More fic ideas that I have absolutely no intention of writing.
Knight Bakugou who’s positioned to guard you. The King wants the best to protect his Princess, and Bakugou is the best. Besides, it’s not like the man had a choice, he doesn’t want to lose his job— or his life.
You hate to admit that Bakugou is good at his job, much better than the men that had tried to guard you before. Making it difficult for you to sneak out into the gardens in the evening to watch the stars, or to sneak into town for the weekend festivities.
You should hate him for ruining the routine you’d managed to work yourself into over the years, for stealing away the freedom that you’d rewarded yourself when no one else would offer you the same luxury. But somehow you can’t force yourself to dislike him, there’s something behind his cold and brash personality that has you inquisitive to find out more. Enjoying trying your best to rile him up or push his buttons— spilling your evening tea over his pristine boots, or dropping your towel in front of him when you prepare for your evening bath.
Knight Bakugou knows exactly what you’re trying to do, and he’s determined he won’t fall for your tricks— which is why he’s just as surprised as you are when he finds himself outside with you past curfew in the castle grounds watching the stars. But instead of staring up at the gorgeous night sky, he finds himself turning his head to the side to see how the moonlight glows against your skin. It’s just another thing that has now woven its way into your daily routine together, and as he walks you back to your quarters each night you like to fool yourself that it’s because he wants to, not because his life depends on it.
It isn’t long before the King begins to bring in suitors from neighbouring towns to vie for your hand in marriage. None of which are out of love, but a necessity to strengthen alliances between armies. Which is why it doesn’t matter if you even like any of them, because the choice won’t be yours. The men are scheduled to fight for your hand, and as you sit and wait for them to joust you notice Bakugou clad in full metal armour across the field.
The King positioned him as his strongest guard— because he is.
A man worthy enough to beat his strongest soldier is a man worthy enough to take his daughters hand in marriage. And yet as you watch every man come head to head with Bakugou he beats every single one.
And you think Bakugou has just beat these men because he wants to show how strong and powerful he is, but secretly it’s because he’s so in love with you.
You can’t tell whether your father is proud or annoyed at the fact, especially when Bakugou knocks the son, young Midoriya, off his horse. The man that you believed the King wanted to you marry, the most suitable alliance available.
It’s a few weeks later when Bakugou is sent away on a mission by the King. The head of an army sent out to pillage a neighbouring village who threaten to compromise the power of you’ve forged.
The morning he’s scheduled to leave is the first time he lets you kiss him, he lets you get that close. As though he’s wondering whether he’ll even return home himself. Standing in his quarters in the lower part of the castle, clad in your pyjamas and your feet freezing against the cold stone as he cradles you in his arms. Pouring every ounce of emotion into the kiss as he finally allows himself to have you, even if just for a few selfish moments. Bakugou reckons it’s worth the risk of dying, to feel your lips on his again. A fellow guard, Kirishima catches you both as he takes Bakugou away from you— watching them ride off on horseback as you still feel the warmth of him surrounding you.
You stay awake each night wondering whether he’s even still alive too— whether you’ll ever see him again. The new guards are just as useless as before and you find yourself longing for his safe return.
It’s two months before your father has another man lined up as a potential suitor. Wondering who might fight for your honour now that Bakugou is gone, but you’re shocked when the King says there’s no need for such friviolity. That the wedding is scheduled, and it’s the right reason to strengthen the Kingdom. It’s not for love, it could never be when your heart belongs to Bakugou.
And even if you told your father about your feelings for his guard, it would be issuing Bakugou his own death sentence if he even managed to make it home at all.
But fate really can be a cruel, fickle thing— and as fate would have it Bakugou returns home the day you’re standing at the altar wearing a pretty wedding dress like you’d dreamed about, while you’re waiting to be betrothed to another man.
