that they still existed in a world where neither knew what the other’s kiss tasted like. But for now, they have this moment - this bubble of happiness surrounding them, surrounding his apartment - and when he leans up slightly to meet her lips with his, he already knows he’s going to miss doing this.

Briefly, he wonders if Amy would be down for a little sneaky office make-out session later, but he dismisses it almost immediately. She is, after all, a professional.

As it turned out, it was their little moments of domesticity were what he loved the most.

He loved knowing that underneath that regulation uniform she was covered in cotton and lace - practical and sexy, just like her. Watching her dress (or undress) has long remained one of his favourite activities.

When their extracurricular activities (that may or may not have been instigated by him), made them only just on time for events by normal circumstances (but extremely late by Santiago Standards), and she would run between their bathroom and bedroom, clad only in her (always matching) underwear, alternating between fixing her hair and putting on jewellery and throwing him exasperated glances as he slowly put together his own outfit.

And afterwards, when she would stand in front of him again in the same underwear, dress long forgotten, beckoning him closer with one finger as he throws his own clothes onto the floor.

Or Saturdays when they would run errands and she would wear those skinny jeans he loved the most - the ones that hugged her curves so perfectly that he would always find a reason to run his hand over her behind while they were out. Not that she ever protested. Chances are, her hands were probably on his as well.

Then there were lazy Sundays, when leggings became her official uniform and she would patter around their apartment, feet clad in socks and a stolen hoodie draped over her shoulders. That is, of course, until he petitioned for the return of Naked Sundays (his favourite of all National Holidays). After that, life was perfect.

He loved watching her shake her booty to the terrible music that would play when he would commandeer the radio and switch it away from NPR. Loved the nights at Shaw’s after work, when she would find him sitting somewhere and plant herself in his lap, the professional image of Sergeant Amy Santiago fading away in the arms of her husband. And how Four Drink Amy would begin to grind herself against his lap in just the right way, guaranteeing their departure from the bar within minutes.

She knew him, and loved him. And now she wore his ring on her finger, and a hyphenated version of his surname on her licence, and he will spend a lifetime explaining all the reasons her loved her back. His favourite body part of hers is her heart, but her butt will always be a close second. And that wasn’t going to change for another hundred years. Minimum.

In the beginning, admiring the shape of Jake Peralta’s butt had been a surprising development to Amy Santiago. While she knew that there were plenty of others that held stock in the curve of another’s features, she had always been far more interested in the more logical side of things.

Was he clever?

Did he make her laugh?

Would he understand her neurotic tendencies?

And so on.

She had fallen for Jake for a multitude of reasons, none of which involved his body. (Which, to be fair, was an oversight on her end, because as it turned out, he had a great body, and he definitely knew how to use it).

She fell for his smile, for his easygoing nature, and how she always felt valued whenever he was around. He was the first man in a long time that invaded her thoughts so completely that the notion of a life without him seem unfeasible.

If her hands were tied, she would have to admit that there had been a few times, pre-relationship (okay, perhaps even pre-crush), when she’d noticed the incredibly alluring shape of his backside.

She remembers how annoyed she was at one particular day - all of them converging at One Police Plaza for an award ceremony that somehow he’d managed to be nominated for. There had been a case that they’d both fought for, before McGintley had given it to Jake - and once it had all turned into a roaring success, his nomination had been rubbed into her face at every given opportunity. There had been irritation growing inside her whenever she looked in Jake’s direction for days now, and as a result she had avoided him completely - refusing to even acknowledge him until finally his name was called forward.

Clapping politely with a half-hearted smile, she watches as he walks up to collect his stupid badge of merit (which wasn’t stupid at all, of course), and that’s when she notices. That despite all of his irritating tendencies, Jake wore that blue uniform like nobody else. And even if he was being an ass, he was also the owner of a really great ass. Distractingly great, if she were to be honest.

It only lasts a few seconds before she shakes her mind free of the thought, blinking in embarrassment as she glances around, certain she’s about to be caught in her voyeuristic thoughts. But everyone continues to clap at the officers on stage, and Amy mirrors their action, desperate to keep her mind off of what was absolutely a great butt. It was the uniform. Just the uniform. And lots of people looked great in the uniform.

But none of them quite like him.

Somewhere in-between romantic styles and maybe, yes … a little - Teddy’s departure being followed shortly after by Sophia’s - Amy finds her eyes wandering all the more. Surveying his figure in appreciation as his office demeanour turns less about fooling around and more about solving the case.

Watching as the black jeans he favoured move against his skin, staying back to work late one night while he suffers through the foolhardy declaration of one thousand push-ups (the memory of said imagery is still stored away for future reference).

It was becoming increasingly obvious to her that she wanted more from him - and while her terrified mind thinks back to the lost opportunity outside the precinct, or all of the potential dangers that could come from dating somebody in the same business, it was getting harder and harder to ignore how much her heart went into overdrive whenever he was around.

And then, he kisses her in the evidence locker, and suddenly everything seems a little different.

The morning after their first date was the first time she really got to see him naked - and she knows how crazy that sounds, because sexy times had definitely happened - but the night had been so filled up with pent up passion and quite frankly, fireworks, that after several rounds they had completely worn each other out and fell straight to sleep. So yes, there had been exploration, but it had been fuelled by desire - and the next morning felt far more intimate.

After her search for coffee had resulted in another sleepy session, she’d told him she needed a shower and he’d offered to go first because the hot water system at his place was temperamental at the best of times, and often took several minutes to heat up. And maybe there was still a little bit of alcohol in her system that made her feel this bold, or maybe waking up next to Jake had given her the confidence boost she needed - but whatever the reason, she found herself opening the door to his bathroom with a gentle knock, offering him company under the guise of ‘saving time’.

He was facing away from her when she walked in, and for a moment she was transfixed - hypnotised by the image of the water falling along the muscles in his back, sliding along his skin as though they were competing in a race - separating into rivulets as they made their way further down, drawing her eyes with them until they landed on his ass. His perfectly shaped, surprisingly toned and definitely sexy ass.

She clears his throat and he turns, giving her that beautiful smile that she’s pretty sure is just for her, and her heart is somewhere up near her tongue and she definitely doesn’t want things to stay light and breezy anymore. His hand reaches for hers, pulling her into the shower and by proxy into a kiss, the kind of kiss that should feel way more unfamiliar but instead just feels so right and this may be the best she’s ever felt about sleeping with somebody on the first date.

He’d told her she was beautiful so many times last night that she was actually starting to believe it.

Being a Latina female in the NYPD, a force that was still predominantly male, had come with the need for her to deflect any and all comments on her appearance - so much so that the words no longer seemed to sink in. (Teddy, for example, had told her several times - and she had always given her stock response of a smile, and a thank you.)

But when Jake said the words, they took on a different meaning. There was an undeniable sincerity in his eyes - and with the clear absence of any prior motive, it took a beeline straight to her heart. He was her partner, who had become her strongest ally - her closest friend, and the man who knew her better than most. When he calls her beautiful, she knows he isn’t just referring to her appearance. And that meant more than she could put into words. So she pours it into her kiss.

It doesn’t take long before she realises she is completely smitten with him.

Things had only been official for just over a month, and she had stayed at his apartment (thanks to the presence of a brand spanking new mattress) to get the most out of their days off together.

Fresh from his shower, Jake had walked back into his studio, tossing the towel carelessly in the direction of the laundry pile as he made his way over to his wardrobe. Within seconds, Amy has lifted herself up from her horizontal position against the blankets, eyes growing wider as they follow her boyfriend’s naked figure around the apartment.

Clearly, her stakeout skills were a little rusty. “Jesus, Santiago - you’re not even trying to hide the fact that you’re staring.”

“What can I say?” She shrugs. “I majored in Art History. I know a true masterpiece when I see one.”

He performs a slow turn, shy grin creeping onto his face. “Michelangelo’s Daniel has got nothing on me.”

She blinks. “David, babe.”

“Ah.” He nods quickly, face colouring slightly. “David, cool, yeah.”

“Bonus points for name dropping the artist, though.”

“Uhhh, how could I forget Michelangelo, Ames? He’s only named after my favourite ninja turtle. What he can do with those nunchucks? That is true art.”

She laughs, loud and long, head dropping back onto the pillow. She feels the mattress dip before his head hovers over her, eyes crinkled with mirth, hands resting either side as he interrupts the laughter with a sweet kiss.

The declaration that he’d made her laugh at a restaurant not so long ago pops into her mind when his nose nudges hers, a soft look taking over his features before he pulls her in for another kiss.

This. If she could have this - just her and him, together like this - forever, she’d never ask for anything ever again.

And so it comes to be that Amy Santiago becomes Jake Peralta’s Butt’s number one fan.

She loved the way they looked in jeans and in sweats - and especially the light blue boxers he wore to bed in the warmer months. She loved sliding her hand into the back pocket of his pants - the feeling of him under her palm as they waited in line, wherever they may be, was familiar and comfortable and perhaps one of her most favourite things. (Also, that he used to carry his wallet in his back pocket until they started dating and he discovered her penchant for sliding her hand there - he now keeps his wallet in his jacket, so that both pockets are free for her hands whenever she feels the urge.)

She loved hooking her legs around his waist, resting the edges of her feet against him as they made love. Digging her fingers in when things got particularly heated and she was oh so close.

So when he kneels before her on one knee, and tells her how much he loves her butt, she doesn’t hesitate to mirror his statement. Because it’s true. She does love his butt. It fits perfectly against her when she’s the big spoon, and is just the right height to be whipped at by a hand towel when he gets a little distracted in the kitchen.

But most of all, it's the butt of a man that has stood by her side through everything. A man that, behind the facade of a carefree jokester, holds onto the core values of truth, freedom and justice for all with every fibre of his being. That - despite every obstacle that the universe has thrown their way to try and separate them - comes back time and time again with such an outpouring of love and affection that she honestly doesn’t know what she did to deserve him. He was her favourite person, far greater than any puzzler or patriarch that ever existed, and she held no hesitation in standing by his side forever.

And also, purely as a side benefit?

He had the greatest ass she’d ever seen.

#here goes nothing #just a bit of fun #mine #myfic #b99fanfics #peraltiago fanfiction #b99 fic #peraltiago fic #Jake x Amy fic #b99 fanfic

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noonaduck · 5 years

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Elite School pt.1

Pairing: reader x Namjoon, reader x Yoongi Words: 3763 Genre: School AU, Fluff, Angst, Smut in part 2. A/N: Slow building, nothing quite interesting happens in the 1st part. Summary: You were one of few lucky students who were selected into South Korea's number one academy to study by scholarship. The school was only fort the elite of the country, those who were rich and smart enough to get in were rare. your hard work had paid of when you had been granted the scholarship among another student from different school. His name was Kim Taehyung. He fastly become one of your closest friends with his roommate Park Jimin. Kim Namjoon is the leader of the school’s most popular group in where also belonged Jung Hoseok, Kim Seokjin, Jeon Jungkook and your current crush Min Yoongi. After both Namjoon and Yoongi shows interest towards you, your choice between two of them isn’t that easy after all... 1. > 2. coming soon.

[Gifs belongs to their rightful owners]

You were one of few lucky students who were selected into South Korea’s number one academy to study by scholarship. The school was only fort the elite of the country, those who were rich and lucky enough to get in were rare. Even the school knew that commoners would never be able to afford to their academy which was known for its high education that guaranteed that all doors were open for their students. That’s why The school granted two scholarships outside of their academy for the top students of the country. There was countless opportunities and majors to choose for. If you were lucky enough you would be able to spend your whole school life there. Sadly the scholarships was only granted for higher educations . In the huge campus area was two school buildings. One for the primary and secondary school and another for the higher educations. Primary and secondary school building was old mansion with two floors which has belonged to some old elite family. The building for the higher educations was rather modern with it looks, after all it wasn’t old as the other. Huge glass windows covered almost every floor. Even tough the designs of the buildings were quite different they both were colored rusty red. The buildings were located in that way that Higher education building’s entrance was towards the front gates and the other building was on it’s left side sideways. In center of all was huge fountain made of marble. Small angles were pouring water from pots on top of the structure. It was also possible to live in the school dorms, which rather looked like hotel rooms than actual residences for students. The dorms were located near by the school behind the forest which was located backside of school buildings.

Your family wasn’t poor but it was neither rich. Your heritage was half Korean and half [your country ] which showed in your features. Your mother was from [your country] and your father was Korean. You have always been hardworking student who barely had any time for friends. Your main goal had been as long as you could remember to attend one of the top schools and your hard work had paid of when you had been granted the scholarship among another student from different school. His name was Kim Taehyung. You two clicked right away, maybe because you both came from similar backgrounds. You both were regular people among the rich elite. You were a major of literature when Taehyung was focusing becoming top fashion designer. Sadly boys and girls weren’t allowed to live in same dorms so you were left to live in same room as a girl named Soo Jin. You both had your own bedrooms but you shared one bathroom and living space. The living space was decorated with heavy red satin couches in the middle of the room. Top of them were as well red pillows with golden rims. Huge antique carpet covered almost the whole floor and red curtains which matched with couches were hanging in front of huge window. There was also small kitchen corner with newest kitchen gadgets, but Soo Jin never used them. She preferred to eat outside in the school cafeteria which was actually pretty similar to high class restaurant if you did not count that you had to get your food yourself from food line up. Soo Jin was pretty girl with long wavy brown hair and slim body. She had round face and brown eyes like a deer. You weren’t any sort of friends but you get along, Soo Jin mostly liked to ignore you, maybe because of your status. She was majoring in finances, because one day she would inherit her family’s hotel business. You had never have a change to look into Soo Jin’s room, because she kept always her door closed, but you were quite sure that it had the same layout than yours. The doors into your room’s and shared bathroom was also located in the living area also with the front door of your dorm room. You had comfortable bed ,with softest bed sheets you ever had had, opposite of your window where you could see the campus area’s forest. Right under your window was your work desk and top of it was your laptop with your school supplies. Your walls were white with silver decorations and your floor was made of dark wood. small two persons couch was located in corner of your room and next to it was standing full length mirror made of same colored wood as the floor.

You were laying on your bed and reading a book when your phone beeps. It was text from Taehyung.

Tae: *I’m bored, what ya doing?*

You: *Nothing much, I’m reading a book.*

Tae: *Do you want to go to the cafeteria with me and Jimin?*

Park Jimin was Taehyungs roommate and despite their difference in status they had quickly become good friends. Jimin was major at marketing, against his will if I may add, but his side subject was his true passion. It was dancing. It did not matter was it classical or modern, as long as he was able to follow beat of the music with his body.

You: *Idk, I’m not that hungry :I*

Tae: *Jimin is paying ;) .*

You: *On the other hand i could use something to eat.*

Tae: *great, see you in ten at the cafeteria.*

You: See ya :)*

When you arrive to the cafeteria Jimin and Taehyung are already sitting on the table. It was weekend so you were allowed to wear your regular clothes instead school uniforms. You thought that it was stupid how you still had to use school uniforms in this age, but the point was to show of that you were a student of your 'highly valued' school. Jimin’s and Taehyung’s heads were pushed together and they were watching something on Jimin's phone. It was so cute how Taehyungs blonde and Jimin’s orange hair mixed together. The school wasn’t that particular with looks if you weren’t a student in Primary or secondary school, rules there were more strict. Taehyung was wearing long sleeved shirt whit grey and white stripes. On top of his nose was round glasses, which he insisted using even when his eyes were perfectly fine. He had straight white pants and brown leather shoes. Jimin was dressed in more relaxing manner. He had white t shirt with v-collar and loose black pants. He had Adidas sneakers on his feet. You on the other had were wearing loose black shirt with pair of regular jeans. Your H/C hair was at loose ponytail.

“Hi Y/N!” Jimin notices you and waves excitedly.

“Hi.” You greet and sit opposite of two males. In front of Jimin was half eaten muffin and coke bottle and Taehyung had salad with water.