391 notes
·
View notes
Fluent Freshman - Part 15
PREVIOUS
The thing is… FF is aware that he should probably be medicated. You might be saying well isn’t he taking his ulcer medication? The answer is yes he is and when he is getting close to missing a dose Nicky’s usually the one that texts him with six frowny face emojis asking if he took his meds (they have a system, he takes his meds and then he texts Nicky)
No, he knows that he should probably get on something for his anxiety. Betsy has offered to get started on getting him on the right cocktail, his grandma thinks it’s a good idea, and Nicky has offered to get him as much weed as he needs to chill out, he knows a guy. Andrew is probably only going to stab him and threaten him not actually hunt him for sport, in his moments of clarity he can accept and understand that.
But there is nothing in this world that he wants less than to get back on anxiety medication. The world had been grey, it muted everything in the world for him, he faded completely into the background of his own life, and he couldn’t even grieve-
He was almost thankful for his step-dad’s sudden arrival in his life and how quickly his mom forgot about him to spend every waking moment she could on him and his children and then their children. It was two years of nothing and then his mom stopped picking up and refilling his prescription because it was too much of a hassle to keep picking up every month.
“He’s not anxious, see he’s fine. He doesn’t need it anymore.”
The withdrawal and the emotions that came afterwards had been hellish. He’d collapsed into his Grandma’s arms and begged her not to call his mom. He spent an entire month of summer vacation feeling like he was going to die and when he got back he found that no one had even missed him.
He swallowed the hurt, all of his emotions felt so much stronger now that he’d lost them for two years. If he has reactions like he’d had before he knows his mom will put him back on the medication.
The town is small and everyone talks. He knows about the dog walker’s poop flinging scandal, he knows about how the butcher’s left pinky got put back on wrong when he’d cut it off, he knows that the kid down the street paid $40 for a bag of oregano that he thought was weed, he knows that lil susie is in counseling because a girl should probably not be establishing cult rituals around her barbies.
He can’t react, can’t let people know he’s dying from anxiety because his math teacher sighs when he hands over his test. Can’t let anyone know that he has to put his head between his legs and take deep breaths before he can go into the cafeteria. His only solace is that all of the foreign language teachers love him, it’s easier to accept a compliment or comment in a language his family doesn’t use.
His step family treat him like the guards outside of Buckingham. Anything for a reaction y’know? He tells himself he does not care and for the most part he doesn’t.
He signs up for Exy in middle school because he just wanted something to do and it was the sport that had the same meeting days as his grandma’s bowling league. She picks him up from practice and they get ice cream together afterwards, she’s the only thing he has since Great Gran passed not too long after he got free of the medication.
He still feels her fingers checking behind his ears on occasion, a joke now that he’s off his meds referencing when he was too zoned out to care about hygiene. He still remembers her looking at him and feeling like she was seeing more than just him, “You’re a Smith. The last one when me and my daughter go. We’ll all be with you whenever you need us.” She promises.
He thinks it’s just respectful to get her favorite scent when he needs her help. He was raised to be respectful. Lavender still makes him think of her and he hopes his grandma left some on her grave recently.
He knew he’d have to wait to go to college. His mom is putting on the pressure now that he’s 18 saying he will have to pay rent even though Greg is older and definitely isn’t. He plays Exy and thinks about how he’ll handle his life between 18 and 25, he puts all his anxiety into the game and maybe the coach notices something.
He must have noticed something.
The Foxes don’t offer positions to kids who don’t have something going wrong for them.
Coach Wymack and Dan Wilds wouldn’t be there in his little bum fuck nowhere town in Washington if his coach hadn’t sent a tape and an explanation.
He could admit that he knew about the Foxes. He looked up to the vice captain a fair bit not just for his game but also…well the Butcher was national news. Vice Captain Neil’s story was all over the news and maybe he was just a little bit in awe of someone who could stand his ground after all of that. Watching Vice Captain Neil Josten give shit to every last reporter who gave him any shit? Inspiring.
He just didn’t think it’d be a good fit for him.
He’s not like the rest of the Foxes. Dan talks about them all in broad terms, how they’re all fighting to become something and grow beyond the unfairness that was out of their control. FF is tough to convince but he’s a pretty good defensive dealer, Dan and Coach Wymack both want him.
Dan eventually has to go because she has an interview for a coaching position out this way but Coach Wymack just hands over the rental car keys and Coach Wymack stays.