“Sorry, we bought our food while we were waiting, but if you want I can go get something for you?” Jimin asks and smiles shyly at you.

Taehyung had once confessed that Jimin had told him that he had small crush on you. You were touched but did not feel the same way. That why you pretended to be oblivious about his feelings.

“That would be nice, could you get me a coke as well with ham sandwich?” You ask grateful.

“Sure, no problem.” Jimin says and leaves the table. Taehyung is still focused on Jimin’s phone.

“What ya looking at?” You ask and reach towards the phone. Taehyung grins and shows you a video about cat who is balancing on top of a huge ball. You roll your eyes at him ad he just shrugs his shoulders and turns his attention back to the video.

Right then the noise in the cafeteria got louder and you could hear hushed whispers and giggles from girls of nearby table. From the cafeteria doors steps in the schools most popular group leaded no other than by Kim Namjoon itself. Not everyone has change to interact with the elite of elites . Behind him walks Jung Hoseok talking to his other friend Min Yoongi who listens his friend with bored face. Scrolling his phone follows soon after Kim Seokjin, or Jin like he wanted to be addressed. Namjoon was on the top of the top elite being the number one student of the academy. It was almost unfair that with his brilliant mind came such a good looks. He had silver hair pushed back on his forehead and the most beautiful dimples when he smiled. His tall figure was dressed in designer clothes. He had white button up shirt with sleeves that were rolled over his elbows and a silver watch on his right wrist. He was wearing black pants with black polished shoes. He was a literature major like you were. Hoseok ,or Hobi to his friends, was the brightest among the group with a smile that could make even the darkest clouds to fade. He had dark brown hair and straight nose with the most soft looking lips. He was wearing similar outfit than Namjoon except his shirt was black, and instead a watch he was wearing a bracelet. Jung Hoseok came from long heritage of artist and performer family and was majoring as dancer. Min Yoongi was a pale man with a yet black hair which made him look almost like a ghost. His friends often teased him about his skin color and called him Suga, oh boy if you made the mistake calling him that if you weren’t part of his circle of friends, you were swimming in the deep end of the pool. Silver earrings were hanging from his both ears and he was wearing white t shirt and black jacket with golden decorations top of his shirt. he had black skinny jeans with black boots. He was majoring in classical music , but there was rumors about him doing really different music on his free time. In your opinion he looked particularly good today, maybe you were biased because your crush for him. Then there was Jin, the flirt of the group. He had truly beautiful face which made every girl swoon who he granted his attention. Even tough he liked to flirt a lot he actually never dated anyone. Female population couldn't do anything else than dream about the handsome man. He had blonde hair that made him look almost like a angel with his tall and well formed body. He was wearing pink short sleeved button up shirt with top button open and white dress pants with suede shoes. Jin was majoring to become a doctor and many girls were ready to be his test subjects.

“Ah, look who is there.” Taehyung teases when he follows your stare. Your crush for the pale man was something that Taehyung liked to often to tease you about.

“Shut up.” You mumble and turn read like a tomato and Taehyung smirks fort that.

The group walks past of you without granting even one glance towards your table. Jimin returns with your food and puts your sandwich and coke in front of you. You open your coke with thanks. Jimin and Taehyung keeps chatting when your mind and eyes begins to wander. Your eyes finds Yoongi who is sitting on the table with his laughing friends. You are so close attention to Yoongi that you don’t notice the pair of eyes who keeps staring at you from the same table where Yoongi sits. Maybe if you should have looked closer you would seen Namjoon’s thoughtful gaze. The cafeteria doors slams open and boy with messy brown hair runs inside. He does not stop until he reaches the table where Yoongi and his friends are located. Jeon Jungkook is the last of the group to arrive. He is also youngest of the bunch. He is still wearing striped pajama pants and large black hoodie over it. On his foot is red slippers. He is art major and more importantly Namjoon’s cousin.

“Good morning.” Jin says and sips his coffee calmly.

“Did you sleep well?” Hoseok asks and burst into laughing. You follow their interaction with interest.

“It’s not my fault that Namjoon Hyung turned my alarm off.” Jungkook mumbles and sits next to Hoseok. He gives Namjoon nasty look and Namjoon smiles sheepishly.

“You wouldn’t have woken up even if I had let your alarm on. All three other of your clocks were turned of.” He says and the whole table begins to laugh.

“What ya looking at?” Jimin’s question makes you jolt in your chair. Jimin turns his eyes towards the table which interactions you are following and rolls his eyes. “They are at it again. Because their parents has most of the money or are most famous it doesn’t mean that they rule the place.” He grunts.

Taehyung looks at his friend with tilted head. “Are you maybe jealous?” he asks.

“What? No!” Jimin blushes and shakes his head rapidly.

“If you say so.” Taehyung says and stretches his arms above his head.“If you say so…”

It was getting late but you couldn’t sleep. You had hanged with Jimin and Taehyung for a while and watched their bickering over a video game over their dorms. Girls were allowed to visit boys dorms during the daytime as long as they left before seven p.m. It was funny that boys weren’t allowed to do the same. You kept rolling in your bed but you finally gave up when it was almost eleven p.m. You sigh and push yourself up on your bed. You take your sweater from your school chair and put it over your pajamas. Finally you slip into your slippers. You take your phone and dorm keys from the table and head outside. The campus area was highly guarded and surrounded by tall fence so it was safe to move outside even on the night time. School staff still did not recommend that kind of behavior but no one really were observing that, even less if you weren’t from primary or secondary school. You walked in the forest path which leaded towards the school building. The trip wasn’t that long and even there street lights illuminated your path. The school building was never locked and only few guards were patrolling on the hallways. You avoided them easily and slipped into empty music room. Spring was getting even nearer and you could see the moon shining trough the huge glass windows. You walked past the grand piano and the other instruments which were on the walls or their stands. You stop in front of wall covering mirror and took deep breath. You closed your eyes ans begun to sing. Every time when you were upset or something was on your mind you liked to sing. The songs and melody was often the best way to relive your stress. There wasn’t many who knew about your hobby, not even Taehyung knew. You were frightened when suddenly you heard clapping. You spun around and saw Min Yoongi standing by the door. You froze, oh no anything but this. He was also wearing his pajamas which consisted black t shirt and grey college pants. On his feet was white plain slippers.

“I’m surprised, I did not know that you could sing.” Yoongi says when he stops clapping.

You feel embarrassed “Not many people know about it.”

“I see.” Yoongi says thoughtfully and leans on the door frame. “You have a beautiful voice.”

“Well, thanks I ques.” You scratch your neck awkwardly.

You both fell into awkward silence. Neither of you is good with social interactions. For a while you two just stare at each other. When you almost can’t take it anymore Yoongi walks towards the piano and sits in front of it. He motion to you to sit next to him and you do so hesitantly.

“Do you play?” he asks and puts his fingers on top of the piano keys. You shake your head for answer. “It’s okay, maybe someday I will teach you.” he says with soft voice and began to to play.

The tone of the song is sad but at the same time really beautiful. You close your eyes and let the melody flow trough of you. You are still in your own world when Yoongi stops playing. He is waiting for you to open your eyes which you do slowly.

“That was beautiful. I believe that I haven’t heard that song before.” You admit.

“It’s my own song. It’s not quite finished yet.” Now its Yoongi’s turn to blush.

“You are indeed talented man. Why the melody is so sad though? Is there any reason for it?” You ask curiously.

Yoongi turns his face towards you and looks at into your E/C eyes. “There isn’t much a reason. It was raining when I begun to compose this song, so the mood kind of came naturally.” He is so close toy you that you can feel his hot breath on your lips.

Yoongi seems to notice it too and for a while you two just stare each other faces in wonder. Finally he leans closer and you close your eyes. When your lips are about to touch noise from the door interrupts you and you jump separate. You and Yoongi look at the door and dim lighted corridor but there wasn’t anything. Maybe it was a guard who was patrolling on the hallway. Either way the mood was broken and you both looked everywhere except each other.

After that evening in the music room you and Yoongi become quite close even though you kept it as a secret. neither of you graved for attention. You were barely able to keep your eyes open while drinking your tea in your dorm’s kitchen table. You had been writing your literature essay for the whole evening and late to the night. Soo Jin stormed out of her room wearing school uniform and designer briefcase. The school uniform consisted of white button up shirt with red vest on top of it, knee length black skirt and kneel length white socks or tights. She was wearing the socks. Also pair of plain black flats were part of the set. Her hair was in tight bun on top of her head and her make up was without fault, like always. Soo Jin wrinkles her nose when she walks past of you but says nothing. It seems that you aren’t worth of her time this morning. You finish your tea and put your mug in the sink. You were also already in you uniform, but you did not look as groomed as Soo Jin. You weren’t one of those people who would get up early just to look good. You take your school bag from the couch and head for your class. You sit on to you usual place at the lecture room, which was one row lower than where Namjoon was siting, like you were keeping note. When you had entered the class room you had given your essay to your teacher who was a woman in her late forties. She had short straight black hair and red classes on top of her nose. She was wearing long sleeved brown tunic with long pearls hanging on her neck. She was after bohemian look, which suited her carefree nature. She insisted that you called her by her first name Irina, and not by her last name Novikov. She was from Russia, but spoke fluent Korean and English.

“Good morning class, today we are going to work in pairs and discuss about one of the English literature classics, Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Height’s. I believe that everyone has read it already, after all it was part of your reading list, which was handed to you in the beginning of the semester. Today I’m choosing your pairs so no need to go look for your friends.” Irina tells happily in front of the class. You can hear quiet unhappy murmur, but no one say anything against it out loud. “Miss Ji Hye Choi you are going to pair with Miss Soo Hyeon Lee, Mister Gi Hoon Park you are going to pair with….” She begins to share pairs but you don’t pay any attention until it yours turn. “Mister Kim Namjoon and Miss L/N Y/N….” She continues to name pairs for the rest of the class.

You turn your eyes towards Namjoon and he smiles widely at you. He takes his notebook and changes his seat next to you. Other students are as well looking for their pairs which causes noise to rise in the room.

“Hello partner.” Namjoon says when he sits next to you.

“Hi.” You answer shyly.

“So have you read the book?” Namjoon asks and you nod.

Voice of the teacher’s gains your attention again. “I’m going to reflect the questions on the board which you are going to discuss. I will follow that everyone indeed focus on them and not into something else.” She says and soon the questions are on the board.

Number one: Name the main characters of the book. “The main cast depends on how you look at the book. Do you count the old maid Nelly Dean who tells the story of Wuthering Heights as a main characters or only those who are part of her story.” Namjoon says without much of thought.

“That’s true. I would at least count Nelly Dean as one of the characters, maybe even on of the most important of them.” You agree and Namjoon looks you surprised. Maybe he might been excepting an quite different answer. “ Mister Headcliff is the male lead of the book whom is driven by his greed and need for revenge. On the other hand Catherine…”

Namjoon puts his hand on top of yours and you fell silent by surprise.

“I saw you and Yoongi in the music room few nights ago. I wasn’t able to sleep so followed him when he left the dorm in middle of night.” He confess which causes you to blush. “Do you like him?”

“Excuse me?” You stutter.

“Do you like Min Yoongi?” He repeats and looks your eyes with intensively.

“What is it to you?” You are quick to defend yourself.

“I’m just asking.” Namjoon shrugs his shoulders lightly, but his eyes are rather serious.

“Mister Kim and Miss L/N, please turn your attention to back at the task in hand.” Irina’s voice saves you from answering.

After that you try to focus entirely for the subject and try to avoid Namjoon questions. Maybe he senses this but he didn’t say anything. School bell saves you from the situation and you hurry out from the class. You weren’t going to admit for anyone that you might like Yoongi, at least not before you had admitted it to man himself. You were trying to gain courage to do it and find the right time, but you haven’t had luck with neither. You have to only hope that you are able to confess how you feel one day.

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sabraeal · 5 years

Text

Thy Body Under My Command

Obiyuki AU Bingo Fate/stay night AU

Some dialogue is directly from this Fate/stay night AU comic @septhi made for last year’s bingo

Dawn breaks over Wistal as it always has, pierced by the jagged teeth of the city’s skyscrapers, a dark maw awaiting the sun’s offering. Shirayuki’s hands don’t even shake as she buttons her blazer, not even when she realizes the red is the same color as the blood that had been on them only hours ago, running down the drain of the sink as she struggled to get them clean, to remove every last trace of the night that had dried on her skin.

Obi is waiting for her as always, looking entirely normal in the school’s uniform, nothing like he had last night, nearly bleeding out on the floor of the Seiran estate.

“Ojou-san,” he greets brightly, falling into step with her. “Good morning.”

Even when he’d arrived, breaking half the pots in her gardening shed, she’d never felt so shy around him so left-footed. “Good morning, Obi.”

He nods, pleased with the completion of their usual morning routine. Still, he’s quiet; ever since he -- well, since she summoned him, accidentally, afraid for her own life -- she’s known no peace, the air constantly full of his chatter.

Aren’t you Assassin? Kiki had asked, only days ago. Shouldn’t you work quietly?

Obi had only shrugged, mouth canted in that strange way of his, half mischief and half melancholy. I wonder...

But he’s been oddly silent, since last night. Almost dying does that to a person.

He keeps his normal pace, walking one step behind her -- she’s told him he shouldn’t, that despite what the rules say, he’s her partner, not her servant, but he never listens -- and when she glances at him from the corner of her eyes, sly, she sees that he’s holding himself stiffly, like he’s pulled a muscle.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks, ducking her head, trying to catch his eyes. Obi jolts in surprise, blinking away the distance in his gaze, and smiles.

“Of course, ojou-san,” he tells her, as bright as always. “It’s only a little scratch.”

Shirayuki doesn’t think having his shoulder run through is just a little scratch, but Obi is covered in scars, a record of all his victories in life. Having another must just seem like business as usual. He breathes, he gets another scar.

She eyes where his uniform gaps -- he refuses to keep it zipped outside of school; Servants may magically have the right knowledge of their current time, but it doesn’t mean they have to like it, if Obi is any indication -- catching the ragged, silvered edge of another scar.

Ah, they are records of his victories, save one. But still, she understands Obi might have trouble telling what is actually a big deal, when he’s used to relocating all his own limbs after a fight.

She doesn’t have to like it, though. “You should let me look at it.”

His eyes round. “Now?”

Cars zoom past them on the street, the high school just visible at the bottom of the hill. They are the farthest away they can be from private.

And yet here he is, pulling at the zipper on his uniform with a sigh, as if she is the incorrigible one --

“No, not now!” she protests, waving her hands, trying to find an angle to shield his undress. She should have known better that to insinuate he needed to take his clothes off, not when he’s always looking for an opportunity to offer. “I meant tonight. At home.”

“Really, ojou-san,” he sighs, zipping his uniform jacket. “It’s not a big deal.”

Shirayuki tilts her chin up, trying to look down her nose on him; a plan that is ruined by the six extra inches he has on her.

“How about you let the mage decide what’s important, Assassin,” she tells him, feigning haughtiness. The both of them know she’s just barely scraping the requirements, and half of her clout is just the fact that he exists.

Obi laughs, shaking his head. “Of course, Master. I shall defer to your superior wisdom.”

“Good.” She levels him with the sort of rich girl glare only Kiki could pull off without looking entirely ridiculous. “I’m glad you understand how these things work.”

His mouth twitches, just at one corner and -- and it’s impossible to keep up the act, if he’s going to break like this! Her giggle bursts out of her, and his follows, making her duck her chin, cheeks flushed.

“Ah, ojou-san,” he sighs, rubbing at the back of his head. “A mage like you should have been matched with one of the noble classes.”

Shirayuki blinks. “What would make you say that?”

For a moment he stills, but then he shoves his hands in his pockets, giving her his most self-deprecating smile. “Ah, well, you like to leap before you look. Someone like Mitsuhide-danna would at least keep you safe during hair-raising things like that.”

She gives him a reproachful look. “You keep me safe just fine.”