Coach Wymack stays and they keep talking. FF talks about everything and Wymack eventually just says “Well, you’re still here despite all of that aren’t you? Sounds like a fighter to me. I think you’ve got what it takes to carry that weight with some help and I can promise that you won’t have to deal with those jerks past your high school graduation. You’re not going to be the first Fox who I help out from under some asshole parents and you won’t be the last.”
So he signs a contract, he’s 18 he can do that AND buy cigarettes now (he won’t. That’s how Gran lost gramps when dad was still young but he COULD. Much like he COULD go into the town’s only sex toy shop but that would be back to his grandma faster than the cigarette purchase to be honest and he isn’t THAT interested in what’s in there.)
He finishes up school but the assistant coach is a friend of his step dad and mentions that he’s signed to the Foxes. It’s just one week between his graduation and when Coach Wymack is coming to grab him
Suddenly he exists in his house for the first time since they all moved into it after the wedding and it’s the WORST. The want things, they want promises, they want assurances, they want to pretend and act like he’s always been there.
He flees to his Grandma’s house and texts Coach Wymack asking if there’s ANY chance he can get picked up early because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to talk if he calls the man.
Coach Wymack comes for him and shoulders him past his ‘family’ to the rental car but the panic attack he sees in the car ride to the airport when his family’s car follows them all the way to the rental drop off means that he HAS to see Betsy.
Betsy is nice. Betsy teaches him how to breathe through stuff. Betsy teaches him how to ground himself in reality. Betsy tells him that the Starbucks girl probably doesn’t hate him. Betsy suggests he get on some medication.
He said No.
He’s scared out of his MIND in Palmetto but it’s better than-
He prefers to feel things.
Betsy tells him that it shouldn’t have been like that. His mother should have taken him back and gotten his prescription adjusted until it wasn’t like that.
He still declines.
Andrew gets suspicious about him knowing Russian after that game of Never Have I Ever and Nicky keeps almost letting it spill right by him. His stomach hurts the CVS girl keeps pepto for him behind the counter.
He still declines.
He prefers to feel things.
You can’t enjoy the thrill of a 100% on a Kanji Basics midterms without the anxiety of the Oral presentation. You can’t feel the true satisfaction of getting a blender for 25% off + 50 dollars of in-store credit without the flop-sweat of the searching eyes of a woman wearing PINK branded lounge wear. You can’t keep friends if you have no ability to empathize with them even if you’re worried you’re annoying them or ‘humble bragging’.
Fear is better.
Betsy tells him if he’s ever ready then she will help him. His Gran tells him she loves him. Nicky says “Look there’s a strain called White Russian. That’d be funny right?!”and FF agrees but declines to sample it.
Right now, as Nicky smudges eyeliner under his eyes and tugs at his shirt for the 80th time, he thinks it might actually be better to feel nothing.
He’d woken up from his…nap? He might have fainted actually? But he did it on a bed and it lasted for like 4 hours? So does that count as a nap? He wants to ask but also doesn’t want to worry anyone, maybe he could ask Aaron that if a Friend faints and doesn’t wake up for four hours is that a nap or a medical emergency? Just curious.
When he had emerged from Nicky’s room Captain Neil and Andrew had herded them all into the Maserati and they’d gone out and gotten McDonald’s for a late lunch. The only comment he had gotten when he’d asked for a happy meal (his stomach could not handle anything more) was whether or not he wanted the toy.
“Yes.” He answered panicked at the sudden question.
He got his Megamind toy, accidentally shone it into Aaron’s eyes when he pushed a button. “Shit that’s bright” before he apologized and shoved it in his jacket pocket.
They hung out at the house for the rest of the day.
They watched movies, played Mario Kart (how is Captain Neil this bad when his reflexes on the court are so good?) and did some homework. Andrew seemed to actually like the brownies which is why FF probably woke up from his... still haven’t asked Aaron if it’s a nap or a medical emergency.
He has a square and even at room temperature they taste great.
When it started to get dark they all went to go get ready. FF had gone to get whatever clothes Nicky had prepared on but had found himself sat on the man’s bed (so much glitter, seriously how can one bed have so much of it?) and Nicky holding a pencil to his eye and telling HIM not to flinch.