A breath huffs out of him, doubt etched on every line of his face. “You’d do better in this game with someone more suited to your...style.”

“Well.” She puffs up her chest, trying to seem like an authority, to live up to the title Master, even if the top of her head is only level with his chin. “You’ve got me, and I’m not giving up on you. Or the Holy Grail.”

“Haah.” He looks like she’s punched him. “Right.”

“Come on.” She nudges him with her shoulder. “We don’t want to be late.”

He lags slightly behind her as they walk down the hill, and when she sneaks a look at him from the corner of her eyes, she sees his hand lift, sees it settle on his shoulder and squeeze.

There are only a handful of people she can go to for -- for Master things; it’s not like her father left her anything, and nearly any mage worth their salt has summoned up a Servant for this War, but --

There’s at least one in her corner.

“Have you seen Obi?”

Zen looks up from his bento; it’s pale pink, rice balls shaped into smiling kitty faces and fruits pressed into flowers and hearts. Not something the Wisteria’s fifty-year-old French chef would have made for him, no matter how good a mood he woke up in this morning. Shirayuki forbids herself from thinking too hard about which girl in their class did. He is the class prince; it would be more of a surprise to see him without a stack of lunches, carefully prepared by his bolder admirers.

That doesn’t make this, well, more comfortable.

“Wasn’t he just here?” He blinks, craning his neck to look at Obi’s empty seat. “Did you lose him already? You should really keep a tighter rein on him. If you’re caught without your Servant --“

“Yes.” She knows all too well what happens when she lets Obi wander away from her side. “I -- he’s just talking to Kiki.”

Zen leans back, and she knows the moment when he sees him; something subtle in his face relaxes, and his mouth spreads into a smile. It’s nice see, but --

But she knows that Zen must wonder if Obi was meant to be his, if she hadn’t bumbled along, summoning the last Servant out from under him. It’s better this way -- at least now it won’t be him facing off against his brother at the end of this war, deciding how much blood it would take for the Grail to appear, but...still. Whenever he allows himself that wistful expression, she just feels like an interloper that stumbled into this whole magic business, even if her father is some -- some famous mage.

After all, it’s not like he prepared her for any of this.

“I meant, have you looked at him today?” she clarifies, wishing she sounds less shrill, less unsure.

At least Zen doesn’t seem to notice; he just turns grim, assessing. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She shrugs with her whole body, at a loss. “Obi says he’s fine, but -- something doesn’t feel right. And he seems...stiff, I guess. Not moving like how he usually does.”

They both peer out the door, watching him talking animatedly with Kiki. He’s all chaotic motion, limbs flying everywhere as he tells his story, Kiki��s mouth curling up into a reluctant smile. Part of her is glad to see it, happy he’s making friends, that he can charm even stoic Kiki Seiran into liking him, but --

But the other part does not miss his wince when he gestures a hair too far, does not miss how his hand flies to his shoulder, rubbing it as if it aches.

Zen settles back, mouth thin. “Hm.”

“Hm?” She drops into the seat next to him. “What does that mean?”

“It just...doesn’t look like it healed,” he remarks, and Shirayuki just bites back, oh, do you think? He’s trying to help her, she’s just -- impatient. If Obi’s in pain she wants to help him now, not after Zen is done leading her down the garden path.

“Why?” she says instead. “It’s never taken so long.”

“Rider’s hit must have damaged some of his magic circuitry.” Zen stares out the door, mouth twisting with concern. “He can’t passively get enough mana from you to both exist and heal. And since your summoning was well --” a complete and utter accident -- “untraditional...”

“He can’t go incorporeal and heal himself that way.” Shirayuki lets out a long breath and nods. “How do I fix it?”

“Well,” Zen drawls, suddenly too much like his brother. “If you were a trained mage, you could do it through active transfer, but --” he glances at her, guilty -- “I don’t think you have those sorts of skills.”

She could have, if only her father had stuck around to teach her properly. “There isn’t another way?”

“Um.” Zen’s face flushes, eyes darting to look anywhere else but at her. “N-no! I think you just might, ah, have to, you know, let it...heal itself?”

Her mouth pulls thin. “How long will that take?”

“Ah...” Zen grimaced. “I don’t know, exactly. But...a while.”

“Oh.” Her hands clench in her skirt. This is the Holy Grail War. As little as she likes it, she needs him in top condition now, if they’re both going to survive.

Zen shrugs, but it’s stiff, like he had an itch. “Don’t worry, Shirayuki,” he says, hardly sincere. “I’m sure it will work itself out.”

After running into Rider, Shirayuki can’t say she’s too confident in that. Especially not with two other servants unaccounted for.

His hand rests gently on her shoulder, and he smiles so kindly when she meets his eyes. “Kiki will protect you.”

Chain-link bites into the soft flesh of her fingers, but Shirayuki doesn’t let go, just rests her body on the fence. She’s so light it barely chimes at all. The baseball field is empty this evening with curfew still in place, and she can’t help but think that if she hadn’t been in the wrong place, that if she hadn’t gotten so lucky, she would be at home now too, worrying about all the strange deaths in Wistal.

Now she doesn’t have to. She knows exactly who is causing them, what is causing them.

Maybe she would have been happier not.

Obi laughs, dodging another of Mitsuhide’s heavy blows. He’s not in uniform anymore, instead in his battle gear, skin-tight and cape fluttering, mouth canted in a cocky grin, and --

And even so, she can’t make herself regret this. Any of it.

Obi falls for Mitsuhide’s feint, only just saving himself with a quick cut of his short sword. Metal hits metal with a shriek and --

And Obi flinches, his other hand coming up to grasp his shoulder until he stops himself, until he shakes it off.

Shirayuki grimaces. She doesn’t regret anything, save for that.

“That hasn’t healed well,” Kiki remarks, fence jingling as she comes to lean beside her.

“No,” she agrees, watching as Mitsuhide stops, leaning in to clap Obi on the shoulder. The other one, she can’t help but notice. “Zen says his magic circuitry must be damaged after last night.”

Kiki eyes her with a blend of wariness and incredulity that she is coming to realize is distinctly Kiki’s. Shirayuki bites her lip, pretending that her attention is fully on the fight, not -- not thinking about how she’s so tired of being treated like she’s, well, stupid.

Intellectually, she knows that despite their truce, Kiki is an enemy, one she shouldn’t be handing over her weaknesses to on a platter. But at the same time, she’s the only other person she can talk to, whose ideas on the bond of Servant and Master aren’t just all academic. Zen can help her only so far, but Kiki -- Kiki has practical knowledge, as much as someone can have, without having already survived a Grail War.

That’s the kind of information Shirayuki could only get from her father. Too bad he isn’t around to give it.

“Aren’t you going to fix it?”

Shirayuki blinks. “Zen said it would fix itself, with time.”

Time they don’t have.

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Kiki tells her, as if she weren’t already aware. “He needed to be fixed yesterday. You, of all people, can’t have your Servant be weak like this.”

Shirayuki ducks her chin, hoping Kiki can’t see the flush across her cheeks. She’s well aware that she has limitations the rest of them don’t have, that she doesn’t belong in this war of mages, that she barely belongs in magical society in general. Even if her dad did, it wasn’t as if he’d left any of that for her, not like how Kiki is branded with the Seiran crest, the culmination of every mage her family has ever produced.

And if she ever forgot, Obi was always around to remind her. She was lucky; as soon as she’d put the school uniform on him, Obi had transformed from deadly assassin to handsome school boy. If she’d summoned a Servant like Mitsuhide --

Well, it was good Kiki was a top-notch mage. Shirayuki wasn’t even sure the uniforms came that big.

“I’m not a real mage,” Shirayuki reminds her, every word like a knife. “I can’t do a transfer spell.”

“I know that.” Kiki waves her hand, as if she hadn’t even considered the option. “Why don’t you just do it the other way?”

Shirayuki’s head snaps toward her. “There’s another way?”

Kiki stares, at a loss for words. “Zen didn’t tell you?”

She shakes her head. “He said there wasn’t one.”

“Well,” Kiki drawls, voice thick with sarcasm, “isn’t that surprising.”

“Please,” Shirayuki pleads, fingers catching in Kiki’s sleeve, making her eyes as big and desperate as she can. “Do you know another one? I can’t leave Obi like this.”

For a long moment, Kiki stares at her, considering. It reminds her of the only time she’s met Izana, his icy eyes taking her in without comment and assessing her threat to him.

Kiki must come to the same conclusion as him and sighs.

“Mana is in you, Shirayuki.” She eyes her warily. “Are you sure no one has ever taught you this? Not at all?”

“No,” she says with an emphatic shake of her head. “I was raised by my mother’s parents. They didn’t know anything about magic.”

Kiki lets out a long breath, utterly still beside her.

“Mana is in every part of you,” she says after a moment, softer, as if she were trying to teach a child. “That’s why some mages sell their blood when the family fortune runs out. I hear it sells for a hefty bit of cash.”

“Why would people buy it?” Shirayuki asks, wide-eyed.

“To drink, of course.” Kiki says it as if it were the most obvious thing in the word, as if she were the silly one for thinking someone wouldn’t drink blood.

“People drink mage blood?” Somehow, out of all the supernatural reveals she’s been privy to over the last few days, it’s this one that is the most outlandish. “Why?”

“For power.” Kiki shakes her head. “There’s no limit to what a mage will do for power. You should know this, after last night.”

Her mouth thins. Yes, she’s learned that lesson all too well, now.

“So, I just need him to drink my blood?” She’s not sure how he’ll take that request; in terms of things she could ask him, Master to Servant, it’s mild, but still. “How much? Is it just a few drops, or should I be worrying about getting needles and syringes?I think the nurse might let me have a tourniquet if --”

“Shirayuki,” Kiki laughs, waving her hand. “There’s a much, much easier way.”

She considers the bodily fluids she has available to her and decides, “I really don’t think I could spit in his mouth.”

Kiki stares. “That was absolutely not about to be my next suggestion, but thank you for that delightful image that will almost certainly haunt me for years to come.”

“Does it have something to do with crying?” she asks, even more confused. There can’t be anything easier than that, though crying enough tears to drink seems like an insurmountable task.

“Shirayuki, no.” Kiki’s lips twitch. “That is not what I meant.”

“Well,” she sighs, frustrated. “I’m fresh out of bodily fluids!”

She does not like the way Kiki’s lip quirks. “Are you?”

“Oh,” Shirayuki murmurs, too short a time later. “Oh.”

Kiki’s teeth flash in a feral smile. “I thought that might be your reaction, yes.”

“I’m supposed to--” the words won’t come -- “and he’d supposed to...?”

“Yes.” Kiki stiffens beside her, tense. “After we fought Berserker, my mana was just barely keeping Mitsuhide together. His circuits were far too damaged, and unless I wanted to weaken myself trying to force the mana into him...”

“Oh.” She’s never heard Kiki talk like this, admit she was anything other than utterly prepared for any eventuality. It’s...nice to know she’s human too, even if she’s also a world-class mage, destined to be picked up by the Clock Tower after this is all over. “I hadn’t even realized.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.” Her mouth curls with satisfaction. “He recovered...quite nicely, afterward.”

“Are you going to work, ojou-san?” Obi asks as he walks out of the changing room, uniform jacket still half unzipped. Above the vee of his t-shirt, the raised ridge of his death scar peeks out. She’s seen his clothes ripped to ribbons, blood coating his skin, but she’s never seen the whole of that scar, never seen the thing that killed him.

But she would, if she listened to Kiki.

She jolts, shaking her head. She can’t think about this right now, not when he’s talking to her. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” His fingers tug at the zipper, and she -- she’s always noticed how long his fingers are, how slender, but now her skin feels hot looking at them, thinking of the way he could so easily hold her in those hands, how his grip is so strong she could bruise -- “Just give me a minute, and I can --”

“No!” This is -- she needs to think about this, and she just can’t if he’s around, making things -- things difficult. “You should go home and rest. I can take care of myself for a night.”

“Ojou-san,” he protests, mouth pulling into a hard, disapproving line, and --

And she should really, really not be thinking about how easy it would be to wipe that expression off his face. These are not very -- very Masterly thoughts.

“You’re already hurt,” she tells him. “And you need to keep up your strength. We don’t know who the other two mages are, or their Servants.”

“That’s the perfect reason for me to --”

“If they haven’t come for us already, they don’t know who we are.” She thinks of Rider, of how he and his mage are still out there, nursing their wounds. “Or they are waiting for the rest of us to kill each other. Either way, they aren’t going to be checking a drug store for a Master.”

“Everyone needs aspirin, ojou-san,” he protests, but he knows she’s right. Mages are used to power and money; her after school job is the best cover she never asked for. Even Kiki had been surprised.

“If anything happens, I can just call you to me.” She lifts her hand, showing him the jagged lines on the back of her hand. One of them is already smudged and dim, a legacy from their less than ideal first meeting. He scowls when he sees it.

“It would be better if you didn’t waste a Command Seal to get me,” he tells her. “You’ve already done that once.”

“I wouldn’t have had to, if you had been nice,” she reminds him.

“I was stubborn.”

“Telling me I’m your Master, and then saying I’m too stupid to command you isn’t stubborn,” she says with a quelling look. “It’s mean.”

His mouth curves, gaze tilting down, and she knows he’s laughing at himself. “No arguments here, ojou-san.” He slides his hands into his pockets with a resigned sigh. “All right, I’ll heal at home. But you’ll call me if anything happens.”

She puts her hand on his elbow, drawing his gaze down her. Maybe it’s just the light, but his eyes seem more amber today, like melted honey instead of cold coin.

Now is a really bad time to notice that.

“Always,” she tells him with a smile. His narrow brows arch upward and -- and he smiles too, warm and trusting.

That-- that’s not fair, him being so handsome. “I’ll be waiting, ojou-san.”

“I’m home,” Shirayuki calls out, toeing her shoes off into the waiting tray. Obi’s shoes are there as well, scuffed up Oxfords Kiki thought her father wouldn’t miss, but the house itself is dark, cold.

Dread claws at her, but she pushes it down, lets reason rule her instead of fear and habit. There’s still a draw on her mana, tiring but satisfying, an invigorating buzz just under her skin. He’s nearby, he’s safe.

She pads into the main house, socks muffling her footsteps as she makes her way across the wood floor, first looking into the kitchen, then into his room, then into hers. All of them lay empty, though his room does have his school bag on the floor, and his school uniform balled up in the hamper. There’s only one other place he could possibly be.

There’s a flagstone path to the dojo, and Shirayuki hops along it, wincing as she nearly misses a step, toe scraping into the gravel. She’s lost enough stockings already to this Grail War, she’s rather not have another casualty just walking across her own yard.

The door slides easily under her hands; only a week ago it had barely moved, swollen and crooked from disuse, but now it glides silently on its path, planed and reset by Obi’s own hands. It’s the same for the rest of the dojo; tatami replaced and floors shined, looking like it must have back when her father still used it. Obi’s only been here days, and already this place has been changed.

She doesn’t like to think what will happen when he leaves. After all, the Grail War can’t last forever.

The dojo is dark inside, just like the rest of the house, but her eyes adjust quicker this time, used to the dim. It takes her no time at all to make out his shape knelt over on the floor, oddly broad shoulders tapering down to a lean waist, the sort of body made for dexterity, not power.

That only reminds her of what Kiki said, of that -- that other way to heal him, and she had to grip the door to keep from bolting, from just pivoting on her heel and flying back to the house. She could just -- pretend she was asleep. That was a good excuse to give to Kiki tomorrow. She’d just fallen asleep --

“Ahh,” he hisses, palm slapping the floor. “Fuck.”

His fingers dig into the mat, rigid with pain. She blinks, chest clenching as she follows the tension up the stark lines of his arm to his shoulder, to where he sits, body contorted, one hand clenching at his wound. It’s hard to see his his face in the dark, but his teeth gleam, mouth pulled into a grimace.

She’s never seen him like this before, never seen him weak. “Obi?”