“Gonna have all the….” Nicky pauses and adopts a look on his face that means that he’s thinking incredibly hard about something. “Wait how have we been friends for MONTHS and I have no idea how you swing?” FF is caught off guard for a few moments because it’s the first time that Nicky has verbally confirmed that they are, in fact, friends and…
Wow.
That’s so nice.
He thought it was just Nicky’s innate inability to leave something to suffer needlessly that had the upperclassmen helping him. (FF has watched Nicky go out of his way to give cats food, turn turtles back onto their stomachs, and walk into traffic to stop cars so that a duck family could make it to a pond. He just sort of figured he was the same level of pathetic)
Wait.
What.
“Wait, what?”
“How do you swing?” Nicky repeats.
FF knows what he means but doesn’t want to. “With my left hand.” He responds and hopes Nicky drops it because the long and short answer is: he doesn’t know. He has no idea.
“Ohh dirty!” Nicky makes a jacking off motion with his left hand and FF feels embarrassed sweat cover his body, “NO! Don’t ruin my work!” Nicky yells fanning him with his hands so the eyeliner doesn’t run. “You know what I mean Smithy. Swing for girls, boys, both, neither? What am I working with here?” He asks wiping at FF’s cheek.
“I don’t…know.” He admits because deflecting is OBVIOUSLY not his strong suit. Twice in a row it’s brought up weird sex stuff.
“C’mon don’t be embarrassed. Even if you’re straight you’re obviously an Ally.” Nicky smiles.
“No it’s not…” he flushes okay he is embarrassed but that’s because he REALLY doesn’t know. Like how the hell did he get to college and have ZERO idea about what he’s attracted to or if he’s just not attracted to anyone? He’d been focused on not screaming for the last decade and that hadn’t really left a lot of room to consider how anyone looked. He’s getting used to having friends and three whole group chats (he’s bad at responding to them, overwhelmed by the idea that whatever he says can be revisited and picked apart forever but still, THREE!)
“I really have no idea.” He repeats.
Nicky blinks at him. “Okay well, college can be all about figuring that out then! No worries my sweet boy, we will figure this out.” Nicky pats his cheek.
He feels a little better.
“Alright, let’s go to Eden’s!”
Oh fuck that’s right.
MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU
NEXT
Per your requests:
@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie
@theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lilyndra @themugglemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound
The requests to be added to the tag list got spread out across a few different mediums on this one so if I missed you then just ask in the replies!
As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?
421 notes
·
View notes
some thoughts about jade leech as a stalker.
(cw: yandere, nsfw, stalking, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, mentions of death/strangulation)
Jade does not love often. In fact, he has a rather small supply of love, which is reserved for his hobbies and family, so when he loves something other than those two things it can only mean trouble. When Floyd has something special and doesn’t share... Well, naturally Jade’s going to want it. He’s never been inherently greedy. Rather, he’s always let Floyd have everything: the larger half of a bluefin tuna, the shinier stone, the bigger seashells, the slice of cake with more frosting, his uniforms whenever Floyd’s were dirtied or damaged. And in return Floyd has, for the most part, shared his things with Jade. This has always been their normal.
But this time Floyd makes no mention of sharing when it comes to you. In the past, when they were particularly interested in someone, they would share them. Or, in other words, torment that person in equal succession. Azul has been their prime target for years now, and it doesn’t look like either of them will stop their relentless pursuit in seeing how fast they can get Azul to grouse or groan or sigh. You might think they live to see Azul’s misery, but truthfully they want to accompany Azul as he carves misery into the hearts of the poor, unfortunate souls who thought it wise to do business with deep-sea beasts. Teasing him is just a bonus.
When it comes to you, Floyd is his usual authentic self: blunt and honest to a fault, dangerously so. But that’s what makes his twin so fun. Floyd won’t sugarcoat the obvious. If he dislikes you, he’ll make it known. Jade, on the other hand, will speak syrupy sweet lies in an effort to maintain proper goodwill, even if he detests you. You’ve never really interested Jade, so he can’t say he hates you. But he can’t say he loves you either. To him, you are just a powerless human in a habitat that does not suit you. Really, even with all of the tricks and traps you pulled to beat Azul at his own game, you remained boring to him. He didn’t pay you much mind after everything had been resolved and you’d been free to return to Ramshackle. That should have been the end of his story with you.
But then, some time later, you start to make frequent appearances at the lounge. It doesn’t take Jade long to learn that you only show up when Floyd’s on shift, and it also doesn’t take him long to theorize that you might have fallen for his brother’s unique charms. It’s sweet, in a way, how Floyd lights up when he sees you, how you smile a little more brightly when he speaks to you, how your laughter is so very buoyant when Floyd lifts you into the air and spins you happily. Jade’s content to watch from the sidelines, pleased to know that his brother has found a friend in you. That might make it easier to trick you into a contract.
He’s so set in this way of thinking, only viewing you as a pawn or a stepping stone towards some bigger end goal. But when Floyd brings you back to the dorm and you become more than a constant in Jade’s life, he starts to wonder what makes you so special. What is it about you that has his brother so enamored? What makes you irresistible? What parts of you are appealing? Jade thinks it might be how quick it is you submit when Floyd’s got you pinned into the mattress, face first, rough hands spreading your thighs apart, so he can sink into you more easily. Floyd likes that; he likes the weak things that crumble under him. He likes to push things to breaking. He likes to mark and bite and bloody and bruise and shred.
Jade likes to fix. He likes to mend, and then break, and then mend all over again. He likes the process, the psychological science behind a simple gesture, much like how he takes great pleasure in playing god over the plants in his terrariums. They say a budding serial killer starts small—with animals like rabbits or squirrels or cats. Jade starts with plants. He’ll put them in stressful environments—in soils with nutrients that don’t quite work—and he’ll watch them wilt, mottle, mold, and decay. He’ll watch them struggle to adapt, he’ll watch them yearn for water or sunlight, and only when he’s certain they’ve had enough he’ll give them proper, healthy care. It’s fun, the way he has so much control over something as dynamic as a plant. But plants cannot protest, cannot fight back, cannot act in the same way humans do.
But it’s quite satisfying to pluck dried petals from a withered flower, almost like a morbid game of effeuiller la marguerite, and not hear a single scream.
So Jade is fully expecting Floyd to tire of you, to break you enough until boredom sinks its fangs into him and he moves on with his life. And what Floyd breaks Jade fixes, so he’s very ready to glue your heart together when Floyd shatters it. He’s ready to offer a handkerchief and his ear should you need to vent. He’s already prepared his speech: “I must apologize on behalf of Floyd. You know very well how he gets. If I can be of assistance in any way, please let me know.”
Unfortunately, you remain intact. Months pass, Floyd continues to love you, and your relationship unfolds like a lotus in early morning. Jade continues to observe. Floyd has never been one for privacy, so he’s seen every kiss, every bite, every inch of exposed skin. Hell, he’s sat at his desk and tallied Mostro Lounge’s monthly expenses while Floyd fucked you dumb on the other side of the room. He’s even made eye contact with you when you happened to gaze his way while his twin was buried balls-deep in that tight hole of yours. He wonders what goes on in that head of yours. Perhaps there’s nothing substantial within. Floyd’s scrambled your brains enough, so you could just be useless now. Though that wouldn’t be very fun, would it? He knows there’s more to you than you let on, especially when you play top and take every inch of Floyd, riding him so skillfully, and all Floyd can do is dig his fingers into your hips to guide you along to the rough, erratic pace the both of you have set.
Jade watches fondly from the shadows. Floyd likes to have access to your neck and shoulders; he likes to take you from behind while leaning down to bite into soft flesh. But Jade thinks it would be much nicer to gaze upon your face, to kiss salt from your eyes, to pepper your jawline with tiny pecks, all while peering into eyes that house a beautiful soul. He thinks it would be nice to hold you down, have your legs wrapped around his waist or thrown up onto his shoulders, while he bottoms out. If it were Jade, he’d take you in every position, but he’d find the most pleasure in eye contact. There’s something intimate about it, much like how there’s intimacy in the hands that wrap around a throat. You have to be close to someone when you’re restricting their airflow; you have to squeeze until veins pop, until your hands are sore, until your fingernails have burrowed so deeply into skin that the crescent moons color crimson. It takes minutes to strangle someone, and every minute is spent staring into the wide, terrified eyes of a desperate soul on the verge of death.