He jolts, hand dropping at lightning speed. He spins around, a bright smile painted on his face. There’s no hint of the agony she saw, no tell-tale wince or grimace. It is as if it were a dream, a nightmare borne of her own guilt.

It is too bad for him that she knows for certain that she is awake. In fact, she has never been less tired in her life.

“Ojou-san! You’re back.” His mouth widens into a playful grin. “Welcome home!”

She stares. There is nothing else she can do, now when she knows that all of this is -- is little more than kabuki, an act played out for solely her benefit. Obi is in pain, in agony, and here he sits on his knees, pretending that all is well, that he can keep her safe, while all the while the guilt must be gnawing at him, anxiety building as he wonders when the next Master will attack, what death he will have to defy with such a painful handicap.

He twists, turning to face her, and his t-shirt gapes, letting her see that ragged scar across his chest, the wound that set him in the record. The one where he was left bleeding and alone in a forest while he died. No one helped him then, and now --

Now that decides her.

Her bag hits the floor with a thunk, books spilling out from the top, scattering across the tatami, but she doesn’t care, doesn’t even think of it. She just takes a step forward, up into the dojo, and then another, and then another, until it’s just rhythm, until it’s just the pounding of her heart.

“Ojou-san?” His amber eyes watch her warily, concern and confusion mingling as his hands lifting to catch her hips, to stop her, but she drops to her knees before he can. His hands settle on her shoulders instead, loose and unsure, as if he hasn’t touched her before, as if he hasn’t just lifted her straight off the ground and leapt across the city with her in his arms.

Or maybe it’s because he hasn’t touched her like this, without danger and necessity dodging their steps. He hasn’t touched her because he wants to. But he does, he does, she can see it right in his eyes, in the way his hands hover as if she’s too precious to touch.

That won’t do at all.

“Ojou-san?” he tries again, a nervous quiver lifting his pitch. “What’s h--haah.”

His breath puffs into her mouth as she closes the distance between them, as she threads her hand behind his neck and drags him down. His dry lips meet hers, and there’s -- there’s something, a spark, and she leans in to chase it --

He jerks back, like he’s been shocked, hands leaping from her to clench on his lap. His bones shine stark white against the bronze of his skin, turned silver in the moonlight. She’s always been fascinated with the human body, with the composition of the skeleton and the way muscles and tendons cling to bone, but this is the first time she’s ever thought it was beautiful.

“Ojou-san!” His chest heaves, knocking against the arm that still holds him. Her thumb brushes over the arch of his cheekbone, and she can feel the heat against her skin, even if the light won’t let her see it. “What -- what are you--?”

Her fingers hook into the thick bristle of his hair, shivering as it tickles her palms, and she draws him down again.

He groans against her mouth, a pained, broken thing. Heat spikes unbearably in her, spearing the place between her legs, and her hand clenches with a whimper. If it pains him, he doesn’t let it slow him; instead he just cants his head, swallowing the sound down, tongue flicking through the space it’s left, licking teasingly against her teeth and she -- she wriggles, the dull ache of her sex too insistent to ignore.

It’s -- it’s a lot. More than she’s used to, with her experience limited to prime time TV and daydream.

Shirayuki sits back on her heels slowly, their lips parting with a gentle pop that makes her want to lean back in, that makes her want to try Obi’s trick with his tongue against his own lips --

But she doesn’t. She sits, she waits. Finally, he opens his eyes with a rasping breath, his gaze clouded with confusion.

And desire, she realizes with a hitch of her own breath. His eyes are on her lips, and she knows he’s thinking the same as her, that there’s both too little and too much space between them.

She reaches out, drawing his hand into her own, and taps his wrist. It’s the only thing that gets him to look away, that makes him focus where she needs him to -- though maybe not where she wants him --

“Oh,” he breathes, and this time, it’s easy to see the pink sitting high along his cheekbones, what with the way his circuit in glowing. “Oh.”

She looks down, watching it pulse faintly, like a heartbeat. The same one she can feel fluttering beneath her fingertips, as wild as her own. Ah, he may only be a hero’s spirit, but right here, right now, he’s human enough.

“Kiki told me there was another way to heal you.” Her thumb rubs gently over the skin of his wrist, wondering at how it is as thin and delicate as any other person’s. It’s so easy to forget that despite his power, despite his past, in this form he’s just like any other man.

“Haah.” He’s tense under her, as if he wants to pull away, but he doesn’t, just lets her pet at his pulse, motionless. “Kiki-jou, huh? That’s...unexpected.”

“I can’t do the ritual.” The shame burns at her even now. “I’m not enough of a mage --”

“Ojou-san!” Obi frowns, shaking his head. “You are as much of a mage as any--”

“Obi,” she says quietly, gently, and he calms. “It’s all right.”

“I know. I just...” His hand twists in hers, until their palms touch, until he can wrap his fingers around hers and squeeze. “You are enough, ojou-san. You have always been enough.”

Her chest is too tight, too small to contain both her breath and her heart together, and so it bursts out of her in a graceless pant.

“I can’t do the ritual,” she tries again, the words little more than a whisper. “But I can do something else. Something less complex.”

“Well,” he wheedles, “I wouldn’t say less complex --”

Kiki had said that it was a waste of a seal, that a true Master compelled obedience through the contract, through their power, but Shirayuki had none of that when Obi arrived, cocky and insubordinate. She knows now that such a vague command should have never worked, should have been useless with her inexperience --

But it hooked into Obi strongly that night, remained strong in him even now. She’s always been so careful since, using will you instead of do this, wording simple requests in a way that allows him the chance to say no.

But she doesn’t now.

“Tell me the truth.”

The command thrums through him, thrums through the both of them, but it’s different than before. It was not a whip crack but a whisper, not grasping hands but a come-hither look that leaves pleasure fizzling under her skin.

One look at Obi tells her that her own reaction is just backlash, just a ghost of what he feels; his head is thrown back, eyelashes fluttering at half-mast, breath laboring out of him in ragged pants.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, it will heal me.”

“Good.”

It’s her that tugs on his hand, that draws him back to her, but it’s him that groans against her mouth, hands clutching at the back her head as if he’s adrift, as if he’s drowning, and only her kisses are keeping him afloat. Funny, since it’s her that is lost, her that is clutching to his jeans, to his shirt, trying to hold herself to the earth as his lips move against hers, as his tongue once more slides into her, licking at her teeth, coaxing her own to move against his.

Her neck aches as she tries to chase his kisses, tries to extended that delicious frisson of their lips meeting and parting. He shifts to get closer, knee brushing hers, and it occurs to her all at once that this is too far, that this polite distance between their bodies is not only unnecessary, but unwanted.

Her hands reach out blindly, feeling along the floor until she brushes his thighs, feels the worn denim underneath her palms. He gasps against her lips at the touch, and she puts her hands flush against him, kneading the muscles beneath with enough strength to make him moan, to make him pull away with a laugh.

“What do you think you’re doing, ojou-san?” he murmurs, kissing at the corner of her mouth. “Causing trouble?”

Her eyes narrow at that, at the way he laughs as if the thought of her trying to -- to incite something is ridiculous, and she crawls forward, laying one knee on either side of his lap.

“If I am?” she asks, staring down at him, relishing the way his mouth has slacked and his pupils have gone wide.

“Please,” he breathes, pulling her down to him, bringing her flush against his lap. “Don’t stop.”

His thighs feel like steel under her, and she cannot help but think about how close she is to him, how so few layers keep her from what Kiki had described in detail, and --

And she wants it. That.

Obi’s hands smooth up the backs of her legs, slender fingers dragging against her stockings. His smile curls against her lips as she whimpers into his mouth, until --

Until he hits the end of them, just higher than mid-thigh, and lets out a noise more fit for a wounded animal than a man. He grips her thighs hard, bruising, as if he’s trying to control himself, to keep from taking her right there.

Now it is her turn to smile, to gently pry each finger on one of his hands off her thigh and glide it up, past where here stockings end, and hook one tip under the elastic of her panties.

“Ojou-san?” he murmurs, confused, hopeful. In the darkness, his eyes still shine amber.