Jade likes the way you smell, the way you speak, the way you laugh, the way you are, in every meaning of the word, so very filled with life. Even down to the way you breathe and gasp and moan and cry, you are life itself. Jade wants to bottle that for himself—pluck you from Floyd’s flower pot and place you in a terrarium with the most potent elements just to see how long you’d fare. He wants to save you from those same conditions, sandwich your face between gloved hands when he’s kneeled to your lowered height, and whisper about how it’s okay, about how you’re safe, about how he’d never truly hurt you. Jade knows that loving someone is a very special thing, but the way he loves you is not quite pleasant. The love he has for his hobbies and family is natural. Normal. Simplistic and familial.
The love he has for you is murderous and frightening. Some days he looks at you like you’re prey he’s not yet devoured. Like you’re to be his first victim.
Jade starts small. He takes tiny trinkets—a keychain, a pencil, an accessory. He stores these in a shoe box under his bed. When Floyd brings you over and clothes are cast aside, he swipes your undergarments for himself. He won’t wash them until he absolutely must. He’ll have the soft fabric wrapped around his dick later that same evening when Floyd’s fallen asleep and he’s up late contemplating love and lust and life and death, and he’ll cum to the thought of you. Sweet, adorable, oblivious you.
He’s what one would call a persistence predator—a hunter who gradually wears his prey down over time. He takes from you, watches you, listens to you fret about missing things to Floyd, who promises to find the bastard who’s messing with you and squeeze them until they’re blue and purple. Jade smiles at that. Floyd wouldn’t really do that to him. Sure, they’ve hit each other when they’ve fought and roughhoused on occasion, but the punches were never truly meant. Sure, they might have been thrown playfully or angrily, but they were all temporary bouts of strength. Floyd wouldn’t truly hurt him, so to hear these determined promises and to see how you relax around him... It’s really cute. Jade wonders how much more he can take from you.
And he wonders how much more you can take before you’re splintering.
Really, you got lucky that Floyd picked you first. He’s far more merciful. Far more sweeter. Far more loving. At least Floyd is honest with his (at times) rough nature. At least he makes it known that he wants to bite you until you’re bleeding. But Floyd can’t stand whining. He hates it when people cry about things he can’t bother to care about, and lately you’ve been whining about this stalker you think you have for weeks now. Floyd’s told you you’re just being a scared shrimpy—that there is no stalker, that you’re probably just misplacing or losing these items, that none of them really matter because they’re replaceable.
Jade gets lucky when Floyd finally washes his hands of you, officially fed up with your whining. And what Floyd damages Jade fixes. So when you’re in tears, distraught over the break-up and your missing items and your stalker and the fact that the door to Ramshackle was left unlocked again and that you feel like someone’s living in your shadow, Jade arrives to rescue you from your fear. You don’t even hesitate to cling to him and cry, spilling your worries in waterfalls. Perhaps it’s because he’s a familiar face. He is a reflection of Floyd, after all.
“Oh dear,” he’ll whisper, stroking your back, allowing you to bury your face in his chest and sob. “There, there.”
You can’t see his expression, but there is a smile spreading on his lips. And his eyes are alight with cruel glee.
“Would it make you feel better if someone accompanied you to your classes?” Your feeble nod is all he needs. “In that case, shall I spend a few days at Ramshackle with you? I’m certain whoever’s pursuing you won’t get very far if I’m around.”
And he’s right. Your stalker never takes anything again. They never leave the front door unlocked. They never trail behind you, taking shelter in your shadow. That’s because he’s your stalker, though you never managed to figure that out, and this time he doesn’t have to dwell in shadows or on the sidelines. This time he can stand before you as a friend, a soon-to-be lover, and perhaps a lifelong mate.
Jade does not love often, but when he does it is as beautifully painful as tearing the wings from butterflies.
253 notes
·
View notes