“Take them off.”

“Are--?”

“Take them off.”

The rip is deafening in the dojo.

“Did you--?” She gapes, looking at the ragged remains of her kitten panties in his hand, at the mischievous smile on his face. “Did you tear them?”

“You told me to take them off, ojou-san,” he says far too innocent, tossing the offending fabric far into the dojo, out of sight.

“Those cost 2000 yen,” she protests breathlessly, distracted by the drag of his fingers up her thighs, to the throbbing heat between them. He cups her ass in both of his hands and squeezes. “Obi!”

“You should have been more specific, ojou-san.” His thumbs tease her, right where her thighs meets her body, so close to where she wants them, but not there. “Your wish, after all, is my command.”

“I’m pretty sure my command is your command,” she tells him, grabbing at his hand. She drags it over the front of her thigh, placing his fingertips right over her slit. “Touch me, Obi.”

His jaw drops, breath rushing out of him all at once, and for a moment, he sits there, frozen. She presses her hand against his, dropping an encouraging kiss against his lips and finally, finally, he moves.

A finger parts her folds, and this -- this all seemed like a good idea just a moment ago, when the heat from just his kisses had left her throbbing and tight, but now two of his fingers trace her slit, teasing the tight bud of her clit, and --

And it’s so much worse; his touch leaves her gasping against his shoulder, pulling at the fabric of his shirt, trying anything to get him closer, faster. He hums, too pleased with himself, and when she lifts her head to -- to tell him something, if only he’ll stop teasing -- he slips a single finger in.

“Aah!” She yanks at his shirt, pulling up at its hem until he’s half tangled in it, collar over his head, sleeves stuck at the elbows.

“Ojou-san,” he laughs, dragging that finger her out of her so slow, making sure she feels every second of it. “So impatient.”

Her face is already flushed, but it burns now as she watches his stomach flex, as she sees the white cotton fall away to find the glow beneath it is blinding. The moment her shirt leaves his hands, sailing on the same trajectory as her destroyed panties, she grabs him, urging his fingers inside as she bears down, tongue licking into his slack mouth.

She can hardly think with him touching her like this; with one finger it had been a tease, but two makes her think of the thing pressing hard against her thigh, straining against the denim of his jeans, and she wants it, wants him in her so badly it’s a palpable need.

Her fingers trace down his chest, hesitating at the scar bisecting his chest. It’s an ugly thing, flesh knotted and poorly healed. The cut that killed him.

Shirayuki brushes it idly, her need cooling as she considers it, and the pulse of his fingers slow so that he can watch her.

“I wish,” she says, so soft, “that you hadn’t been alone.”

She bends down and presses her lips to it, gentle.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, and it’s all the warning she has before he grabs her, dragging her mouth to his, and devours.

The way he moves in her leaves her gasping, panting, mindless, her own hands desperately sliding down smooth skin and raised scars and burning circuits to the dark trail of hair on his belly. She hooks one finger around the waistband of his jeans, thumb rubbing thoughtfully at the button and --

And Obi jerks away from her, leaving her empty, hot.

“We don’t need to do more than this,” he tells her, panting beneath her hands. His own hover awkwardly at her sides, as if he’s afraid to touch her, as if he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop, if he does. “This is -- this will be enough.”

“Do you not want to?” She’s not sure how she’s still talking, with so little air in her lungs.

Obi lets out a weak laugh, gaze fixed to where her shirt gapes open and the soft cups of her bra are bared. Ah, so his other hand has been busy too. “Oh, ojou-san, doesn’t every man want to --?”

“Obi.” Her hand presses down against the bulge, watching as his eyes rolls back, his jaw going slack. “Tell me the truth.”

That frisson goes through them again, and he twitches hard against her thigh. “Yes. I want to.” His hands grip at her waist, kneading. “I want you.”

His admission bares him to her more than nakedness, and she -- she could not be more ready for him, wet slicking her thighs, her fingers fumbling at the button of his jeans. She’s not strong, not like Obi, but Shirayuki nearly puts a rent next to his zipper trying to work him free. He’s laughing into her mouth, hands busy with her own blouse, confounding matters when he drags it down her shoulder, tangling in her elbows, and she --

She doesn’t have time for this. Shirayuki lets go one him with a growl, shucking her shirt to the floor, but she’s back on him the moment she’s free of it, one hand flicking open the button, the other working the zipper.

He gasps, breath catching in his throat as she wraps her hand around his cock; she pumps him once and his hips nearly clear the floor.

Ah, he may act smug, but Shirayuki doubts there’s much of this happening in the heroic record. It’s nothing to sit over him, to guide him right to where she needs him and --

Oh! The pinch is sharp, though not unpleasant, but it does give her pause, makes her wonder if this is a -- a larger undertaking than she’s prepared for.

“Ah, ojou-san.” Just the tip of him is in her, but Obi is panting against her chest, kissing every inch of skin he can reach, moaning as if he could come from just this. “Ojou-san, don’t -- don’t --”

She widens the set of her knees, dropping down another inch, and his hands fly to her thighs, digging in with a grip hard enough to bruise. A wounded sound tears from his chest with each uncomfortable inch she takes, and she -- she should mind this strange sensation, this stretching, but instead those noises go straight to her head, straight to where her heat clenches around him, and --

And then stops. Her legs can’t part any more, not while she still expects them to hold her, but she’s not -- not full. She gives a tentative, shallow thrust, trying to see if she can work herself any further down and -- haah, that...that could feel good, if there was only more of it, if only she could take him further in.

Obi’s hands ease on her thighs, gently stroking her with each of her experimental thrusts. He buries his head in the cook of her neck, panting harshly against her collar. Still, she can feel it in him, that want to grab her, to take her --

This isn’t enough, she knows. He would never say so, but her hand is still clasped around the rest of him, and she -- she wants that, wants all of him, wants to know what noises she could wring from him if she did.

Her palm presses to his chest, and his head jerks up, eyes clouded with confusion and desire, but -- but he falls back at her gentle urging, down and down until his shoulders are on the floor and she could sink down on him until--

Ohh, yes, that -- that was better. The stretch is still uncomfortable, but also -- decadent, a pleasure that makes heat rush to her sex, that starts her on a slow, steady rhythm.

A laugh rumbles from Obi’s chest, a pleasant vibration beneath her hands, and then his own are on her, gripping her hips, guiding her into one that’s faster, that makes her drag along him rather than bounce and --

Ah-haah, that is -- is good. Pleasure sparks along her skin, building, building, until it all at once becomes enough, becomes too much --

And through the blinding force of her release, she can feel it, feel the way her energy runs into him, the way it’s filling him --

And the way he fills her in turn, leaving her gasping against his chest, cheek pressed to dewy skin. It takes her a minute to come back to herself, to feel the pressure at her scalp, her back. To realize that he is stroking her as he softens inside her, whispering things that are less words and more sounds, like the way a man might calm an animal, a child.

She might be offended, if she didn’t look, didn’t meet his eyes as see him look at her as if she is not only his master, but -- but his world. “Ojou-san?”

“I think,” she says, words feeling strange and tingly on her tongue. “you should really call me Shirayuki now.”

Obi returned to the baseball field with a spring in his step, waving to his opponent as he saunters across the diamond. “Mitsuhide-danna!”

“Obi.” The Saber nods, gaze sweeping over him. “That arm is moving much better today.”

“What can I say?” Obi shrugs, a grin so salacious pulling at his lips that Shirayuki is sure everyone can tell what they’ve done. “I let ojou-san take good care of me.”

Kiki lets a smirk curl her lips, giving Shirayuki an all-too knowing look. “I just bet you did.”

#obiyukibingo2019 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #LEMON #fate/stay night AU #my fic #ans #listen if i was gonna write a fate AU #you better believe i was going to take it back to its h-game roots #although it took like 5K to get to the actual sex because I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL #also clearly i have thought about this whole AU far too much #but basically Shirayuki uses her first command seal the same way rin does #although her summoning happens more like Shirou's #but since mukaze's family were mages she actually has some gift for magic #though she's never been trained

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